FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1)

by Lark McCaffrey

  Without waiting to recover from the effects of the previous shot, Kady recklessly threw back the second one. This time the consequences were almost lethal. It felt like her lungs had caught fire. As she sputtered and gasped uncontrollably, she began flapping her arms like an upside down chicken. If her loud hacking hadn’t attracted enough attention already, her frantic flailing ensured half the room was now watching her.

  Among the many curious eyes aimed in her direction was a gray-green pair swiftly turning charcoal. Brian followed his friend’s laser focused gaze to a tiny blonde with waist-length hair hocking-up a lung.

  Uh-oh.

  He swung back to Tristan who looked like he was about ready to blow a gasket. His face was flushed and he was mashing his molars, jaw muscles bulging from the force.

  “Seems some women can’t handle a stiff one.”

  In case Brian didn’t catch the double entendre, Addie drove it home with a saucy wink. She’d discovered upon closer inspection that the chiropractor was actually pretty good looking. She hadn’t really noticed him at first because any man next to the priest seemed to recede into the background. But the fact he was a sci-fi buff made him even more attractive to her. With renewed optimism, she decided that the night might be salvageable after all. It appeared she now had a Plan B.

  By this time Kady had finally stopped coughing and was trying to regain some composure. Giving Sebastian a look of chagrin, she wheezed the word, “Water.”

  He gave her a friendly wink. “Your wish is my command, Beautiful.”

  At the bartender’s harmless compliment Kady’s spine snapped taut as a chalk line. “The name’s Kadence,” she gritted through tightly drawn lips.

  The sudden change in her demeanor took him aback. A dark cloud seemed to have come out of nowhere, shadowing her angelic features. Geez, first woman he’d met who objected to being called beautiful. Probably didn’t want to be called honey or sweetheart, either. Okay, he got that it might’ve sounded sexist or something but he was simply stating the obvious. The girl was beautiful. But hell, he’d call her Broom Hilda if she wanted.

  “Sure thing, Kadence. No offense.”

  Returning Sebastian’s sincere open smile with a closed embarrassed one, she offered him a feeble peace offering. “Um, you can call me Kady.”

  With an amiable bob of his head he dispensed Kady’s water and left to attend an obnoxious suit at the other end of the bar snapping his fingers for service.

  Relieved that his attention was drawn elsewhere, Kady expelled a shaky breath. She’d never felt more self-conscious and stupid than she did at that moment. God, and here she thought she’d gotten better about not overreacting to dumb, random things like that.

  Alex put her arm around her shoulder to assuage her trembling. She was well aware her sister could be über sensitive about seemingly benign things and had learned long ago that the clinical term was “trigger”.

  “You okay?”

  Kady gave a small nod.

  “You want to go home?”

  She started to say, yes get me the hell out of here when Kady glanced up and caught her reflection in the wall-length mirror behind the bar. The face staring back at her between shelves lined with colorful bottles was that of a girl—no, almost thirty-year-old woman—with an insipid expression and nothing behind her eyes. Sitting there, Kadence Janacek looked so devoid of life she could’ve passed for a ghost.

  Running… your answer to everything.

  Recalling Tristan’s words fired her up. He was quite the jerk the other day, accusing her of things of which he knew nothing about. Yet he was right about one thing. She had the backbone of a jellyfish. Did she really spend an hour getting ready tonight only to retreat into the shadows? Was it really only thirty minutes ago she was telling herself to try fight instead of flight for a change?

  Alex gently nudged her. “You want to leave?”

  Sitting up straight, she threw up her chin. “No. I want to do another shot.” Then Kady graced her sister with a smile that revealed her all her pearly whites for the first time in ages.

  “T?” Brian was attempting to snap Tristan out of his trance, or whatever semi-conscious state his friend had fallen into since discovering his ex at the bar. “So is that a yes on the beer? Tristan? Dude!”

  “Don’t want another beer,” he muttered.

  Once he started brooding, there was no getting through to Tristan and experience told Brian to just let him be. “Okey-dokey,” he said breezily, turning to Addison. “What about you, Gorgeous?” He wasn’t going to let his friend’s shitty mood ruin his chances of getting lucky tonight. “Ready for a stiff one?” He waggled his brows suggestively at her.

  Addie gave him a coy look and downed what was left remaining in her glass. “Absofuckinglutely,” she declared with alcohol-induced enthusiasm. “Oops, sorry, father,” she giggled, a hand flying up to her mouth. “My bad.”

  Father Cleary paid her no mind. His attention, she saw, had already returned to where it’d been previously glued—on the back of that blonde’s head. Twisted around in his seat, he was watching her like a hungry wolf stalking a lost lamb. She wondered what it was about the woman that merited his predatory interest. Not that she cared really. Not since setting her sights on Brian.

  But from what little she could see of her face, Addie thought the girl might be fairly pretty. Which normally wouldn’t have bothered her. She was confident enough in her own looks that she rarely felt competitive with other attractive females. But there was something about this particular one that made her feel uncharacteristically insecure.

  Maybe it was the mass of wavy champagne-colored hair tumbling down to her waist, making her look like some damn Disney princess. With atypical cattiness, Addie concluded they had to be hair extensions. Well she ought to know, she was wearing them herself. Four hundred dollars worth.

  Or maybe the real reason she was having a rare jealous moment wasn’t so much that the blonde was beautiful but because she was the object of the hot holy father’s wholly unholy focus. To quote F. Scott Fitzgerald… He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man. Father Cleary looked at her in a way no priest had any business looking at a woman.

  “Shit.” Brian had been trying to flag down their waitress–hell anyone–but the growing crowd was running the staff ragged. Not a single server even glanced his way. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s coming over anytime soon.” Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he scooted his chair back from the table and stood up.

  At the sound of scraping wood Tristan’s head whipped around. “What’re you doing?”

  “Going to find Mo to get us some damn service.”

  “You going to the bar?”

  Did Brian hear a twinge of panic in Tristan’s voice? “That’s usually where the booze is located.”

  “Don’t!”

  Yeah, definitely panicked. “I want to get another platter of nachos. And maybe…” He turned to consult Addie. “Yay or nay on some jalapeño poppers?”

  “Nay. Too spicy. I really like their mozzarella sticks, though.”

  “Sticks it is. But I’m hungry enough to eat a baby hippo. Think I’ll add an order of—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Whitmarsh!”

  Tristan’s outburst caught everyone off guard, including him. Ducking his head, he lowered his voice for his friend’s ears only. “Goddamnit, Bri, I’m fucking asking you. Do not. Fucking. Go over there.”

  Apparently he hadn’t spoken quietly enough, as evidenced by Addie’s stunned expression. Did the priest quote scripture as easily as he spewed swear words? It appeared to her that Father Cleary was a little too comfortable dropping F-bombs.

  When she first learned that the tall, muscular man with the broad shoulders and sexy swagger preached the Gospel for a living, shock had followed disappointment which was tailgated by suspicion. The thought she was being p’unked had crossed her mind. Now Addie was sure of it. No wonder he’d been staring at that blonde l
ike he wanted to get into her pants. Father Cleary, her ass.

  “I’m not going over there to talk to her, T, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just putting in a food and drink order, okay?”

  “Not okay. If she sees you, what are you going to do then?”

  Brian was getting a little weary of Tristan’s unreasonable animosity toward Kady. Just because the jackass refused to acknowledge her existence didn’t mean everyone else had to. He felt the sudden urge to grab his obsessed friend by the shirt and shake the shit out of him.

  You gotta let it go, man, it’s been eleven years.

  “I’ll handle it, T.”

  “I don’t want you to handle it, damnit, I want you to stay the hell where you are.”

  Tristan knew he sounded close to unhinged. Fuckit, he was unhinged and it was all that bitch’s fault. First she shows up in his church… now she pops up in his favorite hangout… Coincidence? Not fucking likely. Kady invading his dreams every night was intolerable enough without her now playing his goddamn shadow.

  Ignoring Tristan’s edict, Brian simply said, “Be back in a jiff.” He gave Addie a parting wink as he left.

  The dagger she flung at him went unnoticed.

  Tristan’s lips started to part in protest but he was already striding toward the bar—leaving any objections behind in his wake.

  “What?” His head jerked to the woman at his elbow. Not only did he not hear her, he’d pretty much forgotten she was sitting there.

  “I said… guess the joke’s on me.”

  Tristan gave the pretty redhead his complete attention for the first time since discovering Kady at the bar. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  “I admit you two really had me going. I’m not usually so gullible.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “If you’re a holy father, I’m the Virgin Mary.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mary.”

  Addie scoffed in disbelief. “Oh, you’re good.”

  “I really am a priest,” he said with quiet conviction.

  “Fool me once…”

  “Why the sudden skepticism?”

  “Oh I had my doubts earlier.”

  “Such as…?”

  “Come on, you know you look nothing— I mean, you’re just not like any priest I’ve ever met.”

  “Known a lot, have you?”

  Raised Southern Baptist, Addie’s experience with clergymen was limited to Pastor Turnblad who was old, bald, and fat. “Well, you’re not even dressed like one,” she charged. “Which should’ve been my first clue.”

  “ ‘Man looks at the outward appearance but the Lord looks at the heart.’ ”

  “Suppose that’s from the Bible?”

  “Samuel 16:7.”

  “Of course. Good old Sam.” She rolled her eyes. “All right, as far as your clothing… I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But a priest in a pub? That’s not communion wine you’re drinking there, father.”

  He cracked a crooked half-smile, the one with just enough corner lift to call out his dimple. “You obviously haven’t heard any of those priest walks into a bar jokes.”

  Addie’s eyes landed on his lips like a fly on flypaper. Whatever the man was, he was handsome as hell damn him. “Okay, Mr. Got-An-Answer-For-Everything… So maybe going out for a beer isn’t a sacrilege. But what about the cussing and ogling?”

  “Ogling?”

  She tossed her chin in the direction of the bar.

  Drawing Tristan’s attention back to Kady was a mistake. What bit of lightness that had begun working its way back into his dark disposition fled at the reminder.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said tightly.

  “That blonde you can’t take your eyes off of. You know her? Or just hoping to get to know her?”

  He glanced back over at Kady in time to witness her sling back another shot. What he counted to be her fifth. Damnit, what was she doing? She never drank anything stronger than light beer, and even that she seldom did. Now here she was, knocking back hard liquor as if it were lemonade. Her tiny frame couldn’t possibly metabolize it all. Damnit, she was going to get alcohol poisoning.

  Tristan wasn’t sure why he was so upset. The dumb bitch could drink herself into a coma for all he cared. As long as it was outside a five-hundred mile radius from wherever he happened to be, she could do whatever the hell she wanted. Christ, a dozen and a half bars in Carkeek and she happened to randomly chose this one? What about “not ever” didn’t that thick skull of hers understand?

  He didn’t want Kady anywhere near him. Especially not here, in a sports bar teeming with single (aka eligible) men. Horny men. Men on the prowl. Men whose rubbernecking necks he wanted to fucking ring. But how could he blame them considering what the girl was wearing. Or not wearing. In place of pants Kady had on black leggings that looked spray-painted on, and from what he could tell she’d gone commando. At least she wasn’t rocking camel toe (that he was able to see).

  Though he’d never admit it, when it came to his former flame his sense of male entitlement was still as strong as ever. He hated that Kady was drawing attention to herself. He hated that Kady was drawing attention to herself. Hated that her red sleeveless blouse was equally slut—revealing. The front was covered in modest ruffles but draped down to a low V, offering discreet but tantalizing peeks of her cleavage whenever she leaned or turned. The silky fabric was so sheer he could see the back and sides of her bra. Her black lace bra.

  He had never seen her dressed quite like this before.

  She’d been partial to oversized sweatshirts and used to wear her jeans two sizes too big. At the time he’d assumed the reason was simply because she favored comfort over fashion. Now he wondered if her baggy clothing was to conceal that killer body. It pissed him off that he was being made aware for the first time of what he’d missed out on. What he’d been too virtuous during all their years together to even sample. No, what he’d been too afraid to. Tristan knew himself enough to know that he wouldn’t have stopped at just “sampling”. As far as his physical relationship with Kady went, he’d been a fucking Boy Scout.

  Christ, if he had it all to do over again… There wouldn’t be any part of her left untouched by him. His hands, his mouth, tongue, fingers, cock… All his bodily appendages would get to know her intimately. And often.

  “Well?”

  Addie was still waiting for Tristan’s reply. Her query had gone unanswered long enough for her to assume it wasn’t going to be at all.

  Tristan blew out a breath. “Yeah. I know her.”

  He sounded as if he rued the fact and she couldn't help her curiosity. “So who is she?”

  “My ex.”

  She goggled. “Wife?”

  “Fiancée.”

  “So I was right.”

  “Believe me or not, Addison, I am who I say I am.”

  Despite his adamant insistence she still couldn’t quite buy it. “How could a Catholic priest be engaged to be married?”

  “It was brief. The engagement. Happened before…” Kady cut out my heart and tossed it in the trash. “I entered the seminary.”

  Part of Addie wanted to take his word for it, but the distrustful part feared being taken for a ride. It wouldn’t the first time she was deceived by a man. But the aura of sadness that seemed to surround him was what ultimately convinced her. The man looked too vulnerable to be a liar. Besides, what could he possibly gain from the pretense?

  “You swear you’re a priest?”

  “On a stack of Bibles.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “If you don’t want to take my word for it, come to service this Sunday. See for yourself. St. Ben’s on the corner of Reston and West Fidalgo. Mass starts at eight. Again at ten if you want to sleep in.”

  “I’m not Catholic.”

  “Everyone’s welcomed into the fold. Protestants and atheists included,” he cracked.

  “I’m Baptist.”

 
; He gave her another of his lopsided grins. “Even better.”

  Addie felt her stomach dip. “I’ll think about it,” she murmured. Her tone may have sounded noncommittal but her mind was already picking out what outfit to wear.

  As if suddenly pulled by some invisible string, they both simultaneously looked over at the bar to see Brian rubbing shoulders with Alex.

  “I knew it,” Tristan muttered. “I knew he’d go over there.” Never mind that Brian had every right to say hello to someone he’d known since childhood, he felt dissed and pissed and seemed to have forgotten that all of them had grown up together.

  As Addie closely watched the two old friends share a laugh, her big brown eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Who’s the woman with Brian?”

  “The sister,” he grated.

  Then it occurred to him. Brian was talking to Alex and only Alex. Kady wasn’t even sitting at the bar anymore. Some bearded dude in a plaid shirt had poached her stool. Absently grousing about how hipsters were fucking everywhere, he surveilled the crowded pub.

  Damnit, where had she gone? Could she have left already? No, he would’ve noticed. Bathroom? She’d have to pass by his table to get to it. Tristan wondered where the hell she was. Then wondered why the hell he was even wondering.

  Ten

  OhGodohGodohGod…

  Kady was leaning against a stucco wall, one hand clutching her stomach, the other smothering her mouth. She was going to toss her cookies. How she ended up in this dimly lit hallway she had no clue. For what seemed like hours she’d been looking for the ladies restroom but had somehow stumbled into a storage closet instead.

  Brilliant.

  There’d been all sorts of cleaning supplies inside the small room, including an old vacuum cleaner and a couple of dirty mops. She couldn’t recall seeing any buckets, however, and her head was pounding too much to go back and check. But she needed something to barf in. As convenient as it was, the floor was not an option. She was determined not to embarrass herself any more than she already had. Downing all those shots earlier had turned her into a sideshow attraction and once was enough.