But intense.
Chemical. Earthy. And something more.
This time it was he who broke their locked gazes. Matt hung the fern, then quickly stepped away. As he pivoted, his foot hit the box.
Delilah watched, appalled, when the box angled into her hidden can. It tipped, seemingly in slow motion. Yellow fizz gurgled onto the hem of his robe.
"Oh, God," she groaned. Dee dropped to her knees and reached into the box for a rag. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."
"The name's Matt, Dee. Matt."
"I'm sorry. Matt. I'm—"
"Hey, it's no big deal."
She swiped the rag over the white cloth, then groaned some more when she saw that she'd managed only to grind plant soil into the soaked cotton. Wiping and rubbing only made it worse.
"This is so embarrassing, so—"
"Dee." He patted her shoulder. "It'll wash off. Really."
His voice was as reassuring as his touch. It was also disconcerting. Her head bent, she studied the mess she'd made of his robe. Dee saw the two of them as an outsider would, her kneeling at his feet like some penitent, pleading, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," and his gesture of "You are forgiven. Now rise, my child, and sin no more."
Yet his light, comforting touch conveyed no hint of benevolence. In fact, it was downright exciting, and if thinking about a minister that way was sinful, then she was a sinner, no question. An unrepentant one at that.
Delilah looked up, a final apology on her lips. The words froze and so did she. Matthew's gaze was on her cleavage, which was an eyeful, she belatedly realized. This wasn't her usual dress, but she'd been so hot, so... He shut his eyes, appearing to be caught in some internal struggle.
Did ministers have the capacity to lust? Not that she considered herself a woman who often commanded that kind of reaction from men. And this wasn't exactly a man. He was a minister, for heaven's sake.
When Matthew opened his eyes, they were carefully trained on her face. He managed a thin smile before he grasped her upper arms and helped her to her feet.
"I'll be glad to wash that, Matt."
"No need. But if you're determined to absolve yourself, you can offer me a drink. It's, ah, warmer than usual today." He let go of her arms as if they were the source of the heat.
"I have some soft drinks. Or I can make lemonade."
"I don't know, Dee, that's some pretty stiff brew you're talking there." He grinned and that pulse-pounding, heart-dropping twinkle of his nearly knocked her again to her knees. "If you've got an extra, I'd really prefer a beer."
Chapter 2
"A beer?"
"Sure. You know, a brew, a barley pop, lite or regular. I'm not picky."
"But—but what would your church think?"
Matthew's smile faded. He knew too well that some people thought they were God and everyone had to conform to their standards. It's done and over with, he told himself. Let it go.
Letting go wasn't easy.
"About that beer," he said after a moment. "My church won't mind if you don't. But if that offends your principles, I'll gladly take the soda or lemonade."
"No. No, I'm not offended. Just..." She worried her bottom lip. Lips he thought exquisitely crafted, bowed at the top and full beneath. A beauty mark rode low on her right cheek, and it disappeared into a dimple when she smiled. She smiled now. "I was just taken aback. Well, shocked actually. My church wasn't that progressive."
"Everyone's entitled to his or her own opinions and choice of faith." He saw her nod of agreement, then stooped to pick up the can.
He remembered the sight of Dee's bent head gleaming golden in the sunlight, her almost comical frenzy to dry his robe. He remembered the distinct sensation of pleasure when his palm touched her shoulder, the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her halter top. And there was no forgetting the beauty of those partially uncovered breasts he'd struggled to ignore, and, failing that, admired. Only he'd more than admired them; his reaction had been that of a man wishing for more than a
Chemical. Earthy. And something more.
This time it was he who broke their locked gazes. Matt hung the fern, then quickly stepped away. As he pivoted, his foot hit the box.
Delilah watched, appalled, when the box angled into her hidden can. It tipped, seemingly in slow motion. Yellow fizz gurgled onto the hem of his robe.
"Oh, God," she groaned. Dee dropped to her knees and reached into the box for a rag. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."
"The name's Matt, Dee. Matt."
"I'm sorry. Matt. I'm—"
"Hey, it's no big deal."
She swiped the rag over the white cloth, then groaned some more when she saw that she'd managed only to grind plant soil into the soaked cotton. Wiping and rubbing only made it worse.
"This is so embarrassing, so—"
"Dee." He patted her shoulder. "It'll wash off. Really."
His voice was as reassuring as his touch. It was also disconcerting. Her head bent, she studied the mess she'd made of his robe. Dee saw the two of them as an outsider would, her kneeling at his feet like some penitent, pleading, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," and his gesture of "You are forgiven. Now rise, my child, and sin no more."
Yet his light, comforting touch conveyed no hint of benevolence. In fact, it was downright exciting, and if thinking about a minister that way was sinful, then she was a sinner, no question. An unrepentant one at that.
Delilah looked up, a final apology on her lips. The words froze and so did she. Matthew's gaze was on her cleavage, which was an eyeful, she belatedly realized. This wasn't her usual dress, but she'd been so hot, so... He shut his eyes, appearing to be caught in some internal struggle.
Did ministers have the capacity to lust? Not that she considered herself a woman who often commanded that kind of reaction from men. And this wasn't exactly a man. He was a minister, for heaven's sake.
When Matthew opened his eyes, they were carefully trained on her face. He managed a thin smile before he grasped her upper arms and helped her to her feet.
"I'll be glad to wash that, Matt."
"No need. But if you're determined to absolve yourself, you can offer me a drink. It's, ah, warmer than usual today." He let go of her arms as if they were the source of the heat.
"I have some soft drinks. Or I can make lemonade."
"I don't know, Dee, that's some pretty stiff brew you're talking there." He grinned and that pulse-pounding, heart-dropping twinkle of his nearly knocked her again to her knees. "If you've got an extra, I'd really prefer a beer."
Chapter 2
"A beer?"
"Sure. You know, a brew, a barley pop, lite or regular. I'm not picky."
"But—but what would your church think?"
Matthew's smile faded. He knew too well that some people thought they were God and everyone had to conform to their standards. It's done and over with, he told himself. Let it go.
Letting go wasn't easy.
"About that beer," he said after a moment. "My church won't mind if you don't. But if that offends your principles, I'll gladly take the soda or lemonade."
"No. No, I'm not offended. Just..." She worried her bottom lip. Lips he thought exquisitely crafted, bowed at the top and full beneath. A beauty mark rode low on her right cheek, and it disappeared into a dimple when she smiled. She smiled now. "I was just taken aback. Well, shocked actually. My church wasn't that progressive."
"Everyone's entitled to his or her own opinions and choice of faith." He saw her nod of agreement, then stooped to pick up the can.
He remembered the sight of Dee's bent head gleaming golden in the sunlight, her almost comical frenzy to dry his robe. He remembered the distinct sensation of pleasure when his palm touched her shoulder, the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her halter top. And there was no forgetting the beauty of those partially uncovered breasts he'd struggled to ignore, and, failing that, admired. Only he'd more than admired them; his reaction had been that of a man wishing for more than a
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