“What we do, where we go, has to be up to you.”
She nodded. She just needed more time.
She couldn’t help lowering her eyes and playing with her cup. “I’m still so worried about Lorna,” she murmured.
“I know; But you can’t do anything.”
“I know. I was thinking I should go home. I need time to think.”
She thought she heard a soft sigh…of disappointment? But she couldn’t help it, she had to be sure.
“Maybe that’s the best idea,” he said lightly. A moment later he was asking for the check, and then they were back out in the darkness of night. It seemed to have grown cold, Donna thought.
“Feel like walking?” he asked her.
She nodded vaguely, feeling as if she had lost something, that wonderful feeling of closeness, of being held, cherished, protected…loved.
They started walking down the street. Donna glanced dubiously at the buildings they passed.
“I remember you telling me not to take a cab to church by myself. Isn’t it a little dangerous in this area?” Donna asked lightly.
She was relieved to feel his arm around her again. “You’re shivering. Are you cold?”
“No, not really.”
“Frightened?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Nothing will happen to you when you’re with me,” he told her softly.
It wasn’t a long walk. Within minutes, they were skirting around Central Park. Donna felt again the way she had when she had sipped her cappuccino. It was a cool night, brisk and beautiful, wonderful to share. She stepped ahead of him suddenly, enthralled by a pile of leaves. She stooped and raked a bunch into her hands, letting them flutter and fall through her fingers with childish delight.
“Oh, Luke! Isn’t it a perfect night! All the colors in the leaves.” She paused, breathing in the scent of the leaves. “It smells just like fall!”
“It smells like horse manure!” He snorted. “And watch it—you’re just about to step in some.”
Donna carefully sidestepped the less-colorful pile on the ground. “No appreciation.” She sniffed. She heard his soft, husky chuckle behind her. Soon they reached the hotel.
He opened the door to her room, but then stood aside. Donna turned back to him expectantly. He smiled at her with that warm glint of mischief burning in his eyes.
“Are…are you coming in?” She asked nervously.
“Actually, I was waiting for you to try to slam the door in my face.”
That’s exactly what she should do, Donna thought. But it had been nice, too nice, being with him. The cool weather, thoughts of winter, being together, being held….
“I…uh…well, it’s still rather early. They have cable movies on television here. There might be something good on.”
“Why, Ms. Miro! I’m shocked. You’re actually inviting me into your, bedchamber.”
“Ah, Father, how witty!” Donna taunted him in return. “But, alas, no. This isn’t my bedchamber. It’s just a hotel room. And if you do want to come in, do so quickly, before I realize how insane I’m behaving.”
“Well, Ms. Miro, I wouldn’t want you compromising my position, you know.”
“Luke! In or out!” Donna begged.
With a devilish flash of white teeth, he stepped into the room.
Donna rather nervously wandered away from him, making a careful study of the program listing. “Oh, Vacation is on. It’s cute—have you seen it?”
“Turn it on.”
Donna flicked on the TV. The picture came on sketchily. Luke cast off his jacket and stepped by her to fiddle with the buttons. The picture became clearer.
“Well,” she said, “I’d offer you something, but—” She lifted her hands with a gesture that indicated she was entertaining in a hotel room. Then she laughed suddenly. “But I can order something from room service. Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”
“Donna, you don’t need—”
“Oh, but I’m just dying for some hot chocolate.”
Luke agreed to hot chocolate, and Donna called in the order. She realized they were both standing around. There was a single chair in the room badly situated for TV viewing.
She was falling in love with him, she reminded herself as she tried to decide whether to sit in the chair or on the bed. The bed…She was leaving tomorrow and she owed herself this night near him, close to him, to see whether her feelings of love died in discomfort, or grew despite everything.
She smiled at him suddenly, very wistfully. Then she kicked off her fashionable ankle boots and crawled onto the bed, sweeping a hand over the mattress at her side. “Father, will you join me?”
He chuckled, casting off his own shoes and shaking his head sardonically. “I’ll join you, but only if you quit calling me Father.”
Donna allowed her eyes to grow innocently wide. “But you are a ‘Father,’ Luke.”
“Somehow the title just doesn’t sound right, coming from you.” He climbed on the bed beside her. “I’m glad I decided to wear matching socks,” he muttered.
She smiled, and a few minutes later, it was everything that she wanted it to be. Comfortable, wonderful. They pulled the pillows to the foot of the bed and stretched out beside one another. They didn’t reach out to touch each other, they didn’t have to. Donna could feel the warmth radiating from the length of his body, but she didn’t feel threatened. She felt as if she belonged where she was, luxuriating in his warmth, secure in his quiet strength.
The hot chocolate came, and they sipped it while commenting on the movie. Nothing serious was said, no questions were asked.
But halfway through the movie, Donna began to yawn. She felt so secure, so at peace. She wished that she could fall asleep with him there beside her. She wished that he would slip an arm around her and that she could curl against his length….
“I think I’d better go,” he said huskily.
He stood. His hair was somewhat rumpled, but dishevelment didn’t mar his looks. It made him look more ruggedly appealing than ever. Donna felt as if her heart were skipping beats, warning her that the pain of loss was near.
But she had to go home. Things were moving too quickly for her. She was in over her head. Her emotions were rushing like a waterfall over a chasm and she could go no further unless she was sure she could ride out all of the rapids that were in her way.
He slid into his jacket then walked to her side. “Good-bye, Donna,” he said softly.
He didn’t touch her though she yearned for his touch.
Without looking back, he walked to the door. But he wasn’t able to touch it.
“Luke!” His name tore from her with an anguished cry, and she was bounding from the bed, staring at him with hunger and torment.
He stopped, turning back to her, raising a brow in a silent and eloquent query.
“Don’t—don’t go,” she pleaded. “Not…yet.”
He didn’t move. Donna raced across the room, catapulting into his arms. Beneath the soft kid of his jacket she felt the hardness of his arms, the granite warmth of his chest. She touched his cheek tentatively with her palm. Her eyes beseeched his.
He cupped her chin with his palm, caressing it. His mouth moved slowly to take hers, barely touching it at first. His tongue drew a silken line over her lower lip. Then his mouth fused with hers, and his hands raked into her hair, then down the length of her back, to her hips, holding her close, lifting her, closer, closer.
Sweet, burning heat. She tasted it on his lips, she felt it envelop her. His was all the colors of the autumn leaves, the texture of a midnight, rough velvet sky. He coaxed and he commanded, he crushed the breath from her, he ravaged, and yet he gave with tenderness, always feeding the fires of her own hunger and need. She felt weak against him; he shifted slightly, holding her, loving her, molding the length of her body to his so that she knew him from the taste of his tongue to the muscled strength of his thighs. She was so pliable, so willing to know him.
Hi
s lips moved from hers, returned to them again with little nibbling kisses. Kisses that roamed…tasted…savored. She felt his lips against her cheek, warm, a breath of arousal at her earlobe, touching the pulse that beat furiously in the arched column of her throat. He found her mouth again, taking it with a wild hunger that drew a moan from her muffling again into the ache of desire. Then he set her away from him, smiling with the devil’s own taunt burning in the golden depths of his eyes.
“Seductress!” he teased huskily. “You could melt a heart of a stone.” He chastely kissed her forehead. “But that, Ms. Miro, is all that you’re going to get. Until you agree to marry me, of course.”
But it wasn’t all that she got. He pulled her to him again and held her. It was hard to let her go. So very hard. Especially when he held her. When he had tasted the sweetness of her sensuality. Felt the rise of passion. Her hips pressed to his. The full, rounded and firm swell of her breast, brushing his chest, tempting him as the best of saints could not be tempted and survive. He could have her but risk the chance of losing her forever. And forever was what he wanted.
“Decide quickly, Donna. Please. And come back…to me.”
He released her and stepped swiftly from the room.
In the hallway he uttered a low groan, steadying himself against the wall. She was small…so petite against him. But so fully, femininely formed. Marvelous breasts. Tiny waist. Long, shapely legs, curvaceous hips, rounded derriere…Her eyes framed in dark, sultry lashes. Full lips, sensually sculpted, demanding to be kissed whether she laughed or frowned. She was beautiful and also one of the sexiest women he had ever met. His little Italian temptress. She had made him feel whole again.
Well, he was in a little bit of agony at the minute, but she had given him something. He felt so vital and alive…and in love.
When he stepped into the night again, the stars were shining. It was still cool, and still beautiful. It smelled like fall.
He stared up at the stars, and at the heavens, and he smiled.
“Thank you, Lord. Thank you for bringing her to me. And you know, I really don’t ask for a lot of personal favors, but do you think that you could make this one work out? Only if it’s Your Will, of course. But, do you think that you could make it Your Will?”
He whistled as he eschewed the idea of a cab and started walking once again.
New York City. She hosted the rich and the famous; she cradled the destitute and weary. Flash and neon, graffiti and crime. It had taken a heavy toll from him and daily demanded more and more. But it seemed that it had also given something back.
Donna Miro….
CHAPTER TEN
IT HAD BEEN A long day. Donna had wrestled with the accountant all morning over fiscal year quarterly taxes, then she had spent the afternoon with the ad exec who was taking over their account. She wanted nothing more than to drive out of Worcester to her own small house in Auburn and soak in a tub of hot bubbles all night.
Donna collected her purse and sweater and moved down the hallway to the firm’s largest office—her father’s. She smiled at his secretary, then slipped inside.
Sal Miro had eyes as light as his daughter’s and hair as dark, except that his was streaked with what Donna thought of as very dignified silver. He was a handsome man, she thought with pride. Medium height, slim build, and generally, a smile for everyone. He had been brought to the United States as a small boy, and he had embraced his new country with nothing short of reverence. Neither the long years of struggle to build the business nor the insanity in the house where he had raised, and was still raising, the last of his six children had ever damaged his sunny disposition.
He was on the phone when she entered the office, so she waited, returning his smile. But after he said good-bye, he didn’t hang up the receiver. He grimaced slightly and handed it to Donna. She glanced at him questioningly. “Your grandmother,” he whispered.
Donna grimaced herself and took the phone. “Hi, Gram.”
“Donna, you come to dinner tonight.” Her grandmother’s heavily accented English made Donna smile.
“Gee, Gram, I’d love to, but—”
“No butsa! You come. I have a surprise for you.”
Donna exhaled. Her grandmother—whom her father had taken after, thank God!—was surely the sweetest woman in the world. It was hard to refuse her anything. “I’m really tired, Gram.”
“You don’ta eata right!”
Donna chuckled. “Gram, if I ate like you wanted me to, they’d have to roll me down the street. Listen, Gram, another night, okay? I’m really—”
“Per favore, Donna!”
“All right, all right, I’ll be there! But I can’t stay late!”
“Gratzie!”
The receiver went dead in Donna’s hand. Her father winked at her. “You should have said yes to begin with and saved yourself some trouble.”
Donna laughed and took her father’s arm. “You’re probably right. Grandpa hollers, but Gram just asks softly and we all jump.”
“Yep—same way it’s been for years,” her father agreed. He stared at her as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.
“What, Dad?” She asked him.
“I’m glad she called, and I’m glad you’re coming home for dinner tonight,” Sal said. “You’ve been a little strange, honey, ever since you came home from New York. Are you sure everything is okay with Lorna?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Donna said, lowering her lashes with the lie. She had told her parents that she had learned Lorna had taken a trip to Europe.
“Something else is bothering you, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m fine, just tired.”
Sal chuckled, slipping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I see. It’s a man.”
Donna flushed, not really surprised by her father’s perception. He was often a very quiet man, but she had learned long ago that he was quiet because he listened well and ascertained all the things said between the lines.
“Yes,” she told him.
“What’s the problem?” Her father’s voice took on a slightly rough edge. “He’s not another…Mark, is he?”
“No, Dad, nothing like that,” Donna answered.
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
Donna shrugged. Why not? she asked herself. Who better to talk to than her own father?
“He’s a priest,” she said a little distractedly.
“A what?”
For all the wild shouting that went on in her household, Donna had seldom heard her father really raise his voice.
She was certain that half of Worcester had heard him—and worse, his face had turned a mottled red. She was in sudden panic that she might have caused him a stroke.
“Not a Catholic priest, Dad!” She wailed quickly, patting him on the back. “Dad? Dad?” There was an old-fashioned silver water pitcher sitting on his desk, and a tray of glasses. She quickly poured him some water. He drank it gratefully, watching her over the rim of the glass. Donna started talking quickly. “Dad, he’s an Episcopalian priest.”
“An Episcopalian priest?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Sal shook his head. She might as well have told him that she had been seeing a two-headed monster. He took a deep breath
and smiled weakly at her. “Donna—get me some more water will you? No, on second thought, there’s a bottle of blackberry brandy in my desk. Get it out, please?”
Donna did as her father shuffled around for shot glasses. He poured out two shots.
“Dad?” Donna queried nervously.
He drank down one of the shots. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” he murmured. He picked up the other glass, drank it quickly, and stared at her.
“You’re really in love with him, aren’t you?”
Donna nodded.
Her father glanced at her then sighed, closed his eyes tightly, and opened them again. “This is America,” he said finally. “And I always wanted to raise my children to be Americans. That me
ans tolerance and acceptance.”
“Dad, are you saying that you don’t mind?”
“I mind, but I love you, Donna. And if it had been a Buddhist monk to make you happy, then I would have accepted a Buddhist monk.”
“Oh, Dad!” Donna exclaimed. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I love you so much!”
He returned her hug and grimaced. “So many years, Donna, yet the family remains so close; so important. Children grew up and they leave. But your grandparents have kept us all together. I have six children, and in my heart I know that no matter how far they go, they will come back. You’ll be the first to marry outside our religion, Donna. But changes come.” He looked at her sharply. “Will you…will you convert?”
Donna shook her head. “He has never suggested it, Dad.”
“An Episcopalian priest will have a Catholic wife?”
“He asks nothing of me, Dad.”
Sal nodded slowly. “Don’t think any more then, Donna, about what he is, or what he does. Just ask yourself if you really love him.”
“I do.”
“Then you have no problem.”
“Thank you for that, Dad. I do, in a way, still have a problem. Gram wrote so many letters to the archbishop—and then to the Pope!—to see my annulment through. So that I could be married in the church—”
“It’s…possible that you could be married by both churches,” Sal suggested.
“Perhaps. I—I don’t really know.”
Sal signed again. “Donna, your mother will say little. She will have her reservations, but she will say little. Your grandmother will also keep her thoughts to herself. You can almost count on your grandfather putting you through misery. Be kind to him, because he is an old, old man now who fought very hard for his family. But stick to your guns, Donna. You do what you feel best.”
“I will, Dad. Thank you so much.”
One hurdle that she had been dreading, Donna thought, was over. She could get through the rest. But she was still worried, still uncertain. And it wasn’t the fact that Luke was a priest….
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