Craving a little temptation? Well, the latest chapter of Unholy Intentions is here to stir things up. I’m sharing a tantalizing piece of the action—but beware, this is just the appetizer *evil grin*
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Priest
It turns out Hailey Saintpatrick is a little spitfire. I didn’t have to drag her out of the club anymore after our encounter with The Order’s most obnoxious little shit, happy as she was to stick her chin into his face as we walked past him. But she slapped my hand off the moment we got to the parking lot.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself, thank you very much.”
I look down at the hand she slapped me with. It’s so much smaller than mine. I tighten my grip around her arm, causing her to flinch and grab my wrist in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
“Listen to me and listen carefully,” I begin in a voice as deep and dark as she deserves. “A nasty man has nasty plans for you. Nasty enough that The Order activated the Cleric to neutralize him. Until that’s done, you’re going to put up with whatever I say, when I say it.”
She blinks like each one of my words is a slap across her face, each more sobering than the last.
“Please, just loosen up.” She shifts on her feet and taps my knuckles.
I do as she asks, but don’t let go completely as I hold the car door open for her. She slips in with much smoother moves than you’d expect from someone who’s been drinking all night. Must be the adrenaline. She’d been hanging her head when I took her away from the lame excuse of a man she was leaning on when I arrived, her eyes bloodshot when she looked up.
But they still smacked me right in the balls. I had to disengage immediately, so my eyes dropped down her frame, only to stop on the plunging V of her white top that showcased the outlines of perfectly round breasts and her flat abdomen. She wore a short jeans skirt that would have made it far too easy for the loser with the Thor horns to bend her over the hood of his car and fuck her still virgin little cunt, holding her down with one hand and filming the deed with the other. Had I arrived only minutes later, it would have been too late. My jaw clenches as I slam the door after her.
“You could have caught my foot,” she protests when I slide into the driver’s seat and fire up the engine, but then a different concern furrows her brow.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going home.”
I put on an icy expression that never fails to make it clear there will be no more conversation. Hailey squirms in her seat, the delicate muscles of her legs moving. She’s smaller than one would imagine from her pictures, but her skin is so silky it looks airbrushed. All I’d have to do is reach out and run my fingers over her bare thigh to know how it feels. It would be so fucking easy.
I grip the wheel, the scars on my back stinging. It’s been a long time since I put lash to skin. The thought alone should put a damper on my thoughts, except it doesn’t. I still indulge myself watching as the little brat swings her hips, walking up to the door of the secluded back wing of her father’s mansion. She fishes her keys from the front pocket of her skirt. It’s comforting to know they stood between her and Thor-helm’s cock even before I showed up.
I direct my attention to the surroundings, namely an entire forest of thick, unattended gardens. This seems to be the oldest part of the building, tucked away at the back of Bobby Saintpatrick’s impressive palazzo. An okay place to keep someone safe, and a fantastic place to keep them under control. It’s not easy to reach, if you even know about its existence. It’s one of those places where you’d go to have an illicit affair away from the eyes of the world if you were a public figure. Or a serial killer.
“Wanna come in?” Hailey asks, probably out of politeness. Expecting me to refuse.
“I am coming in,” I state before I walk in, and then head straight into the center of her living room. It’s a large space with large widows that you can’t see much through because of trees and wild-grown rose bushes. My eyes run over the ceiling, examining the beams, the arches, the spots where cameras could be hidden.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Hailey invites. “Do you want a drink?”
I glance over my shoulder with a cocked eyebrow, wondering at her tone. I’m the guy who dragged her out of the club, the one whose hand she tried to slap off of her in the parking lot. Why would she invite me to stay? Redness creeps up her cheeks, pearly white teeth biting into her lower lip. This is obviously awkward for her, so why do it?
But then she bats her eyelashes up at me, and I get it.
I fucked up her plans of getting laid tonight, and she thinks I might finish the job. Maybe during our ride home she decided I’m attractive enough that her v-card wouldn’t be completely squandered.
My eyes rest on her mouth as I entertain the idea, just a little. I imagine those lips parting for my thumb as I stick it into her mouth, pushing her down to her knees, breaking my vows. She must know the Cleric is celibate. Getting one of us to sin would be a serious flex for a girl. Maybe that’s why she’s doing this in the first place.
She rips her eyes away from me, awkwardly sauntering to an old wood-paneled bar by the stairs. She pops the cork off a half-empty bottle of wine, and grabs two glasses out of a dusty cabinet. I watch her every little move like a hawk. The fact that she’s holding the glass wrong when she starts to pour, her fingers wrapped around the cup instead of the stem, the tiny dancing from one foot to the other, the fact that she chose to keep the strappy high-heeled sandals on, they’re all small things that speak volumes. Sure, the living room in this chateau is a classy if neglected place, and a woman choosing to keep her fancy footwear on isn’t out of the ordinary. But Hailey would normally prefer something cozier if the fluffy pink slippers in the lobby are any indication. So she’s trying to act sexy.
For me.
“So, you’re a pro at observing people,” she teases.
I offer a specific kind of silence that usually puts people off, but apparently not her.
“The way you studied me just now.” She leans with a hand on the bar counter, her natural ringlets spilling over her smooth shoulder. She motions with her glass of wine at me. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
“Have you also noticed that you haven’t given me that drink yet?”
“Oh shit.”
She pours the wine so quickly it makes a gurgling sound, and walks over to me with her hand outstretched.
“Here you go.”
“No, thank you.”
Surprise flashes in her eyes. “But you just said…”
“I never asked for a drink. You offered. Then you failed to follow through. I was just pointing it out.”
She narrows her eyes at me, lowering the glass of red that smells like vinegar.
She takes a swig from her own wine in an attempt to calm her nerves, but her whole face scrunches, and she presses the back of her hand to her mouth.
“Fucking shit,” she manages among little coughs. “You’d think they’d put a little more effort into the taste, considering the price tag.”
“All wine goes bad if left open for two days, even with the cork in. Once you open a bottle, you drink it.”
She looks at me over the hand still pressed to her mouth, her eyes still watery from the taste. “How do you know it was open for two days?”
I point with my chin to the bar where she left the bottle. “The layer of dust.”
“Wow. You really are a data analysis machine, aren’t you?” An expression of genuine amazement lights up her face, and I can’t help noticing that she looks exactly like what I imagined an angel would when I first arrived at the Monastery. A striking beauty that she’s completely unaware of.
“It’s part of my job,” I say, my tone flat, betraying nothing of my thoughts.
She tips her head back, staring at me a little bolder. “And what exactly is your job, Cleric Ward?”
“You must have some idea.”
“I’ve only heard myths and legends.”
“Such as?” Taking both glasses of wine from her hands, I walk past her and toward the counter.
“I heard your caste is more efficient than even the Pentagon or the Mossad in dealing with high-profile crime. That you’re trained in the deadliest martial arts, and new technology is your playground.”
I turn around, making full eye contact. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, but she continues. “That you’re recruited as children, and that only the toughest make it past the first year of training.”
“So far so good.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“You mean to tell me that is true?” She walks over, wanting to grab the information with both hands.
The closer she comes, the more she squints at my uniform. Her eyes stop on my collar.
“You’ve been training as a killer your whole life, and you’ve been incorporated as a catholic priest?”
“It’s a clerical collar, and clerics from a number of religions can wear them.”
“So if you’re not Catholic, what are you?” She looks up into my eyes, and the world stops for a minute. There’s a whole world in there. A nameless immensity that crashes into my chest like the waves of an ocean washing over arid land. A whole new feeling that would make me stagger on my feet if my control weren’t iron-clad.
“That information is irrelevant.” The words come out harsh.
“No, don’t close down now,” she shrieks when I move past her, grabbing my arm. I cut a glance at her hand, and she drops it like it’s hot. “I mean—” she tucks a rebel strand of hair behind her ear. “You said you’d be around until the nasty man who wants to do nasty things to me is neutralized. That might be a while. It’s only fair that I know more about you.”
“If it’s trust you’re trying to build up, your father will vouch for me.”
Her mouth quivers. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough to stop me in my tracks. That wasn’t just the reaction of a little girl pissed at her daddy. That was the reaction of a girl scared of daddy. I don’t know how long I pause, but it’s enough for her to keep talking.
“But you told Rowan it wasn’t my dad who hired you.”
“He didn’t hire me. He doesn’t have the money or the status to do that. The Loveless Palace hired me on his behalf.”
“The Loveless Palace.” She tilts her chin up. “Now that’s something I never heard about. What is it?”
“That information is classified.”
“Classified,” she whispers, inspecting my face with narrowing eyes. “Your very existence is classified, yet you showed up in the middle of a club, pissed off a bunch of rich kids in front of a crowd that might have already uploaded the whole thing to the clock app, and then dragged me away.” Her eyes are now thin slits. “Not something a person would do if they wanted to keep themselves a secret.”
“I’m here to protect you from a stalker that might be a killer, too,” I say coolly. “The first thing I must ensure is that he doesn’t get anywhere near you again. So I made my presence known. He won’t bother you as easily as he did before, but that doesn’t mean he’ll relent, not until I catch him. Which is why you will be obeying my orders from now on, to a t.”
Her head jerks back. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at taking orders, Cleric.”
Then, as punishment, you’ll be taking dick.
A muscle locks in my jaw as I punch that thought away.
“You’ll learn. It’s for your own safety, after all.” I turn around before she can protest, but she won’t let go.
“Rowan said you were a first-class Cleric,” she says, following me to the door. “That puts you at the very top of the food chain. You’re the best kind of fighter this world has ever seen basically, so how do you end up as my bodyguard? I’m not even a daughter of The Order.”
I thought about that too and investigated the reason, but there’s no way I can tell her. Not even when this is all over. She’s too close when I swivel around, making her bump into my chest. She backs away, and I follow, trapping her against the wall of the vestibule. Her throat works, but her big wide eyes won’t leave mine.
***
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Catch you in the shadows,
Yours,
Ana