Sensuous Angel

by Heather Graham

  She felt the bend of his head to her ear, a touch of velvet that streaked like fire along her spine as he spoke softly. “Then don’t, Donna. Most people merely call me Luke.”

  The elevator door parted. This time they were alone as they moved into the cubicle. Donna wanted to shrink into a corner. She forced herself to remain calm and still.

  But she almost screamed when he reached out to lightly lift the heavy length of her hair from her shoulder. She could feel the brush of his fingers with every nerve within her. That slight contact made waves of trembling heat sweep through her.

  “Your hair is one of the most beautiful, unique shades I’ve ever seen,” he told her softly.

  He wasn’t doing anything. Nothing intimate. The gesture was not in the least a come-on—he still stood a foot away from her—and yet it swamped her senses far more thoroughly than the most passionate kiss she had ever received.

  “Just your usual dark Italian brown,” she replied, trying to laugh. But her voice trembled. It was throaty and husky. She stared ahead at the doors, praying they would open. “But thank you,” she murmured.

  He released her hair. His knuckles once more brushed her cheek, but his eyes were locked with hers. Somehow burning, somehow soft. That strange green and gold. Compelling, captivating.

  They touched her and warmed her. And for a long while, she returned that stare. And all she could think was that she liked him very much. It was as if he searched for something in her and found it. They barely knew one another, but instinct told Donna that there was something right between them. The chemistry that made a certain man right for a certain woman. He was the type of man with whom she could very easily fall in love….

  He was a priest, he was a priest, he was a priest….

  She forced herself to tear her eyes from his, and she repeated the words over and over again to convince herself that they were true.

  It was crazy, it was all crazy. The night had pitched her into things she didn’t understand, and she had made some kind of an absurd promise to go along with it.

  It seemed that they had been in the elevator a ridiculously long time. They had to reach the lobby. Soon. She couldn’t stand being so close to him when they were so confined. She felt as if she were metal and he were a magnet, pulling her irrevocably to him.

  He was the priest; Donna was the one who began to pray. She prayed desperately that the elevator would reach the lobby.

  Her prayer was answered and the doors slid silently open.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY DIDN’T SPEAK AS they made their way through the lobby with its gracious store displays of clothing and jewels to the Oak Room. Donna was not surprised when the maître d’ appeared to know her escort well. Nothing much about the strange priest would have surprised her anymore. They were led to a corner table with a snowy white cloth, where a very pretty young brunette awaited them. She stood as they reached the table, smiling quickly at Donna and then offering Luke an unabashed hug and kiss.

  Donna stood staring at the tablecloth as the two greeted one another. Luke—Father Luke—returned the brunette’s kiss with much more than what Donna would have termed “fatherly” appreciation.

  He pulled out Donna’s chair, but his attention was still on the other woman. “Tricia, you look wonderful. That dress has to be the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Tricia blushed prettily. “Luke…you’re the world’s worst tease. As if you didn’t already have the female half of Manhattan panting at your feet.” Her attention turned a bit warily to Donna, who was having great difficulty maintaining a noncommittal expression after the exchange she had just witnessed.

  “Tricia,” Luke said, “this is Donna Miro. She is a good friend of Lorna’s and she’s trying to locate Andrew.”

  “Oh,” Tricia murmured, then she smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you, Donna. Especially if you’re a friend of Lorna’s.”

  “Thank you,” Donna murmured, still wondering just exactly who Tricia was and attempting to hide the anger growing within her as she realized Luke not only knew Andrew but obviously knew Lorna as well.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tricia, and I can’t tell you how much it will mean to me to find Andrew McKennon—and Lorna.”

  Tricia shot Luke an accusing stare. He shrugged and told Donna, “I never promised that you’d see Lorna.”

  “But why…?”

  His eyes met hers. No questions, they warned. Her words faded in her throat.

  “I don’t know exactly what Luke has told you, Miss Miro.” Tricia, flushing slightly, looked uncomfortable, “I’m sure this is very confusing to you, but it’s an extremely delicate situation.” She smiled uncertainly as their waiter arrived. Luke automatically ordered wine for Tricia and a scotch for himself, then lifted his brows at Donna.

  “I don’t think I care for a drink.”

  Luke chuckled. “That’s strange, Donna. You look as if you could happily indulge in a few doubles.”

  She couldn’t prevent her look from being venomous at his assessment. “I think I will also have a glass of wine then,” she told the waiter with her best possible forced smile.

  They were given dinner menus and then their very proper waiter hurried away. Tricia leaned across the table to speak to Donna, a puzzled frown furrowing her brow. “I wish you could just believe me when I say that Lorna is fine.”

  Donna smiled. “I wish that I could believe you too. But I’m afraid I need something more—from someone.”

  “Well,” Tricia murmured, “that will have to be Andrew’s decision.”

  Andrew’s decision, Andrew’s decision! Donna was tempted to pound on the table and tell them both that the almighty Andrew could rot in hell because she’d just go to the police.

  But she’d already tried the police….

  “I can’t begin to understand all this! You tell me that Lorna is all right but that I can’t see her. Please, I’m trying to be patient. I’m searching really hard for some faith but it’s getting harder and harder to come by!” Donna said bitterly.

  Tricia and Luke exchanged glances. Donna was surprised to see both sorrow and empathy in Tricia’s eyes. Luke appeared annoyed.

  “I told you,” he said to Donna lightly, “that you weren’t to ask any questions.”

  “How can I help—”

  “Try a little harder for that faith, Ms. Miro. Remember, I did warn you that that was the way it was going to be.”

  “Okay, then,” Donna said, smiling sweetly at Tricia. “What happens now?”

  Tricia returned her smile. “Donna, I do understand what you must be going through. Lorna is lucky to have such a friend. I’ll do my best to get hold of Andrew. Between Luke and me, one of us should be able to reach him soon. Hopefully, he’ll be able to give you all the assurances that you need.”

  “If I could just talk to Lorna! Please, Tricia, if you would just tell me—”

  Tricia stood suddenly, smiling down at both of them. “I’m awfully sorry, Donna, but will you excuse me for just a moment? I have to use the ladies’ room and I didn’t want to leave while I was still waiting for you.”

  Luke was already on his feet. “Of course, Tricia. We’ll wait for you to get back to order dinner.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled briefly.

  They watched her as she skirted tables to exit the room.

  “Saved by nature’s call, Donna?”

  “Saved from what?”

  “A breech of faith. You were asking questions again.”

  Irritably Donna turned her gaze to the striking priest, finding the amused mockery she anticipated lighting the gold in his eyes to a dangerous glitter.

  “And what saves you, Father Luke?”

  “Saves me?” He hiked a brow in polite inquiry.

  “Father, you flirt like a damned pirate. Has that practice been approved by the Pope lately?”

  “Hmm…not that I know of,” he replied, nonplussed. His grin deepened as he dipped his head near h
ers. “Tricia is a lovely woman. And alas, Ms. Miro, I’m a priest—not a saint.”

  “Oh, my God!” Donna moaned.

  “Please, don’t get so possessive with the divinity!”

  Donna was sorely tempted to toss her water glass over his head, but he suddenly discarded his light, taunting attitude and sat back in his chair, eyeing her acutely as he drew a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it. “So tell me,” he demanded, and she felt a little chill as she saw again the man who had so expertly and ruthlessly nailed her attacker to the wall. “Where do we go from here, Donna?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’re going to have to decide to trust someone. I can promise you that if you ask questions in the wrong places, you won’t find your friend, but you could seriously jeopardize her situation.”

  “You know Lorna, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You never asked me.”

  “I never asked—” Donna began, then interrupted herself. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an extremely exasperating and infuriating human being?”

  He chuckled softly. “Yes, as a matter of fact. My bishop did, just last week. But you didn’t need to tell me that you felt that way.”

  “Really?”

  “You are so sadly transparent.”

  “I have a right to be!” Donna exclaimed. “This whole thing is shrouded in the most absurd secrecy!”

  Luke suddenly leaned close to her, and she felt a dangerous tension about him, so much so that it took great willpower to keep from inching away from him.

  “Donna, you are treading into very deep water. Watch your step. It’s blind faith, or nothing.”

  Donna didn’t have a chance to reply. The waiter came and delivered their drinks, and then Tricia was sliding back into her seat. Luke, once again eyeing Donna with amusement, offered a toast to beautiful women. Grinding down on her teeth, Donna managed to smile and clink glasses with them both.

  “Miss Miro,” Tricia said with soft-spoken excitement, “I managed to get a call through to Andrew. He couldn’t give me a guarantee, but if he can, he’ll be at Evening Prayer tomorrow night, and he’ll meet you in Luke’s rectory right after. He asks, though, that you be discreet.”

  “Discreet?” Donna murmured, but Tricia’s excitement was contagious, and all that Donna could see was a ray of sunlight after stumbling around in pools of darkness. She was going to get to see the mysterious Andrew McKennon!

  “I’ll be there!” Donna promised.

  “It’s a five o’clock service.”

  “Fine. I’d be there at midnight if he wanted! I’ll definitely be there at five!”

  “Not alone, you won’t.”

  Donna was startled by Luke’s harsh interruption. She glanced his way to discover that his jaw was locked at a tense angle and that he was staring peculiarly at Tricia. More peculiar was the fact that Tricia seemed to understand that angry and warning expression.

  “I’ll tell you what, Miss Miro. I’ll come here tomorrow at four to meet you, and we’ll go together. Is that all right, Luke?”

  He nodded.

  Donna stared at him incredulously for a minute. It was true that he had saved her from a mugging—and possibly worse—but that didn’t give him the right to run her life as if she were a small child.

  “Excuse me, Father,” she snapped, “but I am capable of giving a cab driver an address! I might have stumbled into trouble tonight, but I’m too old for a keeper!”

  “Donna…Miss Miro….” Tricia murmured, distressed by the obvious tension rising between her dinner companions, “I don’t mind coming for you at all. There’s a reason.”

  “Is there?”

  “Yes,” Tricia said hurriedly. Luke was scowling, but she continued anyway. “We’ve been having a rather nasty rash of robberies here over the past year. The police have been floundering in all their attempts to catch this man—or men. He attacks single women coming and going from churches.” She smiled ruefully. “He’s a nondenominational thief. I really don’t mean that humorously; it’s a terrible situation, and a number of people have been hurt….”

  She paused suddenly, glancing at Luke. His features seemed to be strained and tense; once again his jaw was twisted and locked. His eyes seemed to burn into Tricia like a golden blaze from hell. Tricia tore her eyes from his and continued. “A number of women have been hurt very badly.”

  “I think I’d be okay in a taxi,” Donna said slowly, “but I appreciate your concern.”

  “I need to go to church anyway,” Tricia said.

  Donna shrugged, at a loss. “If you really want to, Tricia. I guess it doesn’t make much difference.” She laughed. “I don’t know the address of the church or the rectory anyway.”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Luke interrupted, “but I think we should order. This is Saturday night—”

  “Oh, yes!” Tricia glanced quickly at her watch. “I’ll just have time….I have to be to the club by ten.”

  “You’ll make it,” Luke assured her. He gazed at Donna, his dark-lashed golden gaze still seeming to be riddled with vast amusement. “Tricia sings in a small club uptown. Perhaps if you stay in New York long enough, you’ll accompany me to her show. It’s a delightful place. Elegant…and very, very intimate.”

  Donna was dying to snap out that she wouldn’t accompany him to a dog fight, but she held back the thought and inclined her head slightly. “I’m hoping not to remain in New York very long, Father. Only long enough to meet with Mr. McKennon.”

  He smiled, and Donna thought she would never in a thousand years trust such a smile. It was as dangerous as all hell. It touched off a chord within her that was a stimulus so strong it was terrifying.

  Donna glanced quickly at her menu. The words blurred before her so she readily accepted Luke’s suggestion of the prime rib. As he ordered their meals, Donna turned her attention to the pianist at the rear of the room who played soft ballads. It was a perfect place for dinner, Donna thought. Quiet music so that people could talk, and yet a number of couples were enjoying slow dancing.

  “Donna?”

  She turned back to Luke, blinking. The subtle smile that belonged on either a pirate or the devil curved his lips and touched his eyes at her startled response.

  “Will you join me on the dance floor? Tricia assures me she doesn’t mind in the least. It’s a slow dance so you can lean against me and your ankle won’t have to bear any weight. And it’s wrapped well. Come on, Donna.”

  “No!”

  The single word came out in a panicked yelp, which did her little good, because he was drawing her to her feet anyway, and rather than trip over her bad ankle, she was forced to lean on him.

  “I do not want to dance!” she grated out as he led her to the floor.

  “Yes, you do,” he whispered, slipping his arms around her. The entire night—or perhaps God—seemed to be conspiring against her. The music became slow, a song for lovers. Her arms mechanically wound around his neck; her cheek rested against the lapel of his jacket, and for the life of her, she couldn’t fight the riot of sensations that filled her. His pleasant, very male scent, the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. The feel of that scratchy cloth beneath the softness of her cheek. He moved with a slow and easy grace; she felt she could too easily follow him wherever he led….

  But he supposedly was a man of God; yet he was playing dark games of secrecy with her. He was hiding something….

  “I brought you out here,” he whispered, his breath warm as it seemed to caress the lobe of her ear as he ducked his head low, pulling her even closer, “to threaten you.”

  “Threaten me!” She tried to pull from the strong grasp of his arms.

  “Take it easy!” he said. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you to take things at face value.”

  “Blind faith again? You’ve got it…Luke. Until tomorrow night, at least.”

  �
�Good. Because any more questions and your meeting with Andrew will be off.”

  “I can just go to the police—”

  “You’re a liar, Donna. You’ve already been to the police.”

  “For a priest,” Donna grated dryly, “you really are one hell of a pain in the neck. I would really rather not dance any more.”

  “All right, but during dinner, we talk about New York, sports, movies—or the state of the world. We do not discuss Andrew McKennon. Got it? I’m the one who put Tricia into the middle of this situation, for your benefit. So for my benefit, you’re not going to make her miserable.”

  “Oh, I got it,” Donna replied. They had pulled away from one another and stood facing each other angrily on the dance floor. He lifted a hand and a brow, suggesting that she lead the way back to the table. Donna spun about and felt his hand fall lightly to her waist. A polite touch, a guiding touch. One she resented nevertheless. Resented…and felt through to the core of her being.

  Tricia was smiling when they reached the table. “That wasn’t a long dance!” She laughed.

  “My ankle is bothering me a bit,” Donna murmured, annoyed that she found herself lowering her lashes over her eyes rather than meeting Luke’s speculative and amused gaze.

  He pulled out her chair and she sat. As he joined her, he said something to Tricia about a new show he had seen Off-Broadway and they began to talk about the theater.

  Dinner was served. Donna barely tasted her food, but what she did taste was good, and thanks to Tricia’s pleasant nature, the meal passed quickly. She was sorry when Tricia rose, telling them both to stay seated, that she had to get to work.

  Luke rose anyway. “I’ll walk you out for a taxi, Tricia—”

  “Don’t be silly, Luke. There’s a doorman on duty! And, oh, about dinner—”

  Luke laughed, casting Donna one of his subtly amused and mocking gazes. “Don’t worry about dinner, Trish. It’s on our delightful olive-oil heiress, Ms. Miro.”

  Donna managed to smile as Trish voiced her thanks, then ran out, promising to pick her up by four the next day. Luke sat down beside her again, and she met his amused gaze with irritation.