“Ye okay?
“Yep. Fine.”
“Let me help. I’m a priest. I wen’ molest ye.”
I flinched at the suggestion. To be honest, I did trust him. But I hid deeper wounds. If he prodded around this one, he’d likely stumble on others I wasn’t ready to lick.
I hollered through the door, “Almost finished.”
Hell has three gates: lust, anger, and greed.
Bhagavad-Gita
I shivered awake. For a fleeting moment, I didn’t know where I was.
A wooden Jesus hung from a huge cross on the wall. Two worn imprints dented the cushion on the prayer bench below it. A flame stood still on a single candle. Across the room, folded blankets lay on the empty couch. Muffled thuds clapped from the hallway. Roark?
Blood crusted my jeans, which were wadded on the floor. I pulled up the drooping neckline of his borrowed tee and covered my shoulder. If the hem at mid-thigh didn’t make me feel vulnerable, the fact that I’d discarded my last pair of panties in Dover did.
A wool robe draped a chair by the bed. I kicked off the blankets, grabbed the robe and stabbed my trembling arms through the sleeves.
Thump. Thump-thump.
I stilled. What the hell was he up to? A hiss echoed every hit. Ah. The heavy bag.
My rumbling stomach led my feet to the kitchen. A can of coffee and a coffee press sat behind first cabinet door I opened. I sucked a breath through my teeth to keep from drooling. Within minutes, I pushed solar heated water through the grounds in the press. The rich roasted beans enveloped me with the sweetness of Saturday mornings with Joel and the A’s…I swallowed back the lump in my throat and rifled through the next cabinet. Rolled oats. Brown sugar. Canned pears. The makings of an actual meal.
While I savored the coffee, I flexed my arms, twisted out the kinks in my back, and massaged my sore thighs. My muscles, joints and mind exhibited a liquidity and clarity only a rested night could bring.
Rhythmic thuds marched down the hall. Each jab hit in a pattern. His vigor never faltered. The sweat was probably beading across his broad back. I bet his blond curls were damp with it, clinging to his flushed cheeks. Shit. I rubbed my hands on the robe and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
A note was adhered—with chewing gum?—to the bathroom door.
HELP YOURSELF TO A SHOWER. HOT WATER WILL RUN 10 MINUTES.
Coffee and a shower? I had to be dreaming.
Despite my searing stitches, it was the best shower in memory. I finished in five minutes, hoping to have left him enough heated water. Then I borrowed some cotton pants, fixed breakfast, another canter of coffee and carried a mug down the hall.
I froze in the doorway. His fist slammed into the bag. The brute force punch followed all the way through. And he didn’t look tired. Each blow landed as strong as the last. Sweat dripped in rivulets down the cut valleys of his naked back. Black workout shorts hung on his too perfect backside. I wanted to rake my fingernails down his twitching lats and press my lips against his—
“Mornin’.” He panted and rested his gloved palms on either side of the heavy bag to steady himself.
His shoulders rose and fell through heavy breaths. I wrestled to control my own breathing. Ugh, what a pervert. I had managed to ignore my libido for months. Why was I losing it so suddenly? He was a priest for fuck’s sake.
A damn fine priest of masculine perfection.
“Good Morning.” My voice was weak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I brought you coffee.”
He kept his back to me as he grabbed a rag and wiped his face.
“Um…I’ll just leave it by the door,” I said. “And I made breakfast and hopefully left enough hot water.” I bet my face was flushed. I turned to leave.
“Evie?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank ye. I’ll be on me way.”
I swept from the room with an annoying flutter in my belly.
Showered and fed, Roark sat at the island and watched me peruse his CDs. I held up a Ramones album. “Sheena is a punk rocker.”
“She was.” He sidled next to me on the floor. His cargos and T-shirt were a nice change from the prior night’s cassock and collar. A reminder of my filial guilt and disregard for the Catholic Church.
His jade eyes gleamed over freckled cheeks as he regarded me.
I fought the urge to scoot away. “Thank you for the shower. I almost forgot what one of those felt like.”
He beamed.
“Tell me how you keep it going. The electricity and water system.”
His smile widened, filling my vision until it was all I saw. “Of course. There’s a network of rain collection pipes running through the neighborhood. The water containers are down here, below the freeze line. The solar panels power the electricity and heat the water. But heating the water alone takes a rake of energy.”