I’m about to check into a hotel with the woman I’m dying to get my hands on but can never touch again.
Fuck this.
Fuck everything.
I can’t even enjoy the gorgeous resort, which would normally make me feel as close to God as ever. Redwood trees surround us, and the ocean crashes against the cliffs in the distance.
I’m in a romantic setting with the object of my desires. For two whole days. And nights.
Please God. Help me get through the weekend without sinning again.
Not a kiss.
Not even a light brush of the hand against her beautiful skin.
The receptionist hands over our keys. “Pastor, Ms. Hernandez, you’re in bungalows five and six. They’re side by side for your convenience.” She smiles warmly.
“No,” I say too sharply. I swallow, attempting a casual tone. “Ms. Hernandez should be closer to the conference hall. For logistical reasons.”
Mari turns to me—probably frowning in question—but I can’t look at her. Not when I’m telling a bald-faced lie.
The receptionist blinks at me. “We’re all booked. I thought you…” She looks at Mariana. “Your PA arranged it all.”
“Yes, I did.” Mariana’s tone is sharp. “You never told me you wanted me next to the conference hall for…logistical reasons.”
I inhale a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
I can’t have her right next to me.
I’ll go utterly insane.
I shoot Mariana a hard look, and she raises her chin. Fuck, I love how she does that. I love how she never lets me steamroll her.
Just as I’m about to tell her she’s right, the receptionist speaks. “Bungalow twenty-seven is available. We don’t usually book it, but we could…make an exception.”
Twenty-seven. That sounds far away. My breath stutters out of me in a rush of relief. “That’s fine. Thank you.”
Mariana
The key turns in the lock with a rusty squeak, and the door swings open, revealing my accommodations for the night.
Oh my God.
No wonder the hotel clerk seemed so horrified when Brandon insisted I stay in this room.
I cringe as I step inside, the door creaking shut behind me. There’s an earthy, damp smell to the place, like old wood and mildew. I make my way to the tiny bathroom.
Pink.
A pink sink, and a pink toilet.
A wave of irritation crashes over me. It’s not just the fact that this damn bungalow clearly hasn’t been renovated since the nineteen eighties. It’s the reason I’m here in the first place. Brandon’s damn piousness.
What is so wrong with messing around with a woman fourteen years younger than him who happens to be his best friend’s daughter? I’ve wanted him since the moment I first saw him leading worship at First Covenant four years ago. I was a goddamn adult back then.
There’s something more to it. I can feel it. He’s afraid to get close to me.
It’s probably because I’m an atheist. He doesn’t want to fall for someone like me.
I take a deep breath to ease the tightness in my chest. After turning from the bathroom, my gaze falls on my suitcase. An idea sprouts.
I pull out my black dress. It’s long with heavy material that hugs the contours of my body, but it’s casual enough that no one will question why I’d wear it at a pastor’s conference. Brandon will notice though.
He always notices.
A pang of guilt shoots into my chest, but I try to ignore it. It’s not like I’m crossing any of the lines he established for us. Wearing a flattering dress isn’t the same thing as calling him Daddy.
Still, I wish I had more mature ways of dealing with rejection.
I dress quickly, applying a touch more makeup than usual, giving my lips an extra gloss. God, I’m childish. I shouldn’t be trying to taunt him when he’s so troubled by his attraction to me.
But if he “slips up” again on this trip and touches me, I certainly won’t cry about it.
Brandon
Fuck, I need to get out of here.
The restaurant is brimming with conversation. Our group maxed out the entire resort, which means everyone here is either a pastor or someone who works for one.
My guilt has grown as heavy as a mountain. These people came to this conference to hear my wisdom.
And all I want to do is fuck my PA intern, who’s the youngest daughter of the man who brought me to Christ.
As I scan the room, my gaze lands on the subject of my thoughts. Even in the crowded hall, Mariana stands out like a flame in the darkness. The long black dress she’s wearing clings to her curves, accentuating her body. A body I know she’d let me touch if I only asked.
She’s like the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden, and in moments like these, letting my whole fucking life implode almost feels worth the fleeting heaven of tasting her.
Beside me, Jeremy, a young pastor from Santa Monica follows my gaze. “Who is that?” His voice is full of appreciation.
“Mariana,” I say a touch too sharply. “She’s my temporary PA.”
He turns back to me, a teasing glint in his eye. “How are you still single with women like that around you?”
I force a tight smile.
Don’t lose your temper. Lots of married men comment on the appearance of other women.
“I’d never date my PA.”
But I would go down on her in my own church.
As Mariana approaches, Pastor Jeremy flashes her a big smile. “The PA joins us. He hasn’t scared you away yet with those tattoo sleeves?”
Mariana returns his smile and takes a seat. “All of New Morning loves his tattoos. They make him seem more human.”
Jeremy smirks as he turns to me. “I’ll bet that’s why they love your tattoos. Especially the ladies.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like I wear sleeveless shirts at Sunday service.”
“No.” Mari shoots me a saucy little smirk that hits me right in the groin. “But one time he wore this short-sleeved shirt that was a little too small…for his arms, at least. My sister and I talk about it to this day. We call that service ‘the gun show.’”
Heat fills my gut at the thought of Mariana talking about my body. Has she always been attracted to me? It never even crossed my mind before my lust for her first sprouted. I thought she saw me as an old man.
A bitter taste fills my mouth. How am I going to live as a stranger to her from now on, knowing that she wants me? How will I even stand it? I made a colossal miscalculation allowing us to get close these last few weeks, and now it’s become a runaway train.
I force myself to focus on my plate, and eventually, the murmur of conversation lulls me into my head. There’s nothing I can do right now. I just have to focus on getting through the weekend without sinning again.
“Pliny the Elder is hands down the best,” Jeremy says to Mariana, pulling me out of my head. “It’s a double IPA.”
I grit my teeth. His voice is a little too enthusiastic.
“Santa Barbara bars only have it in bottles,” Mariana says. “I’ll bet it’s much better on tap.”
Jeremy grins at her. “They actually have it at a bar not far from here. Maybe we could sneak out after our meeting tonight.”
I nearly choke on my steak. Sneak out? I clear my throat, shooting Jeremy a stern look. “I don’t think so.”
Understanding seems to dawn in his eyes. “I meant all three of us, of course.”
Mariana meets my gaze steadily, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Everyone needs a day off now and then, Pastor. Even you.”
Pastor. She’s back to her usual cheekiness.
Defiance.
My naughty girl, I’d pull you over my lap and spank you right now if I could.
Jeremy seems oblivious to the tension, his attention fully on Mariana. “Why don’t we sneak out right now?” He lifts his wrist and glances at his iWatch. “We have an hour and a half before the meeting starts.”
“No.” I stand up from my seat. “Mariana, are you done? I need to talk to you.”
She glances down at her half-full plate, and my stomach sinks. I’m making her abandon her food.
“Sure,” she says in a small voice.
Mariana
I clench my teeth to fight my smile.
He’s jealous of that annoying pastor. So jealous that we’re now about to spend the evening together. Alone. Just what he’s been trying to avoid.
The air is cool and crisp, and my heels crunch over the gravel as we walk toward the bar. The tension between us is thick.
“I’m sorry about dinner.” His voice is strained as he opens the screeching wooden door. “I wanted you to get a meal since you didn’t get to finish yours.”
“Why didn’t we bring Jeremy?” I ask, feigning innocence.
Brandon sighs. “He’s married.”
Embarrassment heats my skin. My God, I didn’t realize I was flirting with a married man to get a rise out of Brandon. Though I suppose I should have guessed it. Most pastors are married. But Jeremy seemed like just another young single bro I might meet at a bar.
Images of his eager expression flash in my mind. “He was definitely flirting with me.”
“Yes.” The word is clipped.
“And he wanted to hang out. It was me he was really inviting out. You were an afterthought.”
Brandon grunts. “I don’t think he would have given me any thought at all if I hadn’t called him out.”
I frown. “He’s a pastor?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Pastors are human, Mariana. We have frailties just like anyone else.”
A laugh escapes me, bitter and humorless. “Seems like an odd place to let out your frailties. At a pastor’s conference. Right in front of the pastor who’s leading it.”
His gaze is intent on the host’s stand while we wait to get a table, but there’s something in those dark eyes that makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
“What about in the bathroom of your own church?” he eventually asks. “With your temporary PA?”
His questions hit me in the chest. He’s ridden with guilt. It’s so palpable, I could almost reach out and touch it.
It was selfish of me to toy with him. Just because I think his reasons for resisting me are silly doesn’t mean they aren’t deeply meaningful to him. If I keep doing this, I could hurt him.
I don’t want to hurt him.
I think I might be falling in love with him.
