Sixty Nine (Payne Brothers Romance Book 4) Read online

  But I knew he was impressed. Varius had only ever seen me in costume—my hair curled, makeup heavy, boots strapped to my thighs. Today? I’d gone prim, proper, and conservative. Pencil skirt, high-necked blouse.

  This only intrigued him more, but that didn’t surprise me. I could rock a schoolgirl’s outfit, booty shorts, or a business suit. It wasn’t about the body. It was about confidence. Sexuality. That wanton desire for the one man who deserved me.

  At least, the man I once thought deserved me.

  “Say it.” My chin rose. “I clean up well. Imagine that.”

  “You were never dirty, Glory.”

  “Don’t lie. That’s what you liked about me. That’s why you kept coming to me. That’s why you wanted me.”

  I prepared to fight, scream, to hate him with every ounce of my soul.

  But he only ever slayed me with honesty.

  “I wanted you because you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

  And I wished I didn’t love hearing it. “You’re a total asshole.”

  “At least I’m not the liar.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Believe me, this lie is gonna save both of our asses. How would it look to them? Their minister fucking a stripper?”

  “My reputation can’t get any worse around here.”

  “Like hell,” I said. “Just wait. Walk out of this room and tell everybody that this production is canceled. Then see what they think.”

  He rubbed his face. The stubble grew in thick now. He hadn’t shaved. Not for couple of days at least.

  I hated myself for wishing to feel that roughness against my fingers, grazing against my neck, diving between my thighs.

  But Varius shrugged. “I told Miley when he took over my position, I couldn’t help the church anymore. Don’t ask me to lead this production, Glory.”

  “I don’t think you understand. These people have been working for over a month already. We have costumes, music, skits. Every organization in town has some sort of role in this production, from the preschoolers to the Nativity to the Mayor himself.” I didn’t let him interrupt. “I’ll handle everything. The rehearsals. The logistics. But I need someone to approve the budget and sign the forms. That has to be you.”

  “No.”

  A flutter of panic beat against my chest. I gritted my teeth. “I’m not asking for your help. I’m telling you what you gotta do. If you walk out of this church now, I won’t be the only one who hates you.”

  “No one could hate me more than I hate myself.”

  I’d learned that long ago, but it still broke my heart.

  “I made my peace when I left the church,” he said. “Whatever peace it was. But I’ve got nothing left in me that can ever forgive myself for hurting you.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I thought about you every day.”

  I swallowed my profanity. Those words were entirely too honest, and God only knew what else I’d admit. “Oh? Shame. I forgot about you.”

  He didn’t believe me. He stepped closer, the quiet, otherworldly confidence lowering his voice to a prophetic rumble. That growl had overwhelmed me so many nights before, and it twisted me into a dozen knots now.

  “Was I that unmemorable?” he whispered.

  I wasn’t answering that. “You’re the one who walked away. You’re the one who stopped calling.”

  I wished he wasn’t so close. Wished I had put a handout to brace him from approaching. My fingers gently grazed the material of his shirt, and every ounce of heat and strength beneath it pulsed against my skin.

  “Why would I waste my time on a man who wouldn’t give me his last name or profession before taking me to bed?” I said.

  “You know I care about you, Glory.”

  I couldn’t hear this now. I had too many things to do, costumes to sew, fires to put out, fire extinguishers to replace. I tried to back away, but he stepped too close, too fast. I breathed in his scent and sighed.

  “I can’t explain who I am, what I’ve done, what I’ll become, because I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know who I am anymore. But with you?” He cupped my cheek. I bit my lip before his thumb grazed my pout. “I felt like the man I should be. The man I might have been. I never meant to hurt you.”

  My eyes fluttered closed. “Let me go.”

  “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t met you.”

  He had a funny way of showing it. “You probably could’ve used your hand. Saved some time and energy. Not to mention the thousand dollars you threw at my feet.”

  “It wasn’t about the money or the sex. It was you. What you did for me.”

  And it was never supposed to be like this.

  It was never supposed to hurt. Never supposed to squeeze my chest, steel my breath, and nearly drop me to my knees in absolute agony for this man. The soft, sandalwood scent of him poisoned my thoughts.

  Why had I ever let him get this close? He was supposed to be my captive audience. Even during my best nights on stage, I’d never had a man study me as intently, want me as thoroughly, and take me as wickedly as this man.

  He was the kindest, gentlest lover I’d ever known, which made him even more of an asshole for whispering those beautiful words to me.

  I retreated, but my back flattened against the door. Varius encroached, his arms braced on either side of me. Not threatening. He lowered his head. Looked away.

  “Glory, I can’t apologize for what I did. I wasn’t punishing you. I was hurting myself.”

  The bastard.

  My hand crashed against his cheek. “You think I didn’t know that? You think I couldn’t tell that some part of you was majorly fucked up?”

  “It’s not about you.”

  “Bullshit. You used me to fuel your own self-destruction.” I shrugged. “I get it. You hate yourself so much you wanted to destroy your soul with the first corruptive influence you could find. Well, congratulations. We sinned. We desecrated ourselves in pleasure. We surrendered to that darkness, and I hope it was worth it for you, because I regret every single second I spent fantasizing about you, imagining your touch, longing to hear your goddamned voice.”

  Varius bound my hand before I could slap him again. He forced my good wrist to my side, leaned over me, and pinned me against the door.

  His lips rested an inch from mine, and he seized me only after surrendering to his harsh, enraged breath.

  Fuck me.

  There was no forgiveness for wanting a man this badly. The only relief to my damning sin was found in his touch, his kiss, and his eagerly hardening body.

  I gripped his shirt, welcoming the crush of his chest over mine. The ravaging intensity of his kiss silenced all but the slightest whimper of his name. The tremble of my voice pleaded for him to stop, but my nails dug into his skin and begged for more.

  I hated this man.

  Which one of us had fallen harder—the angel from heaven or the stripper from New York?

  He hoisted me up, and I locked my legs around his waist, just as I’d done so many times before. Our kiss landed me against the door, but I welcomed the rough, unforgiving wood scraping my skin.

  I sunk into his kiss as his fingers grappled with my leggings. The damned leotard prevented him from exploring the curves. Heat pulsed between my legs, and he found the source. He pushed hard against the material, rubbing a quick, furious circle around my clit.

  A dozen heavenly shivers dazzled me. Every touch, every kiss, every grace of his tongue ignited my core. Hotter than hellfire, I burned already. For him. Because of him.

  And nothing would ever ease that pain unless I had him inside me once more.

  I struggled against the frustratingly binding leotard, tangled beneath my leggings. His skilled fingers found every perfect spot under the layers of clothing. I arched to meet his hand.

  How was it possible that the shivers, excitement, and pleasure had already teased me to a quiet crest?

  His lips nibbled mine with promise and
confession. I didn’t want to hear it. Only needed to feel his fingers and escape into that perfect bliss.

  “You have no idea what you did for me,” he whispered. “I owe everything to you.”

  I swallowed, but my words still quivered as his hand danced between my thighs. “You’re such a liar.”

  “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  “It was just sex, V.”

  “You know it’s not true.”

  “You don’t need to flatter me. You already fucked me.”

  His words growled, stolen from an unwilling, desperate part of him. He shook his head, stilled his fingers, and simply stared through me, into my soul.

  “You saved my life, Glory.”

  “I…what?”

  He silenced my bewilderment with the sudden, conquering kiss. I groaned against his lips and surrendered to his arms as he rutted against the door and pushed himself hard into my body.

  But the door rattled behind me. With a quick shudder, it fell open.

  I shrieked as Varius and I tumbled to the floor, just barely entwined in each other’s arms. I crashed against the cement with an unceremonious oomph, nearly shattering my good wrist. Varius grunted as he landed on his stomach beside me. Wasn’t sure a hard cock acted as a good cushion.

  Two shepherds and the cross-dressed Joseph hollered as we tumbled. I stood as quickly as my dizzied head permitted, pushing far away from Varius. The doorknob rolled near my feet. I picked it up, tossing it to a nearby Magi.

  “You okay?” Joseph asked.

  I wasn’t an expert, but I figured the Bible would’ve mentioned if the step-father of our Lord had ever pickled himself with vodka. Raymond Adamski, however, found his personal cure to stage fright at the bottom of the bottle.

  I brushed imaginary dirt off of my leotard, using the dusty floor as an excuse to ensure my clothing was decent and any evidence of Varius’s touch stayed hidden.

  “Fine.” My voice practically rattled. I didn’t look at the preacher on the ground, simply frowned as Raymond belched and teetered over.

  Sure, he’d needed to find a change of clothes…but did he need to wear Mary’s high heels as well?

  Raymond whistled. “Glory, some of the old bitties got a problem with the ventriloquist act. Yammering on about sticking your hand up the rear end of a Jesus puppet being blasphemous or something. They want to cancel the act.”

  And this was exactly why I had ordered secular puppetry.

  I gestured toward Varius. “Talk to the preacher about blasphemy. I’ve gotta finish choreographing the frankincense foxtrot for the Magi.”

  “What do we tell them?”

  I sighed and chased them away with a flick of my wrist. “I don’t know. Distract them. Tell them somebody’s using holy water to wash their car in the parking lot. Just give me five minutes.”

  “We…don’t have holy water—”

  “Just go!”

  I should’ve been offended at how quickly my cast and crew fled my presence, but a little fear was good in the production. It was worse with the preschoolers, but a couple of bags of popcorn and M&Ms had sweetened their opinion of me.

  But the rest of the town? I had no idea how I was supposed to win them over.

  Sleeping with the minister was probably the wrong way to go about it.

  Varius was slow to stand, but I couldn’t bring myself to share his glance. Nothing like getting fingered in a church to remind myself of every past indiscretion, sin, and bad decision.

  His voice rumbled, deep and composed. How the hell was he able to stay so calm? “We need to finish that talk, Glory.”

  And look at where our last conversation had ended. “V, I’ve said everything I needed to say. The rest is up to you. You don’t want to be a part of the production, fine. I’ll do it all myself. I’ll get Miley back. I’ll manage the acts. I’ll make sure the curtain rises on time.” I tensed. “But I don’t want to see you again.”

  His eyes darkened, that mournful, terrible green that deserved the happiness he denied himself. “I never once lied to you.”

  And that was the problem. I could’ve used a lie right then. Could’ve used an excuse more. Maybe just an explanation. Some reason to hate this man.

  But that was impossible.

  I’d never fought harder for anyone in my life. Never tried to uncover a man’s secrets, share his fears, or be a part of his heart. He’d crushed me, and the only thing I loathed more than being played was allowing myself to get into such a vulnerable position.

  But now holding him? Tasting him? Getting lost in his arms?

  I couldn’t afford to fall in love. Not with any man. Certainly not with the minister.

  “V, we’re through,” I said. “What we had was a mistake. And it’s not one I’m going to repeat. As far as I’m concerned, we are complete strangers. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “You know I won’t be able to forget you.”

  “Then you better start praying. It’s going to take a miracle to survive this Christmas.”

  More than a miracle. Divine intervention.

  Or maybe a quick trip to hell.

  I was not going to let this man ruin my chances with this job. Not when I needed the money, not this close to the holidays, and not when I’d finally found a quiet little town where no one knew my name or where I came from.

  Why I was running.

  But it wouldn’t be easy to hide all that I needed to hide from the one man who knew more about me than anyone on Earth or in Heaven.

  Varius Payne was no longer my biggest sin.

  He’d be my greatest temptation.

  4

  Varius

  This wasn’t a christening—it was my family’s transparent attempt to reunite me with the church.

  Max was only a few weeks old, and already the kid was being used to manipulate members of the family. Had to give Julian credit. I’d lost my way, but my oldest brother still had faith in me.

  So I reluctantly returned to the church only for the benefit of my newborn nephew.

  And maybe for a good laugh.

  It was a rare opportunity for the Paynes to dig through their closets and don their Sunday best. When Mom was alive, Sundays were a festival of inconvenience for the family—one that we never missed. It began with visiting friends before the service, staying awake during the sermon, hosting the Sunday picnic, and inviting neighbors to our home well into the night.

  My brothers had hated it, but it was why I became a minister.

  Then Mom died, and the family was nearly buried with her. My father and brothers stopped attending church. Stopped talking. Stopped being a family. Even after I took to the pulpit, I never stopped reaching out to them. It’s what Mom would have wanted.

  Then came the storm, and it destroyed the church. Decimated me.

  For the first time since the tornado, my entire family waited for me inside the chapel. It was hard enough to face the congregation, but it felt worse to disappoint them.

  I sat in the parking lot on the hood of my car, staring at the walls and windows I no longer recognized. It wasn’t my church, but it was. The same people, the same soul. I was the one who had changed. First, in sorrow, then through sin.

  I’d spent so many hours wasted in prayer—searching for answers that never came and a truth that was only revealed in a child-sized coffin after the storm.

  Until her.

  Glory.

  Until I felt with her again. Warmth. Compassion. Jealousy. Desire.

  Happiness.

  All the reasons to never see her again. I’d worked hard to remain numb to every person, responsibility, and memory. A woman like her could destroy that isolation. Rebuild a heart. Mend a soul.

  I didn’t deserve salvation—and I’d never earn it if I broke her heart.

  And just my luck, the church was full to bursting this Saturday afternoon. Even Bingo was rescheduled for after the Gamblers Anonymous meeting so the pageant could run through a quick rehea
rsal of their production.

  I’d dreaded meeting the congregation again.

  But confronting Glory?

  Just another hell on earth that seduced me in misery.

  I pushed through the main entrance, prepared for the worst.

  I never should’ve challenged Butterpond.

  Three elderly members of the congregation waved at me—suspended from the ceiling via a homebrewed system of wires, pullies, and good old-fashioned faith.

  “Pastor V!” The eldest woman, Carol, blew me a kiss that left most of her lipstick on her teeth. “Do you get the joke?”

  I wasn’t like my brothers, Quint and Tidus, who could find the funny in chaos, but I’d chuckle with the influence of a little whiskey. Unfortunately, Sawyer County was dry, and so was my mouth. I leapt under Carol, prepared to catch her in case she dropped as hard as my stomach.

  The second woman laughed. So did the third. I squinted. All three of them were named Carol, and none of them were in good enough health to be suspended fifteen feet above the pews.

  “Get it?” The youngest Carol rang a metal triangle with a pleasant tinkle. She patted her golden hoop skirt with a grin, but someone had to tell the ladies those Christmas presents weren’t entirely wrapped. “We’re bells! Carols of the Bells!”

  It took a certain amount of dedication to defy OSHA for a pun. How many of Butterpond’s elderly did Glory intend to put in danger to ring in the holiday?

  The chapel buzzed with activity. Costumed pageant actors burst from aisle to aisle—shepherds and Pharisees, Santas and snowmen. Behind them, a mime practiced his own scene, re-creating the life of Jesus, beginning with a rather graphic birthing scene. Beneath the Carols of the Bells, a dozen children eagerly danced, each dressed as a different reindeer, though little Benny Goldberg did the twist as best he could while balancing the eight candles of his menorah suit.

  The choir sang—some of them the same song. The children laughed. The sound system popped, fizzled, and nearly erupted in smoke as two elderly parishioners attempted to perfect the reverb.