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“You became Demitri Marco.”
“I became a man without a history.”
He looked toward the dark sitting room.
“The priesthood didn’t ask me to inherit my father’s chair. It gave me rules. Service. Silence. Obedience.”
“You make them sound like punishments.”
“They were.”
His gaze returned to me.
“And that was the point.”
Understanding moved through me slowly. There were men who rebuilt after loss. Demitri had turned his ruins into a church and lived inside them. He had fed people because hunger was a suffering he could prevent. He had sheltered women because his body was the only wall he trusted. He had taken vows not because he had found peace, but because deprivation felt like justice.
“You punished yourself for ten years.”
“I contained myself.”
“No.” I stepped closer. “You buried yourself in penance.”
His expression hardened. I stopped closer to him, until there was barely a hand’s width between us.
The chase still lived beneath my skin. My heart had not forgotten the gunfire, nor the weight of Lucia’s blood drying on my coat.
Demitri’s pulse had not slowed, either. I could see it beating at the base of his throat where the first buttons of his shirt had come undone.
“I don’t see a priest when I look at you anymore,” I admitted.
“I’m still a priest.”
His voice was lower now. Less certain.
“A collar doesn't make you a priest.”
I stepped closer until the front of my blouse nearly brushed his shirt. I raised my bandaged hand and rested it against his chest. His heart struck hard beneath my palm. Demitri went utterly still.
“You should stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve already lost more control around you than I can afford.” Heat moved through me. I slid my fingers toward the open collar of his shirt.
His hand closed around my wrist.
“Am I tempting the priest?”
His thumb moved over my pulse. His eyes dropped to my mouth.
“You’re waking the man underneath him.”
The answer sent a slow shiver through me. Instead of stepping back, I lifted my free hand and touched the side of his neck. His skin was warm. His pulse beat as violently as mine.
Demitri’s grip tightened around my wrist.
“Adriana.”
