Elijah mentions free music lessons for children.
All good ideas.
None of them flashy enough to compete with a megachurch’s spectacle.
I catch myself watching Charlie again. The way her cardigan has slipped off one shoulder, revealing the strap of whatever she’s wearing underneath. The way her dress rides up slightly when she shifts in her chair, exposing more of her thighs. The way her breasts rise and fall with each breath.
Marcus clears his throat, and I realize he’s caught me staring. His expression is knowing, almost amused, but there’s heat in his dark eyes too.
He’s been watching her as well.
We’re both fighting the same battle, wanting the same woman, and pretending we don’t.
After the meeting ends, I retreat to the vestry to count the Sunday collection. The routine task usually calms me, but tonight my hands shake as I sort bills and coins.
The numbers are down again. We’re hemorrhaging parishioners and money in equal measure.
That’s when I find it.
A Victory Life business card tucked between two twenty-dollar bills. On the back, someone has written in neat script,“Your flock deserves better.”
Rage floods through me, hot and immediate. My hands curl into fists around the card, crumpling it. How dare they. How dare they infiltrate my church, recruit my parishioners, and leave their poison in my collection basket!
The vestry door opens, and Charlie enters. She’s returning the keys to the parish hall, her movements graceful and unconscious. She sees my face and stops.
“Adrian?” My name in her voice does things to me. “What’s wrong?”
I hold up the crumpled card, unable to speak past the anger choking me.
She crosses the small space, standing close enough that I can feel her warmth, smell her scent.
Her hand reaches for the card, and our fingers brush.
The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. I jerk back like I’ve been burned, but not before I see her pupils dilate, her lips part slightly. The air between us crackles with unspoken want, with weeks of suppressed desire, with the memory of that night in my office when I claimed her on my desk.
“Adrian,” she whispers, and the sound of my name on her lips makes my control fracture.
I want to pull her against me.
Want to bury my hands in her auburn hair and kiss her until neither of us can breathe. Want to lift her onto this counter and make her forget everything except my name.
Instead, I step back, putting necessary distance between us. My rosary beads cut into my palm as I grip them, using the pain to ground myself.
“They’re trying to destroy us,” I say, my voice rough. “Victory Life. They’re not just competing. They’re actively sabotaging.”
Charlie smooths out the crumpled card, reading the message. Her face hardens with anger that mirrors my own. “What are you going to do?”
Before I can answer, footsteps echo in the hallway.
We both turn as Marcus appears in the doorway.
His dark eyes move between us, reading the charged atmosphere with perfect clarity. The way we’re standing too close. The way Charlie’s breathing is shallow.
The way my hands are clenched into fists.
His jaw tightens, and I see the same jealousy I’m feeling reflected in his expression.
But there’s something else too.
