Page 72 of Impenitent Claim

The words chanted through my mind on repeat. Sweat coated my palms and only shallow breaths filled my lungs. It would be a simple matter to return to our pew and sit beside the don’s sister in plain sight of everyone.

But…I didn’t want to be safe.

I wanted to yell at him and demand a reason for his actions. This was someone’s life he was messing with. Guilt over our last nocturnal encounter should have been the driving force. I couldn’t bring myself to be upset at him. I chose to be with him.

And damn me, I wanted to taste him again.

I needed him to push me into the dark alcove behind the shelter of the religious statue and devour my mouth. The fire that burned inside fueled the needly little ache that hadn’t been satisfied.

Just one more taste and I would rid him from my system.

That lie was as unbelievable as it could possibly be.

This dangerous, intoxicating game threatened to consume my life. Was it because it was an escape from the tragedy of my reality? Was it because there was unfinished business between us? I wanted…him.

Ah! I was in over my head. I needed to march my ass back into the sanctuary and purge the dominating presence from my life with a contemplation of taking holy vows. But I couldn’t go back. I told myself it was because the clutch was empty. There was simply no way I would make it through the rest of service with the obnoxious stink of the mafiosos tickling my senses.

I rounded on the bigger problem, lurking near the stairs to the choir loft. “You need to leave me the hell alone. Whatever this is, it’s gone on long enough.”

“If that was how you really felt, you would have told the don who I really am,” Ilya countered sharply.

I sucked in a breath. “They would kill you! I can’t have a death on my conscience.”

Funny how my immediate reasoning was for his safety, not for the scandal his presence would bring to my life.

His voice grew hard. “Then you don’t actually want me to leave.”

Maybe he was right. I advanced, my angry steps carrying me closer to the thing I desperately wanted. “Why are you here? Why did you leave Chicago?”

There was a pause. “Because…you’re here.”

My heart pattered. “Do you follow every one-night stand from the club? Did you follow the girl sent to you last night—”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” That grey gaze hardened into a bright, lethal silver. “I’m not some Chicago player who scores on the dancers and partygoers, nor did I touch the mafia princess playing bad girl last night. Back then, you wore me down, week after week. I would have kept resisting you if it hadn’t been for the man bothering you in my club.”

His club.I always thought he was just some rich patron with access to the upper rooms. That made a whole hell of a lot more sense. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“You could have let your bouncers handle it,” I breathed. Images of the spectre launching himself from the VIP balcony and rushing to my aid flickered through my mind.

“I should thank that man,” Ilya said softly.

I stopped, right in front of the line where shadow met light on the patterned floor.

“Why?” I didn’t dare hope.

“He made me realize I didn’t want another touching you.”

That was it. There wasn’t much more my weary soul could take. This force of nature laid claim to me, and I was in danger of surrendering to his pull.

“You’re impenitent, aren’t you,” I scoffed, unable to fully believe what I was hearing.

The spectre cocked his head. “What is that word?”

I blinked.Whoops. Me and my big vocabulary.“Unrepentant? Remorseless?” I shook my head, trying to find the simplest thesaurus term. “Not sorry that you’re here and trying to claim what you can’t have.”

“Impenitent…yes.” He chewed on the idea for a moment. “I’ll never apologize for fighting for what’s mine. But you’re more than a polished, stagnant trophy, little one. You’re the ultimate prize, and I need to earn the right to belong to you. I will earn that, Izzy.”

Something crackled inside me. It would be so easy to move forward the last couple of inches separating us. But I couldn’t. I struggled to form the words that needed to be said. “I can’t be yours.”

---