Page 35 of Savior

She’s in sweats, thank God. It’s not that it dampens an ounce of her beauty, but it covers all the alluring bits of her I can’t keep my eyes off.

“I was just checking on you. I’ve seen little of you these last few days. Not since…”

Not since I took her to dinner, behaved like a wretch, and then bolted from the kitchen to spend hours scolding myself in my bedroom and praying for forgiveness.

“I’ve been swamped. Sorry about that.”

Her brows arch. She suspects I’m lying but won’t call me out on it. Curious.

“Of course.” Meandering into the room, she runs her hand the length of a table by the door as if checking for dust.

I watch her chipped red nails glide over a piece of furniture that’s likely from the turn of the century, and it seems to shimmer in her presence.

“You’re sure you didn’t need something? With how busy I’ve been, I haven’t really looked in on you. I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m fine. I can handle myself, Father.” Her gorgeous eyes, with their sad edges, flick over toward me, hardening as some thought flashes through them before dissipating.

“I have no doubt.”

It feels like a dance. It’s like she’s sizing me up.

My stomach hardens when she crosses the room, winding across the worn wood floor toward me, carrying her soft, spellbinding scent closer.

“Are you hiding from me?” she asks. It’s as forward as the stern look she’s giving me as I look down at her in astonishment.

“What?” I sputter out. My hands grip the desk behind me, and I swear I hear the wood scream in protest.

“You heard me. Are you hiding from me?”

Swallowing, I try to decide how to answer without showing how much I struggle with her so close.

There’s simply no way.

I sigh. “If I am, I’m not doing it on purpose.”

She nods, remaining silent as I watch her stare grow contemplative. “Alright, then.”

I’m utterly speechless, and not because of the way she’s approached me or the simple way she’s done it. It’s her presence that leaves my jaw on the floor.

How I’m her savior, but it feels like the opposite.

“Do you need anything?” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“I need many things, Father Russo, but I don’t know if I’ll find them here.” She turns and heads for the door.

Air rushes back into my burning lungs as I watch her go.

“Our show is on in an hour,” she tosses over her shoulder without breaking stride. Then she’s gone.

The room seems to breathe in her absence, like she was holding it hostage as well.

For someone so young to command a room the way she does… And she probably doesn’t even know how deadly her charm is.

Or does she?

I turn back to the mail, grabbing it with shaky hands. I can’t make sense of the letters on the envelopes, so I drop them down with a huff before running my hand through my hair and leaning against the desk.

Sloane Collins might be the death of me.

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