Page 45 of Crossed
A piece of dark hair falls on his forehead as he grins, and when he pushes it back, I’m struck again by how attractive this man is without even trying.
Not for the first time tonight, I question what the hell I think I’m doing and then soothe my unease by reminding myself that there’s a boundary here that can’t be crossed. Despite how out of control he makes me feel,nothingcan happen between us. Nothing will.
So it doesn’t matter if he makes my stomach tense and my heart pound. Because he’s a priest. He’s taken his vows. He’s married to the church. And I’m not even sure if I actuallylikehim or if he’s safe. So out of bounds that my defenses lower, and I’m able to ignore the way he puts me on edge.
He’s taken a vow of chastity. And there’s a type of safety net in that.
“And what did you expect?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “When it comes to you, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t expect anything.”
That stray strand of hair falls in his face again, and I reach out before I can stop myself.
He jerks away almost violently and winces, a slight hiss leaving him as his entire body stiffens.
My hand flies back to my side. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
He chuckles, but the sound feels forced. “It’s better if we don’t touch.”
“Why?”
His eyes darken, and heat splits through my middle, striking between my legs.
“I think you know why.”
My mouth goes dry as I nod. Because he’s right. I do. A little piece of that safety net disintegrates with his words. I had assumed this was one- sided.
I must zone out or get lost in the moment, because next thing I know, he’s turned toward me fully, his other hand reaching out and smoothing away the furrow in my brows. Even though he just said we shouldn’t touch.
Even though I agreed.
“You’re much too beautiful to look so sad, Amaya.”
My chest squeezes tight. “You have to say things like that because you’re a priest.”
He shakes his head, stepping in closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek fully now, sending my heart careening off the cliff it’s been teetering on.
“Non,” he whispers. “Ishouldn’tsay thatbecauseI’m your priest.”
My breath hitches as I stare at his face, my eyes dropping to his lips and then back up again.
I want him to kiss me. I know it’s impossible and so, so wrong on a thousand different levels, but…I want him to kiss me.
Clearing his throat, he steps back, taking the still- full cup of tea from my hands and spinning around to set it on the coffee table.
“It’s late,” he says.
Disappointment sinks inside me like a rock, but it mixes with a heavy dose of relief. “Yeah, I’m…I’m really sorry I bothered you, Father.”
I use his title to remind myself of who he is. Ofwhathe is. “Cade,” he replies sharply.
“What?”
He sighs, running a hand through his mussed-up hair. “When it’s just the two of us, you can call me Cade.”
Calling him Cade feels personal, and I don’t want us tobepersonal.
But I don’t listen to the warning sirens blasting through my mind, and I nod slowly. “Okay, Cade.”
