Hot Under His Collar Page 4

  She understood how important this program was to St. Bart’s— and to him. There was no way he was going to let his inconvenient and unwanted feelings for her interfere with saving the preschool.

  They could absolutely keep this chaste and professional. They had to. Sasha passed him a sheet of paper with a list of options. “I took the liberty of putting together a list of possible fundraising opportunities. Hannah and I can call on some of our other clients to pitch in, because it would be great PR for them.”

  “Helping out small children isn’t satisfying enough?” he asked, knowing that Sasha would give him a look that partially unspooled his intention to maintain forbearance around her from just moments ago.

  “I’ll definitely remind them that God is—you know—involved,” she said with a wave of her hand that should not have made him feel anything, but most definitely did. “But they will mostly care how good helping underprivileged children will look next time they have a scandal they need to paper over. It’s a story as old as time.”

  Although he didn’t like how cynical and world-weary that sounded, he knew she had a point.

  “Tell me about this bake sale idea.” If he couldn’t take a bite out of Sasha, he was interested in getting something else sweet in his mouth—for the benefit of the program, of course.

  “Well, it’s just a start, and I don’t think it will get us to twenty-five thousand dollars in one go.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear with one finger. “But it will give us a good place to build from.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  PATRICK NEEDED TO WALK into the preschool class to see Sasha reading to a group of rapt three- and four-year-olds like he needed a hole in his head. Actually, walking into the classroom and clocking the dimples in her flushed cheeks as she giggled—giggled—at what one of the children said about Arthur the Aardvark made him wish he could step in for a quick lobotomy to drain the scramble his brains became whenever she was near.

  He was ready to turn around and leave when she looked up at him. Although he couldn’t avoid her, he wanted to spend as little time with her as possible. At the very least, he needed time to prepare before seeing her. He needed to steel himself against the awareness he felt when he was around her. Her popping in and out of nowhere was a nightmare.

  Right then, he could smell the clean, fresh scent of her shampoo over the baseline musty-church smell that lingered all over the campus. He felt heat rise in his skin as she turned her smile on him. Her sable eyes and wide mouth stirred up wants that he’d controlled for more than a decade.

  And it hadn’t even been that much work to control feelings like this up until now. But something had switched when she came into his office with all her shiny, bright ideas for saving the pre-K program.

  Before, he’d been able to relegate her to the slim part of his life he hadn’t reserved for God. Sure, he thought she was attractive. And it bothered him to see her flirt with another guy. But those thoughts were passing, and he didn’t ache from not reaching over to find out whether her hair was as silky as it looked.

  He wanted to walk out. He should walk out. She’d seen him, but he could feign some pastoral emergency, and she wouldn’t ever need to know how she tempted him.

  But—unlike every time he’d had to make decisions over the past decade—he didn’t do what he should. He leaned on the doorjamb and watched her as she got back to reading about Arthur and his teacher trouble. He drank in her smile and let it settle something in him that he hadn’t realized was off-kilter.

  When she was done reading to the children, Sasha stood up and smoothed the front of her electric-blue shift dress. He racked his brain for any time that she hadn’t been totally put together around him. He couldn’t think of one. It made him want to see her completely undone in a way that would totally destroy both of their lives.

  As she walked toward him, he braced himself. For what, he wasn’t sure. “What are you doing here?” That came out more harshly than he’d intended, and Sasha started. He liked startling her more than he should. It made him feel as though he weren’t alone in being off-balance. It was selfish and wrong, but he couldn’t help being those things around this woman.

  “I came to talk about the logistics for the bake sale.” Her words were wary, and her gaze was wide-eyed.

  “And you decided to drop in on story time?” He softened his tone with this question.

  He realized his mistake when Sasha smiled at him. That wouldn’t help with Project Dick Go Back to Sleep—like, not at all. “They like you.” He cleared his throat of the thing he wanted to say—I want to put a baby in you—and said, “You’re good with kids.”

  “Small children are great. They’re free.” There was something wistful in her smile as she looked through the little window in the classroom door that he shouldn’t probe, but with her he couldn’t help himself. As long as he wasn’t touching her, he would be totally fine. Totally fine.

  “You’re going to be great with Hannah’s little one.” When Jack had shared why Hannah was sick, Patrick had assumed that Hannah had told Sasha about the pregnancy. It wasn’t public yet, but Hannah told Sasha everything. As soon as she looked at him, he knew that he’d not only made a mistake trying to strike up a non-business-related conversation with Sasha, but had said something wrong. Wrong in the way that made her eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry if I—”

  Sasha wrapped her slim arms around her waist in a way that made her seem like a wounded bird, and he almost reached out to pat her on the arm. The only sane part of him still steering the ship of his brain stopped him from touching her. She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

  “It doesn’t look okay.” Totally should have dropped it, but he couldn’t now. He tilted his head toward his office. “C’mon, we’ll talk about cake. That always cheers me up.”

  He didn’t miss her raised eyebrow and the look she gave his flat stomach. And he couldn’t suppress the jolt of lust her gaze caused him.

  “Well, I sort of came here to talk to Jemma.” Sasha pointed at the teacher, who had taken over story time. “I wanted to chat with her to get a better idea of how we can really make folks reach deep into their pockets.”

  When Patrick looked over, it was clear that Jemma had more than enough on her hands. “I’m baptizing Jemma’s baby later this week, and honestly, talking to her then would probably cause less chaos than carving out time now.”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

  Of course she wouldn’t. “Hannah might be feeling better by then, and you can both talk to her.”

  “Okay, that makes sense.” She crinkled her brow again, and Patrick thought he might perish on the spot. “If you’re sure—”

  “I’m sure.” She followed him out of the classroom and her forehead un-crinkled, so it felt like success to him.

  Once they were in his office and she was seated across the desk from him, he could relax a little bit. Her scent didn’t fill his nostrils, and she had composed herself. He still wanted to know what had made her gaze shiny about what he’d said, but he could quell his curiosity enough to get through this meeting for the time being.

  But Sasha didn’t seem like she could let go of the way she’d lost even a little bit of her composure around him. “I should explain what happened back there.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “No. I guess I consider you a friend, even though I don’t even know if you can have women friends—”

  “We’re friends by association.” He smiled at her, but it felt tight even to him. “That’s allowed.” Although it would be a lot easier if she was a friend the age of Mrs. O’Toole—his most faithful parishioner whom he pinned as somewhere between eighty and one hundred and twenty years old.

  She took a deep breath as though she was deciding whether to say what she obviously wanted to say. Her full mouth flattened, and he held his breath. Everything in him wanted to hear what she had to say. “I’m really jealous that Hannah is married and pregnant.”

  Most of the time, confessions were pretty boring to him. Most of his parishioners were at an age that cheating at their weekly bridge game was a more likely sin than cheating on a husband. Sasha’s words rocked him. He’d had an idea of what she was like from his very brief interactions with her—poised, competent, shy, pure. Like the Virgin Mary plucked out of Bethlehem and plopped down on the South Side. But her admission that she had negative feelings about her best friend, even though he knew how close they were, slightly shifted his view of her. It was like the vision of her messy and disheveled that he’d been trying to hold at bay rushed in.

  He said none of this and tried to take on his pastoral persona despite the rioting thoughts that had her crawling across his desk and him pulling out her careful ponytail. “That’s totally natural. We’re at an age where most of our friends are getting married and having kids. And those are good things for them. And you want good things for yourself. Have you done anything about your jealousy?”

  “Of course not. It’s just a feeling. And I hate feeling that way. I want to be totally happy for her. And I am happy for her—both of them. I love Hannah like my own sister.” She finally paused her explanation to breathe. “And I adore Jack. He’s the only man that I could imagine loving my best friend the way she deserves.”

  That was all well and good, and it warmed Patrick’s heart to hear that his best friend had found his match despite a rather rocky beginning. But Sasha wanted to be loved in the way that she deserved. “What about the guy you were on a date with the other night?”

  Sasha looked down and blushed. “Nathan?”

  Suddenly, Patrick hated everyone named Nathan that he’d ever met for no other reason than one douchebag named Nathan got to do what he could never do—take Sasha out for a drink with the intent of kissing her and doing a whole lot more.

  “He’s okay, I guess.” Sasha didn’t even sound like the guy was okay, and that prickled Patrick’s guts.

  “How did you meet?” He shouldn’t be asking these questions. It wasn’t any of his business. Sasha wasn’t even a parishioner. But he couldn’t help himself.

  “At a wedding. Maybe you don’t remember, but he was one of the groomsman, and he asked for my number as I was cleaning up. He was nice, and I couldn’t think of a reason not to.”

  That didn’t seem like a good reason to date anyone to Patrick, but his expertise about dating and relationships had always been limited and ended in college—right after his mother died and he decided that whole love thing was not for him. He’d been good at sex—he thought. None of his girlfriends had ever complained, and the vast majority of them had wanted more of that.

  It was only when his heart had gotten involved that everything went sideways. He’d never have thought that losing his heart to a woman in the midst of the most awful period of his life would lead him to a lifetime full of administrivia and celibacy, but here he was. Celibate—but thinking about how much he would give up to touch a strand of Sasha’s hair. To hold her and not have to pull away.

  “Did you go out with him again?”

  Sasha grimaced and nodded.

  “How did the date go?”

  “It was fine.” Her tone sounded bright—overly so.

  “Fine?”

  “Yeah. I mean, if you’ve been on one second date, you’ve been on them all.” She paused and scrunched up her nose in a way that was so cute he wanted to reach out and flatten that patch of skin with his thumb. Again. He just wanted his hands on her. “I guess you wouldn’t know.”

  Instead of throwing his whole life away for a woman who thought of him as a friendly acquaintance, he laughed. “I went on a few dates.” He winked, even though he shouldn’t. The only thing he wouldn’t do was end this conversation right here and right now, before he found any more things to like about Sasha Finerghty.

  “Listen, you go out for drinks with one guy, and maybe he calls you, maybe he doesn’t. As long as he doesn’t do anything terribly offensive, you go on another date. And maybe things escalate until you decide you can’t kiss him for the rest of your life, or he decides that he wants someone else. It’s not interesting. It’s not special.”

  That’s not what Sasha deserved. It was decidedly less than what he would give her if he were a different man who had made better decisions a decade ago. But even though he was in so deep with her without even trying, he wasn’t going to dig himself any deeper. “I think maybe you’re a little cynical.”

  “It’s just the way it is.” Sasha sounded so defeated that he wanted to give her something.

  “Maybe give this guy another shot, and he might not do what you think.” He took a deep breath and decided to risk following up that statement that he knew was a lie with one thing that he knew was very, very true. “You’re special, and you deserve someone who makes you feel that way.”

  He couldn’t help but look away from her then. It was as honest as he could possibly be about how he felt about her without going too far. “Now, I understand that you brought me cake to try?”

  * * *

  —

  YOU’RE SPECIAL, AND YOU deserve someone who makes you feel that way.

  And then he just moved on to what Sasha had actually come over to the church for. He couldn’t do things like that and expect her not to continue to crush on him—hard. It wasn’t fair. Her mother’s voice popped into her head. Life isn’t fair, Sasha. If it was, pantyhose would feel like sweatpants.

  She crossed her legs and sent a silent prayer of thanks that no one but her mother even wore pantyhose anymore.

  “Yes, I do have cake for you to try.” She’d tapped most of her favorite bakers in the city, and they had all agreed that they would donate products for the bake sale. “This isn’t a full representation of the selection, but it’s a good start.”

  Even though Patrick’s words hung over the room, his focus seemed to be entirely on the task at hand as Sasha pulled out the brown butter vanilla birthday cake with French buttercream, the pistachio honey sponge cake with Italian buttercream, and the blueberry yogurt cake with American buttercream.

  “I didn’t even know that these were cakes that actually existed.” Sasha laughed a little at his childlike wonder. “I’m a Costco cake guy, usually.”

  “Costco cake is delicious.” Sasha pulled out the last one. “This one, however, is orange chocolate buttermilk cake.”

  Patrick’s face scrunched up. “Chocolate and orange together is a no from me.” When Sasha started to put the cake away, he added, “But Sister Cortona loves it. Maybe we can save that one for her?”

  Sasha smiled at him, but he couldn’t see her because he dove right into the other selections.

  “This is delicious,” he said about the Italian buttercream–topped cake with sliced strawberries in between the layers. “I hadn’t realized there were regional differences between buttercreams.”

  He was usually so stoic and laid back. Seeing him excited about something was novel and made him more compelling. He was actually kind of adorable.

  She tried to refocus and concentrate on getting approval for the list of chefs she’d lined up for the bake sale. It took a herculean effort not to preen under Patrick’s utterances of approval. She knew better, and he’d just told her to go out with Nathan again. He clearly didn’t think of her in a romantic way. He probably wouldn’t even if he wasn’t bound by his vows.

  If Patrick wasn’t a priest, he would have so many options. Sasha might be able to sustain his interest for a few dates, but according to Jack, he was sort of a genius—had a photographic memory for literature. He was also devastatingly handsome. With an expensive haircut and even one tailored suit, he would be a certified lady-killer.

  Once they were done with their work, she stood to leave. He stood with her and surprised her by taking her elbow and leading her out of his office. The shock of his touch reverberated through her, and she felt it like a brand on her skin. She knew she would look down and touch her elbow later to memorialize the feel of his callused fingers on her exfoliated skin.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t.”

  He stopped and smiled down at her. He was close enough that if she rose on her tiptoes, she could put her lips against his. The fact that she couldn’t do it only made her want it more. Everything he did made her want him more, and she’d never felt more right about the fact that her every impulse was bad—evil, even. He didn’t know it, but her cynicism about relationships was the only thing that kept him safe from her. If she was even a little bit more romantic, she would throw all caution to the wind. Nothing would matter—not the Church, not what her family or friends would think. She would do her best to lead him into temptation.

  Not that she would succeed, but she would try.

  Something about that seemed to hang in the air between them. Like a promise and a warning.

  “I might be a priest, but I can still be a gentleman and walk you to your car.”

  The last thing she wanted was for him to be a gentleman, but she didn’t say that. Only the sliver of self-restraint left inside her made her stop. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  She dipped her head, and they walked toward where she’d parked in silence. Her senses filled with the sound of Patrick’s dress shoes slapping against the pavement in rhythm with the clack of her heels. She was so absorbed in the scant heat coming off him and the shame she felt from drinking in that heat as he walked beside her that she would not have noticed if the ground opened up underneath them.

  That’s probably why she didn’t hear the screech of rubber against pavement from the car careening into the church’s parking lot.

  Drinking in Patrick was probably why she didn’t freak out when she was walking toward her car one moment and on the grass underneath Patrick the next, the wind knocked out of her but otherwise unharmed.