Tristan scowled, cursing the Irish-Turk for his games and himself for his growing curiosity. After a too brief inner debate he swiveled in his seat. It took him only a second to locate her, and when they made eye contact she fluttered a handful of red-manicured fingers at him. She was fairly young he noted, early twenties maybe, and with her come-hither body and all that red hair, sexy as all get out. A warning bell went off in the back of the priest’s head. Ding-ding-ding…
any man who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.
Giving her a polite nod of acknowledgement, Tristan was about to turn back around when he caught a glimpse of—aw hell—a protruding nipple on the cusp of popping free of the girl’s two-sizes, too-small tank top.
He groaned inwardly. He’d been trying his best to ignore that itty-bitty tank, really he had. A top that left nothing to the imagination. Describing it as low-cut would be like saying a decapitation was just a flesh wound.
Against his will, his eyes adhered themselves to the woman’s braless breasts, ogling every square inch of freckled flesh until getting their fill. Then they dropped downward, drifting past her black leather mini to linger on a pair of long, bare gams meeting daintily at the knees. The redhead noticed where Tristan’s avid gaze had landed and with practiced seduction she oh-so-slowly and oh-so-deliberately recrossed her legs.
Tristan hadn’t even been aware he was holding his breath until it violently left him at the flash of bare beaver. Almighty Christ. He spun back to his friends. “Did you—” They were grinning at him like a couple of igits. “Did you fucking see that?” Tristan croaked.
O’Malley let out a hoot. “Her pulling a Sharon Stone or you pulling a groin muscle?”
Trying to quench his suddenly parched throat, Tristan guzzled his beer as Brian’s gaze coasted past his head. “Don’t look now,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “But I think Miss Basic Instinct’s coming over.”
The priest let out a groan.
The Lord your God is testing you…
Setting aside the empty mug, he pushed out a breath. Ya think? In a lame attempt to hide, he hunched down in his chair. The young woman approached the table but to his relief continued walking toward the restrooms. She did, however, give him a coy glance over her shoulder as well as a view of her ample apple-ass.
“Oh my,” O’Malley chortled, marveling along with his companions at the way her cheeks twitched and jiggled with every calculated step.
Theirs weren’t the only male eyes following the mesmerizing motion. Skulking by the billiard table nursing a bottle of beer, a young man wearing a trying-too-hard beanie was also watching the redhead’s performance. His heated regard, however, seemed somehow threatening rather than merely appreciative.
Once the coast was clear Tristan sat upright. “Explain it to me, Mo… Tell me why it is you’re always tossing temptation in my path?”
“It’s good for business.”
“What is?”
He gave the priest a cheeky grin. “You is.”
While his friends laughed, Tristan frowned in confusion.
“Women sending you drinks, T, means mo’ money in Mo’s pocket.” Tristan still didn’t get it. “Since you don’t actually drink any of the booze that’s been bought and paid for…” His gesturing hands finished the rest.
Comprehension dawning, Tristan shook his head. “Jesus, O’Malley.”
O’Malley screwed the cap back on the bottle of whiskey. “What does it matter if the glass was emptied by you or never filled to begin with?”
“That a rhetorical question or a philosophical one?”
“If a woman wants to buy you a drink, who am I to discourage them?”
“You’re deceiving them.”
Both of O’Malley’s bushy black brows shot up. “Me, father? I’m the one deceiving them?” He sounded amused rather than accusatory.
“You should let them know I’m a priest.”
“Or you should.”
“I do.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“How?”
“I tell them.”
“How do you tell them?”
“I told you I— Wait, what the hell we talking about?”
Brian again jumped in. “What Mo is saying, Father Cleary…” For all his acuteness Tristan could be clueless as hell sometimes. “Is that if you don’t want ladies sending attention your way, then you should wear the dog collar in public.”
“Although,” O’Malley added after thinking on it. “There are instances where that can backfire. Hitting on a man wearing a clerical collar may be as enticing for some women as a man wearing a wedding ring. Priests, married, gay… Some enjoy the challenge.”
“When did you become such an authority on women?” Brian ribbed.
“Ah, you forget, me boyo,” the middle-aged Lothario crooned. “I’ve been married three times.”
“Doesn’t make you an expert, just means you’re inept.”
Mo conceded with a hearty guffaw.
Tristan considered what his friends had said. Okay, so sometimes he’d wear a crew neck collar in lieu of his clerical collar because he wanted to be seen as just another dude. But he didn’t deliberately set out to deceive anyone and he certainly wasn’t trying to deny or hide his vocation. Most people in town already knew who he was.
A priest should be identifiable primarily through his conduct. But as Tristan reluctantly admitted, also by his manner of dress. The collar was like a visual marker, letting the world know he belonged to God and the Church. And truth was, Tristan felt proud and privileged to call himself a priest. Perhaps the only reason he didn’t don clerical clothing twenty-four seven was simply because he felt more comfortable in jeans. At least that’s what he told himself.
By now the redhead had returned from the ladies’ room and was once again strutting toward their table. Before she got halfway to her destination, Beanie Boy came out of the shadows and momentarily diverted her attention. The bold but creative pick-up line he used might’ve worked any other time but tonight.
She thought the kid fairly good-looking with his dark eyes and white teeth. He appeared to be around her age or slightly younger. But since she’d already set her sights on someone a little older and a lot hotter, she turned him down with a gentle refusal.
The young man’s dark brows met in the middle. He assumed that the redhead (like most women) was just playing hard to get. Her mouth may have told him “no thanks” but her cleavage was saying, “yes please”. He maintained that if chicks didn’t want to be hit on then they wouldn’t dress like sluts.
Fucking cockteasers.
The unblinking way he was now leering at her was giving her the creeps. It didn’t appear he was going to take no for an answer and she was proved right when he insisted for the second time she join him for a drink.
“Some other time,” she murmured, attempting to slip by him.
He pulled a lateral move to thwart her escape. “How ’bout giving me your digits? You know, for ‘some other time’.”
“Sorry,” she apologized, not meaning it. “I’m only in town for a few days.”
“Only need a few minutes,” he smirked.
Rolling her eyes she tried going around him. “Excuse me,” she said, her tone and attitude dropping twenty degrees.
This time he let her go. But as she brushed past him he hissed something under his breath that sounded a lot like the c-word. Shooting the douchebag a withering look, she continued on her path toward her intended target. She had bigger fish to fry. As her eyes lit on Tristan, her lips curled into a Cheshire grin. If the rest of the blonde beefcake’s body was any indication… Much, much bigger.
Hearing the rhythmic clicking of her five-inch heels against the hardwood floor, the priest cringed in anticipation of his stalk—admirer’s arrival. Shit, it was times like this he really wished he’d worn the damn uniform.
She stopped beside his chair, so
close her hip rubbed against him. Under the mistaken assumption he’d polished off the drink she sent over, Jessica Rabbit fingered the empty shot glass and purred, “Looks like you’re ready for another round.”
With an inward sigh, Tristan gave O’Malley an okay-you-win look before smiling up at the girl, bestowing a row of dazzling white enamel and a deep left dimple on her.
He heard her intake of breath.
Aw damn, how he loved to hear a woman gasp. Women. Jesus. He missed so much about them. The obvious things, the way they felt and smelled but mostly the smaller ones like the sexy kitten noises they made in bed. Being responsible for those mewling sounds of pleasure always gave him a sense of…
Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.
…satisfaction. Gave him a sense of satisfaction whenever he was able to make a woman come. Made. Made a woman come.
“How about I buy instead,” he suggested.
She agreed with a flirty tilt of her raspberry lips. “No objections here. Thanks.”
When Tristan stood up to pull a chair out for her, the twenty-four year old wondered how old he was. Boys her age didn’t do chivalry.
“What’re you drinking?” he asked.
Turning to O’Malley she said, “Another Cosmo, please.”
“You got it, Doll. Two more Guinness Draughts, gentlemen?”
They nodded simultaneously.
After the pub’s proprietor headed for the bar to start them a new tab, the young woman held out her hand. “Addison,” she informed the priest.
Before Tristan could say a word, Brian hijacked the introductions. “Hey there, Addison. Mighty fine pleasure to meet you,” he gushed, confiscating her hand and pumping it with vigorous enthusiasm. “I’m Brian and this here is Tris—”
“Father Cleary. Nice to meet you.”
Addison’s proffered palm froze mid-air at the same time her jaw dropped. As Tristan gently shook her hand, she stared stupidly at him. “F-father?” she stammered, her voice sounding strained and a little out of breath. “As in…?”
“‘As in,’” he confirmed, trying his damnedest not to laugh out loud at the poor woman’s look of shock.
“Oh God,” she groaned. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”
“No way you could have. Not unless you attend Mass at St. Benedict. Besides, I’m the one who should be sorry. I never properly thanked you for the drink.”
“Oh God, I never would’ve sent… Had I… I mean you don’t look…” Suddenly remembering the stunt she pulled on the barstool Addie turned red as a Hot Tamale.
“That’s it. I’m going straight to hell.”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “For what?”
For flashing you my lady bits.
“For trying to pick up a priest.” She looked so mortified both men almost let fly the laughter they’d been stifling.
“Don’t worry, happens all the time.” Brian skewered his friend with a pointed smirk. “Isn’t that right, fa-ther?”
Tristan retaliated with a scathing glare. “That’s right.” Ass-hole.
“Oh Jeez, you’re not a priest, too, are you?”
“Chiropractor,” Brian replied.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Addison tried discreetly pulling up her neckline to cover her cleavage but tugging only made matters worse. Stretching the fabric was somehow making the it tighter, drawing even more attention to the girls.
Just peachy.
At her flustered fussing and sudden display of modesty the men swapped knowing glances. Once women were apprised of Tristan’s true identity their demeanor changed considerably, going from on the prowl to prim and proper in mere seconds of finding out he was Father Cleary.
At Addie’s visible discomfort, Tristan felt guilty for the unintentional deception. “Please, Addison, don't feel awkward about this, okay? We can start over. Let’s pretend we’re simply old friends getting together for a drink. Forget I’m a priest.”
Like hell, her nervous laughter said. “That may take some doing. You couldn’t have thrown me more had you told me you were a purple three-headed alien mystic from the planet—”
“Trysarion,” Brian finished.
She gaped at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”
He looked equally astonished. “That’s one of my favorite series.”
“Mine, too.”
His interest in the redhead was suddenly piqued by more than just her physical attributes. “Been waiting for Book 17 to come out.”
“I’m on pre-order.”
He wanted to talk more with her about their newly discovered mutual passion for galaxies far, far away but was interrupted by a harried waitress depositing their drinks on the table. “Compliments of the house,” she answered before anyone could ask about the platter of nachos she left.
After the server rushed off to attend the next table, Brian handed Addison and Tristan their respective glasses and raised his for a toast. “To a serendipitous friendship,” he proposed.
“To friendship,” Addie seconded.
“To serendipity.”
Tristan frowned. Now why the hell had he said that?
nine
“Can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Kady lingered by the front door, sullenly eyeing her surroundings with her sister standing silently beside her.
“And I can’t believe what I’m wearing. I look like a total slut.”
“Thanks, beeyotch.” Considering they were her clothes she took the insult personally.
“You know what I mean,” Kady mumbled, clutching the front of her blouse.
Alex rolled her eyeballs for what felt like the sixty-seventh time that evening. Kady had complained the entire time they were getting ready and it didn’t appear she was going to let up anytime soon. First it was, I’m not going. Then it was, I’m not going in that. Now it was, I’m going home.
“Did you take the Xanax I gave you?”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Maybe you should start.”
“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t have anxiety!”
Alex cocked a brow at that before making tracks for the bar.
Kady panicked. “Wait, where’re you going?”
“To get a drink,” she said over her shoulder.
Voice noticeably shrill, Kady called after her. “No, wait!” She wanted to follow but her feet were anchors. “Wait,” she whispered.
Besides abandoned, she felt on display as men flicked heated, interested looks at her. She glanced around self-consciously, avoiding eye contact while remaining where she stood—with her back to the door, looking like she was still deciding between going inside and running for the hills. When people started streaming in, she got jostled toward a corner. Instead of feeling annoyed, she was glad for the less conspicuous location. Corners were where Kady felt safest.
She remembered a time when she actually enjoyed going out, looking pretty, feeling desirable. A time before. Now she downplayed her looks, could even make herself inconspicuous if she tried hard enough. Tonight was the first time in years she’d made any effort to enhance her natural beauty.
It was actually Alex who insisted she put on make-up this evening. Alex who urged her to swap out her baggy jeans and clogs for capri leggings and strappy heels, and with some teeth pulling, even managed to get her to forgo the topknot that had become her staple hairstyle. Tonight she was wearing her hair the way she used to, cascading down her back in a waterfall of silver-blonde waves. Tonight Kadence Janacek looked the way she used to. Stunning.
Instead of thanking her sister, she blamed her for dragging her to a crowded bar, forcing her to socialize when all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die. But damnit, Alex was right. She had to come out of the dark and into the light sometime. How long had it been since sunshine warmed her soul?
While Kady’s brain debated whether her current predicament called for flight or fight, her legs were already mak
ing a beeline for the bar. She blew out a breath. Looked like fight it was to be then.
Let’s do this.
Alex was flirting with the pub’s cute new bartender and about to slip him her number when Kady hopped up on the barstool beside her. “Jack, straight up,” she ordered, slapping the countertop. “And keep ’em coming,” Suddenly remembering her manners, she glanced at the bartender’s nametag, and with a sheepish smile added, “Please and thank you, Sebastian.”
Kady hadn’t smiled at a man in a very long while, and though it was forced and tight-lipped, she thought it felt rather… nice. Maybe after a few shots she’d be up for a little eyelash batting and hair twirling.
The bartender met her tentative smile with a wide toothy grin. “You got it.”
As he poured out the drink, he cast Kady an assessing glance from the corner of his eye. Dayum. He was used to serving all manner of attractive women but this one… Dayum. He didn’t know small town girls came like her. With that long white-blonde hair and contrasting dark winged brows she kinda looked like Daenerys from Game of Thrones (sans dragons).
Sebastian hadn’t seen her around before and wondered if she was new in town. He’d moved to Carkeek only recently himself and had already scoped out most of the female talent. Being a bartender made meeting women easy and dating customers was a perk of the profession. And yet for some reason he didn’t feel confident the little blonde would give him the time of day, let alone her number. One a scale from one to ten he considered himself a flexible eight. This girl on the other hand was a solid twelve.
“Since when do you drink whiskey?” Alex whispered. She was leaning in close, concerned her sister was diving into the deep end of the pool before even getting her feet wet.
Kady fisted the glass and swung it up to her mouth. “Since now,” she proclaimed, downing the amber liquid in one hard swallow.
As the alcohol burned a hole in her esophagus, her features twisted into a grimace as her eyes turned red and teary. Unable to speak, she made eye contact with the bartender and pointed down at the empty glass.
Sebastian and Alex exchanged a look of reciprocal amusement before he promptly refilled it. Eyeing the two women side by side, he concluded they must be sisters. If they didn’t exactly have the same facial symmetry they at least shared similar coloring.
FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1) Page 6
