Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross
Yasmine glanced at the time on her car dash, 7:15 PM. It was going to rain, she’d been able to smell it in the air earlier, but now the grey clouds were as far as the eye could see. They were a dead giveaway that they were in for a whopper.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress as she drove. Her nerves were on high alert after what she’d shamefully done during her “confession.” She felt like every person she passed on her way to dinner was condemning her and her questionable choices. Like they already knew what a terrible sinner she was and how she was corrupting the town’s priest.
What the hell am I doing?
I’m actively corrupting a man of the cloth, a man sworn to serve God.
“No, he is a grown man. He could make his own choices. Besides, he wouldn’t have done those wonderful things to her, twice now, if he wasn’t interested,” she said as she reached up to rub her forehead. “Great, and now I have a headache.” But she kept driving.
She pulled around to the back of the church, which was out of sight from the street, not wanting to take a chance. She backed into the small space beside the dumpster that had a decorative hedge surrounding it. No one would be able to see her car.
Yasmine stared up at the dark clouds that were rolling by at a quick clip and shivered as the car shook. The force of the winds created a roaring sound inside the running vehicle, and a rumble of thunder far in the distance made her body tremble.
Why was she even here?
If she did this, there would be no turning back for her heart, and yet this was a sure-fire way to have it ripped out. They couldn’t ever have a life together, right?
Yasmine stared down at the passenger seat and the bumbleberry pie she’d baked for dessert and sighed. She should go home, forget about the amazingly sexy priest and eat the pie alone as she begged for forgiveness.
A sharp rap against her window had her yelping and clutching her heart as her head whipped around. Dean’s intense eyes stared back at her. His mouth pulled up in an impish grin, and she took in a shuddering breath as she pushed the button to open the window.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I was bringing out the garbage and noticed you sitting here.” Dean looked up at the darkening sky as thunder rumbled again. “If you’re coming in, you should do so before that storm gets here unless you’d prefer to sit in your car by my dumpster in the pouring rain.”
Yasmine’s cheeks heated immediately, radiating out from her body as he teased her. She breathed in Dean’s signature scent that always reminded her of leather and pine. Her eyes found the patch of skin where normally his priest’s collar would sit and licked her lips. This was it, time to make her choice. She either needed to run away and stay away from Dean forever or follow her feelings no matter how wrong they were. She couldn’t seem to find her voice, but she quickly closed the window, grabbed the pie, and reached for her door just as Dean pulled it open for her.
Stepping out into the cold evening, she stared up at the man that had plagued her thoughts for so long. Like sinking into the depths of the ocean, she could feel herself slipping off the ledge of what was right. Loose tendrils of her hair whipped across her face, and once more, Dean came to her aid as his hands gently cupped her face, pushing the wild wisps back from blocking her vision.
Lightning cracked, and a bright white streak reflected back at her in Dean’s eyes. Yasmine’s pulse felt as if it reached a new high as a trickle of excitement and fear raced down her spine. There was a predatory look in the way his eyes roamed over her face. A soft whimper left her lips as Dean’s thumb traced her bottom lip.
“You’re so beautiful, Yasmine. Como las flores de primavera me recuerdas que todavia hay bien en el mundo.”
“Do I want to know what you said?” she asked, as he smiled wide.
“Like the spring flowers, you remind me that there is still good in the world.”
Yasmine stood transfixed, staring into what looked like liquid honey in his eyes. He had to be a figment of her imagination. No one was this amazing. Fat droplets landed on Dean’s forehead, and he looked up, breaking the spell. He grabbed her hand, and they laughed as they ran for the back door.
They made it inside just as the heavens opened up to a torrential downpour. It was very rare to have rain this time of year. Ice was inevitable with the cold weather following a rainstorm, and driving home might be difficult. Yasmine bit her lip as she stared out at the stream of rain already forming small rivers toward the drains and the snow turning to a sloppy mush. Either Mother Nature was telling her to stay, or God was telling her he was pissed. Either way, her mind was made up as Dean closed the large wooden door, the sound echoing as he locked them inside together.