Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
“I’m not sick. I guess I was exhausted, and I crashed.” He lets his hand slip gently down the side of my face, caressing my cheek.
“Why don’t we go down to the kitchen and get something to eat?”
“You cook?”
“I do, but there will be things already prepared.”
I glance around to see where I put my clothes from the other day. “I’ll need to get dressed. Do you know where my backpack is?” I lost it sometime between Santino’s and here. They took it from me.
“I’ll see to finding it, but I had some things brought over.” He goes back to the bedroom door, grabbing a few boxes sitting outside. “I suppose you slept through the knocks.” He places the boxes on the bench at the end of the bed before opening one. “Maybe I should leave you to it.” He closes the box back.
“What?” I open it back up and see panties right on top. “Why do I get the feeling you could kill a man but not touch panties?” I pick up the silky material. “Oh God. They’re so soft.” I reach under my robe and pull mine off before slipping them on. Bjornsson turns to give me his back. He wouldn’t have seen anything. I’d made sure the robe kept me covered, but now I’m not going to be able to help myself.
I’m not some sexy seductress. In fact, for the most part, I stay clear of the opposite sex and do whatever I can to go unnoticed by them. Even when I was a young girl, I kept my hair short. It wasn’t until the last few years I let it grow out finally.
In the box, I find some jeans, stretchy black pants, and sweats. I go for the black pants and fish out one of the sweaters from another box. There are even soft, fluffy socks. I had no idea clothes could feel this good against your skin.
“Okay, it’s fine now. I’m no longer indecent,” I tease him. Bjornsson slowly turns back around, his eyes roaming down my body and then back up until they meet mine.
“I’m not so sure that’s true, angel.”
He’s probably right. Now all I can think about is doing indecent things to get a reaction out of Father Bjornsson.
CHAPTER 7
BJORNSSON
It’s as if my enemies had peeled my skin back, cracked open my head, and taken every fantasy they could find to create this woman. Dressed in tight pants and a loose sweater, there’s hardly an inch of bare skin to be seen, but that doesn’t stop my blood from heating up. The Abbott was right all along. If I allow it, I could be led astray.
“This way.” I gesture for her to follow me. Getting out of her room is the first step to survival here. Distance would be the second step, but why be hasty? Maybe I can handle myself. Lars falls in behind me. If I don’t behave, there’s always my trusty bodyguards to haul me away from danger.
“Where is the kitchen? The last time I was running around, I didn’t see one.”
Her hand swings close to mine, like an invitation or a lure. I ignore it, or try to. “When you were trying to escape?”
“You told me I could leave. Were you lying?”
“I never lie.”
She stops short. “Never? Not even a small white lie like telling Lars he looks nice when he doesn’t?”
Behind us, I hear a grunt of disapproval. I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth to hide a grin. When I have myself under control, I say, “When has Lars ever not looked nice?”
“I don’t know. Don’t we all have bad days?”
“Lying is not permitted at the Chapel.” I think back to the days when I was a boy under the Abbott’s tutelage. The whistle of the whip slicing through the air is as crystal clear in my memory as when the Abbott was disciplining us. No lying. No coveting. No lusting. I’m breaking that last tenet every moment I spend with Angel.
She purses her lips together and studies me for a moment. I wonder what she sees or what conclusion she’s come to, but she doesn’t share her thoughts. Instead, she starts walking again. “What kind of religion are you? Catholic?”
“I would say we are less of a religion and more of an order. A group of people with a common purpose.”
“So you just made up a religion? What are the rules? What are considered the sins?”
“Rather than a listing of wrongdoings, the Chapel encourages”—mandates—“fidelity, fraternity, fairness.”
“That sounds like—” She breaks off. I follow her gaze to see that she’s staring at the front doors. The two twenty-foot-high iron structures loom at the entrance. The light that illuminates the entry is from the massive chandelier and wall sconces. No sunlight can be seen. She walks forward until her outstretched palm rubs against the metal. Her hands skim down the flat panels. “Why is there no doorknob, or do I need to say a secret passcode first and they pop out?”