Cara didn’t elaborate, and her silence pissed me off more than it should have. Hated that shit. Hated more that she went on ignoring me as I watched her. I copied her hand-motion and got her attention. “The fuck does that mean?”
“Johnny…” she whispered, rushing closer, her attention shooting around the room. “Oh my God, you can’t say the F word in here.”
“Tell me,” I said, ignoring her. “What did you mean about Sammy? You thought she’d be back by now but…?”
Cara shrugged, nodding to two more girls who came into the auditorium. One was dressed in a costume made up of brown fabric secured around her head with a leather cord. “It’s just that when Sammy does confession,” Cara started, adjusting the girl’s headpiece, “it typically takes forever.” She stepped back, looking over the costume, tightening the belt before she glanced at me. “You know how she is. Niece of a priest. Heading for a convent after college. She’s all…super… um…Catholic, I guess.”
How could I not notice? It was respectable. Admirable how the girl kept herself focused. How serious she was when her uncle performed the mass and offered communion. Our papa and her uncle, Father Patrick, had been friends for a long time, and Sammy was always there, in the background, the small spot of color brightening everything gray around her.
I liked to tease her and had since she’d hit fifteen and the modest little dresses her uncle made her wear started fitting her curves tighter. She was still pious. Still gave nothing away, but when you looked at women as hard as I did, even high collars and hems hitting the knees couldn’t hide much.
At seventeen herself, the shy, awkward, little girl Sammy had been was gone. She wasn’t sweet and soft anymore. There were curves to her body now that I shouldn’t have noticed but couldn’t keep my attention from. There was a pout to her mouth that tempted and teased as her lips moved slowly in silent prayer. The girl did nothing to tempt me at all, and still, I found I couldn’t keep from watching her, wanting her.
“She is,” I finally agreed. “Very Catholic.” I knew what I’d offer was a mistake before I made it. The words should have stayed in my mouth, where they belonged.
Sammy wasn’t my friend. We were barely friendly to each other, but there had been long nights when her uncle came to visit Papa, when my father was feeling bad about one thing or another and needed his friend, not his priest, that Sammy got dragged along.
She pretended to read most visits, politely declining Cara’s invites to go to parties or fund raisers my little sister organized for the museum our family owned. Opting instead to sit out in our courtyard with her nose in a book. I’d watch her, unable to keep myself from the temptation of her thick lips, oval face, exaggerated cheekbones, and the long, curled lashes that hit the tops of her cheeks as she read.
I’d try to pull her attention away from her books. She’d ignore me but still blushed like some wild fever had taken over her body. Until one August morning that I didn’t flirt, and I suppose she’d expected it.
“Nothing inappropriate to say to me today?” she’d asked, not looking up from her book.
I couldn’t fight the smile that pulled against my mouth. She’d noticed more than I’d given her credit for. Sammy was smart and shy, but she wasn’t oblivious to my flirting.
“No, bella,” I told her. “Not today.” I’d leaned down into my chair, holding the crucifix around my neck between my fingertips. “Today, we remember my mama.”
Even without looking at her, I knew Sammy was watching me. It was the first time she had. I liked the silence. Liked her attention even more.
“Was she beautiful like Cara?” she’d asked after a while, like that question was the simplest out of the bundle of many she had in her head.
“Yeah,” I admitted, glancing at Sammy, unable to look away from those green eyes when I caught her gaze. “She was.”
There was a second when Sammy studied me, pulling her bottom lip under her teeth like she wasn’t sure if what she thought was stupid or if she should ignore me completely and get back to her book. But something in her eyes shifted, those light green flecks glinting as she watched me.
Sammy leaned toward me, pulling at the locket around her neck. “Mine was beautiful too,” she said, showing me a picture inside the locket. She smelled like rosemary, and I caught a whiff of the scent from her hair when I moved closer to hold the locket and look down at the image. She wasn’t wrong. The woman in the picture was beautiful—dark hair and olive skin like Sammy and a sharp, straight nose that matched hers. But the girl next to me had a square chin and tip at the end of her long nose, not angled like her mother’s.
“She was beautiful,” I finally told her, still holding the locket as I shifted my gaze to study her face. “Nowhere near as beautiful as you, though.”
Then the blush returned to her face.
Never should have started that shit.
I knew better.
Sammy had a plan. She had a goal, and it didn’t have a damn thing to do with me and the sinful armor I wore like a badge of dishonor.
Didn’t seem ready to end it, no matter that I was eighteen and she wasn’t. No matter that she would spend her life in the order, a bride of God.
I couldn’t touch her.
But damn if I could keep away from her.
“If you’re busy,” I told my sister, pulling out my phone as a distraction. “I can go and find out what’s keeping Sammy.”
“Yeah,” Cara said, her tone dismissive as another of her classmates stood in front of her, decked out in her costume, this one lavender and white. “Good luck. You can try to see if Father Patrick is still in the rectory. He might have seen her.”
I nodded, still pretending to look at my phone as I turned to leave the room. It took five full minutes before I found Sammy, and after I did, there would be a few more dings in my armor.
For a while, I wore them proudly.
* * *
The library was empty when I found her. She had a spot; I knew that. I had caught her twice in the past month sitting in the farthest window seat in the darkest corner of the old library when I took calls I didn’t think the good sisters of St. Mary’s would appreciate hearing. The first time, Sammy had heard everything I said—every “fuck you” and “you son of a bitch!” Her cheeks had turned four shades of pink, and I’d spent a half hour trying to convince her I wasn’t the devil sent to corrupt her.
Fuck that. Yes, I was.
The second time, she’d fallen asleep against the window during a storm as Cara sat for a makeup exam. I’d only agreed to keep an eye out for my kid sister while our papa was out of the country on business. He hated to miss her last month of school. He hated even more missing all the work she’d done on the exhibits and fund raisers she organized at the museum, practice for when she took it over after college, so I took up his slack.
Watching Sammy doze off against the window made up for the hours I’d spent lugging boxes of costumes and racks of chairs from the storage room to the gym. I’d tugged off my jacket and put it over her as she slept and just sat across from her, standing guard, though I didn’t know why I’d done it. Aside from the fact that she was too damn beautiful to explain. Even more damn beautiful when she slept.
It wasn’t hard to find her now.
Sammy had bent her long legs, her skirt draped over her knees as she faced the window and her arms curled tight together. Those huge green eyes were wide, unblinking, puffy, and red as she stared out of the glass. My stomach dropped as I watched. Some primitive drive hustled me closer to her as if I had some misplaced need to murder whoever made her cry.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, the question coming out like a demand. “Who did this?”
For a shy, saintly girl, Sammy was cool. She didn’t jump at my question. One slow glance in my direction and then she turned back toward the window. “You should go, Johnny Carelli.”
Wasn’t sure why that did something to me, her saying my full name like that, as though she
liked the way all those letters moved around on her tongue.
Sammy didn’t straighten when I sat on the window seat next to her. She didn’t pull away from me either. She seemed too distracted by whatever had taken root in her head, like nothing else mattered but whatever it was that consumed her. There was a look in her eyes that seemed familiar to me, something that moved shadows around those green and hazel flecks in her irises. The longer I looked, the clearer the realization came of where I’d seen this expression before—in the mirror staring back at myself. It was guilt, plain and simple. But what on earth had someone like Sammy done to feel guilty about?
“Can I help?”
She shook her head, her lips pressed together, puckering the thick center. That did nothing to make her mouth seem smaller or her lips less tempting.
I inched closer, and this time, Sammy’s shoulders tightened. “I’d kill anyone who made you cry or hurt you in any way.”
“Why?”
It was an honest question, and I wasn’t sure how to answer it. That day on the anniversary of my mother’s death, Sammy had told me everything she knew about her mother. How she had only the stories her uncle told to fill in all the things she didn’t know about the woman. I told her what I remembered of my mother. How sweet she’d been, how all those funny, warm memories I had of her got thinner the older I got.
That day out in our courtyard had been over a year ago. We weren’t exactly strangers. There was something between us. It was the same hum of energy that kept me moving toward her every chance I got. But we didn’t owe each other anything. No explanations. No excuses.
Didn’t mean I could keep away from her.
Didn’t mean I even wanted to try.
But I couldn’t admit that to her. It would make no sense.
She had a plan. It was set. College. The order. Her future was waiting for her to get older, to get prepared. There was no room in her life for a distraction, and if I was anything to anyone, God knew it was a distraction.
Sammy watched me, those big green eyes open, unblinking, giving me the impression she wanted something from me she’d never admit. Something she knew I never would either, but she still clung to the hope I’d make a confession no priest could stomach hearing.
The look she gave me cut too deep. It was too much of a temptation.
I looked away from her, watching the courtyard below us through the window as I answered her. “I don’t know, Sammy.” I rested a palm next to hers on the cushion at her hip. “I just feel an intense need to…” From the corner of my eye, I caught her face when she opened her mouth, her wide, full lips parting, the bottom one glistening in the overhead light. I looked back to the window, spotting her expression, all breathless and curious. It was that reflection I stared at, unable to keep my attention from her, and the sweet hint of rosemary I caught coming from her hair.
“To….”
“To…protect you.” I finally turned, moving another inch closer.
Sammy squeezed her eyes shut tight. The reaction was quick, like a twitch she couldn’t control that made me hate myself just a little.
“You’re scared of me.”
“No….no,” Sammy breathed, and even that sounded like a lie.
“You are.” My voice came out in a strangle of sound, a little surprised, a hell of a lot disappointed that I could make her scared of me.
Our family was lower-level, but wealthy. That came with disputes, especially when my father hadn’t chosen who he was loyal to or who would benefit more from his friendship. He was shrewd, but he couldn’t keep anyone at arm’s length for long, and staying neutral had cost him. There were accidental fires at his factories. There were robberies of his stores and shipments that got lost. It was a dangerous time to be a Carelli. But hell, I wasn’t even twenty. No way my father would have me on the family payroll yet. Still, I was doing jobs. I’d set some assholes straight when my pops needed me to. I could hold my own. But shit, I wasn’t a bruiser. I wasn’t a roughneck asshole who got off on scaring the hell out of people. Sammy seeing me that way made my stomach burn like I’d gotten hold of something rotten at lunch.
I held my breath, trying to keep my cool as the worry shot up inside my chest. Sammy wouldn’t look at me. Instead, she dropped her gaze to her folded hands in her lap as she mumbled through whatever it was she tried to get out. There were a few strands of hair slipping free from the barrette near her temple, and I had to stop myself from brushing it off her forehead.
Sammy inhaled, like she needed to calm herself before she spoke. “I’m…I’m scared of me…around you, Johnny,” she admitted, speaking to her long fingers on her lap.
That rotten feeling in my gut shifted, moving lower, making my insides heat. The admission made me hard, had me wanting to pull her close, tug her onto my lap and show her just how scared she should be around me. But that wasn’t what you did to a girl like Sammy Nicola. She was different. She was sweet, and I had a feeling I might be struck down just for thinking of touching her.
The image of my body sizzling from some supernatural lightning strike helped to cool me down, and I touched Sammy’s hand, my fingertips gliding over that sweet, soft skin, up her arm, and to her neck until she lifted her head. “I would never hurt you.”
“I think I know that.”
I believed her. One look in those eyes told me enough that she believed what I said. I’d end myself before I did damage to her on purpose. Christ, but she was beautiful. Too good. Too perfect for the likes of me.
She didn’t pull away when I touched her face, finally getting that hair off her forehead. “And I’d never let anyone else hurt you…not even yourself.”
I knew guilt. I’d seen it in my own reflection too many times. And if I knew anything about Sammy, I knew there wasn’t much she’d done in her life to feel guilty about. I shook my head and lowered my voice, hoping to calm her. “What are you scared of?”
Sammy moved her gaze away from my face, staring out of the window as I held her head still. When she spoke, her expression was a little dazed, a lot lost. “How…how you make me feel…” She regretted her words the second they were out as she bowed her head. The frown she gave me came quick. I didn’t like it, liked even less how she pulled away, acted as though she didn’t want to give up anything to me, especially not a confession about what I did to her.
“How’s that?” I asked.
She tried moving off the window seat, shifting her legs away, but stopped when I held her hands, pulling her close. Sammy wouldn’t look at me directly but kept her attention on the way I stroked my thumb over her wrist, like she couldn’t get over how I touched her.
“Tell me,” I said, knowing whatever she said would open a door I shouldn’t walk through. “Please.”
Her hands shook, like there was some current inside her she couldn’t control. It made me want her more, made it impossible to walk away from her. I wanted to feel that current, wanted to let Sammy vibrate all around me.
She frowned as some debate happened inside her head, something that probably sounded like her uncle telling her what a sinner I was and how much damage I could do. That wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t walk away. Not until I heard her truth. I had to hear what she wanted.
“Just tell me how I make you feel,” I said, keeping my voice low and my touch steady.
Sammy exhaled, and I closed my eyes as the heat from her breath fanned against my neck. “Like…like I should feel ashamed for the things I imagine about you…and…” She blinked, licking her lips before she looked up at me. “You…and me.”
Sammy was scared. That much I got from how the tremble from her hands had shifted to her lips. That soft, wet mouth I didn’t seem able to stop staring at. We sat so close just then, watching each other, waiting, God knew for what. A pause, maybe? The next breath, the next move, the next noise that would make us spring into action.
She waited while I let her words shift in my head, reorganize, and become logic. Warnings flashed inside me,
all of them sounding like my father’s deep voice.
She wasn’t for me.
She was off-limits.
She was too good.
She was innocent.
She was a saint’s angel.
I was the devil’s son.
This would not end well, but my God would it be fun while it lasted.
Sammy seemed to hold her breath. Those big eyes getting bigger when I moved my hand from her wrist and cupped her chin, rubbing a thumb along her skin. All I had to do was pull her close, take her mouth, end both our suffering. But first, God help me, I needed to tease her.
“Do you imagine kissing me?”
She froze, her mouth dropping open, gaze on my tongue when I moved it across my bottom lip.
“Touching me?”
Her attention stayed frozen on my mouth. Her breathing quickened, her fingers digging into my wrist as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push my touch from her face or pull me closer.
I suppressed a smile as the sound of Sammy’s throat working caught my attention when I moved closer to kiss her neck, whispering against her ear, “Tasting me?”
“Johnny,” she whined when I pulled her close, running my mouth along her neck before I leaned back to watch her.
Sammy’s mouth was inches from mine. She moved on the cushion in front of me, antsy and unsettled like she couldn’t decide what to do with herself or how to be comfortable in her own skin. She held on to my collar when I kissed her once, a slow, soft kiss that left her panting.
“Tell me,” I said, needing a confession. “I want you to admit it.”
“All…all of it.”
“Good,” I said finally, rewarding Sammy’s admission with another kiss, one that left me dizzy with how she gripped me.
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