The Angel
Page 56
“I suppose it’s because you’re so incredibly attractive.”
He laughed again, this time far more subtly.
“Finding me attractive hardly qualifies as evidence, Ms. Kanter. Wishful thinking possibly, but not evidence.”
Suzanne flushed, suddenly remembering the last time she’d had sex and how for one brief moment it was this priest, this man, on top of her and inside her and not Patrick.
“I find you attractive as well,” Father Stearns continued. “But I shan’t accuse you of pedophilia and ephebophilia simply because I do.”
Suzanne swallowed.
“You find me attractive?”
“Very much so.”
“But you’re a priest.”
“Priests are required to be chaste. Not blind. I had planned on praying the Stations of the Cross tonight. I may pray the Lord’s Prayer instead.”
“Why?”
“‘Lead us not into temptation.’”
Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t deny that she too felt led into temptation. Leaving…leaving would be good. Now.
“Then I should leave you alone and let you pray.” She took a step back.
“Will I see you again?” he asked, his voice perfectly composed. She detected no flirtation, no temptation at all in his tone. Only curiosity.
“You’ll see me every week until I find out what you’re hiding behind that collar of yours.”
He raised his eyebrow at her.
“I’m hiding nothing but my throat.”
“Saturday night. Empty church. Do you really wear the collar all the time?”
“Not all the time. I do sleep and shower.” The words, although plainly spoken, still conjured images in her head, images she didn’t want. What did he look like under his severe black clericals? What did his body look like dripping with water? What did his skin look like against white sheets?
“Right…of course. Only time I take off my collar too. Good night, Father Stearns. You’ll be seeing me again.”
Suzanne turned to leave.
“I look forward to it.”
Suzanne’s steps nearly faltered, but she kept walking.
“Ms. Kanter?”
Pausing, she slowly turned back to face him. God, had she ever seen a more beautiful man in her life?
“My collar…would you like to see me without it on?”
12
Michael rolled onto his back, moaned in pain and rolled immediately back onto his stomach. Somewhere in this massive mansion there had to be Advil or something like it. If he could just stand up, he’d be golden.
From the door to his room he heard chuckling.
“Don’t laugh at me.” Michael buried his face into the pillow. “It’s rude to laugh at a dying man.”
“Poor little subby.” Griffin entered Michael’s bedroom, grabbed a chair and sat next to the bed. “She nearly kill you last night?”
Michael unburied his face from the pillow and turned it to Griffin. Bad idea. Griffin sat shirtless and slightly sweating. He’d obviously just come in from a run as he had on nothing but running shorts, f**k, a good tan and his f**king sexy tattoos.
Raising his hand Michael held up five fingers.
“Five times?” Griffin asked. “I’m impressed. God, to be seventeen again.”
“Why do I hurt in places she didn’t hit?” Michael asked, trying to rise up but collapsing back on the pillows again.
“That’s from the bondage. Gotta relax when you’re tied up or you’ll pull muscles.”
“You don’t have any drugs in this house do you? Preferably ones that will knock me unconscious?”
Michael saw a shadow cross Griffin’s face, but the smile came back quickly.
“Nope. No drugs. But I have something better. Just a sec.”
Griffin walked over to the wall and pushed a button on the intercom.
“Alfred, I need ice and that vitamin K goop. To the nursery. Stat.”
Michael heard the crackle of static.
“I loathe you, Master Griffin,” came a British accent over the intercom.
“Thanks, Alfred,” Griffin answered and came back to the bed.
“Is your butler’s name really Alfred?”
“No. It’s Jamison, I think. Can’t remember. I changed it to Alfred years ago. My first crush on a dude was Batman. Anyway, I know how to deal with pain without using drugs. I survived this,” he said, pointing to the slight crook in his nose, “without taking a single painkiller.”
“Awesome,” Michael said, studying Griffin’s face. The break in his nose made him even more handsome, not less. “How’d you get it?”
“It’s embarrassing. I’ve been in probably five or six bar fights in my life, and it’s a hundred-ten-pound girl named Rainbow Smite who breaks my nose. Accident. I think.”
“Rainbow Smite?”
“Yeah, she’s on my roller derby team, the Bronx Zoom.”
“You have your own roller derby team?”
“I sponsor them. Sometimes even ref for the other league. Can’t ref for my own obviously.”
“You skate?”
“Can’t ref if you can’t skate. What?”
Michael stretched out his arm and pointed to the floor.
“Under the bed,” he said sheepishly.
Griffin raised his eyebrow and bent over. From under the bed he pulled out Michael’s skateboard.
He laughed again, this time far more subtly.
“Finding me attractive hardly qualifies as evidence, Ms. Kanter. Wishful thinking possibly, but not evidence.”
Suzanne flushed, suddenly remembering the last time she’d had sex and how for one brief moment it was this priest, this man, on top of her and inside her and not Patrick.
“I find you attractive as well,” Father Stearns continued. “But I shan’t accuse you of pedophilia and ephebophilia simply because I do.”
Suzanne swallowed.
“You find me attractive?”
“Very much so.”
“But you’re a priest.”
“Priests are required to be chaste. Not blind. I had planned on praying the Stations of the Cross tonight. I may pray the Lord’s Prayer instead.”
“Why?”
“‘Lead us not into temptation.’”
Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t deny that she too felt led into temptation. Leaving…leaving would be good. Now.
“Then I should leave you alone and let you pray.” She took a step back.
“Will I see you again?” he asked, his voice perfectly composed. She detected no flirtation, no temptation at all in his tone. Only curiosity.
“You’ll see me every week until I find out what you’re hiding behind that collar of yours.”
He raised his eyebrow at her.
“I’m hiding nothing but my throat.”
“Saturday night. Empty church. Do you really wear the collar all the time?”
“Not all the time. I do sleep and shower.” The words, although plainly spoken, still conjured images in her head, images she didn’t want. What did he look like under his severe black clericals? What did his body look like dripping with water? What did his skin look like against white sheets?
“Right…of course. Only time I take off my collar too. Good night, Father Stearns. You’ll be seeing me again.”
Suzanne turned to leave.
“I look forward to it.”
Suzanne’s steps nearly faltered, but she kept walking.
“Ms. Kanter?”
Pausing, she slowly turned back to face him. God, had she ever seen a more beautiful man in her life?
“My collar…would you like to see me without it on?”
12
Michael rolled onto his back, moaned in pain and rolled immediately back onto his stomach. Somewhere in this massive mansion there had to be Advil or something like it. If he could just stand up, he’d be golden.
From the door to his room he heard chuckling.
“Don’t laugh at me.” Michael buried his face into the pillow. “It’s rude to laugh at a dying man.”
“Poor little subby.” Griffin entered Michael’s bedroom, grabbed a chair and sat next to the bed. “She nearly kill you last night?”
Michael unburied his face from the pillow and turned it to Griffin. Bad idea. Griffin sat shirtless and slightly sweating. He’d obviously just come in from a run as he had on nothing but running shorts, f**k, a good tan and his f**king sexy tattoos.
Raising his hand Michael held up five fingers.
“Five times?” Griffin asked. “I’m impressed. God, to be seventeen again.”
“Why do I hurt in places she didn’t hit?” Michael asked, trying to rise up but collapsing back on the pillows again.
“That’s from the bondage. Gotta relax when you’re tied up or you’ll pull muscles.”
“You don’t have any drugs in this house do you? Preferably ones that will knock me unconscious?”
Michael saw a shadow cross Griffin’s face, but the smile came back quickly.
“Nope. No drugs. But I have something better. Just a sec.”
Griffin walked over to the wall and pushed a button on the intercom.
“Alfred, I need ice and that vitamin K goop. To the nursery. Stat.”
Michael heard the crackle of static.
“I loathe you, Master Griffin,” came a British accent over the intercom.
“Thanks, Alfred,” Griffin answered and came back to the bed.
“Is your butler’s name really Alfred?”
“No. It’s Jamison, I think. Can’t remember. I changed it to Alfred years ago. My first crush on a dude was Batman. Anyway, I know how to deal with pain without using drugs. I survived this,” he said, pointing to the slight crook in his nose, “without taking a single painkiller.”
“Awesome,” Michael said, studying Griffin’s face. The break in his nose made him even more handsome, not less. “How’d you get it?”
“It’s embarrassing. I’ve been in probably five or six bar fights in my life, and it’s a hundred-ten-pound girl named Rainbow Smite who breaks my nose. Accident. I think.”
“Rainbow Smite?”
“Yeah, she’s on my roller derby team, the Bronx Zoom.”
“You have your own roller derby team?”
“I sponsor them. Sometimes even ref for the other league. Can’t ref for my own obviously.”
“You skate?”
“Can’t ref if you can’t skate. What?”
Michael stretched out his arm and pointed to the floor.
“Under the bed,” he said sheepishly.
Griffin raised his eyebrow and bent over. From under the bed he pulled out Michael’s skateboard.
