by Madison Faye
“I did. You’re welcome to come try it out.”
I frown. “Where?”
He grins and pats the side of the baptism tank, and my brow furrows. “You’re not serious.”
“Sure I am. A parishioner up outside Knoxville a year or so ago graciously donated this baby.” He pats a strange looking contraption clipped to the edge of the tub that looks like a small outboard boat motor.
“And that is…?”
He shrugs, those muscled shoulders rippling and my mortal soul slipping another inch out of my grasp.
“It’s a heating coil with an air hose. I think it’s meant for camping tubs or small above ground pools. Anyways, it does the trick.”
I frown. “Of turning a baptism tank into a hot tub?”
“Exactly.”
I roll my eyes. “And this is necessary for your ‘holy message?’” I growl dryly.
Gabriel smiles broadly, and that freaking smile sends a shiver down my spine.
“A shepherd is allowed his small earthy comforts, Delilah. I don’t exactly think warm bubbly water is a sin, do you?”
“How about sitting naked in a baptism tub!”
His eyes pierce right into mine. “You’re welcome to come try it out and let me know if it feels sinful.”
My jaw about hits the grass, and my face goes red. I look past him, and my eyes narrow on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the edge of the tub.
“And I suppose that’s part of your ‘earthly comforts?’” I snap.
“Hell yes.”
I gasp, and he just grins and reaches back for it. He looks me right in the eye and takes a swig from the bottle as my jaw drops once again.
“Gabriel—”
“Want some?”
I bristle. “I’m eighteen.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t budge. “And?”
“And I can’t drink! Nor do I want to! And furthermore, Canaan is a dry town!” I snap.
He grins. “Gonna arrest me?”
“No, but I’m going to report you.”
He sighs. “Delilah?”
“What,” I grumble.
“I really think you need to relax.”
I swallow, and my face reddens. “I’m perfectly relaxed.”
“No, you’re like a little rabid drug-sniffing narc dog right now.”
“Excuse me?” I hiss.
He grins. “Come on, just take a dip. It’s extremely relaxing.”
I bark a laugh, and Gabriel grins.
“What?”
“What?” I frown. “I—” I blush. “You really think it’s appropriate for a preacher to take naked hot tub dips in a baptism tub with his parishioners?”
His wicked smile grows wider. “No, Delilah, I don’t. You’re right.”
“Thank you.”
“Only certain of his parishioners.”
My face burns hotly, and he uncrosses his arms. He starts to walk towards me, and my heart thumps heavily in my chest. Part of me screams to turn and run back to the truck. Another part of me wants to scream. But the biggest part of me stays rooted to the spot. It’s the wicked, corrupted part of me that he’s put his claws into that has me standing right there, panting and shivering as he prowls closer to me.
Gabriel stops right in front of me, looking down into my eyes with his piercing blue ones almost glowing in the dim light of the backstage area.
“Let’s drop the bullshit, shall we?” he growls.
I gasp at his language, but he just grins.
“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”
“I—” I swallow. “It is not for me to judge, Gabriel. Only God—”
“Delilah,” he growls. “Tell me what you think of me.”
I purse my lips.
“Tell me or I can’t promise this towel won’t just fall off right here.”
My face burns hotly, and I swallow thickly.
“Fine,” I mutter. “You want to know what I think?”
“I’m all ears.”
“I think you’re a phony,” I snap. “I think you’re putting on an act for the people of this town to take their hard-earned money, and I think that’s one of the most evil, disgusting things I’ve ever heard of!”
The words just tumble out of me, and I gasp before I bring a hand to my mouth. But Gabriel just arches a brow and grins slowly at me.
“Wow,” he breathes.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, you did,” he purrs. “Life lesson for you. When you take a stand or commit to words, commit to them. When you go back on them, people won’t ever believe you.”
I smile dryly. “Scamming one-oh-one?”
“More like grifting one-oh-one.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m leaving.”
I turn, but suddenly, his big hand is gripping my arm firmly—not aggressively firmly, but tight enough to make me gasp and send a shiver down my spine. I slowly turn to him.
“What—”
“I’m curious,” he growls lowly. His eyes burn into me, sizzling over my skin as they slide from my face down over every inch of me and then back up. My pulse races, and I take a shaky, gasping breath.
“Why does a good little churchly girl like yourself bring a ‘phony’ con man like myself dinner?”
I purse my lips. “I told you, my mother wanted me to.” I blush. “And I didn’t mean those things I said.”
He grins. “Yes, you did,” he purrs. “You think I’m a sinner, don’t you?”
“As I said, Gabriel, it’s not for me to judge—”
“Just answer the question, Delilah.”
I chew on my bottom lip, looking at his bare feet because I don’t trust myself to look into his devilish, soul-stealing, body-bewitching eyes.
“Yes,” I breath.
“You think I’m a wicked, ungodly, bad, bad man.”
I swallow thickly, and almost so gently that it’s not even there, I nod.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he growls. “Which means I just have one last question for you.”
“Fine,” I whisper.
“I need you to look at me, though.”
I shiver, and I shake my head.
Gabriel chuckles darkly. “And why not?”
Because I don’t trust myself. Because if I look at you, I’m not sure I’ll ever look away.
“What’s your question?” I breathe.
I gasp as his hand comes up and his knuckles brush my chin. He tilts my head up gently, and my body trembles as my gaze slides up over his bare legs, the tiny towel, the sinfully grooved hips and abs, his rock-hard, tattooed chest, and then finally, his devilishly, wickedly gorgeous face. My eyes lock with his, and pure heat teases through my very soul.
“Why’d you get all dressed up to come here tonight?”
I blush fiercely. “I—I did no such—”
“The sales tag is still on your skirt, sweetheart,” he growls.
My face burns, and my breath catches hotly in my throat.
“I—”
“Now, to me,” he purrs. “That says that maybe you wanted to come see me.”
“I did not,” I whisper breathlessly.
“Maybe you know I’m wicked, and maybe that excites you.”
I gasp, scandalized, my eyes widening. “You—”
“Maybe a good girl like you is a little tired of being so. Fucking. Good,” he growls deeply, making me gasp as his wicked words slide over my skin. He steps closer to me, his fingers still on my chin, and I can feel the heat of his practically bare body radiating against mine with him barely an inch away from me.
“Please—”
“Maybe,” he purrs thickly. “Just maybe, someone like me makes you want to try a little sin.”
“Gabriel—”
I’m spiraling. His wicked words, and the heat of him, and those captivating eyes are making my head spin and making me lose control. He’s sinking his claws deeper into me, leading me further into temptation and sin
. But the most sinful part of it isn’t him.
It’s me.
It’s that I don’t want him to stop.
“So what do you think, Delilah,” he purrs. His fingers slide up the edge of my jaw, and I whimper as his big, strong hand cups my cheek. His eyes blaze blue hellfire into mine, and I can feel heat just melting through my body.
“Maybe it’s that a little bad, and a little sin turns you the fuck on.”
I whimper. It’s not a scandalized gasp. It’s not a shocked expression of horror and disdain.
…It’s the sound of my soul giving in to the temptations of the flesh. It’s the sound of me letting go.
“Gabriel,” I whisper.
He groans, and his body moves right against mine. His muscles ripple against me, and his hand slides around my waist to cup the small of my back.
“Why don’t we find out,” he growls. And suddenly, he leans in, and his lips sear to mine.
Hard.
I’ve always imagined that falling into sin or finding yourself headed to Hell would be a horror of pain and suffering. I know now that I was lied to. Falling into sin is pleasure, and warmth. It’s my heart racing faster than it’s ever raced before. It’s my very skin tingling and aching to be touched. It’s my lips against his perfect mouth, and his tongue finding mine.
Falling into sin is more like sinking into bliss, and I never want to stop.
The crickets chirp around us, the muggy Georgia summer night drapes us in damp heat, and my traitorous body pushes against his wantonly and brazenly. Gabriel’s big hand slides down the small of my back, and I whimper when it slides lower to grip my butt through my skirt. I whimper—not run, not slap him, not gasp in shock and horror.
I whimper. Because I want more.
He growls into my lips and pulls me tighter against his body. I moan into his sinful lips, and I brazenly push and swirl my tongue against his. Sin tastes good. He tastes good. His muscles clench tight, and suddenly, I can feel something… hard against my tummy. I’m confused, until suddenly, with a whimpered gasp, I know what it is.
Preacher Gabriel is hard, and he’s hard for me.
He grinds into me, and this time, his hand tightens on my butt. He pulls me against him and shifts, and suddenly, his muscled thigh is pushing between my legs. I moan, and suddenly, he’s right there between my thighs.
…His thigh is against me there, right through my panties.
I gasp, pulling away from his mouth as the pure pleasure blooms through me. My heads drops back, my eyes squeezed shut in sinful ecstasy as Gabriel grinds into me. His thick erection throbs hard against me, and his thigh clenches as he rubs me through my panties. I can feel the slick, wet heat of my arousal soaking through the cotton, and my face burns, because I’m sure he can feel it too.
His mouth finds my neck, and I cry out when his lips and his teeth drag hotly over my tender skin there. His fingers push into my hair, tangling in my blonde locks as he grabs my butt and kisses my neck in a way I didn’t know skin could be kissed. His thigh grinds into me, over and over, until suddenly, I feel it—the same wicked, throbbing, slowly-building fire deep inside. It’s the same feeling I had an hour ago in my bedroom, when I was… touching myself.
And this time, it’s him bringing me there.
His mouth moves up my neck, and he growls as he captures my lips again. He kisses me deeply, sending a thrill jolting through my core. He rubs my—my… pussy through my soaked panties with his thigh, and God help me, I start to push back. I rub against him, and I feel myself start to fall as I give myself to sin.
The pressure builds, and the fire burns hotter, and I’m rapidly approaching that place I was before, in my room. But suddenly, my eyes open, and I gasp.
I’m looking right up at the back wall of his pulpit stage and staring right back at me is a picture of Jesus on the Cross.
…It’s like throwing ice-water on a fire.
With a gasp, I bolt back away from him, almost tripping over my feet until I do actually fall over right onto my butt. I scramble and kick with my feet until I’m back on my feet, and I quickly look up to see him looking at me with a hard, fierce gaze. My chest heaves and my blood runs hot like liquid fire as I slowly back away from him, panting and shivering.
“Delilah,” he growls.
“Stay away,” I gasp. “Please, just…” I swallow the lump in my throat, and I wrap my arms around myself as I back away in horror.
“I have to go.”
My eyes lock onto him once more, drinking in the sinful sight of his gorgeous body and haunting eyes.
“Delilah,” he growls again. “Wait.”
“I—no, Gabriel,” I gasp quietly. “No.”
I turn, and I run. I run clear across the grassy field, my heart racing and my body trembling in shock and excitement and fear.
There’s a song I’ve heard on the radio in Papa’s garage before: “The Devil Came Down to Georgia.” I’ve always liked the tune, but now, I know what it really means. Now, I know that temptation and sin cloaks itself irresistibly, and insidiously worms its way into your very soul.
The Devil came down to Georgia, all right. His name is Gabriel Marsden, and he’s sunk his claws and forked tongue deep into my soul.
But the worst of it is?
Well, the worst of it is, I’m not sure I altogether dislike how his claws feel.
Chapter Eight
Gabriel
“Preacher Gabriel?”
I turn, and instantly, I freeze. It’s Paul Somerset, Delilah’s brother, and my first thought is that he’s here to, I don’t know, shoot me or some shit after what happened last night.
I glance around, my jaw clenching. I’ve just given another sermon under my tent, and there are still plenty of people milling around. Witnesses, I think. Hopefully enough to dissuade brother Somerset from revenge blowing my goddamn head off.
“Paul,” I smile, my eyes darting over him and trying to spot the concealed weapon under his clothes. “What can I do for you?”
But he just smiles back. “I just wanted to say, that was a real powerful sermon, Mr. Marsden.”
I let the breath that I’ve been holding out slowly and smile back. “Well, thanks, Paul. I appreciate it.” Today was a real payday of a sermon that I’ve worked hard on. This one involves an almost entirely bullshit story about Jesus repainting God’s temple with paint he purchased through the generosity of his followers.
…I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. Thankfully, the powers that be created whiskey to soothe an aching soul.
Problem is, they also created Delilah Somerset, who tastes sweeter and hits strong, and lasts a whole hell of a lot longer than any whiskey I’ve ever had. Sweet, tempting, insidiously corrupting in a way she doesn’t even understand Delilah Somerset. Delilah who had my heart racing faster than it’s ever raced, and my very soul aching for her in a way no woman has ever done to me. Not by a long, long country fucking mile.
I know I went too far last night. I’d had a little to drink, and I was trying to tease her, or see how far she’d last with me being, well, me before she ran screaming. And yet, she stayed. And the heat built, and the temptation overtook me—overtook took us both, I think.
Screwing around with her was a mistake. Kissing her was dangerous. And I know better.
“Well, Mr. Marsden, I do confess, that’s not the only reason I wanted to speak with you today.”
Shit. My eyes dart over his clothes again, looking for a telltale gun bulge or like a fucking sword or something. But again, Paul just smiles and spreads his hands wide.
“As you know, sir, I’ve been called much like yourself by a higher power to spread His word amongst the flock. I know you’re here now, and we’re all so thankful for that. But, yours is traveling ministry, and soon enough—”
“Sunday,” I interject. A week, that’s how long you stay in one place—the Gospel of Jasper, verse two. After that, suspicions arise, and the mystery of a traveling preacher turns into th
e pestilence of an outsider camping out on the edge of town taking people’s money.
“Right, well, after Sunday, Canaan will once again be left without a shepherd,” Paul continues. “Now I personally would like to change that. I believe I’ve been put on this earth for the same reasons you’ve been, sir.”
Let’s hope not, for your sake, pal.
Paul takes a heavy breath. “Mr. Marsden?”
“Yes, Paul?” I smile flatly.
“I’d like to build a church, right here in Canaan.”
“Well, Paul, I think that’s a lovely idea,” I say flatly. My stomach is grumbling, and I’m exhausted after staying up all night with my every thought circling around Delilah.
“Thank you, preacher, that means a lot.”
“Well,” I smile. “Best of luck to you, Pau—”
“I’ve been raising funds, actually.”
Ahhh, there it is. I sigh, but I keep smiling at him, even though it’s clear where this is going.
“The good people of Canaan have contributed mightily to the fund, but I was hoping I might implore you and your Godly charity—”
“You know what, Paul?” I smile. “Let me pray on it, okay?”
That’s my nice way of saying “fuck no and fuck off.” But my charming smile seems to give Paul the opposite idea.
“Oh, Lordy, preacher, that would… well, gee,” he gushes. “That would be a miracle!”
“Wouldn’t it though?” I smile. “Anyways, Paul, I do have to go prepare for tomorrow’s sermon.”
“Of course! Of course!” he gushes again. He reaches out and firmly shakes my hand. “And thank you, Gabriel. Bless you.”
“And to you as… you too,” I mumble through a smile. He turns to leave, when he suddenly stops and turns back.
“Oh, Gabriel, did my sister speak to you?”
I freeze. “Uh, what?”
“Delilah. She was all out of sorts this morning, and—”
Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck. I glance back to the Winnebago and wonder just how fast I can get it cranking enough to flee this fucking town before the pitchforks and torches appear over the horizon looking to string me up for putting my hands on Delilah Somerset.
“Well, she seemed like her soul was conflicted, and I think she was looking for you to help set her straight.”
