“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” I gasped. “Judah, shit—”
“Lead us not into temptation,” he whispered against my lips, his movements growing more urgent, more desperate.
The irony wasn't lost on me, but I couldn't find words to acknowledge it. I was beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond anything but the sensation of his cock inside me and the forbidden nature of where we were and what we were doing.
“But deliver us from evil,” I managed, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, my voice breaking on the last word. I couldn’t hold it anymore. My body clenched around him as the orgasm hit, the rapture so intense it bordered on pain. I buried my face against his shoulder to muffle the sounds I couldn't control, my nails digging his back.
“Amen.” He exhaled against my neck as he came, his body shuddering against mine.
We both were trembling, breaths ragged. The prayer hung between us, blasphemous and sacred all at once. My legs were still wrapped around him, the red lace now damp and twisted between us, the collar at my throat suddenly feeling too tight.
His eyes met mine. And hesmiled, and said“such a goodChristiangirl,” again.
Billy let himself in through the study window.
Not because the door was locked — Judah never locked the study — but because Billy had been letting himself in through the study window since he was fifteen.Andthere was the small matter of being on the run from a particularly irate husband whoaccused him — for no good reason — in the very mundane crime of sleeping with his wife.
Billy dropped onto the leather chair across from the desk, crossed his ankles on the ottoman, and helped himself to the bourbon on the side table without asking.
Judah didn't look up from what he was reading.
“You could use the door,” he said.
“I could.” Billy poured two fingers. Considered. Poured a third. “Aunt Ida is in the drive. She'd want to talk.”
“About what?”
“About your girl.” Billy settled back. “Same thing everyone wants to talk about.”
Judah turned a page.
“Fontenot's wife told her,” Billy continued, “who told the Tureaud women, who apparently have formed some kind of ecclesiastical committee on the matter, that the pastor's girl reorganized the entire donation ledger in her first week and hasn't made a single filing error since.” He drank. “They're calling her that, by the way. The pastor's girl. Not the new coordinator. Not Miss Evangeline.The pastor's girl.”
Judah set the paper down.
Billy watched him do it.
“How long?” Judah asked.
“The pastor's girl? Two weeks, maybe three.” Billy turned the glass in his hand. “The restaurant didn't help. Or helped, depending on your angle.” He paused. “Maison Fontenelle, Judah. On a Monday. In last night's dress.”
“She needed breakfast.”
“She needed breakfast,” Billy repeated, tasting the words and setting the glass down. “Right.” He stretched his arms over his head. “You know what's funny. Three hundred thousand dollars. I was there when you wired it. I watched your face.” Helowered his arms. “You didn't look like a man making a business decision.”
Judah said nothing.
“Hargrove had two others interested. Serious interest. Those book one-way travel.” Billy's voice stayed light. It always stayed light. That was the trick of him — the weight was always underneath, never on the surface. “You paid over ask. Didn't negotiate. Didn't sleep on it.” He looked at his glass. “For a man who negotiates everything, that was—”
“Enough.”
“—notable.” Billy finished the word anyway, because he was Billy and the leash only shortened, never fully held. He looked at Judah across the study. “She doesn't know.”
“No.”
“When?”
“When I decide.”
