Billionaire’s Sins by L. Steele

7

Edward

That’s the question I’m asking myself. I shouldn’t be here. What the hell am I doing here? I’d walked away from her the last time, determined to stay away from her. Then I’d stayed on after officiating the wedding, and seen her dance.

She’d moved her hips, her waist, bowed her body so gracefully to the music, allowed the notes to take over, had drawn the rhythm into her body and embodied the essence of the music. Hot, passionate, yet deep and soul-stirring. That’s her. When she dances, she transcends the physical. She embodies the melody, becomes one with the tune…the chords…the notes… To see her dance is as much of a spiritual experience as when I pray to Him above. I clench my fists at my sides.

How can I do this? How can I compare what I have with my Savior to how I felt when I watched her? Why did I have to follow her from the performance and into her hotel room?

"How did you get in?" she whispers.

"The door," I jerk my chin toward the entrance to the room. "It hadn’t closed completely."

And I had walked in and invaded her privacy. Why had I thought I could simply barge in here unannounced? More to the point, what had I been thinking anyway? Why had I thought it was okay to push the door open and step in? What's wrong with me? Why is it that when I see her, I seem to lose my head completely?

I squeeze my eyes closed, turn to leave, when she grabs my hand. Sensations vibrate out from the point of contact. I glance down at where her fingers are curled around my wrist.

I glance up at her and she releases me. "Sorry," she mutters, "I… I don’t want you to leave."

And I don’t want to go, and that is the problem. But I don’t say that aloud.

Instead, I stare past her at the open door of the shower cubicle, "Why don’t you finish your shower? I’ll wait out here."

"You sure?" she asks.

I frown at her and she reddens.

"I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, I do want you to wait. It’s not that I wanted you to join me or anything. I mean—" She slaps her hand to her forehead. "Oh, hell, forget what I said. I mean—"

"I know what you mean." I can’t stop the smile that quirks my lips. "Why don’t you go on?" I jerk my chin toward the shower. "I’ll be right outside."

I pivot, then step out and pull the door closed behind me.

I walk over to the window, pull back the curtains, and glance down at the road below. Just two streets up, the tourists and shoppers crowd Oxford Circus. You'd think there would be lots of traffic near the most exclusive hotel in London, but surprisingly, down here there are no vehicles, and almost no pedestrian traffic. Except for what seems to be a homeless man who sits on the sidewalk, almost right below the window. He seems to be holding up a sign as well…the letters of which are hidden from my line of sight. Hmm, given this is one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, it’s strange the hotel allows him to stay there. Not to mention, it can’t be a lucrative spot for him without foot traffic.

The sound of the shower running reaches me. I turn toward it, and of course, my imagination goes straight to her under the water, without clothes, the droplets running down her breasts, her stomach, to the place between her thighs. I shake my head, grab the rosary out of my pocket, sink to my knees and cross myself. Then I begin to pray.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord...

I repeat the prayer, until all thoughts exit my head and my mind stills. My heart beat slows down, my muscles relax, and my breathing stabilizes.

I stay there until I hear the sound of her footsteps. Then I open my eyes, and rise to my feet.

She walks toward me, wearing a white dress, her auburn hair freshly washed and flowing down her back. Light pours out of the bathroom, turning the fabric translucent, creating a halo around her. I take in the curves of her body. The highlights in her hair that glisten and sparkle as she moves.

She resembles an otherworldly vision, an angel who’s arrived on earth to tease me, to test me…to reveal the error of my ways. She pauses in front of me, tips her chin up.

"Hello," she says softly, "hope I didn’t keep you waiting."

You can keep me waiting forever, for that’s the way it’s going to be between us. I can’t touch you, can’t hold you, can’t allow myself to think of you, but what I can give you is "friendship."I roll the word around my tongue, "You wanted us to be friends. I accept that."

"You do?" She frowns. "I thought you said we could never be friends."

"What I meant was that we could never be just friends."

She scowls, folds her arms about her waist. "Then what—?"

I raise my hand and she purses her lips.

"I thought it would be best if we didn’t see each other at all. If I didn’t allow myself anywhere near you, there wouldn’t be any temptation. But I was wrong."

"You were?"

I nod, "I realize now, you were sent to me precisely so I could continuously test myself. You are the route to my betterment. Before you, I’d become boring… Complacent, even. I’d reached a plateau, where I thought I was doing everything I could to show the Lord that I am his faithful disciple, but it turns out that I was wrong."

She glowers at me. "You were, huh?"

"Yes. Absolutely." I square my shoulders. "You are His way of showing me that I have a long way to go before I master my senses. I thought I’d conquered my weaknesses, but now I can see that’s not true."

"So," she straightens, "I am a weakness?"

"Exactly." I nod. "You’re a failing, someone sent to hold a mirror up to my shortcomings."

"Shortcomings?" She huffs, "You’re calling me a shortcoming?"

"Not you." I frown. "Mine, I am the one found wanting. I saw you and realized just how long a road I have yet to travel before I can claim to be anywhere near the kind of perfection I hope to achieve."

"You are trying to achieve perfection, huh?"

"Aren’t we all?" I drawl.

"Not me, buster." She shakes her hair back from her face. "I am human, and I plan to embrace my failings, my imperfections and my quirks, without which I am nothing but a colorless shadow of myself."

"You," I chuckle, "you’ll never be a colorless anything. You’re fire and radiance and purity—the kind I can only hope to achieve."

She opens and shuts her mouth. "Purity?" She shakes her head. "You’re confusing me with someone else."

"I know what I see…" I rake my gaze across her features, "a woman who’s passionate about what she believes, who wants to live life to the fullest, who wants to experience every single experience, every emotion there is. Someone who—"

She reaches forward and slaps her palm over my mouth. "Stop," she whispers.

Sensations curl in my chest and blood rushes to my groin. I step back.

She pulls back her hand. "Sorry." She hesitates. "I… I didn’t mean to do that, but sometimes when I’m with you, it’s difficult for me to hold back."

"That’s what I mean." I spear my fingers through my hair. "Clearly, this is why we need to meet. It’s the only way I can continuously test myself against the temptation that you embody. You’re an impulse I need to steer clear of. An enticement I must…avoid at all costs."

She blinks rapidly. "Okay, now I am completely confused. You want to avoid me… Yet you say we need to meet. But earlier, you said we shouldn’t be friends. So, what is it?"

"I’m saying, we should be friends with benefits."

She gapes. "Benefits?" she chokes out. "What…what kind of benefits?"

"The conversational kind."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I quirk my lips. "We meet, keep our distance," I point to the space between us, "but we continue to converse, to exchange opinions on anything under the sun."

"And during the time we meet, you try to resist me?"

"Exactly." I snap my fingers. "What better way to prove myself to the Lord than to show that I can withstand the wickedest of lures that he sends my way?"

"That’s it." She throws up her hands, "First, you raise me up on some kind of bullshit pedestal that I definitely don’t deserve. Then, you compare me to being some kind of sin. You know what? Forget it!"

She turns, heads toward the table in the corner and begins to stuff her clothes into her bag.

My heart begins to hammer; my pulse pounds at my temples. Hold on, what did I do wrong? I simply shared with her what I was thinking. Had I been wrong in that? Isn’t it best to be upfront in these situations? What had I said that could evoke such a reaction from her anyway?

"Ava," I head toward her, "You’re not acting in a sane manner. All I’m saying is, let’s be friends and talk openly when we meet."

"To hell with that." She huffs, "I don’t want anything to do with that, Father. You’re a…a…completely self-absorbed prick, as far as I am concerned. How can you be a priest and serve your people if you can’t even understand how it is to be in my shoes and be attracted to you…you…?" she heaves her bag over her shoulder and turns on me, "you who are already committed to someone else, and I can’t stop thinking of you? Do you realize how horrible that makes me feel? And then you have the nerve to tell me that I am your test? Your trial, your bloody experiment… And all so what? You can prove to yourself that you are perfect? Well, sod that," she turns and heads for the door, "and sod you, Father."

Stop her, go to her, explain to her how difficult this is for you as well.Explain that you realized if you couldn’t have any other relationship with her, being a friend could, at least, mean that you’d have her in your life. That you’d have a chance to, at least, see her, talk to her, hear her laugh again. Even though every moment in her presence brings home the fact that you can’t have her. Can’t be with her. Can’t have anything to do with her. And all those explanations earlier… Well, they are just rationalizations for my actions.

She wrenches open the door and I call out to her, "Ava, stop. Please don’t leave like this."

"I don’t want to stay on when I’m clearly not needed. Why did you come here, Edward? Why couldn’t you have left earlier?"

"Because I couldn’t." I shuffle my feet, "I had to…see you once more."

"But why?" She firms her lips. "Tell me, why it was so important that you meet me?"

"Because…" I take a step froward, stop, then fold my fingers into fists at my sides, "because I will not act on my impulses, Ava. I will not allow you or anyone or anything else to come in the way of my chosen path, and if that means I have to use you to make a point to myself, then so be it."

Color drains from her face, then she grips the strap over her shoulder even tighter. "Well, you know what? I am not a…a test…or a trial or an experiment… I am a living, breathing woman, and there are many out there who’ll take me for what I am, and cherish me and love me."

She hunches her shoulders, and the movement dislodges her scarf which floats to the floor.

"And I may have thought that perhaps there was a connection between us… And maybe I thought you might do something about it, that you’d, at least, be honest with yourself that it means something," she swallows, "something more than turning it into…this… Tool to prove to yourself just how strong you are and how perfect you can be."

A cold sensation stabs at my chest and my guts twist. What have I done? Why couldn’t I have listened better to her? Why couldn’t I have understood my own emotions more clearly? Why couldn’t I have been more receptive to what she had to say? Why did I have to go and mis-interpret everything? Have I, though? Am I really that off-target? Am I really incorrect in seeing this situation for what it is? A chance to find out how committed I am to my chosen path?

I widen my stance, thrust out my chest, "I’m sorry you see it that way."

"Me too."

She turns to leave, when I call out again, "Ava." I walk toward her scarf, pick it up and hold it out. "I think this belongs to you."

"Keep it. Perhaps it’ll be a reminder of what you refused to recognize between us." Turning, she walks out.