by Lily Miles
“Now then, on to other matters,” the bishop says, leaning forward eagerly in his chair. Mother Antonia frowns at him, wondering what she’d been left out of the loop on. “The reason I came out here was not only to see you about recent events at the convent, but also to inform you that we are beginning long-overdue renovations in a few weeks. You can expect carpenters and construction workers to arrive, too many to reside in the male dorm, so a few will have to be accommodated here in the convent. I'm sure you can find them rooms an appropriate distance from the sisters.”
Mother Antonia nods, gritting her teeth. Men? Sleeping in her convent? This was an abomination. She wants to lash out at the bishop, but he’s left no room for argument: this has already been decided without the mother superior’s counsel.
Bishop Frederick then stands, shaking hands with both Mother Antonia and Sister Ruth before heading to the office door. He pauses in the doorway, glancing back.
“Oh, and Mother Antonia. Do keep the dramatics here to a minimum or you’ll risk your seat at the Catholic conference in Boston. Understand?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” the reverend mother utters, gritting her teeth and mumbling to herself as Sister Ruth climbs to her feet. Without saying goodbye, Ruth heads out into the hall.
Mother Antonia sinks into her chair, furious. She may have lost one nun, but she sure isn’t going to lose any more.
43
Margaret
I ease back against Trevor’s chest, my head reclining on his powerful shoulder. Over our heads, the sun is a great golden ball in the sky that makes my skin melt with heat. I swear, it feels like we’re lightyears closer to the sun here, everything is so warm.
“How in the world did you even get this number?” I ask, shifting the cellphone in my hand from one ear to the other, before stretching my legs out in front of me.
Since abandoning my habit a few months ago, I’d been working on a tan. My legs are long and freckled, extending out from a pair of cutoff jean shorts I’d been delighted to buy. I'm not a materialistic girl, but having a closet even half full of clothes that aren’t long black and white cloaks is exhilarating.
Trevor leans back, palms sinking in the soft sand. The sun shimmers over the peaking crests of breaking waves as they assault the bay in front of us.
The beach had been even more beautiful than I could have imagined. The first time Trevor and I went for a walk on the sand, I’d been unable to stop crying at the majesty of it. I’d thought the closest I’d ever come to such beauty were images in books Cat snuck into the convent, or the artistry of the nunnery’s stained glass windows, but this was more lovely than my heart could bear.
Since arriving here, Trevor and I come frequently to the ocean. Recently, we’d even started coming at night when the beach was deserted and the ocean was still. Only the moon illuminates our naked bodies as we make love among the still sun-warmed dunes.
“You should know by now that I always find a way to get what I want. But I can barely hear you with all this construction work going on at the convent,” Cat giggles into my ear. “Oh, Mags. You sound so happy.”
“You sound pretty pleased yourself,” I retort. “Have you gotten your fill of construction workers yet?”
Cat pretends to gasp. “Me? Margaret, I am a devoted sister of the cloth. I would never do such a thing as to seduce a hunky rock of man who knows how to work a jackhammer—if you know what I mean.”
We laugh together until Cat gives a faint groan. “I’ve got to go, Eva is coming this way and I don’t want her to know Erik snuck me a cellphone. Monica and the twins and Grace all say hello. We miss you like crazy, Mags.”
“I miss you too, Cat,” I say, closing my eyes and savoring the sun. Trevor’s fingers gently brush my sandy arms. “Remember to tell me every exciting detail about life at the convent.”
“Exciting?” drawls the nun. I can already see her rolling her eyes. “Please. The last exciting thing that will ever happen here is you, half-naked, jumping down a laundry chute with a half-naked man.”
I crack open an eye, smiling at the ocean waves. “With you there, Cat, somehow I doubt that.”
Also by Lily Miles
THE SAGA CONTINUES WITH
NASTY HABITS,
BOOK TWO
FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES
ENJOY THE FOLLOWING EXCERPT!
Monica
As I approach the door, I peer in through the small peephole and curiously find what appears to be an empty room. The exam table with its crisp, white sheet sits undisturbed, the window open as a warm breeze floats in and rustles the pretty white blinds. I peek up and down the small hall, but the other rooms are empty as well, and this is the one with the little note on the door saying a patient is inside.
Perhaps whoever the patient was had gotten scared and jumped out the window to run away. It wouldn’t be the first time. Usually it was the children who were terrified of Dr. Cliff and his needles, but occasionally an adult would be just as bad. I’d always have to leave the room to contain my laughter when that happened. Cliff told me I should be sympathetic, but it’s hard when a fifty-year-old man is sobbing over one little injection.
I crack open the door and peek uncertainly inside, startled to find a big man standing in the corner of the room, flipping through some of the textbooks that Dr. Cliff kept.
With his back to me, he stands tall and tan, his muscled arms the same bronze color as a shiny penny, and his dirt-stained white tee shirt wet from sweat between his broad shoulders. His beat-up jeans ride low on his narrow hips, just tight enough to highlight his sculpted butt cheeks. My throat goes suddenly dry, the tray in my hands tipping until it clatters to the ground, metal tools scattering over the tiled floor.
Immediately, the patient whirls around, his dark, chocolate eyes locking on me from the corner of the room.
His body hunches slightly, lean muscles taut like an animal getting ready to spring in escape. I can only just stare at him, taking in his body with the same admiration others might look at fine artwork. In all the fairytale books I’d read when I was young, he was exactly the type of man I always imagined Prince Charming would be. I stop myself from gasping—he’s just gorgeous.
“Are you lost, lady?” he says, his deep voice quiet and gruff and not nearly as kind as I expected my Prince Charming’s might have been. A few strands of dark brown hair have fallen onto his forehead—he casually rakes them back with his big, beautiful hand. I’m dazzled.
I manage to collect myself. “Lady?” I echo, bristling. “I'm a sister. Sister Monica, to be precise. If the mother superior hears you calling any of us ‘lady,’ you’ll never hear the end of it.”
His head tilts, that dark hair falling once again into his eyes. “Sorry. You surprised me. I'm Brett.” He flashes a devastating smile, his teeth a slash of bright white against his pink lips and stubbled cheeks.
My heart is thumping so hard it’s going to vault out of my chest. Nevertheless, I succeed in saying “It’s nice to meet you, Brett. Can you sit down for me?” in my most professional voice. This is my first time doing any sort of procedure without the doctor at my side, not to mention, doing a procedure on Prince Charming himself—to say I'm nervous is the understatement of the century.
He walks over to the exam table and hops up onto the edge of it—it’s only then that I see the gash on his arm. It’s a round, slightly jagged puncture mark, like he’d been stabbed with something. I grimace, watching thin trails of blood slither across his tan skin. He follows my stare and then half turns his arm so it’s not facing towards me.
“Is the doctor coming in soon?” he asks. “I really need to get back to work.”
“I am the doctor,” I answer before giving a faint yelp, “I mean, I'm not the doctor, but I'm going to be the one giving you stitches today.”
He nods his chin at the fallen tools, including the once-sanitized thread and needle I would have been using. “Not with those, I hope.”
I break into
a grin and shake my head, grabbing the tray and setting it down on the corner of a counter before digging through some of the cabinets. I find a medically sealed baggie containing more needle and thread.
“We’ve got spares. So, what happened?” I continue, going to his side and inspecting the injury. The sight of the blood streaking across his arm makes my head swim.
“I'm one of the carpenters. There was a … mishap,” he adds vaguely, not adding in any further detail than that.
It sounds like he wants that conversation to end, and so I don’t press for more information, but apparently he doesn’t want silence either, because a moment later he starts talking.
“Do you do this a lot?” he continues idly, watching as I pull on a pair of latex gloves and carefully thread the needle.
When I approach, he swallows hard and tips his chin up so he’s looking away. As I swab his arm with alcohol, my eyes follow his throat and the motion of his Adam’s apple. He smells like sun and wood and I lean closer to breathe in the smell. There’s also some strangely heady fragrance that I assume is cologne, before I realize it’s just his sweat. I’d never been this close to a man before. Not even our priest, who always keeps a very respectful distance even when we kneel together on the church floor to pray.
All of a sudden I’m aware of some strange, new, magnetic energy pulsing inside of me. It’s low in my stomach, slithering through my core and twisting itself deep within. It’s odd and unfamiliar, and actually thrilling, despite the fact that it makes the room feel like it’s spinning slightly.
I blink hard and shake my head, forcing myself to focus, even though the thought of touching this man’s bare arm has sent goosebumps up my arms.
“Nope,” I answer honestly, inhaling deeply before taking hold of his arm and turning it back towards me. I stare down at the jagged flesh, say a silent prayer, and then glide my needle into the fragile, tan skin.
About the Author
I’m Lily Miles, and it’s my pleasure to welcome you to my world of romance. I’ve been a writer for many years in various genres under different names, and now it’s my great pleasure to contribute my voice to the romance scene as well—considering romance flows through my veins, it may as well flow from my pen! I live in New York City, a place of glamour and excitement that has been the one constant lover in my life. I’m passionate about travel and exploration of any kind—I live for adventure. And whether I’m pursuing romance on my laptop or between the sheets, I always have a good read on my night table.
I hope my books will be the good reads on yours.
Yours in romance,
Lily
