"Why do you care?" The question isn't hostile, doesn't carry an edge. Just tired. Genuinely curious, like she's trying to solve a puzzle she can't quite figure out.
"Don't play games with me, Waverly." My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
She stops walking, and I stop too, turning to face her under the glow of a streetlamp. Her face is all shadows and soft light, and she looks so beautiful it hurts.
"You told me to stay away," she says quietly. "You told me not to come back to the church. And now you're walking me home like you have some kind of claim on me. I don't understand what you want."
"I don't understand either." The honesty feels like ripping something open inside my chest. "I've spent eight years knowing exactly who I am and what I'm supposed to do. Then you walked into my church, and suddenly none of it makes sense anymore."
Her breath catches. I see it, the subtle lift of her shoulders, the parting of her lips. "Cillian..."
"Don't." I step closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume, something soft and floral that's been driving me slowly insane for months. "Don't say my name like that unless you mean it."
"Like what?"
"Like it matters. Like I matter."
She reaches up, her hand hovering near my face the same way mine hovered near hers in the alcove. I should pull back. I should maintain the distance I keep telling her is necessary. Instead, I stand perfectly still and let her touch my cheek, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
"You matter," she whispers, her voice barely audible in the narrow space between us. "God help me, you're the only thing that matters anymore. The only thing I think about. The only thing I want."
I catch her wrist before I can stop myself, my fingers wrapping around the delicate bones, holding her hand firmly against my face. Her pulse flutters wildly beneath my fingertips, rapid and erratic. "We can't do this."
"I know."
"If anyone finds out what's happening between us..."
"I know," she repeats, her eyes searching mine.
"I would ruin you." My voice breaks on the word, splintering with the weight of it. "Your reputation, your place in the community, everything you've built here. Everyone would look at you and see nothing but the woman who seduced a priest. They'd make you into something sordid."
"You think that's what this is?" Her laugh is small and sad, almost bitter. "Me seducing you? You think I planned any of this?"
"Isn't it?" I ask, though even as the words leave my mouth, I know how hollow they sound.
"No." She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. "This is me trying not to fall apart every time I look at you. This is me spending every night alone in my apartment, wondering what it would feel like if you kissed me. This is me being terrified that what I feel is one-sided, that you're just a priest doing his job, and I'm a pathetic lonely girl who built a fantasy around a man she can never have."
I should let her go. I should step back and put distance between us and do the right thing for once in this whole impossible situation.
Instead, I grip her chin and tilt her face up to mine.
"You're not pathetic," I say fiercely. "And this isn't one-sided. Do you understand me? I've been watching you for months. Following you. Learning your schedule, your routines, the times when your light goes on and off. I stand outside your building at night like some kind of obsessed madman, and the only thing that stops me from coming up those stairs is the knowledge that if I do, I won't be able to stop."
Her eyes are huge, shining with tears or wonder or both. "You watch me?"
"Every night." The confession should horrify her. Instead, I see something that looks like relief flood across her face. "I know it'swrong. I know what I am. But when I'm not watching over you, I feel like I'm not breathing right."
She makes a sound, half laugh and half sob, and then she's rising up on her toes and pressing her mouth to mine.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative. Like she's testing to see if I'll pull away. I don't. I can't. My hands find her waist, dragging her closer, and the kiss deepens into something desperate and hungry. She tastes like wine and wanting, and I've never felt anything this good in my entire life.
When we finally break apart, we're both gasping for air. Her hands are fisted in the front of my jacket, and my fingers have tangled in her hair, and we're standing on a public street where anyone could see us.
I pull back, putting inches between us that feel like miles. Her lips are swollen, her eyes dazed, and I want nothing more than to kiss her again. To keep kissing her until we both forget why this is supposed to be wrong.
"Invite me in," I say before I can stop myself, the words tumbling out raw and unbidden.
She blinks up at me, her breath still coming in short gasps, her pupils blown wide. "What?"
