Page 155

I caught her wrist.

Her eyes rose to mine.

I had intended to stop her. Instead, I held her there, my fingers circling her pulse while her palm rested inches from my heart.

The beat beneath my ribs was too hard and too fast. Ten years of discipline offered no defence against one woman’s hand. I looked at her and saw every boundary I had already crossed. Every lie I had told to keep her safe. Every weapon I had lifted. Every man I had killed. The family I had returned to because losing Adriana frightened me more than facing the people I had abandoned.

I had already destroyed the life I built before I allowed myself to touch her. If I went any further, there would be nothing left of the priest. There’d be only the man I had buried and the hunger he had carried into the abyss.

Adriana moved her hand from my chest to the side of my neck. Her palm settled against my skin. The gentleness of it nearly undid me.

I pressed my fingers around her wrist again. Her pulse beat beneath my thumb, swift and unwavering. I stepped back, even though I didn’t want to.

For the longest time, she didn’t move. Then her breath left her in a slow, shaky exhale. The tension in her body loosened, allowing her to move closer until the front of her body met mine. The contact sent heat through every place I had trained myself not to feel.

My hand slipped from her wrist and moved to the back of her neck. Her hair threaded between my fingers, soft against knuckles better suited to violence.

I tilted her face upward with a finger beneath her jaw.

“You don't know what choosing me would mean,” I confessed.

Her lips parted.

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

The answer tightened every muscle in my body.

“If I let myself have you, every threat becomes personal. Every man who has the courage to look your way becomes an enemy of mine.”

Adriana’s pupils widened, but she didn’t retreat. Heat darkened her gaze as my body pressed closer to hers.

Her breath caught when she felt the full force of my desire.

I lowered my mouth to her ear as her hands slid into my hair. Every muscle in my body tightened beneath the pull of her fingers.

When she drew back, fear flickered in her eyes. Mine answered it. Neither was strong enough to overcome the hunger between us. Her grip tightened, and her mouth brushed the corner of mine.

“We shouldn't be doing this,” I murmured, but I didn't move away. I leaned into her, my hands gripping her waist until my knuckles turned white.

Her fingers hovered over my chest, trembling slightly. I watched her hands, my jaw muscles clenching and unclenching as I tried to hold on to the last shred of my restraint. Every time her fingertips made contact with my skin, I hissed through my teeth, a sharp intake of air that sounded like a prayer I wasn’t willing to share.

Adriana traced the lines of the barbed wire rosary. The ink was raised slightly, the skin warm and radiating a heat that seeped into her cold fingers. She followed the path of a thorn as it dug into a sacred heart. I knew it was enough to make her head spin—the holiness of me being a priest warring with the rebellion etched into my flesh.

“They say the body is a temple,” she whispered, her nails scraping lightly over a dark shaded area on my left pec. “You’ve turned yours into a battleground.”

“It’s a reminder,” I choked out. My eyes were fixed on her face, tracking the movement of her lips. “Of what I am. Of what I’ve done.”

“Tell me.” She stepped closer, her hips brushing against me. “What will you do? To me.”

My restraint snapped, a quiet implosion. I pulled her forward, lifting her easily until she straddled my lap.

Adriana gasped, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself. She was pressed against me now, her chest flush against mine. I could feel the heavy thud of her heart beating against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched my own.

“Adriana,” I groaned. “We can’t.”

“We already are,” she countered, leaning down. Her lips grazed the pulse point in my neck, biting down gently.

My hips bucked upward involuntarily. My hands were everywhere at once—gripping her hair, sliding down her spine to pull her tighter against me, kneading the flesh of her thighs through the fabric. My fingers were demanding, bruising her delicate skin.