by Lisa Norato
Holding back a chuckle of her own, Marcella considered her options. Should she continue to play the injured party or come clean? So William had discovered she was attracted to him? So what? If he was interested, and she felt confident he was, this knowledge would only encourage him. And wasn’t that the whole point? After all, if William wasn’t feeling attracted himself, he wouldn’t be teasing her. Darcey had told her William was not the kind of guy to lead a woman on, and Marcella believed it was true.
“I haven’t been observing anyone but you, Will.” She enticed him with a seductive smile. “My interest is … personal, if you know what I mean.”
His eyes sparkled. “Bugger, you could have saved us both some time if you’d have let me buy you a drink earlier.”
“It isn’t too late for a drink together, I hope.”
He considered this briefly. “Where are you and Sallie staying? A hotel here in Oxford?”
“We’re about eight miles away, at The Bear. Near Blenheim Palace.”
“Of course, The Bear. Charming old inn. Perfect spot for a drink. After the reception, I’m going to arrange a lift for you and Sallie back to your hotel, and I could meet you at The Bear later, if that’s all right. What d’you say?”
“I say great. It’s perfect. I’ll be looking forward to it. There’ll be no work to interfere this time, I promise.”
“Fantastic. Can’t have you returning to the States with the impression there’s nothing more to me than a few boring facts and the biased praise of my family. You’ve been talking to Darcey, I see. Bertie’s the sex god in the family. I have to say, I do appreciate your optimism, though.”
Marcella grinned. She was feeling more and more optimistic, minute by minute.
He lifted her organizer. “I’ll have you know, there’s quite a rather lot more to William Stafford than what’s written here. For instance, nothing was mentioned about my cooking skills.”
Marcella beamed. Wow. Great. They had something in common already, she being descended from generations of Federal Hill restaurateurs.
“Really,” she asked, “you enjoy cooking?”
“Not particularly, no. I’m rather a terrible chef, unfortunately. Thank God for takeaway. My favorite nights are Tuesdays when the touring fish and chip van visits Bramble Moor.”
Marcella rolled her eyes. “You’re quite the kidder, William. Did I write that down? ’Cause I really think it should have been first on my list.”
He reopened her organizer, slipped her pen from its holder, and pointed to the page. “May I?”
“You’re, uh, going to revise my notes?”
He began to scrawl something in her journal. “I’m jotting down my numbers and address so you can get in touch with me. In case you have questions on anything we don’t cover this afternoon.”
Marcella restrained herself from letting loose a low whistle. What a cool cucumber.
“Excellent idea.” She stepped closer to touch his bare, sinewy forearm while she peered down at the page. Mutual attraction had been established. Time to advance to an affectionate caress or two. “That’s your home phone, I suppose. And the second number? That would be your office?”
He smiled. “Office? In a manner of speaking, yes. That’s the number for Bramble Moor’s village church, St. Francis of Assisi.”
Huh? “Church? Your office is in a church?”
He chuckled, replacing the pen before closing her organizer. “Naturally. Look, there’s my gran with her whist teammates.” He motioned to the group of elderly ladies Marcella had seen earlier admiring the flower beds.
Escorting her by the arm, he began to lead Marcella towards the group. “Can’t think of anyone more reliable to guard your journal while we dance,” he said.
Marcella tried to sort through her confusion. She was sure she and William had made a connection. Two single people, both with the same thing on their minds, sharing the same desire to get to know one another, flirting in sync.
Pretty straightforward. So why did she suddenly feel she was talking to an alien? “I don’t understand, William. Why is your office in a church? Exactly what sort of work do you do?”
Glancing askance, he noticed her blank stare and stopped, jerking Marcella to an abrupt halt.
He regarded her with a curious look. “You don’t know? Aunt Lynne hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
“I saw you both conversing about something or other in the receiving line.”
“Lynne informed me Babette was your dog and not some supermodel you bedded this morning, but I don’t think that’s what you’re referring to, is it?”
“Supermodel?”
“What hasn’t Lynne told me, William?”
“I watched you, Marcella. You looked rather upset. What did Aunt Lynne say?”
“Nothing. It was nothing, really. Lynne was just hassling me about work stuff. Apparently, she still considers herself my boss, but after today that won’t be an issue,” Marcella admitted, which was the complete truth, minus Lynne’s bald confession that she didn’t find Marcella good enough to associate with her nephew.
“Speaking of work, let me in on the big secret. What is it that you do, William?”
“No secret.” He grinned proudly. “I’m a vicar. The vicar of Bramble Moor. Did you wonder why I live in a small village?”
“You like the countryside?” Marcella heckled, with a shrug. Her brain screamed, What!? A vicar?
She gurgled up a hysterical giggle. You’re joking, right? she wanted to ask, but his dead serious expression silenced her.
Had she heard correctly? William, a priest? William, the biker dude with the cocky, confident expression? William, the ex-bartender, cool cucumber she’d nearly kissed and had made a date with, was the Reverend William Stafford?
No-o-o-o way. The two conflicting images overloaded her circuits and she slipped into brain freeze.
William shook her gently by the arm. “Marcella, are you all right?”
Her glazed eyeballs refocused. Marcella gathered herself and managed a smile. “So, that’s where all those references to a collar came from?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t bother wearing it today, with the cravat and all, you see.”
“Yes, of course.” Marcella smiled into his eyes. Compassionate eyes. Natural public speaker. It was all beginning to gel. William, the man who had traded in his Fiat so the senior citizens of Bramble Moor could buy a minibus. William, who’d said grace over the wedding supper instead of the presiding vicar.
The truth hit her like a kick in the gut. But gosh, he was gorgeous. All those Sundays her Italian mama had dragged her to church and never had she seen a face like that behind the altar.
“Forgive my surprise, William. A vicar? That’s admirable. I had no idea you were a vicar. No one mentioned it. I suppose it was obvious to everyone except me. Obviously, because I’d never met you until this morning. You certainly don’t look like a priest, though. Henry, now there’s a guy who’s got a classic vicar look. Sweet-faced and mild-mannered. But you? You don’t act like a vicar. You don’t even talk like a vicar. Why, just a moment ago, I heard you use the word ‘bloody.’ ”
He gave a wry smile. “Right. Bit of a slip there. Not a word choice for the pulpit, is it? Pity how a vulgarity like ‘bloody’ manages to pop into everyday conversation. Surprised I’ve never been struck by lightning.”
Marcella supposed she deserved the sarcasm. She just hoped she hadn’t insulted him. “It’s just that you’re such an ordinary guy,” she explained. “Well, not that you’re ordinary. Oh, no. Hey, you’re extraordinary, really. Quite the dude. Charming, handsome, full of fun. Not the type I would have pegged for a member of the clergy. You’re too … forgive me, normal.”
He laughed. “Thank you. I’m flattered you think so.”
She was babbling like a fool. Talking too fast. Digging herself deeper and deeper. What she really meant to say was, William was too hot to be a priest, but she could hardly tell
him that, now could she? Did this mean they wouldn’t be making out after drinks tonight?
Up until now, she’d felt confident flirting with William as the sexy male he was, but how did she handle a vicar?
She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I understand. I get this quite a lot, actually,” he explained. “As a student, I had great fun bartending at a local pub. I’d clown around with my workmates, chat with the customers. But once I let on I was intending the Church as my career — once they stopped laughing, that is — they’d react exactly the way you have.”
He cleared his throat, hesitated, then gazed deep into her eyes as though he were about to make a confession. “Possibly, I’ve been a touch shy declaring myself. Not that I’m ashamed of what I do. It’s just that once people discover I’m a vicar, they usually end up putting on a bit of an act, d’you know what I mean? They blush, stumble over their words, apologize for their language, for their jokes, their high spirits. It’s rather like apologizing for being oneself, don’t you agree?”
Marcella nodded. She saw his point, although to be honest, she was still having a hard time grasping the reality of William as a vicar. He spoke with levity, but had she detected a touch of loneliness in his voice? She held her tongue because she could see he had more to say.
“I don’t want that to happen with you, Marcella. I’ve quite enjoyed your company and sense of humor. I’d be terribly disappointed if you were anything but your natural self with me.”
He offered her his hand.
Marcella went all squishy inside.
“Shall we have that go at a dance?” he asked with a wink.
Marcella smiled into William’s beautiful aquamarine eyes. “Let’s,” she said and slipped her hand in his without hesitation. “I’m really enjoying your company, too, William.”
Presently, “I Only Want to Be with You” was booming out the sound system.
Call her crazy, but Dusty Springfield’s crooning pretty much summed up William’s effect on her. Nothing was going to stop her from enjoying his company today. Tomorrow would be too late. Tomorrow was Sunday. Tomorrow William would be back behind his pulpit, and she’d be preparing for her return flight to New York, where a busy career awaited.
They danced for nearly an hour, rocking to a few Sixties British pop songs, before the disc jockey announced, “Get ready for an eighth-some reel!”
The music started and eight couples formed two lines, men facing the women. William wanted to sit this one out, but Marcella begged him to stay. He agreed, albeit reluctantly, leaving a woman to wonder how this hottie of a vicar would pull off dancing on the balls of his feet.
As for herself, Marcella was prepared. Back in New York, she’d researched the steps for Lynne, and together they’d practiced them in Lynne’s office.
The reel began. In her black pantsuit and mules, Marcella proceeded through the dance, careful to avoid Lynne’s cold stares, with much less grace than she would have preferred, while William moved with the ease of an aristocrat.
As the reception wound down, the music slowed with a string of classic love songs. Marcella stepped into William’s arms. She rested her hand atop his strong, broad shoulder, and as they swayed to the music, he held her close, then leaned forward to press his cheek to hers, his face moist with perspiration and slightly abrasive with the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow.
Marcella closed her eyes. Her senses whirred. She caught a whiff of his clean-scented cologne and fell into a heady rush.
In his British-accented baritone, William whispered softly, “Quite the cheeky monkey, aren’t you? Jotting observations of me in your journal, when all the while I’d got the impression you weren’t interested. Bit of an ego boost, that.” His husky chuckle tickled her ear. “All I can say is I feel like a very lucky man, indeed, knowing I’ll be seeing you again tonight.”
Beneath her clothing, her body purred with desire. She longed to rise on her toes and stretch up against him like a feline in heat. Who’d have guessed a vicar could make a woman feel so sexy?
*
Bertie agreed to chauffeur the girls. “Brilliant. That’s great,” he whooped once Marcella had left to find Sallie, and William explained his plans for the evening. “I knew you two would get on,” he rejoiced, his eyes alert with vicarious conquest. “Splendid, isn’t it? You may well get a leg over tonight.”
Leg over? William rebuked his brother with a disapproving glare. Surely not. He’d no intention of seducing Marcella. Hadn’t even given it a thought. Not that it wasn’t a pleasant thought. It was quite a remarkably pleasant thought, actually. But not one he had any business dwelling on. He’d just announced his vocation. What sort of vicar, what sort of man, for that matter, would she think him if he called at her hotel hoping to spend the night?
“You’ve the wrong idea, entirely, Bertie. Marcella and I are going to enjoy a drink and a friendly chat. That’s all. I’m not anticipating anything more and neither is she. She’s got quite a successful career in New York. We’ll probably never get another opportunity to see each other again.”
“Perfect then, isn’t it?” Bertie persisted. “Nothing to stop you two from enjoying a bit of fun. She’s far from home, on holiday of sorts. You really should be prepared, you know. She might be expecting a go. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her.” Sidling up to William, he nipped something into William’s trousers’ pocket.
William caught a flash of purple foil and pushed his brother off. Wedding guests milled all round them. William had a good idea of what might be contained inside that purple packet, but he wasn’t about to whip it out and confirm his suspicions before an audience of friends and relatives.
Bertie wore a proud grin.
“You’re appalling,” William rebuked under his breath. “Was that a condom you just dropped in my pocket?”
Bertie was less discrete with the tone of his voice. “Well, you haven’t very well brought any of your own, have you? I mean, you barely managed to get yourself dressed and to the church in time for the ceremony. Do you think you’ll be needing another? Darcey carries extras in her bag.”
“No, of course not. Only you, Bertie, would bring condoms to Aunt Lynne’s wedding. I adore Marcella and I would never dishonor her or my beliefs. She’s just a friend. You really should speak of her with more respect.”
Bertie took exception. “I’m very respectful of Aunt Lynne’s friends, thank you. It’s you she has to watch out for now, isn’t it? Nothing sexual on your mind, then? Not even a bit of snogging?”
As Bertie chuckled at his own pathetic humor, William sought to compose himself with a deep breath. He might try doggedly to resist thoughts of temptation, but unfortunately sometimes a bloke’s body had a will of its own.
He scowled in disgust. “Just make certain you get the girls safely to their hotel, and for goodness sakes, Bertie, don’t insult them with one of your rude outbursts.”
Chapter 6
“Game for riding topless, ladies?” Bertie asked. He turned in the driver’s seat to watch Marcella slide into the back of his red Saab convertible.
Marcella resisted a yawn, ho-hum, ignoring Bertie’s leer as she scooted across the soft leather interior to make room for Sallie. All right, the kid was adorable in his own chubby-cheeked way, but his ogling did not impress her. Thanks to his brother, she’d experienced the ultimate in attraction. No man had ever gazed at her as William had when he walked Lynne down the aisle this morning dressed as a Regency lord. No man had ever stirred her to such excitement with just one glance. If she’d known at the time he was a vicar, well, she’d have … hmm?
She’d have been stunned.
Pretty much the way she was feeling now.
But was she any less attracted? Absolutely not. So William was a vicar. So what? To quote Sallie, a vicar was just a regular Joe. Tonight, she had a date with a regular Joe. She’d dated regular Joes before. Except nothing about William seemed even remotely regular. And clerg
yman or not, had she actually expected him to conduct himself as anything less than a perfect gentlemen? Of course not. His good manners were an integral part of his appeal.
She’d get this all into perspective before the evening was through. Meanwhile, Bertie’s cocksure grin persisted. He raised one brow as though to ask, How ’bout it?
In your dreams, pretty boy. Marcella narrowed her eyes, challenging him with a diva stare. “No, thank you, Bertie. As beautiful a day as this is for a ride in a convertible, the truth is, Sallie and I don’t like getting our hair mussed.”
Bertie continued to stare, his eyes glazing over dreamily. “Are you certain?” he asked softly. “You’re totally hot, you know?” No sooner had the words left his mouth, when self-consciousness set in with a blush. “I mean,” he stumbled, “it’s totally hot … a totally hot day, that is. Quite a totally hot day, d’you-know-what-I-mean?”
“We know what you mean, Bertie, you randy git.” Darcey settled into the seat beside him with a scowl. “I rather suppose they’d be more amenable to crawling on hands and knees back to their hotel than strip off their tops in front of you. Leave the car as it is, and pop on the air-conditioning. Otherwise, how d’you expect us to chat over all that wind?”
Without another word, Bertie straightened in his seat and started the engine.
Marcella reclined, exchanging a glance with Sallie, who hadn’t stopped looking amused since she’d learned William was a vicar.
She’s unusually quiet, Marcella noticed. Silence was less characteristic of Sallie than if she’d challenged Bertie and flashed him. Her friend seemed to be enjoying a private joke, and Marcella suspected whatever Sallie found so funny might have something to do with William. Something which might be better discussed in private, perhaps? But why, when William had been an open topic of discussion all day. “Okay, Sal, what’s up?”