Gateway to Heaven (2 page)

“
It was yesterday afternoon in the lobby…around four thirty. You were wearing a pink sweater. The little girl you were with was wearing pink, too.” Christian leaned toward her slightly. “She was as cute as you are, in a completely different way of course.”

Megan’s mouth fell open at his matter-of-fact recital of facts. His voice sounded light and amused, but his eyes bore into her with an alarming intimacy. Didn’t he realize that her boss—not to mention the fact that he was her priest—was standing barely three feet away? Unaccountably, Megan felt like he’d just reached out and stroked her, brushed the pads of his fingertips across her lower lip, sunk his hand into the restrained hair at her nape, forced the sleek knot open…dragged his knuckles across the tightening crests of her breasts…

Her eyes widened in disbelief at the direction of her thoughts and the uncontrollable reaction of her body. But she needn’t have worried about Father Gregory. Christian’s words had a drastically different effect on him than they did on Megan. The priest cracked his shiny forehead with the palm of his hand.

“
I can’t believe I forgot to tell you, Megan. Terry called earlier. He asked if he could drop Emily off right after school let out instead of at four o’clock. He must be outside right now—” He stopped mid-sentence, his expression apologetic, when they heard the car horn sounding from the street.

“
That’s okay, Father. I’ll just grab my purse. It was nice to meet you, Christian.”

She didn’t dare look back to see if they were still standing in the hallway when she shut and locked the classroom door after getting her purse. She raced across the front steps of the school as if she were being chased.

“
Are you sure this is okay?” Terry asked after Megan had unbuckled the grinning Emily from her car seat, swung her to her hip and met Terry on the other side of the car.

“
Of course. We’re going to have a ball, huh Em?”

Her niece nodded enthusiastically. “Get to go to Aunt Meg’s clay class and ’Merican Girl.”

Megan met Terry’s amused gaze. “I offer to take her to ride the Ferris wheel on Navy Pier, or to see
The Lion King
onstage…”

“
But even the American Girl store takes second place to going to
clay class
,” Terry finished for her. They laughed. He gave his daughter a hard hug that necessarily included Megan. Both of them received a kiss on the cheek. He pulled a shoulder bag containing Emily’s things from the backseat. “Emily, you’re going to have to walk. Aunt Meg can’t carry both the bag and you.”

When Emily whined in protest and clung to Megan’s neck, Terry sighed in exasperation. “Emily, it will take me too long to find parking and I’m going to get a ticket parked here. Be a big girl and walk, so that Aunt Meg can carry the bag.”

She swung the heavy duffle up to her shoulder. “It’s okay, Terry, she’s tired. It’s almost naptime. My building is only across the street.”

They argued for a few seconds, but Megan was insistent and Terry was running late. He finally gave in. “Thanks again, Megan. Hilary and I owe you. Emily, you be good. No sneaking into Aunt Meg’s clay unless she says you can.”

Only after Terry’s vehicle had vacated the spot did Megan glance back toward St. Catherine’s School. The double take she did caused her to stumble slightly due to her heavy burden and precarious balance.

Christian Lasher was standing at the top of St. Cat’s steps. Most people would have said his posture was casual as he stood with his long, jean-clad legs slightly spread, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his back resting lightly against the limestone entryway. But for a reason Megan couldn’t name, she knew that estimation would have been dead wrong.

She sensed the tension in those long, corded muscles just as she instinctively knew that the expression in his blue eyes was as intense as ever even if now they were alight with… anger? Or was it disappointment?

Why?

Megan had no answer to that as she watched him lift one booted-foot and kick the wall behind him to lever himself forward. He sauntered toward the entryway with a loose-hipped swagger. Even as she spoke to Emily in a bright voice she wondered at the feeling of regret that flooded through her.

Christian let the door that led back into St. Catherine’s fall shut without entering. He muttered a few choice curses, all self-directed. He knew there were a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t turn around, only one of them being Father Gregory’s enigmatic statement as they’d watched Megan Shreve fly lightly down the front steps a moment ago.

The priest had had a whimsical expression on his face as he watched her but his eyes looked sad.

“
We’re lucky to have her. The students love her. Megan is such a…special girl.”

“
She’s hardly a girl, Father.”

Father Gregory had glanced up in surprise at the quiet conviction in Christian’s voice. “Of course she’s not. She’s a young lady now. No doubt of it. There’s always been something fragile about her though. Those that love her have always been a little protective of her and I suppose I’m no different.”

“
What do you mean
fragile
? Is she sick?”

Father Gregory looked taken aback at the sudden tension in Christian’s voice. He seemed to come to an abrupt realization of what he’d been saying…to whom he was speaking. “Of course not, Christian. She looks hale and hearty to me.”

The priest had clapped him on the back and made an obvious attempt to change the subject. Christian had politely given an excuse and made his exit.

His stomach had knotted when he saw Megan in another man’s embrace. He watched while the couple looked into each other’s face and shared laughter.

It didn’t matter.

He had been confident of his complete disregard for about three seconds after he’d watched the man drive away, leaving Megan and the child on the sidewalk.

He damned himself for a fool but what the hell? What kind of a heel would allow her to struggle, weighed down as she was with luggage and a child? Surely he’d absorbed something from of his parent’s moral upbringing and his strict Catholic education?

Hadn’t Father Gregory said she was
fragile?

“
That’s right, Lasher, you’re a real boy scout,” Christian muttered drolly to himself.

His self-recriminations didn’t stop him from reaching out to touch Megan Shreve. He cupped her shoulder and squeezed gently. She turned, clear, green eyes wide in surprise.

“
Let me help with that,” he said.

“
Christian…oh, that’s okay. That is, maybe…if you’re going home too?”

He didn’t bother to answer her but matter-of-factly eased the bag from her shoulder. She shifted Emily to her other hip and smiled in relief. “Thanks, it was pretty heavy.” She glanced down at Emily who was eying Christian with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity.

He noticed the little girl’s wariness and lightly brushed the tip of his finger across her perfect nose. “Hi. You must be Emily.”

He chuckled, not at all offended when Emily shyly buried her face in Megan’s breasts. Curiosity prevailed over her fear, however, and Emily peered cautiously up at Christian through tousled blonde curls. The mischievous smile that ghosted the little girl’s lips suggested that she and Christian were two of a kind.

He was completely charmed.

“
You sure you don’t want to come, too?” Christian teased her as he held out his arms. His smile broadened when she shook her head adamantly and turned her face fully into Megan’s chest. “No? Ah, well, I can’t say I blame you, Emily. That looks like way too nice of a seat to give up.”

Megan’s gaze flew to Christian’s face, sure she had misunderstood the intent of his warmly murmured words. Hardly no one spoke to Megan that way. But no, there really was a hint of yearning in his blue eyes as if he would have enjoyed having his head cushioned against the softness of her breasts just as Emily did. His gaze met hers only briefly, but Megan stilled at the flash of desire she saw there. She glanced away, unsettled, and planted a kiss on Emily’s warm cheek.

“
Don’t be shy, Em. This is Christian. Say hello.”

“
Hello,” Emily said obediently. She watched Christian, keeping her cheek resting on Megan’s chest. As they progressed down Adams Street the little girl shed her shyness like a winter coat on a sweltering day.

“
You’re tall. Taller than my daddy.”

“
And your hair is curly, curlier than your mommy’s,” Christian bantered with unaffected ease.

Emily sat up straighter and gave a gamine grin. “Mommy’s would be curly like mine if she didn’t put stuff on it to make it straight. Your face is hairy. Hairier than my daddy’s.”

“
Emily,” Megan muttered in embarrassment. She quickly assessed Christian’s expression to see if he was put off, but his lopsided grin only widened. Her eyes unintentionally lowered to the goatee to which Emily referred. Megan hardly would have used the word “hairy” to describe it. It was very short, sleek and neatly trimmed. The hair was darker on his face than it was on his head, where sun-streaked golden strands intermixed randomly with brown ones. It only served to highlight the shape of his firm, well-shaped mouth.

“
My mommy doesn’t like hair on men’s faces,” Emily declared.

“
Her father is clean-shaven,” Megan mumbled by way of apology for her niece’s innocent candor, but she was ignored by both of them.

“
She doesn’t? Well, she doesn’t know what she’s been missing. Doesn’t your mom know what whiskers are for?” Christian asked in mock disbelief as he opened the condominium entrance for Megan. Emily’s eyes sparkled and she leaned toward the same man whom she had just been thoroughly intimidated by all of ninety seconds ago.

She giggled as she tried out the new word. “What are
whiskers
for?”

Christian unexpectedly draped his arm across Megan’s shoulders just inside the foyer, stopping her dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened when he drew her closer to the heat of his body and his head lowered over her. For a split second he pinned her with his penetrating gaze.

Then his face lowered more.

Emily’s shrieks of laughter pierced the fog of Megan’s stunned arousal. Her niece squealed with delight as Christian twisted his chin in her neck.

“
Whiskers are for tickling little girls, that’s what,” he growled playfully. The whisker-tickling persisted until Emily was hysterical with giggles and had grasped his hair, then his shoulders in her chubby hands. When Christian pulled back Emily determinedly held on, making it impossible for her new friend to fully retreat.

Christian didn’t seem to mind. He turned his attention to Megan. Because of their positioning, his face was only inches away from both her parted lips and the softness where he’d previously referenced wanting to rest his head. Megan wondered at the sudden sensation of fullness in her breasts.

She froze when Christian’s eyes went unerringly to the tips of her breasts, as if he knew exactly what she was experiencing. Pure deviltry sparked into his eyes.

“
What about you, little girl?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice. “Do you want to be tickled, too?”

Megan stood frozen, shocked at his words…stunned by her visceral reaction to them. The seconds stretched. His gaze was glued to her mouth. His nostrils flared slightly when he inhaled, as though he’d caught her scent. A warm, swelling sensation expanded in her lower belly.

She licked her lower lip in a nervous gesture. He blinked. His expression sobered. He straightened to his full height, as if he’d abruptly come to his senses. When he did, he effortlessly brought Emily with him.

Megan trailed after them dazedly as Emily chattered away and Christian occasionally prompted her with a question. Jeff, their doorman, let them through the security doors. If she’d been completely tongue-tied by Christian’s audacious teasing about tickling her, then she’d been practically poleaxed by his lustful gaze. Men didn’t look at her that way. At least not men from St. Cat’s Parish. The sudden impenetrable veil that had seemed to drop over Christian’s gaze afterwards had made her reel with just as much confusion.

More than likely, he was put off by her inexperience, her ignorance of how to participate in sexy, meaningless small talk, Megan reasoned as she watched Christian brace Emily so that she could push the “up” button on the elevator. She couldn’t help but feel a little defeated. Resentment seeped into her awareness. She’d never so objectively viewed her prescribed role or regretted it so deeply until now. Suddenly she longed to have the knowledge of how to attract a man like Christian Lasher, a man who exuded utter masculine confidence with every cell of his being, whose eyes gleamed with an incisive intelligence…whose sexuality was so potent it just might be addicting.

Even her four-year-old niece was light-years ahead of her, Megan realized with self-disgust as she watched Emily hook her fingers behind Christian’s neck and unselfconsciously toss her blonde curls. Had there ever been a time in her life that Megan would have behaved in such a carefree way with a man, with so much innate trust and joy?

If there had been, the memory had been crushed out of her consciousness long ago.