The Virgin. Tiffany ReiszЧитать онлайн книгу.
2015 Scotland
“IT WAS A dark and stormy night,” Nora said as she came to stand next to Søren at the window. She gazed out on the summer storm tearing up the Scottish sky.
“Please tell me that isn’t the first line to your next book.”
“Oh, but it’s such a good first line. Classic even.” She tucked her hand into his and watched the light show with him. Wind and rain lashed the trees and the moors. A flash of lightning set the night afire for a split second and the hills revealed their colors before fading into black again. “How about this—‘It was a dark and stormy night in the castle, and a woman named Nora was determined to seduce her priest.’”
Søren smiled slightly.
“An improvement. A minor improvement.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” Nora squeezed his hand, and he lifted it to his lips for a kiss. He’d arrived this morning but she’d been so busy with her work here that they hadn’t had more than five minutes together. At last the day was done, her work was over until tomorrow, and they could hold hands and simply be.
“Do I want to know what you’re thinking?” Nora asked him.
“Merely watching the storm,” he said, but she could tell he had something on his mind, on his heart. They both did.
Tomorrow was the big day... Everything between her and Søren would change tomorrow. It was happening finally and there was no going back.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” she asked.
“Should I be?”
“I am,” she admitted. “Big day for us.”
“I’m at peace,” he said. “Although I will admit the peace is hard-won.”
“We’ve waited a long time to do this.”
“It’s time now,” he said. “We’ve waited long enough.”
A clap of thunder interrupted their conversation and together they peered into the storm outside the oriel window.
“What are you thinking?” Nora asked.
“Thinking about Job, chapter thirty-eight,” he said. “It’s every priest’s dream to have God come and speak to him face-to-face. Even if it is to tell him how little he knows about the world. Storms always remind me of those verses. God says, ‘Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place?’”
Nora looked up at the sky. “‘Can you raise your voice to the clouds / and cover yourself with a flood of water? / Do you send lightning bolts on their way? / Do they report to you / Here we are.’”
“It’s comforting to know God is so powerful. Comforting to know we aren’t,” Søren said.
Perhaps only a priest could find comfort in his powerlessness. Perhaps only Søren.
“Are you coming to bed?” she asked Søren.
“Not yet. I won’t be ready to sleep for hours.”
In Scotland, it was nine-thirty. In New Orleans, where they’d been living for the past two years, it was half past three in the afternoon.
“Who said anything about sleeping?” she asked.
Søren arched his eyebrow.
“Well, in that case...” Søren turned from the window and cupped her face with his hands. He kissed her on the lips, softly at first, a slight kiss meant to arouse and torment. Ever so slowly he deepened the kiss. As much as she wanted to, Nora didn’t rush the moment. She’d been away from him for five weeks—four weeks spent with Nico at his vineyard and another week here in Scotland making the final preparations for tomorrow. Leaving Søren for any extended period of time was much like this kiss—a torture and a tease. Being away from him hurt, always. But the reunion at the end of the separation made every second apart worth the price.
He took her hands in his and brought them up and around his neck. His arms encircled her back and he drew her to him, deepening the kiss. The heat of his body warmed her to the core. She kissed his lips, his chin, his ear and his neck. He’d abandoned his collar for traveling and tonight wore only black trousers, black jacket and a white button-down shirt open at the neck. She pressed her lips into the hollow of his throat, a hollow made for her kisses.
And the moment when the kiss was perfect, everything she wanted and needed from him, she heard from behind her a small cough.
“Ms. Sutherlin?”
“God fucking dammit.” Nora growled the words, and dropped her head to the center of Søren’s chest.
“Eleanor, you’re scaring the waitstaff,” Søren said.
She turned and faced the interrupter, a young woman holding a bouquet of flowers. Her name might be Bonnie, or maybe she was just “bonnie” in the Scottish sense of pretty. Nora didn’t know and didn’t care.
“Miss, you’ve signed the nondisclosure agreement, haven’t you?” Nora asked. Kingsley was treating tomorrow like a celebrity wedding with ironclad nondisclosure agreements for everyone even remotely involved. Even she’d had to sign one.
“Yes, ma’am?” The girl made everything she said into a question.
“Good. This man is a Catholic priest. We’ve been sleeping together since I was twenty. I’m sure you can imagine it’s not easy being the mistress of a Catholic priest. We don’t get to spend nearly the amount of time together we’d like to. In fact, I haven’t seen him in five weeks. Admittedly that’s because I was sleeping with someone else most of the time, but that’s neither here nor there. As you can see, my priest here is possibly the most handsome man in the world, although I am admittedly biased. He’s also kinky, well-hung and you’ve just interrupted the kiss I’ve been waiting for all day. So please tell me this interruption is more important than that kiss was.”
“Your dress is here. We hung it in your room. You told me to tell you when it arrived and to interrupt you no matter what you were doing even if you were, as you said, ‘blowing the pope.’ Also, these arrived for you earlier today. They were accidentally put away with the wedding flowers,” the girl said, passing the bouquet to Nora.
“Oh.” Nora tapped her foot on the stone floor. “How nice.”
“Eleanor...” Søren made her name into a threat.
“And sorry about the, you know, well-hung priest