He should have, but he didn’t.
His gaze lingered. The white cotton blouse she wore was the epitome of modest good taste. Even Sister Elizabeth would have approved of how high she’d buttoned it and there could be no complaints about its tightness against her slender figure. Nope--no wedding ring in evidence. As a matter of fact, the only jewelry adorning her flawless skin was a small pair of pearl studs in her ears.
So why did Christian think that the way the crisp blouse ghosted her breasts, hinting at their surprising fullness, the way it revealed those delicious few inches of flushed, dewy skin above its conservative collar, made it the most feminine, sexy garment he’d ever seen? Weren’t pearl earrings a common, modest choice for women’s jewelry?
So why did he have an overwhelming urge to experience what Megan Shreve’s pearls felt like pressed between his tongue and lips?
* * * *
Megan sighed as she straightened and sent Lori Hunt on her way, the tears on the little girl’s face replaced by a hopeful smile. She rubbed tense muscles at the back of her neck, grateful that it was a Friday and she didn’t have to worry about school for a few days. It would be a relief not to have to divide her attention. It wasn’t that she hadn’t lov
ed taking care of Emily, her sister’s four-year-old daughter, every afternoon and evening for the past week while Hilary had been at a sales conference and Terry, her brother-in-law, worked late. She’d actually loved it. But keeping up with a four-year-old when you weren’t used to it could be a challenge. She almost groaned out loud when she recalled that she’d volunteered to keep Emily for the weekend while Terry went on a golf outing in Galena with friends.
She turned around when she heard Father Gregory’s voice behind her. “Crisis thwarted with Miss Hunt, I see.”
She returned Father Gregory’s smile. “The vase she made for a Mother’s Day gift collapsed in the kiln.” Halfway through her explanation, she became aware that Father Gregory wasn’t alone. She met the eyes of the tall man with burnished brown hair who stood broodingly next to the priest. When their gazes met, Megan started in recognition. The man’s stare was unapologetically direct and just as unforgettable as it had been yesterday when she’d seen him in her condominium lobby.
It had the same effect on her today.
She glanced rapidly down the considerable length of him, taking in the crisp, white T-shirt with the worn logo on one side that enigmatically read Velvet Funk, the soft, unbuttoned shirt he wore over it and hadn’t bothered to tuck into a pair of well-washed and worn jeans. His general appearance emphasized not only an obvious disregard when it came to impressing other people but a potent masculinity.
She damned the heat and her cheeks. What was she doing, gawking at a man while Father Gregory stood right there?
“I told Lori I would fire her replacement vase in the kiln at my Earth class. She’ll have a gift for her mother, after all,” she finished breathlessly.
“Earth is where Megan gives classes in sculpture. She’s a very gifted artist. Megan Shreve, I’d like you to meet Christian Lasher. He’s a St. Cat’s alum, as well.”
Megan forced herself to look back up into Christian’s face when Father Gregory introduced him, but his attention wasn’t on her face. He must have noticed the way her breasts rose in agitation, because his gaze dragged unhurriedly back up her chest and neck before resting on her parted lips.
Did he know that her breath had just caught and held with a nameless, newly born anticipation?
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
A shiver ran through her arm and tickled her neck when Christian Lasher took her hand. She couldn’t have said if it was the touch of his skin next to hers or the compelling sound of his voice. It sounded deep, a little raspy, and as resonant as a finely-tuned instrument. She leaned back too abruptly when she realized that her body had swayed forward, mindlessly spellbound by the contrast of masculinity and tenderness in that voice.
“You too,” she murmured, releasing his hand like she thought it was a red-hot poker. “You went to St. Cat’s? What years were you here?”
“Too many years before you to count, I can imagine,” he said sardonically, but Megan only saw the warmth of his unexpected smile. He’d seemed so serious before, so intense. She found herself relaxing a little at the sight of his engaging grin, the sudden contrast of white, even teeth against sun-darkened skin.
“Not too many years, Christian,” Father Gregory corrected authoritatively. “When you’re as old as me, a decade or so is a drop in the bucket. The Lashers lived only a few blocks away from your parents, Megan, until they moved to Evanston…what was that, ten years ago, Christian? I think Megan’s older sister Hilary was too far ahead of you in school. Does the name Hilary Shreve sound familiar?”
Christian shook his head.
“Do you like living here in the neighborhood where you grew up?” Megan asked.
He raised his eyebrows a fraction in wry query. Her cheeks heated again. He probably didn’t realize she’d seen him before.”
“Oh…I recognized you. I…I think you live in my building.” Megan swallowed with difficulty when he just continued to spear her with his unsettling stare. “748 W. Adams? You do live there, right? I thought I’d seen you.”
For Megan, the few seconds before he answered dragged on for an eternity. The moment when their eyes had randomly met yesterday obviously hadn’t scorched an indelible place in his memory as it had hers.
“It was yesterday afternoon in the lobby…around four thirty. You were wearing a pink sweater. The little girl you were with was wearing pink, too.” Christian leaned toward her slightly. “She was as cute as you are, in a completely different way of course.”
Megan’s mouth fell open at his matter-of-fact recital of facts. His voice sounded light and amused, but his eyes bore into her with an alarming intimacy. Didn’t he realize that her boss—not to mention the fact that he was her priest—was standing barely three feet away? Unaccountably, Megan felt like he’d just reached out and stroked her, brushed the pads of his fingertips across her lower lip, sunk his hand into the restrained hair at her nape, forced the sleek knot open…dragged his knuckles across the tightening crests of her breasts…
Her eyes widened in disbelief at the direction of her thoughts and the uncontrollable reaction of her body. But she needn’t have worried about Father Gregory. Christian’s words had a drastically different effect on him than they did on Megan. The priest cracked his shiny forehead with the palm of his hand.
“I can’t believe I forgot to tell you, Megan. Terry called earlier. He asked if he could drop Emily off right after school let out instead of at four o’clock. He must be outside right now—” He stopped mid-sentence, his expression apologetic, when they heard the car horn sounding from the street.