“So, swearing is…” My eyes flitted around the room as I searched for the right words. “A personal choice.”
“A rebellious one.” His dark eyes nailed mine, chaining me with his gaze as completely as his hands could.
“I just…historically speaking…have a hard time with rules.”
Bastien barked a chuckle, hand landing at my wrist and grasping as he laughed.
Dear God, he was so beautiful when he laughed.
Like, really laughed.
Laughed so hard the little crow’s-feet around his eyes jumped to life, the rich copper tone of his throat exposed.
One snow-white collar flush against dark skin.
“I sensed it was obeying rules, or a lack of thereof, that landed you in my lap.”
My heart stuttered to a stop.
A violent tornado of desire made me dizzy.
I shifted on the couch, feeling everything.
“That obvious, huh?” I deflected the wild emotion battering my throat.
Bastien narrowed his eyes, leaning into me. His soft lips parted, he uttered his thoughts anything but chastely. “It’s the thing that draws people to you—your fire. Even when you speak, dear Tressa, it’s a passionate rebellion.”
His eyes caged me, my fingers twitching before his gaze dropped down to my lips.
I pressed them together, fire hurtling through every muscle in my body.
Something about the way his eyes sliced through me, seeing to the core of every rebellious thought I’d ever had. Could he really know me so well in just a few short months?
Every poor decision I’d ever made suddenly washed over me, guilt swirling in my veins as I thought of everything I’d had to walk away from to find myself here.
With him.
Huddled near Father Bastien’s fireplace, willing the fire in my blood to warm my icy toes.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” His voice speared the silence.
“It?” I asked, thinking over the one of a thousand “its” I could confess to.
“I’m happy to give you more time, but at what point does more time transmute into avoidance?” Wise words from probably the most thoughtful man I’d ever known. “To confess and accept communion are the most blessed of sacraments in His eyes. I think you might find them at least somewhat beneficial, if given the chance.” I could feel his eyes on me. “Tressa?”
My stubborn gaze finally landed on his, afraid of the raw compassion I’d find emanating off him.
Pity, my greatest pet peeve. “I’m not very good at opening up to people.”
One dark slash of brow shot up. “I had noticed.”
I swallowed, my fingers itching in equal parts to kiss or maim his beautiful face.
To say my nerves were raw was an understatement.
The truth was, the weird routine I’d found here at St. Michael’s had been, well, a godsend.
I wouldn’t even count myself a believer in the man upstairs, but I did believe in the goodness his message inspired. I was living proof.
