Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance

by Sara Cate

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  “Forty-four.”

  “No,” I snap like a reflex. I took him to be in his late thirties, but not mid forties. He’s older than Sunny’s husband, but it’s a different look of aging.

  “Yep,” Callum says with a hint of laughter.

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Well, how old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “A baby.” He looks at me, his eyes scanning my face before I catch a split second glance to my body, and those fucking butterflies in my stomach are making me want to vomit.

  The appointment at the consulate office took place a lot faster and with a lot less fanfare than I expected. I filled out my paperwork, they took my statement, and I turned in my application for a work visa all within our two hour window at the office.

  By the time we left, I was starving and in desperate need of something exciting.

  He takes me downtown to walk around while he searches something up on his phone. “Where are we going?”

  The crowd is thick along the cobblestone roads in this part of the town, and I find myself clutching onto the soft blue cotton of Callum’s T-shirt as we work our way through it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, so I’m finding us some food.”

  Finally, we turn onto a quieter, emptier street, and Callum pulls me into a pub with the golden embossed words The Brazen Head above the door. It’s not much different than the one in town, and there’s even a lively band playing as we walk in. He pulls me toward a table in the back and we squeeze in, each of us sitting on opposite sides of the old table.

  He catches me looking around in awe, and he leans in. “Depending on who you ask, this is the oldest pub in Ireland.”

  I’m supposed to be impressed by this, but I’m having trouble getting past the way the word Ireland sounded with his accent, and my eyes won’t travel away from his lips.

  My back is to the band, and I spin around in my seat to watch them. Suddenly, I feel Callum tapping my arm. With a tight-lipped expression, he nods to the seat next to him. I would be able to see the band better from there.

  The booth isn’t big, and we are flush against each other in the seat. He leans back, his arm along the back of the booth. We look like a couple, cuddled together, but I don’t let my mind dwell on it too much.

  We each order a beer when the waitress comes by, and I send him a smirking glance. Is he really allowed to drink or is he just being rebellious? Pretending to live a different life than the one he’s living.

  He must notice me looking at him because he leans in, pulling me back until his mouth is close to my ear so I can hear him over the band. A chill travels through my spine, and I breathe in his cologne while he’s close. “I’m allowed to drink...if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I lean back, tilting my head to reach up to his ear. It brings our bodies so close I know it’s dangerous, but I do it anyway. “They have to let you do that.” I laugh. “To make up for the sex you’re missing.”

  The tiny muscles in his jaw clench, and I love how easy it is to rile him up. As I pull away, our cheeks brush and our eyes meet, and I want to get caught in the moment. This thing between us feels like something I can manipulate and play with. I want to see how far I can get him to go, how much I can tease him, make him break his vows. I know that sounds cruel and unfair, but it’s the only way I can describe what this is.

  For the first time though, I see a hint of regret in his face as he presses his lips together and turns away from me and toward his beer.

  “Cadence,” he warns me. I don’t hear his voice, but I recognize my name on his lips. I’m pushing it too far, and he’s scolding me, morphing in and out of this role of man who controls me and man who lets me control him.

  When the waitress comes back, we order our lunch and finish our beers. I order a second, but he doesn’t. Maybe it’s because he’s driving back to the coast today, or maybe it’s because he has to show me that he’s not the partier I see.

  His arm is back to the booth behind me after we finish our food and my third beer comes to the table. I should stop drinking, but I’m too busy chasing away feelings I can’t control or define.

  I don’t order a fourth, and when the band stops playing, my ears are ringing in the silence. Callum withdraws his arm from the booth and starts acting weird, keeping his elbows in front of him and his eyes away from me.

  “Ready to head back?” I ask when the table is cleared.

  He hesitates for a moment, and it takes him a while to answer. Finally, he looks at me. “I guess we should.”

  Then he knocks my elbow with his, and I find myself resting against his arm. My inhibitions are gone with the beer, so my head falls to his shoulder.

  “I can’t carry you all the way back to the car.” I feel his jaw against my head as he speaks.

  “Am I doing the right thing?” I ask. I don’t know why that’s the question, out of all the questions floating around my brain, that comes out, but I need a moment of Callum’s certainty. I think about what he said in the car, about God’s plan for him, and I’m desperate for even a touch of his resounding faith.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is this my providence? How do I know what God’s plan is for me? He doesn’t talk to me like He talks to you.”

  I feel him soften, almost welcoming me against his body as he lifts his arm around me to straighten my slumping form.

  “You’re just not listening.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been told I don’t listen.”

  His chest rumbles softly under my head. Did stone cold Callum just laugh?

  “I need God to tell me what to do. All I do is fuck up, and I really shouldn’t be in charge of my own life anymore. Is that why you became a priest? For the providence. Because letting Him make your decisions is easier than making them yourself?”

  When he doesn’t answer for a few moments, I turn my head to look at him. Our faces are so close together I can see the tiny crows feet around his eyes and the brown flecks in his green irises. Judging by the intensity in his eyes, I’d guess I struck a nerve.

  “Do you ever fuck up?” I whisper.

  “Yes.”

  His hand touches my arm, and all three of those beers completely take over, which is why I lean forward, expecting him to lean in too—as if vows were made to be broken and I’m worth throwing everything away for. I want to believe that deep down Callum is a fuck-up like me, like him admitting that means that he’s no longer better than me. He’s not out of my league or off limits. For a split second, I don’t feel so alone.

  But instead of leaning in, he pulls away, the magnitude in his gaze searing my flesh. “Cadence.” There’s that warning again.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I so codependent that I need someone—anyone—to kiss me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, turning my body away from him and wishing the earth would swallow me whole.

  “I made a vow.” He doesn’t say it like I’m being scolded. He’s validating his reason for pulling away so I don't feel bad about myself.

  “Jesus, calm down, Callum. I’m just drunk, that’s all.” I jump up and stand, heading toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  The floor sways a little until he takes me by the arm, looping his under mine. As we walk back to the car, through the hordes of tourists, he doesn’t take his hand off of my arm, keeping me close and walking straight.

  As the crowd thins and I’ve sobered up enough to walk without falling, his arm still doesn’t move from mine. When we get to the car, he opens my door and puts me in. We don’t speak a word during the entire drive home. He must sense my self-deprecation because his hand finds my arm again about halfway home. He strokes my skin from the elbow down, and when I finally get the nerve to look at him, he gives me a soft smile. I think it means he’s sorry, but for what, I have no idea.

  Ten

  Cadence

  The next three weeks, I focus sol
ely on my job. Sunny sends me a new phone, and Bridget helps me get it set up with a local plan. Having my phone back almost makes me feel human again.

  It doesn’t do anything to ease the discomfort and awkwardness after the drunk encounter with Callum. Work becomes work, and he goes back to staying at the rectory more often than the house. Our conversations stay safely in the realm of work talk, and I almost never meet his sobering gaze when we are together.

  We don't talk about the time I almost kissed him. We don’t even get close to talking about it. And honestly, I try not to even let it cross my mind. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t even like Callum. I was purposefully putting myself in the path of rejection, just for fun. What kind of masochistic shit is that?

  We are just too different. He’s devoted and spiritual, linked to some higher power that makes me feel about two inches tall. Meanwhile, I’m some sort of lost lamb who purposefully ignores sage advice and walks right into trouble around every turn.

  Plus I’m not attracted to Callum, not like that. I go for younger, more laidback guys. Trying to kiss him was just a way for me to test my control in the situation, to see how far I could make him sin. It was stupid. And I regret it so much I can’t even bear to think about it.

  The hotel has been busier these days. It gives me more time in the house with Bridget, helping her clean rooms and cook. Less time in the barn with Callum where working without looking each other in the eye becomes unbearable.

  When I come down one afternoon after cleaning the second floor common bathroom, there is a group checking in. They are young, American if I had to guess by their accents. There are three guys and two girls. For a moment, I think of Clint and his friends, and check the girls for signs that they could be victims of the same thing I was. But the guys pay and they all seem pretty familiar with each other. One of the boys, with rusty-hair, tattoos up his arms and neck, and a heavy backpack loaded on his back, finds me with his crystalline eyes as I come down the stairs.

  “We do serve dinner as well in the dining room at seven,” Bridget says with a chipper smile. She offers dinner to all of the guests. They rarely accept, and the Americans never do. Breakfast is a comfortable quick meal they can take to-go or grab for the road, but dinner is intimate, and I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s just not comfortable for Americans who value their privacy and standoffishness. Still, she tries.

  The blue-eyed boy smiles politely at her and gives her a nod, which I know to mean he won’t be joining us for Guinness stew tonight.

  As I get to the lobby, I smile at the group and grab the duster from behind the counter to take to the dining room. The guy finishes paying and keeps his eyes pinned on me as I move toward the next room.

  I should just bite my tongue and move on, but he’s too cute with those eyes that look like trouble. He puts pride in his appearance, like a groomed show dog who is a champion of the mating ritual. And I can’t fucking help myself. The rest of his group looks paired up, standing to the side and mapping out their plan.

  “Welcome to Ennis,” I say cheerfully as I pass him through the wide doorway. It’s all he needs to approach me.

  “You don't sound Irish,” he says with a mischievous smile.

  “That’s because I’m from California.”

  His eyes light up. “And how did you end up here?”

  “Same as you, but I loved it too much to leave.”

  Judging by his curious smile and slow head nod, he’s invested. There’s a special moment when you're talking to a guy when you can suddenly tell that he’s not leaving this conversation with a number, a kiss, or a plan to see you again.

  I did this on purpose. As much as I promised my sister I would be good and focus on myself, I need a distraction from what happened with Callum. This boy is too pretty to pass up.

  “Suddenly, I don’t think we planned enough time in this town.” His teeth are so white, I want to lick them with the tip of my tongue.

  “Well, what do you have planned while you’re here?”

  “Some hiking today, then a pub for some live music tonight.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I answer with a brighter-than-normal smile. “Keep in mind we have supper at seven here, and Bridget makes the best stew you’ve ever had. Perfect for something after your hike.”

  I see the way his eyes widen, subtly scoping my face down to my neck and breasts. “Oh, will you be at the dinner?” It’s not coy or subtle. We’re flirting with each other, and the vibe is real.

  “I’m here every night,” I answer with a smile.

  “You live here too then?”

  My heart pitter patters in my chest. I bite my lip. “Third floor.”

  With a careful nod, he tries to ease back his smile but struggles. His friends call him, and he has a hard time looking away from my face. “I’ll see you at dinner…”

  “Cadence,” I smile.

  “I look forward to it, Cadence.”

  After they leave, I’m filled with a confusing mixture of excitement and shame. I would normally have loved moments like these, the anticipation for what’s to come. Meeting someone and every moment of buildup until that first kiss then the excitement in every moment that comes after.

  But right now I’m feeling a little disappointed in myself. As I turn back toward the desk, I stare face-to-face with Bridget who is clearly blushing and looking at me like I have a wild secret.

  “Make enough stew for our guests,” I say as I leave the lobby.

  “Oh, I am.” She laughs.

  When Callum walks through the door that night, the group is already back and the table is lively and full of conversation. Taron, Mr. Tattoos and Frank Sinatra eyes, sits next to me. His attention has been zeroed in on me since he came back with the group.

  But as the six-foot holy man in black walks in, I find my eyes suddenly glued to him. I want to see his face when he notices Taron’s attention on me. Everyone quiets down as he makes his greeting, but his gaze lingers on me and Taron.

  After washing up, he finds his seat between Bridget and Hannah, the bubbly American who I thought was attached to one of the other boys but has made it quite clear that she is not. She immediately pulls him into a conversation, maybe out of politeness. The way she turns toward Bridget less and less seems to suggest she’s talking to Callum more because he has those eyes that any girl would be glad to get lost in.

  I just want to tell Hannah not to bother talking to Callum like that. She clearly didn’t pick up on his occupation because he came in without his collar on.

  “So what is there to do around here after dark?” Taron’s voice pulls me from my envy-induced eavesdropping.

  “There’s a great pub down the street. Had a little too much fun there the first night I was here.” I laugh, even though I can feel Callum’s eyes on me.

  “Sounds perfect.” Taron leans toward me, placing his hand on the back of my chair. “You’ll show us where it is?”

  As he finishes the question, our eyes meet, and I’m practically hypnotized by those eyes and long lashes.

  “Of course,” I answer with a smile.

  I don’t look up after I pull my stare away from Taron’s. I know exactly what I will find if I do...or rather who I will find, and I don’t need his judgement right now.

  After dinner, I help Bridget clean up, and Taron meets me in the lobby. Callum is lingering longer than he normally does, but I wish he’d just leave. Without him constantly watching me and feeling the pressure under his stare, I could have a really good time with Taron.

  I know it’s not forever, but it’s for tonight, and tonight could be really amazing if Callum would just leave. Instead, he approaches the rest of the group and asks where they’re going. I watch Hannah’s eyes light up when Callum offers to walk them to the pub.

  Taron hardly notices anything. Instead, he places his hand at the small of my back and we walk together out the door and down the street. I’m too annoyed with Callum to enjoy the feel of Taron’s fin
gers on my bare skin or the delicious spicy cologne he’s wearing.

  More than once on the short walk, I catch Callum glaring back at us. I feel like my dad is watching me on a date.

  In the pub, we find two tables next to each other and sit down after getting our drinks. The band isn’t on yet, so we spend the first hour just talking. Taron doesn’t seem interested in group chatter. He keeps turning to me to ask about my life in Ennis and how I got here. He tells me that he’s from Modesto, and in an apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist. He bites his lip when he’s not talking, and it’s driving me crazy, but every moment that I get lost in his beauty, I see the dark green eyes watching me from across the table.

  I keep my drinking slow. Last time I pounded back the beers, I tried to makeout with the one guy I’m not allowed to makeout with.

  Just before the band starts playing, Taron’s hand lands on my bare knee and I don’t pull away. Sunny told me to stay away from guys, but she doesn’t know how bored I am here and how bad I just need a little attention from the opposite sex.

  “You’re a priest?” a voice shrieks from the next table. Hannah is staring at Callum with a shocked expression, flavored with a smile.

  He nods at her.

  “A real priest?” The other two guys in the group are leaning in in shock too.

  Taron looks at me for confirmation and I nod. “Yep. He’s a real life priest.”

  I see the blush in Callum’s cheeks. Hannah doesn't look any less interested now that she knows this, which doesn’t surprise me. That’s what women do. We go after the ones we can’t have. It’s a game to us.

  After a moment, I feel Taron’s fingers pull me closer as he presses his lips to my ear to whisper so I can hear over the music. “I’m relieved. I thought he must have been your boyfriend with the way he was watching you.”

  Like the way he’s watching me now.

  Pulling back, I smile at Taron. “No boyfriend.”

  It’s like a final invitation because he pulls me closer by the arm and presses his soft lips against mine. Once his tongue is in my mouth, right at the table with his friends, I know we’re having sex tonight.