I Only Want To Be With You

by Lisa Norato

  The food arrived, and as they dug into a variety of appetizers, not the least of which was an impressive pressed leek and wild mushroom terrine, William’s questions turned to her family.

  Marcella brought him back to her humble beginnings in Providence, Rhode Island. Her parents divorced when she was eight years old, and thereafter, life for herself, her mother, and younger brother centered around the family business — her grandfather’s Italian restaurant on Federal Hill. By age eleven, Marcella could julienne as swiftly and efficiently as the best of them. She learned to cook everything from simple ethnic fare to fine cuisine and developed a flair for food styling and entertaining.

  Family and friends expected she’d attend culinary school, but Marcella chose a career in the media when she was accepted into Providence’s Brown University. It was her experience in the restaurant business, however, which gave her the edge she needed after graduation to land a job with a local food magazine. Which eventually led to a position at Gracious Living and her big move to New York.

  They ordered a round of sodas. Marcella sipped her ginger ale, waiting until the waitress was out of earshot, then turned the topic of conversation back to William with the question of the day. How was it, she asked, that a vibrant, energetic blue blood with William’s looks and charisma had been drawn to the clergy?

  William paused thoughtfully from behind the rim of his glass before drinking his cola. “Not entirely comfortable with the knowledge I’m a vicar, are you?”

  “No … I mean, yes. I’m completely cool with you being a vicar. Really. This is just me being nosey.” Marcella inched her chair a little closer. “C’mon, Will,” she pleaded. “I know you gotta have a story.”

  Lowering his glass, he met her gaze with a teasing smirk. “Not a particularly interesting one, no.”

  “Let’s hear it anyway.”

  “Well, I’m not quite certain what it is you’re expecting, Marcella. I’ve never been struck blind in the middle of the road or received guidance from an audible voice booming out the heavens.”

  “Maybe not, but from what I hear, you do have something in common with the Apostle Paul.”

  Marcella cracked up at his baffled expression, which grew more baffled the more she laughed. “You’ll have to ask Bertie,” she told him. “Now, tell me. Why’d you become a vicar?”

  William eyed her shrewdly, then smiled and gave her a look of fond indulgence. Setting down his drink, he leaned forward and began by pointing out that unlike herself, who’d been earning her keep since childhood, he’d been born into quite a rather privileged life.

  And like so many other children of fortune, he was unappreciative. The ease and convenience of having everything he could want or need at his disposal bred boredom. Sports entertained him most of the time, but with his natural ability, they never sufficiently challenged him. He grew restless easily and rebelled as a teen.

  Marcella tried to visualize William as a rowdy kid, and unlike that of William the vicar, she found the image not altogether impossible to conjure.

  He was disciplined, William explained, sent away to his godfather here in the Cotswolds, the Reverend Ernest Matheson, where he was forced to work, tending the vicarage garden and helping with odd duties round the church.

  In the country, isolated from his friends and with no sporting events to amuse him, life slowed down considerably. His godfather proved a kind and patient guardian, always lending an ear to William’s gripes. He encouraged William to look outward, to focus his energies on others rather than on himself and the self-centered entertainments that filled his young world.

  William admitted he was resistant and angry. The only reason he attended services was to chat up the young church organist. But he stayed out of trouble, completed his chores, and gradually, a change was effected in him. William began to enjoy his visits and his work at the church. He’d discovered in himself a love for people. He recognized his need for a more responsible, yet simpler existence. A thirst he never knew he had began to be assuaged. By the end of his first term at Oxford, his future became clear. He made the decision to study theology.

  They were now seated so close their heads nearly touched. The conviction in William’s voice, the passion in his eyes, was infectious, and Marcella smiled in her surge of pride towards him.

  Here she was, listening to a guy get enthused about becoming a priest, and she was getting turned on. What was wrong with her?

  William loved his work, obviously. He enjoyed the church in the same way she enjoyed the magazine. More so, she was inclined to believe. He’d found purpose, and she envied him, because the truth was, there were times she still felt she was searching.

  She caught William gazing at her quizzically. Before he could ask what she was thinking about, she asked him, “I don’t suppose you get much time away from Bramble Moor, then. To, you know,” she waggled her brows up and down, “maybe visit New York sometime?”

  Judging by his instant and wide grin, he understood her meaning and was flattered. His happiness waned as he pondered her question. “Er, it would be difficult, that.”

  “Not even long weekends?”

  “Sundays are my busiest day, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, of course. How silly of me. And tomorrow’s Sunday. You probably have lots to do.”

  He nodded.

  There didn’t seem to be much of a prospect for them, did there? Marcella fretted. How was she going to see him again?

  “Have you any plans for tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Sallie and I thought we’d go to the Savoy for tea.”

  A light went out at the bar. The hours had flown much too fast, and now the lounge was preparing to close for the night.

  “Well, I’m grateful we had tonight,” Marcella said dejectedly.

  William took her hand. He looked disheartened, more somber than she would have thought possible for someone with such a cheerful disposition. “For two people who seem incapable of arranging a way to see each other, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a woman’s company more.”

  “Me too,” Marcella agreed, suddenly at a loss for words. Her thoughts reeled. What to do? What to say? She didn’t want this to be the end, but William looked as uncertain as she.

  “I’ll ring you here at the hotel before you leave, shall I?” he suggested brightly to Marcella’s great relief. “Tomorrow night, if you’re about. At the very least, perhaps we could be friends, or something. If not, I understand. You’re quite busy. Anyway, you have my address and phone numbers if you ever want to ring me up or send a card. A Christmas card would be lovely. Or a birthday card, perhaps? A birthday card would do just as nicely. You could send both greetings with one card, in fact. My birthdate’s December twenty-fourth, you see. Very thoughtful of me to time my entrance into the world so others could save on postage, don’t you think? Anyway, the date is easy enough to remember, I s’pose, but just in case, perhaps you’d better dash upstairs and write it down in your journal.”

  Marcella had been chuckling through his speech, but now she sobered. “Don’t worry. I will definitely remember. And I’ll send both cards.”

  Oops, she’d nearly forgotten. With her free hand she reached into her purse and produced her business card on which she had also written her home and cell phone numbers. “And this is for you.”

  William looked hopeful, but as he accepted the card and proceeded to stare thoughtfully at her neat scrawl, a frown formed a crease between his brows. “I’d love to see you again, Marcella, but tell me the truth. Is there any chance we can honestly continue with a relationship?”

  Another couple of lights went out in the lounge. They sat in the dim glow, the only two patrons remaining. It was obvious the staff was giving them the signal to adiós.

  A relationship with the honorable, mega-hunk William? Marcella’s heart sang a joyous yes, but William was expecting an honest response and the best she could offer was, “You know, there’s a good chance I may not get that promotion, after all.
”

  “That’s not a very pleasant solution, is it?”

  “Email?” Marcella suggested.

  William looked skeptical. “The Church tends to frown upon priests who rely on a computer for socialization … might raise all sorts of suspicions, you know.”

  “Ah,” Marcella acknowledged, as they shared a chuckle.

  “Right. Well,” William began, “we’d better clear out before that large and angry-looking waitperson over there decides to bodily remove us.”

  “Let me walk you outside,” Marcella offered.

  “I’d like that very much, thank you.”

  As much as she’d have liked to, Marcella didn’t think it appropriate to ask William up to her room, nor did she think he’d accept the invitation.

  Gazing into each other’s eyes, they slowly rose to their feet.

  William smiled at her as he dug in his pockets for a tip, tossing it down absently on the table as they prepared to leave. It landed with an odd snap, and the curious sound made Marcella turn.

  There, on the table, among their empty glasses, crumpled cocktail napkins and a few pound notes, something bright and shiny caught her eye.

  A purple-packaged condom.

  Chapter 7

  Giggles bubbled inside her. What the—?

  Call her naive. Unsophisticated. A tourist unfamiliar with British custom, but Marcella couldn’t resist asking what might be considered an obvious question. “Isn’t that a condom?”

  Yes, it was definitely a condom. She recognized the packaging, because earlier this morning she’d mistaken several similar packets as perfume samples. They’d been scattered among Darcey’s makeup during their quick beauty session in the ladies’ room.

  “Sorry?” With a shake of his head, William implied he must’ve heard incorrectly. “What did you say?”

  Marcella cupped a hand to her mouth and enunciated in a quiet voice, “Prophylactic.”

  She pointed to their table.

  William’s gaze followed. There, in the flickering glow of candlelight, beneath the exposed oak beams of the dimly lit tavern, the amethyst foil square reflected like a jewel against the mahogany of the tabletop.

  “Bloody hell.”

  He lunged for the condom, but Marcella beat him to it, snatching up the glossy packet before William had the chance.

  Giddy with laughter, assisted by the afternoon’s cocktails and her recent glass of chardonnay, she dangled the condom between thumb and forefinger for his inspection.

  “I’m sure you have a good explanation, but I feel I must say — you really keep a girl on her toes. It’s just one surprise after another with you. Naturally, as a young clergyman, I’d expect you to be progressive in your religious approach, but you’re even more of a maverick than I imagined. Tipping in bars with condoms? Now that’s liberal. What I don’t get is,” she pulled a clueless face, “why purple?”

  William had endured her ribbing with quiet dignity, expressionless, but now his growing smile told her he was beginning to see the humor.

  “I can see where you’d find this amusing,” he said, “but it’s really quite simple. Purple is the color of royalty. Crown Jewels, or so the expression goes.”

  He was kidding, right? The Honorable William sheathed in a purple condom in observance of his royal lineage? No, not William. He’d never … would he?

  Obviously, William never meant to deposit a condom on the table. Question was, why had he been carrying one in the first place?

  “Mind you, I’m not speaking of myself,” he explained. “No, royal purple is Bertie’s preference, the nutter. Make of it what you will, the truth is, that,” he said, indicating the foil packet, “is not mine. Really, Bertie slipped it in my pocket as he was leaving the reception. Another of his daft jokes. I’d completely forgotten about it until just now when I assumed I was reaching for a few pound notes. Sorry to disappoint you, Marcella, if you’ve a heart set on a maverick vicar. Let’s, um, not mention a word of this to Bertie, shall we? I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “Having met Bertie, I do believe you. Okay, my lips are sealed. Still, you must have been very distracted, because this soft, squishy, little love packet doesn’t feel anything like a pound note.”

  William’s grin was affectionate. “Right. Your fault, that, distracting me. Here, you’ve had your laugh. Hand over that ghastly purple shield and let’s push off, shall we? As I recall, you were going to escort me out.”

  His warm tone held a hint of innuendo. Marcella was excited about what might happen once they got outside, even if it were no more than a goodnight kiss, but she closed her fingers protectively around the foil packet. Actually, she wasn’t finished teasing.

  “So, why would Bertie slip you a condom, d’you suppose?”

  “Because he’s a wanker.”

  “Because he thought you might get lucky tonight and need one?” With the delicate lift of a brow, she invited his response.

  William had the grace to look humbled. His smile turned apologetic as he said, “Quite the arrogant bloke, isn’t he? I mean, you’ve only known Bertie one afternoon, and already you’ve got his number. Imagine my horror. There I was, surrounded by family and friends, when quite suddenly I found myself with Bertie’s hand down my trousers’ pocket. Very awkward, that.”

  Then, on a more serious note, he added, “You do know, don’t you, Marcella, I’d never make any such assumptions about tonight?”

  Vulnerability shone from his clear blue eyes, willing her to believe him. For a moment, Marcella was overcome by a sense of the most excellent karma she’d ever experienced.

  Desire thrust through her lower belly. The condom was burning a hole in her palm.

  “William, would you like to come up to my room?”

  The invitation glided off her tongue before she knew it, sounding as though it had come from someone more sexually liberated than she. She’d extended the invite, and now there it was, out in the open for them both to confront. Vicar or not, what were they going to do about this overwhelming physical attraction?

  She’d gone heady with wanting him, but when a pause became silence, and William merely stared back, noncommittal with a slightly awed gawk, she began to lose her moxie. A moment ago, she’d thought it inappropriate to ask him up to her room. What had possessed her to do a complete one-eighty?

  Suddenly, she felt it necessary to explain. “I thought maybe we could talk some more. Drink coffee. Whatever. We don’t have to use the condom, necessarily. Don’t get me wrong, we absolutely do have to use it, if things get that far. I am in no way suggesting we should go that far.”

  “Of course not,” he agreed with a grin.

  His humor had returned. He smiled into her eyes with tenderness and affection, then gave a low chuckle as though she had just said something especially heartwarming.

  William captured her waist in his big hands and pulled her to him. Excitement rushed through her at his hungry gaze. She’d obviously said something right, but what? What? What had she said? Was he relieved she wasn’t expecting a romp in the sheets? Or maybe he was relieved to discover she wasn’t some foreign nymph out to shag the vicar? He probably got enough of them locally. The subject had come up more than once today.

  As William lowered his mouth to hers, Marcella parted her lips and let the questions float out her brain. She rose onto the balls of her feet to meet him, and as their lips locked, she reached her arms around his neck and gave herself over to the moment.

  William’s kisses were sensual nirvana. Some deep and lingering, others soft and sweet. He tasted her mouth, he kissed her face, he rubbed his slightly whiskered cheek against the side of her face. Marcella rubbed against him and nuzzled the strong sinew at the curve of his neck. She breathed his clean scent.

  William returned to her mouth for another, this time more urgent, kiss. His hands explored her back through the thin, sheer silk of her tunic until she grew limp in his arms.

  Oh, vicar.

  William e
mitted a low, sexy moan.

  “Lounge is closing, mates!”

  His lips stiffened above her own. He jerked his head back, let out a breath. Eye level with his nose, Marcella peeped up under her lashes into his aquamarine eyes, dazed and breathless. Slowly, she returned to awareness. Had that loud shout been directed at them?

  Apparently. William set her back on her feet and breathed. He ran his fingers through his thick, chestnut hair, then gestured towards the exit. Time to go. Marcella managed a nod, then allowed him to take her firmly by the hand.

  As William escorted her from the lounge, a waiter stood waiting in the foyer. He surged forward to hold the door for them, bidding them good night with a stiff, plastered smile.

  Marcella thought she heard the words, “That’s what we have rooms for,” muttered behind them as they exited into the lobby.

  As they walked along, William steered her towards the main entrance. Marcella stopped, drawing them both to a halt. “Elevators are this way,” she pointed out.

  He stole a wistful glance down the hallway which would lead them to her suite, then turned to meet her gaze.

  “Let’s talk outside,” he suggested.

  Disappointment seeped into her veins. Her Latin blood was boiling and he was going to call it a night?

  William’s eyes pleaded with her to understand. “As much as I do desire to be alone with you, Marcella, I can’t risk popping up to your room. You see, I can’t make love to you.” He started in horror, then quickly amended, “I mean, I bloody well can, don’t get me wrong. But I choose not to. D’you understand?”

  Her lower lip trembled slightly. She didn’t quite understand. Of course it didn’t help matters that he seemed to have changed his mind at a particularly vulnerable moment.