I Only Want To Be With You

by Lisa Norato

  “I’m making a complete bollocks of an explanation, aren’t I?” He shook his head, then attempted a smile. “Please, don’t take what I’ve said the wrong way. I do fancy you, Marcella. Adore you, in fact.” He gave her fingers a little squeeze. “I’m totally and hopelessly smitten, no question. But you see…well, purple’s not really my color. Doesn’t do a thing for me, I’m afraid.”

  Marcella snapped out of her self-pitying funk and narrowed him a glare. His dry wit never took a break, did it? “Ha, ha,” she jeered. “You’d better be joking.”

  “Kidding about the purple, yes. It’s no joke, however, how very much I find myself caring for you after only so short a time. But seriously, Marcella, I’m a vicar. The church is my way of life. My responsibility, actually. I’ve certain moral obligations to uphold. I am duty bound to set a proper example. You see, I don’t believe in intimacy outside of a serious, committed relationship. And even though your invitation could just as well turn out to be nothing more than a perfectly innocent cup of coffee, with the way I’m feeling right now, I don’t believe it wise to tempt fate.”

  “Oh!” Only a man comfortable with honesty could have made such a frank admission. She was impressed. She hadn’t misread him. It was just that being a vicar meant more to William than a paycheck. He really took his commitment to his faith seriously. She’d sensed this from the beginning. Unfortunately for her, those senses had been momentarily suspended in a fog of lust.

  “Oh,” she reiterated, this time with clarity.

  Here she stood, head over heels for a tall, virile, handsome man, on what promised to be the most romantic evening of her life. Two single, healthy, red-blooded, consenting adults, with nothing standing between them and a night of earth-shattering sex but God.

  So, where did this leave them? She couldn’t promise William a relationship because of her job, and he couldn’t agree to a simple romantic weekend because of his.

  Suddenly, she remembered the condom and relaxed her grip until she felt the small packet unfurl in her palm.

  “So, then, you’ve never… ?” Midsentence Marcella worried the question might be too personal.

  William’s gaze never wavered. “Not since I was ordained, no. Can’t speak for what I did before that. Had to test out the goods, didn’t I?”

  Marcella returned his grin. So, he wasn’t a virgin, then. She quickly pressed her memory for the evening’s stats. William let her know during their conversation he was twenty-nine. He’d been a priest for six years.

  Six years of abstinence. All that highborn testosterone bottled up inside his tall, gorgeous bod for seventy-two months and counting, aging like a fine imported wine. What she wouldn’t give to be the lucky girl who popped his cork.

  “You might want to watch yourself,” she warned. “You sounded like Bertie just then.”

  “Well, I suppose I was rather a bit like Bertie, once upon a time. I was a randy fourteen, mad for the church organist in my godfather’s church. We were together nine years. We’d rather become a comfortable, old habit by the time I was ready to join the clergy. When I explained to Emma we’d have to marry if our relationship were to continue, she started on arrangements for our wedding. Unfortunately, I was too busy with my own clerical preparations at the time to take an active part in the planning. If I had, I’d have noticed she was having doubts. In hindsight, I should have realized Emma was never the sort to be content with a comfortable, old habit. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a vicar’s wife, mind. Don’t want you thinking it’s terribly dull, or anything. Personally, I highly recommend my life in the country. Emma was just the wrong woman to share it with, you see. In the end, she decided to make a go of London in pursuit of fame and fortune.”

  He gave a little shrug. “So, there you have it. My romantic history … or lack thereof, as it were. Perhaps I should have mentioned something straightaway, but I simply couldn’t wait another moment to kiss you.”

  Marcella waved off his apology. “You’d already waited long enough. I’m the one who should apologize. I was raised better than to offer temptation to a priest.”

  William laughed. “You are proving quite the test of my faith, I must say.” Stepping closer, he cupped her chin and smiled longingly into her eyes. With the pad of his thumb, he caressed the underside of her jaw. His gaze dropped to her lips. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so entirely tempted.”

  Marcella swallowed the lump in her throat. He’d told her no, yet everything else about him seemed to signal her with a screeching Yes, and speaking for herself … well, she’d never felt so attracted in her life.

  William moved in for the kiss, but could she close her eyes, pucker her lips, and let nature take its course? Oh-no. Her brain had been scrambling like crazy to absorb Emma. Nine years. Nine years he’d been testing his goods out on Emma.

  She stepped back, jerking her chin from his hand. There was something she just had to know.

  William started. He searched her face, alarmed and confused. His eyes held a wounded “what’d I do?” look.

  What’d he do? He’d done his country bumpkin church organist for nine years, yet here he was refusing to lay a finger on her sexy chic cosmopolitan self.

  She was being unreasonable, of course. It was great William was being so open with her. Then what had caused this sudden anxiety over a woman she’d never met?

  “You’re still close friends with your ex, right?” Jealousy prevented her from referring to the woman by name.

  “Huh? Oh, right,” he drawled, his tone wary. “Yes. I believe I did mention that earlier, yes.”

  Obviously, he was wondering where this was all going, so Marcella got straight to the point. “Any chance you two might get back together? I’d just like to know. Honestly. Is it really over?”

  His face flooded with relief. “Back with Emma? Not likely, Marcella. Emma and I are … we’re all very casual, really. Why, we’re sort of childhood chums, I suppose you could say. Nothing more. It’s completely over romantically. Totally. Absolutely.”

  Ha, the kind of childhood chums who enjoyed playing doctor!

  Okay, she was cool with this. She smiled and gave him a nod of understanding. After all, what right did she have to question his past? She had no claim on William. They weren’t even a couple. Except that she couldn’t help wondering. Emma had been the one to dump William, which would naturally come as a crushing blow in the middle of planning a wedding… .

  She searched his face for any hidden emotion. Was he hiding his pain behind that confident smile?

  He gestured to the condom in her hand. “Well, now, what are we to do with that?”

  The change of subject snapped Marcella’s attention from the past to the future. “I was thinking of hanging on to it as a souvenir.”

  “A souvenir? Are you mad? Really? Bertie’s purple condom? Blimey. If you want a souvenir, Marcella, I could get you an outdated Queen’s anniversary mug, or something. Certainly, we can find something slightly less ridiculous. Why, I’m not entirely sure that crumpled bit of suspicious-looking foil will make it through Customs. I must say, I am feeling a bit insecure. I hope you’ve no intention of using it.”

  Ah-ha, so she wasn’t the only one vulnerable to jealousy. With a smile, she walked her fingers up William’s lean, hard chest, then toyed with the open neckline of his shirt. She peeked inside. Smooth and hairless from what she could tell. Very nice. With a celibate vicar, a girl had to sneak a thrill any way she could.

  “Who knows, maybe someday you might be persuaded to fly to New York for a visit. In fact, I am hereby extending you an open invitation. In which case, I think I’ll save this for ‘someday’ ”

  She raised the condom package to eye level.

  William gaped at it, horrified. “D’you really intend to nick that back to America?” He turned to study her with a pensive look, then slowly, his lips twisted in a grin.

  “Well, that’s all very promising, then, isn’t it?” he asked, sweeping
her into his arms. “Does this mean you’ve given some consideration to becoming a vicar’s wife?”

  What … whoa … wife? She’d only known him a day. The very idea was absurd. When she’d set herself a goal of stepping into Lynne Graham’s shoes, marriage to a vicar was not what she’d had in mind. But then her subconscious interrupted. Who are you kidding? You have so considered William as the One. You can’t think of anything else.

  “Are you asking me to marry you?” she ventured to tease.

  William brought his aristocratic nose in direct alignment with her own and made like an Eskimo. “Don’t be surprised if before you leave, I do just that.”

  What was it about a corny nose rub that triggered a sensual response? Maybe the face-to-face aspect. William’s eyes were dazzling. And he was looking so amused, Marcella felt sure he’d been kidding. Of course, he’d been kidding. But as they gazed into each other’s eyes, she felt something pass between them that took her breath away.

  William straightened. They jumped apart and simultaneously took a step backwards. Marcella felt shaken.

  William chuckled, gathering himself. “Well, what am I doing, eh? It’s quite late. I should be home polishing my sermon for tomorrow. I’ve a special service to prepare for. Got this early start. Got to be on form. I’ll ring you tomorrow afternoon, shall I?”

  Marcella nodded mutely.

  “All right then, up to your room,” he said with a nod towards the elevators. “I’ll watch from here to make certain you get safely to the lifts.”

  Marcella realized she wasn’t ready to let him out of her sight. “But I promised to walk you outside, remember?”

  “Right.” He smiled gratefully, but once they’d stepped outdoors, he left her with no more than a kiss on the cheek before turning to go.

  She stood longingly in the warm bath of lamplight pouring out the black-paned windows of The Bear’s ivy-covered facade and watched as William disappeared down the long drive into the darkness beyond.

  *

  William’s heart pounded heavily in his chest as he headed for the car park.

  “Ciao!” he heard her call from behind. He halted at the sound of her voice and for a moment considered turning round and running back to her.

  Her dark eyes. Those lovely breasts. At no time since he’d joined the Church had the struggle with his desires been such agony. The taste, the feel of her soft inner lip lingered on his mouth. Perhaps just one final snog. With her loose-fitting top, it’d be easy, really, to ease a hand up inside or simply touch her through that sheer, flimsy material.

  It’d hardly be enough, though, would it? After all, he couldn’t bloody well expect he’d be satisfied with just a bit of a feel, and leave it at that. A vision of himself sheathed in a bright purple condom sprang suddenly to mind. God help him.

  William rallied his strength. He took a deep breath, then gave a final wave and continued to stride away, towards his bike. His footsteps echoed in the night.

  His was a rewarding job, involved in the everyday lives of families in his parish, sharing their laughter, comforting them through their tears. He was loved, trusted, and respected. Welcome in every home and at every table. What a bitter disappointment, then, at the end of a day, to leave all that and return with Babette to an empty house. Sometimes the quiet was refreshing, but more often than he cared to dwell upon, the silence mocked him.

  Weddings, baptisms, funerals. All intimate family gatherings of which he played a central part. He was surrounded by people who shared their lives with someone special. Was there no one special for him?

  He must be barking to think he had a chance with Marcella. She had a lot in common with Emma, didn’t she? Very posh, very much one of the “It” girls with her smart sense of style and exciting career in the city. Certainly, she wasn’t any more interested in becoming a vicar’s wife than Emma had been.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t call Marcella tomorrow. What would be the point? They’d spend another fabulous evening together, and then she’d be gone, off to New York and her busy magazine. She’d quickly forget all about him. There were sure to be plenty of New York blokes competing for her attention.

  One last date? Seemed a bit like dangling a carrot he couldn’t reach before his own nose.

  *

  Marcella unlocked the door to her suite and noticed a dim, flickering light coming from inside Sallie’s room. As she got closer, she heard the low hum of the television and popped in her head. “Sallie,” she whispered.

  Silence.

  She tiptoed into the room. “Sal?”

  Sallie lay prone in bed, head cocked to one side, hair spilled over the pillows, dead to the world. A vanilla spice candle burned in a travel tin at her bedside, illuminating the honey highlights in her light brown hair.

  Marcella blew out the candle, then picked up the remote. Sallie had been watching a BBC fashion police show.

  Marcella hung around a moment hoping Sallie would wake. She thought about accidentally turning up the volume, oops!, but got distracted watching a cute redhead in a flippy bob advise a confused housewife that black was not the most flattering nor slimming of color choices.

  “Don’t you dare give her that line about brown being the new black,” she protested to the screen in a slightly raised voice, then immediately turned to see if she’d roused Sallie.

  Her friend continued to sleep soundly. With a sigh, Marcella switched off the set.

  She kicked off her denim slides, scooped them off the floor, then padded to her own room where she immediately switched on the bedside lamp so she could jot William’s birth date down in her organizer. She tucked the condom safely in a front pocket.

  She felt wired, frustrated at being left at the door, but riding on a high of William, with all her senses alert. She needed to wind down or she’d never be able to sleep. She needed girl talk.

  She undressed, washed her face, dabbed on some vitamin enriched eye gel, then slipped on a full-length satin nightgown. She went into the sitting area for a sparkling water from the minibar, and on her way back, peeked inside Sallie’s room in case she’d regained consciousness.

  “Sal? Hey, Sal.”

  Sallie rolled onto her side with a little moan.

  Marcella swallowed her disappointment and carried her water bottle back to bed. After a while, she forced herself to lie down.

  Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, only to wake a couple of hours later, and as she lay there in the darkness, suddenly it came to her.

  The perfect solution to seeing William again.

  Chapter 8

  Early the next morning, Marcella grabbed her organizer and sprang out of bed. Inside, she was jumping with excitement as she padded into the sitting area.

  “Nate, honey, do me a favor and put Henri on the line. Uh-huh, that’s right. What? I know the call is expensive, but it gets more expensive the longer you complain. I want to talk to Henri.”

  Sallie had beaten her to the phone. Marcella was anxious to make a quick call so she could plan their day, but if Nate put Henri on the line … well, no avoiding the inevitable.

  Glancing up, Sallie waved her over with a smile. Into the phone, she told Nate, “Dude, don’t argue with me, okay? It is not stupid. He needs to hear my voice. He gets separation anxiety. Just do it, Nate.”

  Marcella took a seat across the small table from where Sallie sat. She unzipped her organizer, found the number she wanted to call, then poured herself a cup of hot coffee from the pot Sallie had already brewed in the room’s automatic coffee maker.

  Sallie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Henri, mon ange! It’s Mommy, chéri. Je t’aime.” Her tone rose to a sickeningly sweet pitch, ad nauseum. “Mommy misses her petit monsieur.”

  Marcella stirred powdered creamer into her coffee while Sallie made kissing noises into the phone.

  “Have you been a good boy for your Uncle Nate?”

  Through the receiver, Marcella heard Nate comment in an unamused tone.

&
nbsp; Marcella hid a smile behind the rim of her coffee cup. She knew better than to waste time trying to understand why any woman would send her love across the Atlantic to her teacup poodle, meanwhile neglecting her boyfriend who was holding the phone to the dog’s ear. When it came to small animals, Sallie was a total marshmallow.

  Poor Nate. He was a good guy. He really didn’t have anything against little fufu dogs. He just had a hard time warming up to a four-and-a-half pound, territorial hairball who nipped at his bum while he was trying to make love to his girlfriend.

  Yeah, Nate and Henri had their issues.

  Nate got back on the line. Sallie confirmed their time of arrival into Kennedy Airport tomorrow evening. Nate had agreed to pick them up. Sallie lingered on the line another few minutes saying goodbye, then hung up and gave Marcella her full attention. “How did it go with you and William last night? I never heard you come in.”

  “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But mind if I make a quick phone call first?”

  Sallie shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “Change of plans,” Marcella explained as she snatched up the receiver, then began to dial. “I have the most fantastic idea. It’ll be so much fun.”

  Sallie eyed her curiously.

  After several rings, an elderly woman greeted Marcella on the other end of the line.

  “Good morning,” Marcella said. “What time is service this morning?” She jotted the reply in her organizer. “Okay, got it. And coffee served in the church hall immediately afterwards? Excellent. Yes, I will. Thank you very much.”

  Sallie’s brow shot up. “Church hall? What’s this about? We’re spending the day in London, remember? We have reservations at the Savoy. We bought hats.”

  “Wear your hat to church. This morning we’ll be attending service at St. Francis’s in Bramble Moor. William’s church. Where we’ll get an insider’s view of the dishy Reverend Stafford, doing his thing. What do you think?”

  Sallie gave her a long, bored stare. “Marcella, I do so not want to spend my last and only free day in England sitting in a pew of some ancient church. We did that yesterday, if you recall. What brought on this brainstorm? Did William invite you?”