Led into Temptation

What was wrong with her? He was a stranger. And he was looking at her as intently as she was looking at him. Devouring was the word that came to mind. She was sure she’d never even thought of devouring a man with her eyes before. But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing now? And there was a part of her that wanted to do more than think about it. Her pulse raced, and she felt a little breathless, as if she’d just run up the long flight of stairs from the beach.

It was then that he stepped fully into the courtyard, and she saw what she hadn’t seen before.

A Roman collar.

For a moment, her heart stopped. Her knees went weak, and heat flooded her body. The man she’d just been devouring with her eyes was a priest. He didn’t just look like the priest she’d fantasized about when she was fourteen. He was a priest. And the realization had shot the attraction she’d been experiencing into overdrive.

No. This was not going to happen to her again. Willing her legs to work, she turned away from the railing and made it to one of the small love seats before she collapsed.

Leaning back against the cushions, she stared straight ahead, forcing herself to concentrate on the details—the pale green paint she’d selected under Jillian’s direction, the oriental rug with its pastel colors, the gleam of the honey-colored wood beneath. Gradually, the image of the man—the priest—she’d just seen in the courtyard dimmed, and a flame of anger burst to life inside of her.

This was all due to that piece of parchment paper she’d drawn out of Hattie’s box. Her fantasy crush on Father Bouchard had happened so long ago, and she’d outgrown it. She’d been a young, impressionable fourteen when she’d read The Thornbirds. That was when the idea of making love with a priest had first taken hold of her.

All the girls at the school had had a crush on Father Bouchard. The confessional had never been busier. One would have thought from the long lines that Our Lady of Solace boarding school had become a den of iniquity. She’d even figured out how to spend extra time with the young priest by volunteering to clean the sacristy each day after he’d said Mass. That was when he always lingered and found the time to listen to her. And talk to her. Later she would record in her diary each word he said, no matter how casual, and each smile he gave to her.

In her mind, in that place where fantasy/puppy love flourished, she’d fallen in love with Father Pierre Bouchard. She’d even taken to writing her name as Naomi Bouchard over and over again in her diary and notebooks. All simple, innocent things.

In the beginning, the fantasies she’d spun in her mind about Father Bouchard had also been innocent—taking long walks, their hands and arms brushing occasionally. But the heat that had rushed through her at every imaginary contact hadn’t been so innocent.

And eventually, her fantasies had become more explicit, at least as explicit as she’d been able to spin them at fourteen. And even though she knew it had to be a sin to continue to indulge in them, she’d never confessed them to anyone. Until today when she’d told Avery.

When Father Bouchard was transferred to a small parish near Monte Carlo, she’d cried herself to sleep for weeks. But the fantasies had gradually faded. She’d put them out of her mind years ago. Up until the day she’d drawn that parchment paper out of Hattie Haworth’s hatbox.

THE MOMENT NAOMI disappeared into her room, Dane cursed himself silently. Ms. Brightman was definitely going to be a problem for him.

Bottom line—he wanted her. And she was his best link to the man he was determined to find. Anyone who thought you could mix business with pleasure didn’t make a successful businessman.

With an inward sigh, he faced what he’d known from the first moment he’d set eyes on her. This was not going to be a simple job. At the top of the list of possible complications was the fact that he was impersonating a priest. His game plan was to convince Naomi to confide in him. That would call for some up-close-and-personal time with the woman.

And even if he was tempted, as he already was, to make a pass at her, to do so could blow his cover and cost him what chance he had of nabbing Michael Davenport.

She’s off-limits, MacFarland. He’d just have to get more deeply into the role of being a priest. Think holy and celibate thoughts. His ability to assume different personas had always been his primary survival skill. And to be forewarned was to be forearmed.

The laughter pierced his concentration first. But it was only when a young couple entered the courtyard from the steps to the beach that Dane realized he hadn’t moved since Naomi Brightman had disappeared from the balcony. And he hadn’t taken his gaze from the open door to her room.

Was he waiting, hoping for her to come back out?

Way to go, MacFarland. Disgusted, he strode to the entrance of the main lobby. He had a job to do. And step one was to arrange a personal meeting with Naomi Brightman. He spotted Avery Cooper behind the registration desk and started toward him. Avery might look more like a bouncer in an upscale club, but according to the research Ian had done, the man had graduated top of his class from Harvard Business School. And from what Dane had gathered from their reunion at the pier, he was a friend to Naomi. That made Avery Cooper a good man to have on his side.

And the perfect man to arrange his first meeting with Naomi. Tomorrow, Dane decided. That would give her time to settle in, and it would buy him a little time to get deeper into his role.

As a priest, Dane reminded himself. A very celibate priest.

3

“YOU’RE SURE you don’t mind?” Avery had arrived with her room service order and they’d shared a meal and some wine. Now he lounged on one of the love seats, his long legs extended beyond the edge of the coffee table that separated them. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I’m sure I want to meet with Father MacFarland in the morning.” And she was. However, Naomi noted that Avery didn’t look completely convinced. That was entirely due to her initial reaction to his news that Father Dane MacFarland had requested a personal meeting with her in the morning.

She’d dropped the wineglass she’d been holding, then she’d cut one of her fingers in her hurried attempt to pick up the shattered shards.

And that had made her angry enough that she’d immediately agreed to meet with the priest. In fact, she’d insisted on it. She was not going to allow herself to get caught up again in a ridiculous adolescent fantasy. After all, she was an adult woman. An attorney. She’d been engaged to a man she’d thought she loved.

And then she’d been dumped and fired. Was it any wonder her nerves were on edge? A lesser woman might have had some kind of breakdown. Or at least asked her personal physician for some really good drugs.

Instead, she’d come to Haworth House to put her life back together. And she wasn’t going to hide out in her room simply because of … a priest.

“Father MacFarland seems to be a charming man,” Avery said. “If Tess hadn’t spilled the beans that one of the owners was in residence this week, I might have been able to handle it myself. But he specifically requested you. And his idea of booking a block of rooms together with conference space to hold spiritual retreats as a recruiting device for new seminarians is brilliant.”

“Doesn’t the church already have facilities for holding retreats?” Naomi asked.

“Sure.” Avery spread his hands. “But there’s a growing shortage of priests in the United States, and Father MacFarland is hoping a venue like this will increase attendance.”

“And you began to hear the little echoes of cha-ching, cha-ching in the back of your mind.”

Avery grinned at her. “Well, that, too. If Father MacFarland likes the place, it could be very profitable for the hotel in the off-season.”

“I’m happy to talk with him,” Naomi said. “In fact, it could be good for me. I haven’t been out of the tower floors since I got here.”

“Then I’m happy I let myself get carried away,” Avery said as he rose. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll ring the good father’s room and let him know that it’s all arranged—ten o’clock tomorrow morning in the courtyard. One more thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

Naomi glanced at them. “What?”

“If we’re going to get you out of your room, you’ll need transportation. As long as you’re on the island, I want you to have full access to my car.”

Her eyes widened. “Your Corvette?”

“That would be the one.”

Naomi knew how much he treasured his car. “Avery, I can use the car Jillian keeps here if I want to go into town.”

He moved toward her, took her hand and dropped the keys into her palm. “Think of driving it as part of your exploration of discovering the new Naomi Brightman. I’ve always found when something’s troubling me, a fast ride in a car with the top down helps, and it’s a lot cheaper than therapy. Try it.”

“Okay.” She threw her arms around Avery and hugged him. “Thanks.”

Stepping back, he grinned down at her. “Enjoy. And since my mission here is accomplished for tonight, I’ll get my nose back to the grindstone.”

The moment Avery left, Naomi locked the door and turned around. While they’d eaten, the sky had darkened, and the only illumination in the room came from the moonlight streaming through the filmy curtain she’d drawn across the closed balcony doors.

Another surge of anger at herself had her pacing to the balcony doors and throwing them open. It was bad enough that she’d run away from her troubles in Boston. She was not going to allow herself to hide out in her room. That was not the way she was going to explore who the new Naomi Brightman was.

That’s when she saw him. He was in a room directly across from hers and one level down. Naomi’s throat went dry. The doors to his balcony were open, and the drapes billowed inward. Because he had the lights on, the thin material of the curtains had become transparent, and she could see him very clearly.

There was no Roman collar now, nothing to indicate he was a priest. But she recognized that body. And this time she could see a whole lot more of it. He wore only a towel around his waist as he strode across the room and picked up a phone.

He stood with his back to her, his dark hair wet and slicked back, his broad shoulders still glistening from a shower.

Her mouth literally watered as her eyes traveled down the well-muscled back to his waist. The towel was short and damp and clung like a second skin to the curves of his tight butt. It would be hard to the touch, she thought, then marveled at the tingling rush of heat in her fingers. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to run her hands over every plane and hard angle of that body.