Sensuous Angel Read Free Page B

tightly together. “I am not an idiot,” she said quietly. “I ran into a bit of bad luck, that’s all.”
    He didn’t respond. The cab came to a halt on a pretty, tree-lined street with ivy-covered brownstones.
    “I’ll pay for the cab,” Donna said quickly, scrambling in her purse for the fare.
    “I think I can handle it,” the priest said dryly, handing the driver a number of bills.
    The cabbie smiled in return. “Thanks, Father Luke.”
    “Have a good night, Jonas,” he said briefly, and then he was reaching for Donna again, lifting her from the cab before she could protest.
    “I really do think I could hobble along,” Donna said awkwardly as he walked her up a flight of immaculately clean steps and pressed a buzzer. She flushed as his gaze fell on her. There was something about his subtle smile and the devilish gleam in his magnetic gold and green eyes that told her quite blatantly he was fully aware of her discomfort from his touch—and very amused by it.
    The door suddenly swung inward and they were greeted with startled surprise by a squat little woman who barely reached the priest’s broad shoulders. “Luke! My goodness! What has happened? Bring the poor girl in right away and I’ll get some tea on. There’s a fire in your office, Father. Oh, my, my! Should I call the doctor?”
    “I don’t think that will be necessary, Mary. I believe the lady merely has a slight sprain.”
    “I’ll get a tub of hot water and epsom salts then, Father.”
    “Thank you, Mary.”
    “Oh, please!” Donna protested, feeling truly absurd as she nestled in the priest’s strong arms and stared into the warm brown eyes of the kindly and concerned housekeeper. “Please don’t put yourself to any trouble! I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
    “No trouble at all, young lady,” Mary said firmly. “Come along now, Luke—let’s get that sprain taken care of!”
    Father Luke followed his housekeeper meekly down a hall attractively furnished with a dark crimson rug and an antique deacon’s bench to a door just past the bannistered stairway.
    “Whatever happened?” Mary queried again as she pushed the door inward and stood aside so that the priest could set Donna in a large plush sofa.
    “Our young friend stumbled upon one of our more dangerous streets,” the priest offered wryly, leaving Donna as he stood casually against the corner of a massive oak desk.
    “Oh, no! You were mugged! Poor dear!”
    “I really am fine,” Donna said meekly, wishing for some reason that she could dig a hole beneath the sofa rather than lie on it.
    Mary was tsk ing away. “I’ll get the tea and epsom salts right away, Miss—” She stopped, staring awkwardly at Father Luke.
    He shrugged and lifted his hands casually. “I don’t know her name, Mary. She hasn’t offered to tell me.”
    Donna wondered briefly how great a sin it was to wish to boil a priest in bubbling oil. She forced a smile to her lips. “Miro,” she told the housekeeper. “Donna Miro.”
    “Oh—you’re Italian, aren’t you?” Mary didn’t wait for Donna’s nod but rushed on. “I just knew it! You look just like Sophia Loren—when she was young, of course. Doesn’t she, Luke?”
    Luke now had his arms crossed over his chest as he freely surveyed Donna. His expression was grave; only his golden eyes gave away his humor. “Mmm—I suppose, Mary. But…not quite. The eyes are much more Elizabeth Taylor—when she was young, of course.”
    “You’re so right, Luke!” Mary laughed. Then she smiled quickly at Donna and left the room, closing the door behind her.
    Donna knew that she resembled a ripe tomato, her blush was so hot. She was both furious and incredibly at a loss. She was usually quite competent when dealing with men on business and socially, but this man was making her feel as if she were sixteen again.
    And of all things, he was a priest. She had spent her life amidst a very Italian, very Catholic family. Priests were not supposed to be