A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(48)

“I won’t be in until later. I’m visiting Mrs. McWilliams,” he reminded her, downing the last of his milk and setting the glass in the sink.

The woman was an old and faithful church member who’d recently broken her hip. Lloyd visited her at least twice a week.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Monica said, eager to make her escape. She walked across the yard to the old church building and let herself in by the side door that opened onto the sanctuary area. She’d been raised in this building, lived the majority of her life in the same house with the same people.

Instead of heading directly to the office, which was situated in the room at the rear of the church off the foyer, Monica paused and looked toward the altar. An unspoken prayer rose in her throat and she found herself moving toward the altar rail.

Monica kelt there and slowly bowed her head. “Guide his life, Father,” she whispered. The tears that filled her eyes came as a surprise and the remainder of the words were choked off in her throat. She wasn’t sure how to pray for Chet. But God knew and she’d leave the man and the matter in His capable hands.

Several moments passed before she stood.

Her morning slipped past almost unnoticed. Typing was something of a chore with her hair continually falling in her face. It irritated her so much that she found two bobby pins in a desk drawer and clipped both sides behind her ears.

She was busy working on the bulletin for Sunday morning worship service when the door opened. Monica looked up from the computer and her pulse quickened. Quickened was a mild way of explaining what happened to her. Her heart was banging against her ribs with such force she wasn’t able to do anything more than breathe.

“I see you took my advice about your hairstyle,” Chet said, and sauntered into the office as if he were right at home.

“What are you doing here?” She glanced anxiously toward her father’s office, forgetting he wasn’t there.

“Don’t worry, he’s off visiting Mrs. McWilliams.”

“How . . . how do you know that?”

Chet laughed lightly and rearranged the figurines that made up the nativity scene she’d set in a froth of angel hair, switching the camels and the mules. “I know just about everything there is to know about you.”

Playing a game of cat and mouse with him was beyond her. Chet was much too clever for her. “Why are you here?”

“To see you. Why else? I’m not exactly the type of guy who frequents churches.”

She was on her feet without knowing how she got there. Clenching her hands together in front of her, she drew in a steadying breath. “Why do you want to see me?”

“I figured I owed you an apology.”

His willingness to admit it surprised her. “Then I accept your regrets,” she informed him, sitting back down. “You don’t need to trouble yourself further.”

“I came for another reason,” he said, easing himself onto the corner of her desk as if he had every right to do so.

“What’s that?” Monica placed her hands on the keyboard, ready to resume her task although heaven knew she couldn’t have typed had her life depended on it.

“You planning on seeing that milquetoast choir director again?”

“I . . . I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours.”

“Perhaps not, but if you do, you’re cheating him and you’re hurting yourself.”

Monica had taken about as much of his advice as she could tolerate. “What gives you the right to say those kinds of things to me?” she demanded.

“I know you, sweetheart.”

She hated it when he called her that and he knew it. He was purposely trying to irritate her.

“You’ve got fire in your blood, not milk. You’ve sampled desire. Now that you know what it is to be weak with wanting a man, you won’t be able to accept second best. Not anymore—it’s too late for that.”

“You have your nerve.”

“You’re right,” he agreed readily enough, “I do.” He stood and walked around to her side of the desk.

Monica watched him, not knowing what to expect. Every nerve was at full attention. A siren was blaring in her head, blocking out all sensible thought.

When he reached for her, she didn’t offer the least bit of resistance. As it never failed to do, his touch rippled through her, snapping her senses to life. He roughly lowered his mouth to hers where he planted desperate, hungry kisses.

She resisted him at first, attempting to jerk her mouth from his, but he wouldn’t allow it, trapping her face. Her stand against him was pitifully weak, and soon she was as much a participant in the exchange as he was.

Slowly he eased himself away from her. “Heaven help me,” he whispered and Monica was convinced he didn’t mean this as a prayer.

Something attracted his attention and he jerked his head around. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

Monica was too startled to do anything.

“Whoever it is, get rid of them,” he instructed, slipping behind the door that led to her father’s office.

Get rid of them, Monica thought in panic. She wasn’t accustomed to playing these ridiculous cops-and-robbers games. She hadn’t a clue of what to say or do.

The door opened just then and Michael strolled inside. He smiled at her warmly. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”