Only one thing held me back.
And that one thing was her.
Besides the obvious reasons we shouldn’t be together, there was one more: she deserved more than a one-night stand with a guy who couldn’t give her more than that. I’d promised my life to God years ago, when Father John had saved me. All that was left was taking my vows, but they were just words. Just promises.
In reality, I’d already promised myself to him years ago.
It was done.
She should get more than a fleeting moment with a guy who could never be hers in every meaning of the word. She needed a different type of man in her life—one who would take what she had offered in that bathroom, hold her close, and never look back in regret. The kind of man who could treat her right and show her what happiness truly felt like.
The type of man I could never be.
Chapter 8
Rose
Breathing heavily, I struggled to break free of the hands holding me down, trapping me beneath the heavy weight of the man’s body on top of mine. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. I was suffocating under the asshole’s dead weight on top of me. He was grunting, touching, and groaning. I was never going to break free. His hand clamped down over my mouth, muffling my cries as his other hand gripped my thigh and roughly shoved it to the side. I cried out, tears blurring my vision and stinging like a bitch, and clawed at his face desperately.
He laughed. Actually laughed.
I was going to die.
And I wanted to.
His breath filled my nostrils, his face looming over mine. I screamed, bucking with my back, but he was muffling my cries with a dirty, smelly hand. I lashed out at him, losing my mind, and finally connected with him.
He stiffened, sneering down at me, and grabbed my arm roughly, twisting it. “I’ll fucking kill you, you little bitch.”
I didn’t see his face anymore. The pain blinded me.
It was a merciful blindness.
Something shook me, and the man faded away even more. I sat up straight, swinging, and connecting with flesh. “Get off me!” I screamed, trembling. “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch.”
“Rose—”
I struck out again and something hit the floor by the bed, hard, and I blinked, slowly coming to. I wasn’t in that alley behind the club anymore. I was in a room. A big one. I took a deep breath, gasping air like I hadn’t breathed in years. My heart pounded, every muscle in my body trembled and ached with renewed pain, and I was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
Hugging my knees, I rocked back and forth and buried my face in my knees. When I heard movement at the side of the bed, I snapped my head back up. “Who’s there?”
“It’s just me.” Slowly, Thorn got to his feet, holding his nose, the flashlight app of his iPhone turned on. He sat beside me, his amber eyes glowing with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Me?” I croaked. Reaching out, I touched his eye with a shaking hand. It was already turning red, and his nose was bleeding. My stomach turned and rolled. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I hit you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He swept my hand away from his face impatiently. “It’s nothing. You were scared, though. Crying out in your sleep.”
I swallowed hard, remembering where I’d been before he’d woken me up. And who I’d been with. “I had a bad dream.”
“I get those, too,” he said slowly, switching on the dim light by the bed. “All the time.”
I blinked away the sudden brightness. “About the accident?”
“Yeah.” Blood trickled out of his nose, but he swept it away with the back of his hand and shut off his flashlight. “Were you dreaming about last night?”
I swallowed hard at seeing the blood on his hand. It was easier than staring at him and seeing the anger and pity in his expression. “Yeah. He…he scared me, Thorn.”
“I…I—” He lurched to his feet, fists clenched. “I want his name. Now.”
“I don’t know it,” I answered honestly. “He doesn’t matter. None of this does. He tried to hurt me, but I won. I walked away. I’m fine. I guess my dreams didn’t get that memo, though. I’m…I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You’re sorry?” He paced back and forth next to the bed, letting out a short, hard laugh. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault that some sick bastard—”
“I swear to God, if you find a way to blame yourself for this, I’ll punch you in the other eye, too.” I gripped my knee again, squeezing the soft comforter. “I don’t need you feeling bad, or looking at me like I’m going to break.”
He froze, midpace. “What do you need, then?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t want me to hunt him down and kill him,” he said softly, sitting next to me on the bed and catching my one good hand between his. “So what do you need me to do? Stay? Go? Talk? Shut up? Sing you a lullaby? Read you a book? Anything you need, it’s yours. I’m yours.”
It was then, and only then, that I realized what I’d been too upset to notice before. He was shirtless, and wearing only a pair of flannel pajama pants—pants I’d gotten him from Target as a Christmas present two years ago. His hard, lean body was shadowed in the half-dark room, but it didn’t mask the contours and lines of his well-worked body.
He was like some kind of Adonis.
There was a dusting of light brown hair on his pecs, and around his hard brown nipples, that tapered down and descended the happy trail of peace to his—
“Rose?” he asked gently.
I shook my head and focused on his face again. “Yeah?”
“What do you need from me?”
You. Me. Naked. Forever. “I…I honestly don’t know.”
He nodded. “All right.” He slipped under the covers slowly, watching me the whole time. “That’s fine. You don’t have to know. Not yet.”
I hugged my half of the covers to my chest, well aware that all I was wearing was a loose shirt and he, only pajama pants. Put us together, and we barely had one outfit between us. “What are you doing?”
“Lying down. Holding you.” He settled into bed and wrapped his arm around me, urging me to lie down with him. I let him guide me to where he wanted me and he settled behind me, spooning me. I…I had never been spooned before. Like, ever. I preferred sleeping on my side of the bed—alone. “See? That’s nice, right?”
I swallowed hard, staring at the blinds on the window. “Yeah….”
“Want me to leave?” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me even closer to him, till we were fitted together like one person. “Or stay?”
I hesitated, because deep down, I knew what I should say. I should tell him to get his hands off me and go back to his own room. I didn’t need him, or his strong arms, or his soft, masculine scent enveloping me. And I didn’t need his arms around my sore, aching body to make the pain go away. I could do that all on my own. But when I opened my mouth to tell him that in no uncertain terms—I fucked it all up.
“Don’t go,” I whispered.
Thorn
I tightened my grip on her, burying my face in her sweet-smelling hair—hair I’d washed earlier that day. The fact that it had only been a little over twenty-four hours now was crazy. So much had happened. So much had changed inside me. Things I refused to acknowledge, but still. They’d changed.
I’d never held a woman like this. In the past, my dealings with the opposite sex had been fast, furious, and naked. I hadn’t cuddled them. Hadn’t comforted them. Hadn’t cared. Rose was the only exception to that rule. But even so, I’d never gotten this close to her. We were both half naked, in bed together, and I was probably breaking half a dozen rules of the church, but this was clearly what she needed. And if I was going to be honest with myself, I needed it, too. Needed to comfort her.
“All right. I’ll stay.” I kissed her shoulder, keeping it gentle, because I knew she was sore. So much so, she might not have even noticed. I kind of hoped she hadn’t. I knew she was in pain, but it wasn’t time
for another pill, so this was all I could do. Hold her. Kiss her. Love her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She let out a shuddering sigh and burrowed even closer to me, scooting her butt back till it hit my cock. I gritted my teeth and willed my body not to respond. To stay neutral. I’d have had better luck moving a mountain with a spoon.
“Last night…” She wrapped her hand around my forearm, which was around her waist, and held on tight. “It was awful. I’ve never been so scared before.”
I forced myself to lay still, hold her. To not get out of the bed, barge into Kitty Kat’s, and demand they tell me where her attacker lived, even though logically I knew they didn’t have that information. There was a part of my soul that hadn’t changed like the rest of me. And that dark, twisted part of myself was reserved for situations like this. “He won’t hurt you again. I won’t let him.”
She let out a dainty snort. “No offense, but you can’t promise that.”
“Why not?”
“You might be an hour and a half away, for starters,” she pointed out, ever the voice of reason.
“I’ll still be around. I’ll still be here.” I paused, pressing my lips to her shoulder again. “Just not as often.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you might be a little too busy taking care of the people at your parish to check in on me every hour.”
I didn’t say anything. She had a point. Once I took my vows, I would have a whole flock of people to worry about, not just her. But that didn’t mean I’d be too busy for her. The fact that she thought I’d just walk away and stop caring about her the second I took my vows stung. I’d never stop caring. Never stop loving her.
Not even after she came to hate me.
“When he held me down—” She broke off, shuddering. I hugged her tighter, seeing red, but trying to act as if I didn’t so she would keep talking. Sometimes, talking about these things was the way to heal. It’s why the sacrament of confession exists. “I wish I’d hit him harder.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and I kissed her shoulder again, at a loss for words. I knew lots of things to say for lots of scenarios. But this wasn’t one of them.
So I said nothing.
Just held her.
She sucked in a breath and held it, slowly letting it go. “But this, lying here with you? It’s a good start, I think. Being here, with you, is a good start. I can’t help but think it can only get better from here, because I have you. And that’s terrifying.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“Because I need you around.”
“Why is that a bad thing?” I asked slowly, pressing my lips against her shoulder a third time. There was nothing seductive about it. It was my way of comforting her. Letting her know I was here. And luckily, my cock got the message, even though her soft, delectable butt kept brushing up against it. “Why is needing me terrifying?”
“Because you’re becoming a priest. That’s a life I can’t be a part of. Not like this. And it’s this part that I’m getting addicted to. Having you here. With me.”
I tightened my grip on her, my heart wrenching painfully. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m happy for you. Thrilled.” She peeked at me over her shoulder. “But it doesn’t mean I won’t miss you if you leave. I meant what I said earlier, and I stand by my statement. Life is too short, too cruel, to play games with hearts. I love you.”
I rested my forehead on her shoulder and closed my eyes, swallowing hard. That was the second time she’d said those words to me, and this time, I wasn’t confused or thrown by them. This time, I wanted to say them back. But doing that, going there, would only break her heart, because ultimately, I had to choose the church.
I didn’t really have a choice.
Especially once I told her the truth. She didn’t know what had really happened. What I’d done. How far I’d fallen before Father John picked me back up, took the loaded gun out of my hand, and told me to come to his office.
“Thank you. For being here. For holding me. For not making me feel like an idiot for having a nightmare.” She rolled in my arms, facing me. Our noses touched, and our lips were only a breath apart. It was torturous. “But most of all, thank you for reminding me that there is good in this world. That people like you exist.”
She arched her neck and kissed my cheek, her soft lips brushing my skin with a featherlight touch. Then she rolled over again, settled into my arms, and sighed.
Silently, I lay there, holding her, knowing she was dead wrong. There might be good in this world still, and it might be out there, waiting for her…but I wasn’t it.
I wasn’t good.
Chapter 9
Rose
It was Saturday night, and we’d been together for two days and nights. That was how long we’d been living in this perfect mansion, by this perfect lake, with this perfect food, and our perfect “fake” lives. After that first day, with that bath and our almost-kiss, Thorn had been the perfect gentleman. He crawled into bed with me and held me at night, soothing me without any words.
He hadn’t crossed the line, or touched me again, no matter how much I might secretly have wished he would from time to time. I’d kept my hands and my dirty thoughts to myself, and if he had any, he’d done the same. And, yeah, I knew ignoring my desire for him was the right thing to do, and blah blah blah sin, blah blah blah sex, blah blah blah whatever.
Just like I knew he wanted me, maybe as badly as I wanted him. But I couldn’t be the reason he walked away from his dream.
I wouldn’t take him away from the life he wanted.
The thing that really stopped me, that made me keep my greedy little hands to myself when he gave me the look guaranteed to have me ripping my pants off as quickly as humanly possible with my still-sore wrist, was the distinct knowledge that no matter what he said or thought, he would regret fucking me the second we finished, and that would kill me. If we were together, it had to be a beautiful thing.
Not something to regret.
Which meant we’d never be together.
I would never find out what it felt like to be with the man I loved, and that was fine. It was great. It was fan-fucking-tastic. If I said it enough times, maybe even I’d believe it, and I could stop touching myself in the shower while pretending it was him again.
Or, you know, cats would bark and grow feathers.
It was our last night at the lake house, and I could move around without pain now. My throat no longer ached with each word I spoke, and I could breathe without pain. I was slowly healing. Slowly forgetting. And even though I had no clue where I was going to live or work after this, these past couple of days with him had been the happiest of my life. We’d fallen into a pattern of joking, sharing, and relaxing.
But in a way, I was relieved it was almost over.
I’d been alone for so long, with no one but myself to keep me company, and the thing was, I liked that. Liked being on my own. No one could hurt me, or drag me down, if I only relied on me. I prided myself on being a loner, the type of girl who doesn’t need anyone or anything to be complete—least of all a man. I liked being alone….
Ninety-five percent of the time.
Everyone had their moments of weakness, right?
But having him around to laugh with and watch corny game shows with was something I’d never expected to enjoy so much. But I did. Being with him made me happy. Which sucked, because I’d never really been happy before. Never really known how addictive the feeling is.
The front door opened, and I hugged my knees to my chest, watching him as he entered with his arms full of wood for the fireplace. His biceps flexed as he walked inside, and when he bent down to set the wood on the stone in front of the fire, nothing short of an act of the God I didn’t particularly believe in would have stopped me from looking at his hard ass. His black khakis hugged it to perfection, and I ached to touch him and see if he was as hard as he looked, despite the white clerical collar he wore every time we were t
ogether.
Something told me he kept that on to remind himself who he was….
And maybe to remind me, too.
“There.” He straightened and dusted off his hands. I’d mentioned in passing wanting a fire, since I’d never had a fireplace before, and that was all it took for him to run outside and collect wood. I’d barely even finished my sentence before he was out the door. It was adorable and maddening, all at once. He was making himself too needed. Too damn missable. “That should do it.”
I sipped my wine and watched the first flames snake around the log. “When did you learn how to start a fire?”
“At school,” he answered dismissively, kneeling to place the wood in the pit—or whatever the hell it was called. “There was an outdoor sportsmanship club. I joined.”
“Of course you did,” I muttered.
He glanced over his shoulder and cocked a brow at me. I smiled and watched as he quickly and efficiently got a fire going. By the time he rocked back on his heels and held his hands out to the flames, my wine was gone, and my head was spinning with that slight buzz you get right before you tip the scales to being full-on drunk. “Come over here. It feels great,” he called over his shoulder.
Setting my glass down carefully on the table next to his full one, I scooted off the couch and slid forward on my butt. It was easy, due to the hardwood floors. “Mm.”
He watched my ungraceful approach with a smile and warmth that did things to me that he had no right doing. “Seriously, little Gallagher?”
“What? I’m dusting the floors before we leave as a thank-you.” I settled in beside him, careful to leave a few inches between us. “It’s the least I can do.”
The laugh that escaped him was one I hadn’t heard since before Mikey died. “Or are you simply too lazy to stand up on your own?”
“Potato. Po-tat-oh.” I shrugged. “Call it what you will.”
He laughed again, and I soaked up the sound, cherishing it. Over this past weekend with me, his personality had changed. He’d become almost like the old him—the one he’d been before. It had been bittersweet, and almost heartbreaking, because it only drove home just how much he had changed after the car accident. Sure, some of it was for the better. He’d sworn off drugs, sex, and partying, and now spent his days helping women instead of getting them out of their clothes with nothing more than a charming smile and an empty promise.
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