Page 34 of Savior

“Tonight was the best time I’ve ever had with anyone,” he admits against my ear. Shivers worm through my bones. “But that’s selfish. Tell me it’s selfish. You’ve been through so much, Sloane. Fuck, the man we just got you away from—” His words cut off as I lay my hand over his on the counter, only visible in the moonbeams spilling through the small window over the sink.

“It’s not selfish. I had a good time, too, Father Russo.”

“Please don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

He leans closer, his lips touching my ear. “Like I’m the one you’re praying to.”

I can’t say anything. The overwhelming urge to turn in his arms, to take this further, slams into me, moving from my head to where my feet are rooted to the wood floors beneath them.

“I’m going to protect you, Sloane. No one will ever hurt you again,” he says, and they are words that would typically make me mad. They imply I need protection when I’ve always taken care of myself.

I don’t need anyone.

But I wonder if I do from how he feels looming over my back. If I needhim.

This is wrong.

So wrong.

“Goodnight.” His oppressive aura moves away from my back, and I take a deep breath.

“Goodnight, Father.”

When I get back into bed, I still can’t sleep. Now, I can’t sleep for an entirely different reason.

Luca chased away the demons nipping at my heels, but new ones are breeding in my growing, unnatural attraction to him.

I need to keep it in check, or it’ll ruin us both.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LUCA

Another week of toeing around one another has passed. Moments just like the one we had in the kitchen happen more often than I’d like them to. Subconsciously, I know that’s a lie. One I can’t confess, even on my darkest days.

Sloane is strong. That much I can see from a distance. That strength only shines brighter when I’m in her presence.

Slate is no closer to figuring out what to do about Barone, and he tells me daily I need to stay the course. Keep Sloane safe.

Keep her hidden.

What he doesn’t know, however, is how I’m struggling.

She’s becoming something I can’t ignore. A nagging feeling in my gut like she’s my higher purpose, which is preposterous being who I am and what it took to get here.

The weight of her presence looming behind me inches down my spine as I straighten and drop the mail from my hands to my desk.

“Good evening.” I don’t turn. Maybe she’ll take the hint and move on.

“Good evening, Father.”

Fuck me.

The way she says it… The Devil worked overtime when he created her.

“Did you need something?” Swaying on my feet, I turn to face her.

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