Sweetest Sin(53)
“Come here, my angel.”
“Don’t call me that.” I rose to my feet, shaking and disgusted. “You don’t think of me as an angel.”
“Of course I do.”
“How can you?” I swallowed my pride. “You look at me and see a sinner. Someone who needs help. Someone you think is weak because I couldn’t deny my own body. You aren’t helping me, Father. You’re using me.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re using me to prove you wield power over yourself.”
His voice lowered. “I’m trying to help, Honor.”
“You aren’t helping anyone but yourself.” I stared into his eyes, searching for anything beneath the cold and calculating pride that manifested in his soul.
And I found something worse.
Something that frightened me more.
Pain.
“What happened to you, Father?” I asked. “What made you this man? Why do you have to prove your willpower to yourself? Why do you think lust is a weapon? What happened that made you think sex was some sort of power over another person?”
“You really want to know?”
“I think I deserve an answer.”
Father Raphael couldn’t stand in the confessional. The walls were too small, and his body too fierce.
“The world is a dark place, full of demons and evil. It feasts on those innocent to it.” He stared at me, and I froze as his voice gave life to sheer hatred. “I want to protect you from a world of sin that would destroy your innocence.”
“You don’t want to protect me.”
“No?”
“You’re protecting yourself.”
His grin was cold. “Come to the rectory tonight. Midnight. I’ll give you the answers you want.”
No. I wasn’t falling victim to his arrogance again. Once was enough.
“Fine, I’ll be there. But I’m not looking for forgiveness.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to end this.”
Chapter Twelve – Raphael
Midnight.
Some believed it to be an unholy hour. I thought the opposite.
I used the stillness of the night to pray. The Liturgy of the Hours took dedication, practice, and time. The quiet in the dead of night, when all others slept through their sins and salvation, was my time to find peace.
But I had none tonight.
Honor arrived precisely at midnight.
And I knew I’d lost her.
My angel. Not fallen, but hurt. Enraged and insulted. Shamed because she was so very innocent to the world and its evils.
I welcomed her inside. Honor was content to scowl from the front step.
The only sin worse than what occurred in the confessional was if anyone saw a woman waiting on my porch at midnight.
“Come in,” I said. “Please.”
She didn’t move. Her arms tightly crossed, protecting her core. I wasn’t sure what she wished to hide from me, but I had seen it all. I’d memorized it all. Her body. Her curves. The erotic softness of her skin.
Nothing—not prayer, not willpower, not even confession—would ever have me forget such a gift.
Her lips strained, a frown stretching the usual plumpness. She looked away with swollen eyes. She had been crying. Because of me.
I’d caused this poor, beautiful creature such misery.
As if I didn’t hate myself already.
I hated to order her, but she’d always obeyed before. “Honor, please. If someone sees…”
“Right.” She swallowed and stepped within my home. “Couldn’t have that. What a sin.”
I didn’t recognize the pain in her voice. It would haunt me until the end of my days.
I closed the door, but she moved no farther than the entry. The least I could do was offer her a seat in the living room. A cup of coffee or cool drink.
Wasn’t that what men did for women?
Or was I lost in a world of blessings and prayers? I usually offered comfort for sins they had committed, not the pains I’d inflicted.
Honor wouldn’t have accepted my help. I doubted she wanted my apologies either. My greatest mistake wasn’t the touch we shared or the pleasure I gave. It was underestimating a strong woman.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked.
“No.”
“Can I get you anything—”
“No, Father.”
She stared at my cassock. It wasn’t necessary to wear it in my home, but I worried I wouldn’t act responsibly without the collar.
Especially after today.
Especially after the delight of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, and the enthusiasm she used to serve me in such a humbling and sinful manner.
Honor cast her pony tail over her shoulder. The thick curls of her hair fell behind her back. It exposed her face, her neck, the delicate curve of her ears with the tiny gold studs that glistened in the light. I wished she hadn’t frowned.