Sensuous Angel (13 page)

“Oh?” He arched one of his brows high. Donna decided that he was still very capable of looking diabolical. The devil’s own, sinfully attractive temptation.

“Yes,” she murmured, and then she laughed. “Luke, I don’t know how to say this, but I feel there’s something about you that I don’t know, That…oh, I don’t know. I saw all those books in your study about E.S.P. and the occult—”

He smiled, lowering his head quickly. Then his eyes raised to hers, filled with mischief once again. “I see. You had me performing virgin sacrifices upon the altar and worshipping an inverted cross?”

Donna blushed. “No!”

“I’m relieved, although I’m quite sure you’d make a gorgeous sacrifice. The largest library on the occult in the world is at the Vatican, you know. A lot of it is reading material that any student of theology should read.”

“I know, I know. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I just feel that you’re…a lot deeper than I’ll ever know,” she finished lamely.

“Aren’t we all?” he replied lightly. “I imagine, Donna Miro, that you’re a deep lady yourself.”

“Not at all the same way,” she murmured, lowering her lashes again, flushing. The way he was looking at her….“Luke…” Her voice was incredibly husky. She sipped her wine so quickly that it dribbled down her chin, and she was fumbling for her napkin, flushing with embarrassment. But her napkin never reached her chin. He reached across the table again in a fluid and natural movement. He touched her chin with his finger, catching the wine. Then he grazed that finger over her lips, following its path with his eyes. It was a slightly rough touch. His fingertips were calloused. But it was tender and gentle, and it suddenly made her shiver despite the hot flash of desire that engulfed her. His lips curved into a wistful smile, and his voice was as husky as hers.

“I wish I could look at you with that wine on your lips and dribbling down your chin and think that you were a klutz. Instead I look at you and think that I’d like to take the full glass of wine and dribble it all over your body and then taste it.”

“Luke!” Donna gasped, and she knew that the color of her cheeks could be no lighter than the tomato sauce in the lasagna.

He chuckled and regretfully settled back into his side of the booth, removing his touch. She felt horribly bereft and a little bit ashamed of herself, because it was so easy to follow his line of thought—imagining the two of them together with a whole cask of wine to kiss from one another’s flesh.

“I’ve told you how I feel,” he said with a touch of amusement along with the sound of a sigh.

“I—I just can’t seem to get accustomed to the idea of a priest…”

“Being lascivious?” He offered.

“Exactly,” she replied, laughing nervously.

He smiled. “We’re not doing much justice to this lasagna.”

“You’ve ruined my appetite,” Donna accused him.

“I’m sorry. That was never my intent.”

“You have my stomach in knots.”

He leaned close to her once again, arching a satanic brow. “Ah, that’s exactly how you’re supposed to feel. Quivery…confused. Hot one moment, riddled with chills the next. And very, very hungry…but not for food.”

“And if I do feel like that,” she whispered, unable to resist the temptation to reach out and brush her knuckles against the masculine texture of his freshly shaven cheek, “what do I do?”

“You come to me, and I put my arms around you…and you just trust me to take it from there.”

She chuckled again uncertainly. “Luke, I like you. You know that. It’s just so new, and I still feel so very unsure….”

He took her hand again, lightly, between both of his. “I understand that,” he told her softly.

“So what do we do?” she whispered, aware that the question was a beseechment.

“I could turn into a mad rapist,” he offered.

Donna pursed her lips in a wry smile and lowered her eyes. “I don’t think that would be in character.”

“You don’t? Watch out, then, Ms. Miro. Dark secrets lurk in the hearts of the best of men. Umm…what do we do? I might be an unorthodox priest, but I am one. I think that I’m falling in love with you. That means a lot of things. It means I want you. To hold you, and to love. And more. It would mean marriage. To have and to hold, et cetera, until death.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“And?”

“It frightens me.”

He smiled. “I’d be insulted if it didn’t.”

Donna returned his smile, but weakly. “I’m not sure we know one another well enough for this discussion.”

“We can keep getting to know one another.”

Donna’s smile became suddenly strong and sincere. “That may be difficult. Haven’t you realized that I’m afraid to be alone with you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. But I don’t intend to let it stand in my way. You can keep trying to slip by me, and I can make sure that you don’t always succeed.”

“That’s just what I’m afraid of.”

“But you won’t be. Because once I have you, I’ll try very hard to see that you aren’t thinking at all.”

“Not a mad rapist, just a mad seducer?”

“Half seducer. Just enough to convince you that I am a man, very capable of loving a woman.”

“Oh,” Donna murmured, finding safety in turning her attention back to her lasagna, “I never doubted your capabilities.”

He allowed it to rest at that and took a bite of his meal.

Donna suddenly stared at him again. “You managed to evade my question,” she accused him.

“I did?” He asked innocently.

Or was it so innocent? Did a wary shield once again cloud the golden warmth of his eyes.

“I said that I think that you’re hiding something from me.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then maybe there isn’t anything to know.”

He smiled, as if teasing her. Perhaps she deserved it.

“Okay, Luke, I’ll let that pass—for now.”

He sighed, setting down his fork. “Donna, if you’re still referring to my books, I read a lot of things. I like to read. And I teach a class each spring at Columbia on theology. A nonsecular class. We go back to the roots of man, superstition, and all that. Are you satisfied?”

She nodded but wondered at the sudden edge to his voice. “Did you major in theology at college yourself?” she asked him.

“No, theology was my minor.”

“What was your major?” She queried, very curious.

The edge left his voice as he laughed. “Criminal law. My mother was dying to have a son become an F. Lee Bailey.”

“Law?”

“Yes. I passed the bar and I practiced for a year, but then I wound up in the marines, and after the marines—well, you know that story. I studied theology—and kept up with the law—at the seminary. And now, well, I teach a few law classes at Columbia too. Only in the spring.” He grinned. “God can be a very demanding employer. I teach only in the spring, because it’s the season when I’m given an extra man from the seminary.”

“You’re very irreverent for a priest,” Donna told him.

“That, Ms. Miro, is a point I could debate with you all evening.”

“I’m sure you could.” Donna pushed her dish away; she simply couldn’t eat any more. She frowned suddenly. “Luke, what about your family?”

“What about them? You’ve met Andrew.” He said it dryly, but she felt a little warmed by the affection in his voice for his brother.

“Is it just the two of you?” She asked.

“No, I have two sisters. And my mother and father, of course.”

“What do they think of you being a priest?”

Luke, too, pushed his plate aside. He leaned back in the booth as he lit a cigarette. “Cappuccino?” He asked her. “It’s excellent here.”

She nodded. He raised two fingers to the waiter, and Donna decided he was well known there. Their plates were taken away, and two cups of steaming cappuccino were set before them.

“Okay,” he said once the waiter had left them again. “Although I think you’ve had more than twenty questions answered. My mother wasn’t quite certain what to think—she was worried about my temper too, I guess. But once she knew that I had made up my mind and was determined, she must have decided that it was a vocation that would keep me off the streets. I don’t think that my father was ever surprised.”

Donna couldn’t keep her lips from twitching into a smile. “Your poor mother!” she commiserated. “And she wanted an F. Lee Bailey!”

“She may still get one.”

“Oh?”

“My sister Jean is a wonderful attorney.”

Donna tasted her cappuccino. It was delicious. It made her think of a warm fire in a darkened room, leaning against the man she loved in contentment. It made her think of all the very different ways she would like to be together with Luke.

“Donna.”

“What?”

She gazed across at him. The laughter was gone from his eyes; so were all shields. They were sharp and demanding. He didn’t touch her, he didn’t lean toward her, but she felt his power of command, just as she felt his tension. He would never need to convince her that he was all male, all man.

“What we do, where we go, has to be up to you.”

She nodded. She just needed more time.

She couldn’t help lowering her eyes and playing with her cup. “I’m still so worried about Lorna,” she murmured.

“I know; But you can’t do anything.”

“I know. I was thinking I should go home. I need time to think.”

She thought she heard a soft sigh…of disappointment? But she couldn’t help it, she had to be sure.

“Maybe that’s the best idea,” he said lightly. A moment later he was asking for the check, and then they were back out in the darkness of night. It seemed to have grown cold, Donna thought.

“Feel like walking?” he asked her.

She nodded vaguely, feeling as if she had lost something, that wonderful feeling of closeness, of being held, cherished, protected…loved.

They started walking down the street. Donna glanced dubiously at the buildings they passed.

“I remember you telling me not to take a cab to church by myself. Isn’t it a little dangerous in this area?” Donna asked lightly.

She was relieved to feel his arm around her again. “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

“No, not really.”

“Frightened?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Nothing will happen to you when you’re with me,” he told her softly.

It wasn’t a long walk. Within minutes, they were skirting around Central Park. Donna felt again the way she had when she had sipped her cappuccino. It was a cool night, brisk and beautiful, wonderful to share. She stepped ahead of him suddenly, enthralled by a pile of leaves. She stooped and raked a bunch into her hands, letting them flutter and fall through her fingers with childish delight.

“Oh, Luke! Isn’t it a perfect night! All the colors in the leaves.” She paused, breathing in the scent of the leaves. “It smells just like fall!”

“It smells like horse manure!” He snorted. “And watch it—you’re just about to step in some.”

Donna carefully sidestepped the less-colorful pile on the ground. “No appreciation.” She sniffed. She heard his soft, husky chuckle behind her. Soon they reached the hotel.

He opened the door to her room, but then stood aside. Donna turned back to him expectantly. He smiled at her with that warm glint of mischief burning in his eyes.

“Are…are you coming in?” She asked nervously.

“Actually, I was waiting for you to try to slam the door in my face.”

That’s exactly what she should do, Donna thought. But it had been nice, too nice, being with him. The cool weather, thoughts of winter, being together, being held….

“I…uh…well, it’s still rather early. They have cable movies on television here. There might be something good on.”

“Why, Ms. Miro! I’m shocked. You’re actually inviting me into your, bedchamber.”

“Ah, Father, how witty!” Donna taunted him in return. “But, alas, no. This isn’t my bedchamber. It’s just a hotel room. And if you do want to come in, do so quickly, before I realize how insane I’m behaving.”

“Well, Ms. Miro, I wouldn’t want you compromising my position, you know.”

“Luke! In or out!” Donna begged.

With a devilish flash of white teeth, he stepped into the room.

Donna rather nervously wandered away from him, making a careful study of the program listing. “Oh,
Vacation
is on. It’s cute—have you seen it?”

“Turn it on.”

Donna flicked on the TV. The picture came on sketchily. Luke cast off his jacket and stepped by her to fiddle with the buttons. The picture became clearer.

“Well,” she said, “I’d offer you something, but—” She lifted her hands with a gesture that indicated she was entertaining in a hotel room. Then she laughed suddenly. “But I can order something from room service. Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”

“Donna, you don’t need—”

“Oh, but I’m just dying for some hot chocolate.”

Luke agreed to hot chocolate, and Donna called in the order. She realized they were both standing around. There was a single chair in the room badly situated for TV viewing.

She was falling in love with him, she reminded herself as she tried to decide whether to sit in the chair or on the bed. The bed…She was leaving tomorrow and she owed herself this night near him, close to him, to see whether her feelings of love died in discomfort, or grew despite everything.

She smiled at him suddenly, very wistfully. Then she kicked off her fashionable ankle boots and crawled onto the bed, sweeping a hand over the mattress at her side. “Father, will you join me?”

He chuckled, casting off his own shoes and shaking his head sardonically. “I’ll join you, but only if you quit calling me Father.”

Donna allowed her eyes to grow innocently wide. “But you are a ‘Father,’ Luke.”

“Somehow the title just doesn’t sound right, coming from you.” He climbed on the bed beside her. “I’m glad I decided to wear matching socks,” he muttered.

She smiled, and a few minutes later, it was everything that she wanted it to be. Comfortable, wonderful. They pulled the pillows to the foot of the bed and stretched out beside one another. They didn’t reach out to touch each other, they didn’t have to. Donna could feel the warmth radiating from the length of his body, but she didn’t feel threatened. She felt as if she belonged where she was, luxuriating in his warmth, secure in his quiet strength.