Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Jenna Stewart

  Wide-eyed, she snapped her head toward him. “You are?”

  He’d been teasing actually, but now he wanted to know what bothered her so. “Yes. The law says I can’t be forced to reveal anything you tell me.”

  Still she considered. “Your father was Emma’s lawyer. For a long time?”

  Emma? What reason lay behind her referring to her mother by her name? “Yes. I believe she hired him as soon as she arrived in Ballymeade. That’s my impression anyway.”

  “His name was Robert, correct? He wasn’t ever called anything else?”

  “Robert, right. I never heard him called anything other than Robert, or Bob. Why do you ask?”

  She heaved a sigh, and her expression brightened. “No reason.” Looking into her cup she said, “I’m finished now. Shall we go to the next adventure you have planned?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She had already carefully packed their basket. He rose and took her hand to help her up. She carried the blanket, and he hefted the basket for the trek to the car. But he hadn’t forgotten the unusual use of her mother’s name and the question about his dad. She worried about something, and coming on the heels of his own mother’s outburst the previous night, a foreshadowing of danger made the hair on his nape stand on end.

  Maybe he didn’t want to know the answers to his questions after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  If she had had any idea of what Jordan planned, Margaret Mary wouldn’t have agreed. He was clearly out of his head, leading her down the side of the cliff on weathered wooden steps. From what she could see, they were headed for a dead end of rocks—or a tumble onto rocks and into a vicious-looking ocean. Half the time, the wind blew her veil into her eyes so that she couldn’t see. Then she would stop and Jordan would stop then offer her his hand, and down they would go again. Did holding his hand engender more fear than a fall to her death on the Oregon coast? Maybe, because she didn’t want to let go, and that endangered her soul, not merely her body.

  “Almost there,” he shouted over the noise of the surf and the sound of seals. They had stopped a short few minutes ago and looked over the railing onto a flat expanse of rock below. Hundreds of seals—sea lions, Jordan had corrected her—rested on the stone or slid off into the turbulent water to swim.

  They rounded a curve, and she saw that the barrier of stone she’d thought they would face had a cleft through which they could pass. Inside, the barks of the sea lions intensified, as did the odor. But the sensation of being within a huge cavern, the cacophony, the smell, the mist on her face as waves burst through a narrow opening and then surged into the cave, combined to make the place seem otherworldly. Below them, on a rock island in the middle of the watery enclosure, sea lions stretched out, barked, and clambered over each other to find the perfect spot.

  Well back from the wood railing that protected watchers from the edge of the rock balcony on which they stood, Jordan silently pointed to one large animal pushing another into the drink. She laughed with him. The sound blended with the other noises, bouncing and echoing up into the reaches of the stone. This was an enchanted place and something she would never forget. Indeed, this would be a memory she would take out time after time in her cell, late at night. Recalling such things from life outside the convent was a sin lest it germinate into discontent, but she couldn’t believe God would deny her this one short day of magic.

  While they enjoyed watching the machinations of the sea lions, he took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. She forgot to breathe and could neither move nor say anything. He leaned close to her ear hidden under her wimple and said, “This wet rock is slippery. Just taking a precaution.”

  A precaution. Of course. He was thinking of her safety only. She was grateful. Of course she was, but she couldn’t deny her disappointment.

  They must have stood there half an hour or more, laughing at the antics of the animals who entertained them without realizing it. Finally, Jordan again spoke at her ear. “Are you ready to go?”

  She nodded yes. He tugged at their joined hands until she was flat against the wall. Facing her, he passed in front. They met chest to chest. He stared into her eyes as though seeking an answer to a question he hadn’t asked. His face was so close she felt his breath on her cheek and one of his legs snugly between hers. For a moment, he stayed like that, his body pressed close. If she died of sheer excitement, she wouldn’t fall because the pressure he exerted would keep her upright.

  Earlier she had thought the meadow was heaven on Earth, but this was even better. Except…This wasn’t the way to heaven, it was the path to hell. It was the path that led to Emma’s life. She flattened her hands against Jordan’s chest and firmly pushed just enough to let him know she wanted him to move.

  The fire in his eyes banked. He gave a nod and walked past her, dropping the hand he held in the process. When they started back up the steps to where the car waited and he extended his hand to help, his grip held nothing more than a helpful gesture. Was he angry with her? Did he understand? She hoped he did, because she was having a hard time accepting what she had done, what she had had to do.

  At last they reached the top and staggered to the car. When she fell exhausted into the seat, she was sure her legs wouldn’t hold out for anything else. She wished she could sleep after the sea air and exercise. But even had she been at the cottage and facing an empty afternoon, she wouldn’t be able to rest. Not with the imprint of Jordan’s hand still burning into her palm.

  “Want a cup of hot coffee?”

  “Oh, yes! Do we have any?”

  “I come prepared for any contingency.” He went to the truck. A moment later he came back with a thermos and two metal cups. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key far enough to play the radio. Instead of the fast music they’d heard before, he found a station that played classical.

  The volume low, they could have talked over it, but they didn’t. Margaret Mary looked at the ocean stretching to infinity and sipped the hot coffee with the soothing music doing nothing to calm her jangled nerves. Jordan didn’t appear to be upset after her rejection, but he wasn’t talkative, either.

  “I’m sorry,” they said at the same time. Then they laughed.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for all you’ve done for me, especially for this glorious day. So I hope you didn’t take offense when I pushed you away.” She ducked her head out of habit and embarrassment.

  “Look at me,” he commanded. She did and saw nothing but understanding in his eyes. Relief flooded her. “Thank God you pushed me away,” he said. “I was about to kiss you again, and I promised that would never happen again. I’m sorry I fell short of my word.”

  “Don’t be,” she said a little too quickly. “I mean, I feel safe with you, Jordan. I like you.”

  His smile brought back some of the earlier sparkle to his eyes. “I like you, too, Sister Margaret Mary.” His brows drew together in a frown. “Is there something shorter I can call you besides Margaret Mary? Or Sister? For some reason, it doesn’t feel right to call you that.”

  She reached under her scapular and clutched her rosary. “You could call me Catherine,” she murmured.

  “You don’t mind?”

  Mutely she shook her head, knowing she should mind very much. “Just please not in public.”

  “It will be a secret just between us.”

  And the way he said it made her heart swell with longing. Another secret, but hers alone.

  * * * *

  Because he knew the lighthouse keeper, Jordan was able to get them to the top of the light at Howlick Head. There, they ate lunch on the leeward side, gazing over lush, green hillsides dotted with Willamette fleabane, a daisy-like bloom. After they had stood at the ocean side of the light for a while, he offered her his jacket to drape over her shoulders, but she refused, turning her face back to the wind.

  As twilight approached, he led her down the spiral stair
case and back to the car. He started it and then regarded her. “We’ve had a full day. Do you want to go home or stay long enough to chase a few stars across the sky?”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  He smiled. “Is that your polite way of saying you don’t care to spend any more time with me?”

  “No! I just meant that you surely have better things to do with your time than to chauffeur around a nun.”

  “As a matter of fact, there’s nothing I’d rather do than chauffeur you around.”

  “Then…” She glanced down and then back up. “May we wait a little longer to go back?”

  “Your wish is my command.” He aimed the car north, toward the meadow and what he hoped would be a million stars to light the night.

  They said little when he parked at the top of the lane to the meadow. He flipped off the headlights, and a murky dimness surrounded them. He found a popular music radio station this time, and they listened to Your Hit Parade. Margaret Mary sat quietly. Jordan let his mind drift back to how it felt with his body so close to hers in the sea lion cave. He hadn’t needed to crowd her against the wall, but now he knew—they fit together perfectly. Her breath had held. Her eyes, as well as he could see in the cave, were wide, but not with fear as they’d been when she had been held against the counter by Tipton. If he ever saw that in her eyes from something he did, he’d jump off one of Oregon’s many cliffs and let the Pacific take him.

  Lost in his reverie, he almost missed her gasp. When he turned sharply to see what the problem was, he saw only her look of awe as she gazed through the windshield. He knew without looking himself what he would see—a million dots of light in the sky and the meadow bathed in moonlight.

  “Do you know the constellations?” Jordan asked. She shook her head, not taking her gaze off the sky. “I’ll show you,” he said.

  Margaret Mary didn’t move. He got out and went to her side to help her out. He moved into the meadow a few yards and pointed to the heavens. “The easiest ones are the Big and Little Dippers. There. See? How the stars right there bend down to form a handle and the four stars at the end form the cup?”

  “Oh, yes. I see it. What’s the bright star just over the trees?”

  “That isn’t a star, it’s a planet. Neptune is supposed to visible now, I think.” He stepped up behind her, so close he felt the fabric of her veil on his cheek.

  She stepped away and hid her hands under that long piece of fabric of her habit, a sure sign she was uncomfortable. If she knew anything about men, she’d know what he wanted to do right now, under the stars. His desire was inappropriate, but there nonetheless.

  “Look at the meadow,” he coaxed. “Isn’t it beautiful in the moonlight?”

  “It is. So different from when we were here earlier.” She walked a couple feet off, hands still hidden. Then the damndest thing happened. Half a dozen meteors streaked across the sky. She gasped and then looked back at him and smiled.

  “That’s amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen before,” he said, coming up beside her.

  She laughed, and her joy rang across the grass and into the forest. “It must be an omen of something stupendous. The tilting of the world on its axis.”

  She didn’t know, but that was how he’d felt since being with her. “We used to make wishes on falling stars,” he said. “I’ve never seen so many at once, not at this time of year. Want to make a wish?”

  She grew quiet and stared into his eyes. She looked virginal, pure. Unattainable. He wanted her with an ache that wouldn’t quit.

  “What I want to wish for is something I have no right to.”

  “What is it?” Jordan asked in a low voice.

  “You.” She breathed the word.

  He said nothing. Heart hammering, blood rushing to his dick, he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He framed her head with his hands and lowered his head. “Catherine,” he murmured. “Oh, God, Catherine.”

  Her stillness encouraged him. She didn’t try to push him away or beg him to stop. He didn’t think he could, anyway. Her sweetness was like pollen to a bee.

  He touched her cheek with his lips and then bussed her forehead. “I want to kiss you.”

  “Aren’t you already?” she answered in a low voice.

  “I mean really kiss you. Like this.” He tilted her head the slightest bit to the right and slid his lips over hers. She stood stiff as a soldier at attention, so he nuzzled her, taking sips, gentling her, encouraging her. Swiping his tongue along the seam of her mouth, he finally felt her begin to relax.

  This was wrong. He knew it in the depths of his mind, but his mind wasn’t in control. Primal urges pushed him forward, seeking entry to her mouth. There must have been an angel on his shoulder, though, because he left her mouth and dropped kisses on every part of her face uncovered by her habit.

  “Jordan, I shouldn’t.” She sounded breathless and not at all sure. “Father Samuels says it’s up to me.”

  One of the last people in the world he wanted to think about at that second was the priest. Catherine didn’t have the knowledge of where his body was leading them, and Samuels was living in a dream world if he thought she had the assertiveness to stop a man, even if she knew when she had to.

  “Catherine, you’ve taken control of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you.” That was no lie, although sadly, it was also no excuse to do what he wanted to do.

  She raised her hands to his shoulders. “I feel the same about you,” she whispered. His heart raced even faster. She wanted him, too.

  “But it’s wrong.” Now she sounded desperate. He had to end this.

  “I’ll stop. Just one more kiss. Please.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  This time, when he lowered his lips to hers, she answered his kiss with a hesitant pressure back. And when she parted her lips just slightly, he took the chance to press his tongue into her mouth. Wrong, wrong!

  To his utter amazement and pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his neck and touched his tongue with hers. Holy shit.

  He wanted her with a passion that surpassed anything he’d ever known. But kissing her, just simply kissing her, would have to do. He would accept that and go no further. If he loved her—and he was fast believing he was close, if not quite there—he’d have to make the sacrifice and not express that love with his body. She had already given herself to the church and God. It wasn’t his place to break those vows and promises. But damn, how he wanted to!

  When they raised their heads and quietly held one another, his only impression was that they’d crossed a line in their relationship, in a magical meadow, surrounded by an untold number of twinkling fairy lights.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jordan reached over under her scapular and tugged her left hand out so he could hold it as they drove back to Ballymeade. Margaret Mary fought the wild swing of her emotions. She couldn’t believe the surge of heat that rushed up her arm and throughout her body just feeling his fingers entwined with hers. Such a simple thing for such a cataclysmic reaction. Did every woman feel like this when a man held her hand? Surely not. She was just backward—a woman in age but a girl in emotions.

  Jordan had left the radio off this one time when she could have used the distraction from the sensations assailing her. She had kissed Jordan! Or at the very least, she had allowed him to kiss her. Either way, she must be sinning. She must be sinning even more not to care, instead to yearn for it again and again. When he pressed his lips to hers, her head spun, her heart pounded, and her knees threatened to buckle. She would have tumbled to the ground but for Jordan’s strong arms around her.

  The meadow had been magical, redolent with fragrance, the distant sound of the surf, the pinpoints of light filling the sky and the fiery falling stars. Perhaps that had pushed him into their embrace. Perhaps in the cold light of day he would look at her differently, see her for the plain woman she was, in her thirties, restrained by a way of life that prohibited almo
st everything they had done that day, and whose mother spent her adult life servicing two men.

  But he kissed me before.

  That was when you were upset over Brendan Tipton.

  But he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t mean it. He knows what I am.

  In the darkness of the meadow he lost sight of that. When he sees you clearly, he won’t want you.

  That was the truth. God had granted her wish by giving her today, this perfect wonderland of a day. She would cherish it always, but she wouldn’t assume that any part of it would be repeated.

  They pulled into the lane to the house in darkness. She hadn’t expected to go anywhere after Mass and so had left on no lights.

  Jordan stopped the car and turned out the headlights but didn’t get out. Instead he squeezed her hand and swiveled to look at her. “Do you want to talk?”

  “About what?

  “You know very well. We kissed—really kissed. Do you know the difference between what happened on your porch yesterday and what took place in the meadow?”

  So stunned that he would talk in such blunt terms about what she had dreamed about all the way home, she merely shook her head. Both kisses had affected her the same—shaken, guilty, and wanting more.

  “Catherine, I think I’m falling in love with you. When a man loves the woman he’s kissing, he puts his tongue in her mouth. He mimics with his tongue what he wants to do with his penis.”

  Shocked, she snapped her head to him. “In her mouth?”

  “Sometimes,” he allowed. “But mostly in her vagina. Do you know what I mean? Did you have any health classes that told you about sex?”

  “Hygiene. I know something about the vagina and its purpose for my–my…” There was no way she could ever talk with a man about her menses. “But no one ever described sex. I have to confess a sin if I even think about sex.” But she had, several times in the last few days, in an unexplained, fearful way with Mr. Tipton and in a totally different way with Jordan.