by Lisa Norato
“Sounds great. You’re going to take it, right?”
“Good heavens, no. I’m not interested in some minor features editor position when I’ve a CV to land a senior staffer’s post virtually anywhere. We do have magazines in England, you know. No, for the present, I’m perfectly content to devote myself to Henry.”
Marcella nodded, absorbing all this new info.
“Ciao bella,” a familiar voice greeted from the doorway.
When she glanced up and saw him, Marcella’s heart lurched. William, in black trousers, black shirt, and white clerical collar, standing tall and gorgeous right here in her office. And holding what appeared to be a tray of Christmas cookies.
His face illuminated in a smile. Marcella let loose an ecstatic squeal and rushed him, as fast as a pair of stilettos could carry a girl. He awkwardly shifted the cookie tray to make room for her in his arms, while with his free hand, he drew her close for a kiss. Marcella snaked her arms up around his neck and thought, How she’d missed this man.
Several oblivious moments later, they were interrupted by Lynne clearing her throat.
William lifted his head. “Aunt Lynne, oh, excuse us.” As they drew apart, he ducked his head bashfully, then, with a grin, gave Marcella a wink.
Lynne approached. “William, dear, perhaps Marcella would care to join us for a late lunch.” She cast Marcella a pointed look on her way out the door. ’Course she’ll need to change those shoes first.”
Marcella endured William’s smirk. “You do seem a bit taller.”
“Sorry I didn’t make it to Reception in time to greet you. I had a situation.” Marcella peered down the hall to confirm Lynne was indeed gone, then pulled William inside and closed the door. “I had to borrow this pair from the Fashion Department.”
His gaze had already found the wastebasket, and while he puzzled over the sight of her trashed shoe, Marcella relieved him of the cookie tray, saying, “Looks like the kitchen staff’s been busy.”
William stepped closer, scooping her back into his arms. “Friendly lot. Apparently, they’ve been experimenting for the Christmas issue. Insisted I take some of their cookies. I’d thought I’d never left St. Francis’s.”
The quickest way to a man’s heart, Marcella mused. Later, she’d have a little chat with those chefs and make it clear the vicar was off limits. But for now, she pushed everything but William to the back of her mind and closed her eyes to receive his kiss.
Months of longing flowed from their lips. They kissed until they were breathless, then stood with foreheads touching and stared into one another’s eyes.
“I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said.
They straightened and Marcella reached up to trace his jawline. “So? What’re you doing here? Not that that’s a complaint.”
“After that kiss, I’d have a difficult time believing it was. Anyway, right, as I recall, you did extend me an open invitation. It was back in the lounge at The Bear.”
“But the last time we talked,” which Marcella recalled had been exactly four days ago, “you still hadn’t been assigned a curate. How’d you manage to get away? And why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I would have met you at the airport.”
“It was all so spur of the moment.” He turned and began pacing the office. “Only yesterday, I learned Aunt Lynne was flying to New York on business to do with the magazine. The thought of her coming here, to where you worked. And me, stuck in England. It hardly seemed fair. I poured out my plight, and Henry, God bless him, took pity. Offered me his seat on the plane, then arranged for someone to look after my parish in my absence. I couldn’t wait any longer to be with you, curate or not.”
Music to Marcella’s ears. But she was curious. “And Lynne went along with this?”
“Obviously,” he said, and there was pride in his smile. “She adores you. Speaking of Aunt Lynne, mustn’t keep her waiting long, she’s been so kind. She wants to introduce me to some of her friends.” He took Marcella’s hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Join us?”
Another lunch? With Lynne and her friends? “Oh, I can’t right now. Too much to do. Besides, I’ve already been to lunch. If only I had known.” And darn, if only she had. “But you go ahead. I’ll finish up here so we can get an early start on this evening. You, ah, don’t have other plans for tonight, I hope?”
His aquamarine eyes sparkled. “None that don’t include you. We’ll go to dinner. Somewhere special. Aunt Lynne’s given me some suggestions.”
“I have a better idea. It’s been three months since we’ve seen each other. Tonight should be just the two of us. Alone. Why don’t we have dinner at my place?”
He looked skeptical. Marcella imagined him wondering where an invitation to her place might lead.
Anywhere he wanted.
“Oh, but, I couldn’t possibly ask you to cook,” he argued. “Actually, I was looking forward to taking you out on a real date.”
She had to convince him. If she were busy serving, William wouldn’t notice her lack of appetite. Whereas, if he took her out, he might be insulted to see her picking at her food. After that fiasco of a stomach-turning lunch and a belly stuffed with chocolate souffle, Marcella didn’t feel up to another restaurant.
Besides, she wanted nothing more than to be alone with him.
“We can do the date thing tomorrow,” she promised. “Tonight, I’ll whip up something light and simple for dinner. A little wine. Some candlelight. Just a quiet dinner. It’ll be fun. C’mon, I’ve seen your home. Aren’t you a little curious to visit mine?”
“Curiosity has nothing to do with it. This isn’t a good idea, Marcella. Especially not our first night together after months of separation.”
Honorable Will. She couldn’t help but sigh. With a tilt of her head, she gave him her best doe eyes. “I promise not to attack you.”
Marcella could read in his eyes, he wanted to say yes.
Of course, he couldn’t see her fingers crossed behind her back. Didn’t his crossing an ocean mean William was ready to step up to the next level? They had reached a point where something had to give, one way or the other. Either this relationship would grow or it would die. And it definitely wasn’t going to be the latter.
She snatched a pad from her desk and scribbled down her Madison Avenue address, in case William wasn’t as into remembering details as she was. “I’ll stop at the market on my way home to get what I need. Meet me at my place around six. My building’s right next door to a small barbershop.” She tore off the sheet and presented it to him. “You can set the table while I fix dinner.”
He stared at the sheet, unmoving, and swallowed.
“C’mon,” she encouraged. “I was only kidding. I won’t really make you set the table.”
Her teasing finally coaxed a smile out of him, and with a shake of his head, he accepted the address. “As long as you’re certain this is what you want. I’ll bring the wine, then, shall I?”
“It’ll be great. You’ll see.”
William stared helplessly into her eyes. “That’s precisely what worries me.”
Chapter 15
A few hours later, William stood before the door to Marcella’s flat and reminded himself no matter what temptations lay beyond, he must remember who he was and what he represented. As an ordained parish priest of the Church of England, under supreme governorship of Her Majesty the Queen, he mustn’t allow his desires to get the better of him, no matter how tightly Marcella’s top clung to her breasts or how softly she gazed into his eyes.
Balancing his packages in one arm, he extended the other hand, but it trembled as he reached for the buzzer.
Blimey. He clenched his fist, shook it out, then tried again.
The bell sounded from within, and moments later, Marcella swung open the door, welcoming him with a sunny smile in a dress surprisingly more conservative than anything he’d seen her wear.
“Hi.”
> “Hi.”
For a moment, he simply stared.
Her navy dot print ended at the knee and crossed beneath her breasts in a high waist. Over it, she wore a short red cardigan. Something he’d expect one might wear to church. Well, not Marcella specifically, but a dress another woman might wear to church.
Yet on Marcella, with her dark exotic eyes and lashes as thick and jet as her hair, the look reminded him of a young Sophia Loren. Or possibly a farmer’s daughter from the Tuscan countryside. Conservative perhaps, but she could have been wearing nothing a’tall and it would have had the same effect on him.
“You look absolutely lovely.”
Her eyes danced over him, widening as they dropped from his face. “And look at you in a crew neck.” Reaching forth, she snagged the neckline of his jumper and tugged. “I can actually see your throat. Very shag-a-delic.”
She made a sound similar to a purr and stretched towards him for a kiss. William’s lids closed heavily as her lips drew near, his eyes all but rolling back in his head as she pressed them to his. He kissed her tenderly, grew a bit more aggressive, and then impatient altogether, as he opened his mouth hungrily over hers. She curled into his body in response. Her fingers slipped inside his jumper to stroke the base of his throat, that spot usually guarded by the symbol of his calling. When he felt the packages in his arms begin to slip, he rallied strength and pulled away, lightheaded as he lifted his head, and he hadn’t even gotten through the door yet, God help him.
With a giggle, she stepped back and pulled him into her flat by a handful of jumper. “Come in.”
Releasing him, she turned to shut the door. William smoothed the wrinkles from his jumper and glanced round a large, open space of both front room and eat-in kitchen combined. Everywhere he looked featured some shade of white. From the high pearly ceilings to a glass coffee table through which he could see the plush, milky carpet beneath. A silver tray filled with sea shells functioned as a candle holder. Pale blue walls surrounded an ivory jacquard parlor set with cream knitted throws and frosty beaded cushions. The late afternoon sun shone through a row of windows above a small dining area onto the kitchen’s white glass-fronted cabinets, counters, and appliances, making the entire area gleam.
“Home sweet home,” Marcella quipped as she came to stand alongside him.
“Yes, it’s all very white,” he said, unable to find a more appropriate word. “Posh, certainly. But quite lively. D’you s’pose heaven looks a bit like this, like the inside of a cloud?”
She gave his arm a playful whack, then turned her gaze about the room. “Okay, I hear you. But I find a white-on-white palette quiet and comforting. Especially after a long day at work.”
“Oh, absolutely. It’s lovely, honest. I just hope I don’t spill anything. Speaking of which, these are for you.” He passed Marcella a tall paper sack. “White zin. I thought since you said you’d be cooking light… .”
“White zinfandel is perfect.”
“And here.” He handed her a small pastry box. “Chocolate. My first instinct was to bring flowers. But then, flowers aren’t really the thing anymore, are they? Chocolate is the more fashionable way to show affection, I’ve been told. You’d think a vicar wouldn’t be versed in such things, but the woman behind the sweets counter assured me I couldn’t go wrong with a Black Forest cheesecake. They’ve, er, arranged the cherries in the shape of a heart.”
She beamed, looking quite amused, but William worried whether he’d sounded a bit like a spod. You’d think he’d never dated before. Actually, he couldn’t remember feeling this nervous in his life.
He followed Marcella into the kitchen, watching as she popped the cheesecake into the fridge. Little did she know, his trip to the States was more than a visit. He’d come with a purpose. And though he was bursting with it, he’d only just arrived. Patience was wise, surely, at least until tomorrow.
“So, what’s for supper, then?” Stuffing a hand into his trousers’ pocket, he peered into a large skillet on the cooker. Inside, chicken fillets and capers sauteed in butter and oil. Fresh lemons lay sliced on a cutting board.
“Chicken piccata,” she announced, peeling the foil from the stem of the wine bottle. “And there’s roasted balsamic vegetables in the oven.”
“Smells fantastic.” He’d already opened the door for a peek. “Here, let me help you with that.”
William took the bottle from her and noticed that a pair of short, thick wine glasses had been set out. “Do I detect a rustic, country theme to this evening’s meal?”
“What gave it away? The dress? And I was aiming for subtle.”
She passed him a corkscrew, which he accepted with a raise of his brows. “That dress is the only thing subtle about you tonight, I’m afraid.”
She smiled, eyeing him shrewdly. “Unlike you not wearing your dog collar, you mean?”
“To the contrary, I wasn’t trying to imply anything by not wearing the collar. I simply wanted to dress attractively for our dinner date.”
“A little too attractive for your own good.” And the way she stared as she said it started his heart to pound. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Believe it or not, I’m famished.” He popped the cork and she held up a glass for him to fill.
“There was the long plane ride,” he explained as he poured. “Then, I didn’t eat much with Aunt Lynne and her girlfriends. We went to one of those really posh restaurants where the chefs are keen on garnish, but dreadfully economical when it comes to portions, d’you know what I mean? It seemed every time I’d start to take a bite someone would ask another question. What do you wear under your cassock? Or something equally ridiculous. What is it about an English vicar that poses such a novelty to you American women?”
“What do you wear under your cassock?” Her gaze skimmed down, well below his waist.
His hand trembled. The wine spilled.
“Just playing with you,” she said as she stilled his hand and set down the bottle, moving closer. “But I thought we’d already gone over this. It’s not so much the collar, as the man in the collar.”
William took her in his arms. His fingers tightened round her small waist, and blimey, if the cool silk of her dress didn’t feel as delicate as a negligee beneath the warmth of his hand.
She pressed closer. Her breath touched his lips as she softly whispered, “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
William lost himself in her deep brown eyes. It felt as though these last three months had never separated them. The connection and sense of rightness were as keen as ever.
He kissed her then, his palm gliding down to knead the curve of her slim hip, where his thumb discovered the lace edge of her knickers through the fine silk. Very naive of him to think this dress conservative. His blood boiled with desire, and he clutched her tighter, unable to satisfy himself with a kiss alone. Marcella moaned beneath his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. He caught a whiff of the woodsy vanilla fragrance she wore and his senses whirred with all the wanting pulsing through his veins, until suddenly something inside him signaled a warning.
Jolting to his senses, William released her, pulling out of the kiss. He steadied his breath, somehow managed to smile.
“Er, what shall I do to help?” he asked.
He’d be first to admit, living up to one’s principles was not an easy thing. Visions of her knickers danced in his brain.
Marcella’s gaze had locked on his lips. She blinked and looked into his eyes with a dazed expression. “Wow,” she mouthed.
“Wow, indeed. But dinner,” he reminded her. “How shall I help?”
“Oh, dinner.” At once, she’d regained composure. She backed away slowly, reached for her wine glass, then eyed him seductively over the rim as she took a sip. “When you said you were hungry just now, you were talking about food?”
Heat spread up his already quite warm neck, until he noticed the corner of her mouth twitch. “You’re having quite a bit of fun with me ton
ight, aren’t you?”
“Not half as much as I’d like to.”
“Marcella, please,” he begged.
“Okay, okay. Dinner’s ready, anyway. Let me take the veggies out of the oven, then we can load up our plates and carry them out to the terrace.”
“The terrace? Great.” He could do with a bit of air.
“It’s just through my bedroom.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether she was having him on again. “Your bedroom?”
“That’s right. The terrace is just outside my bedroom window. Climbing out is a small inconvenience, considering. And don’t give me that look. I’m not trying to trick you.”
“I’d never suggest you were,” he balked.
“Like I’d ever have to trick a man into bed.”
“I’ve no argument with that.”
They exchanged smiles while Marcella slipped on a pair of oven mitts, and as she bent to reach inside the oven, William was tempted to give that bottom of hers a playful slap.
He resisted and focused rather on channeling the hunger in his body to the one organ he could satisfy — his stomach. He helped himself to a generous portion of the chicken piccata and roasted vegetables. And several of the cheese-stuffed figs wrapped in prosciutto Marcella had prepared as a starter.
He popped one in his mouth, chewing as he tucked the wine bottle under one arm. He balanced his dinner plate in his palm and followed Marcella into her bedroom, bracing himself as though he ridiculously expected to discover it some sort of seduction den. He found the room decidedly feminine and just as light-filled as the rest of her flat. Airy white linens edged in pale pink dressed an antique reproduction, white scroll, metal bed.
They walked round the foot of the bed and set their plates on a nightstand by the room’s only window.
“Allow me,” William volunteered, as Marcella stepped forward to raise the screen. “I’m feeling adventuresome. This is a first, you know. Climbing out a window for my supper.”
“Well, then.” Marcella retrieved the wine glasses and handed one off to him. “To a night of firsts,” she said, chinking his glass with hers.