Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
And this time, it’s him bringing me there.
His mouth moves up my neck, and he growls as he captures my lips again. He kisses me deeply, sending a thrill jolting through my core. He rubs my—my… pussy through my soaked panties with his thigh, and God help me, I start to push back. I rub against him, and I feel myself start to fall as I give myself to sin.
The pressure builds, and the fire burns hotter, and I’m rapidly approaching that place I was before, in my room. But suddenly, my eyes open, and I gasp.
I’m looking right up at the back wall of his pulpit stage and staring right back at me is a picture of Jesus on the Cross.
…It’s like throwing ice-water on a fire.
With a gasp, I bolt back away from him, almost tripping over my feet until I do actually fall over right onto my butt. I scramble and kick with my feet until I’m back on my feet, and I quickly look up to see him looking at me with a hard, fierce gaze. My chest heaves and my blood runs hot like liquid fire as I slowly back away from him, panting and shivering.
“Delilah,” he growls.
“Stay away,” I gasp. “Please, just…” I swallow the lump in my throat, and I wrap my arms around myself as I back away in horror.
“I have to go.”
My eyes lock onto him once more, drinking in the sinful sight of his gorgeous body and haunting eyes.
“Delilah,” he growls again. “Wait.”
“I—no, Gabriel,” I gasp quietly. “No.”
I turn, and I run. I run clear across the grassy field, my heart racing and my body trembling in shock and excitement and fear.
There’s a song I’ve heard on the radio in Papa’s garage before: “The Devil Came Down to Georgia.” I’ve always liked the tune, but now, I know what it really means. Now, I know that temptation and sin cloaks itself irresistibly, and insidiously worms its way into your very soul.
The Devil came down to Georgia, all right. His name is Gabriel Marsden, and he’s sunk his claws and forked tongue deep into my soul.
But the worst of it is?
Well, the worst of it is, I’m not sure I altogether dislike how his claws feel.
Chapter Eight
Gabriel
“Preacher Gabriel?”
I turn, and instantly, I freeze. It’s Paul Somerset, Delilah’s brother, and my first thought is that he’s here to, I don’t know, shoot me or some shit after what happened last night.
I glance around, my jaw clenching. I’ve just given another sermon under my tent, and there are still plenty of people milling around. Witnesses, I think. Hopefully enough to dissuade brother Somerset from revenge blowing my goddamn head off.
“Paul,” I smile, my eyes darting over him and trying to spot the concealed weapon under his clothes. “What can I do for you?”
But he just smiles back. “I just wanted to say, that was a real powerful sermon, Mr. Marsden.”
I let the breath that I’ve been holding out slowly and smile back. “Well, thanks, Paul. I appreciate it.” Today was a real payday of a sermon that I’ve worked hard on. This one involves an almost entirely bullshit story about Jesus repainting God’s temple with paint he purchased through the generosity of his followers.
…I know, I know, I’m a horrible person. Thankfully, the powers that be created whiskey to soothe an aching soul.
Problem is, they also created Delilah Somerset, who tastes sweeter and hits strong, and lasts a whole hell of a lot longer than any whiskey I’ve ever had. Sweet, tempting, insidiously corrupting in a way she doesn’t even understand Delilah Somerset. Delilah who had my heart racing faster than it’s ever raced, and my very soul aching for her in a way no woman has ever done to me. Not by a long, long country fucking mile.
I know I went too far last night. I’d had a little to drink, and I was trying to tease her, or see how far she’d last with me being, well, me before she ran screaming. And yet, she stayed. And the heat built, and the temptation overtook me—overtook took us both, I think.
Screwing around with her was a mistake. Kissing her was dangerous. And I know better.
“Well, Mr. Marsden, I do confess, that’s not the only reason I wanted to speak with you today.”
Shit. My eyes dart over his clothes again, looking for a telltale gun bulge or like a fucking sword or something. But again, Paul just smiles and spreads his hands wide.
“As you know, sir, I’ve been called much like yourself by a higher power to spread His word amongst the flock. I know you’re here now, and we’re all so thankful for that. But, yours is traveling ministry, and soon enough—”
“Sunday,” I interject. A week, that’s how long you stay in one place—the Gospel of Jasper, verse two. After that, suspicions arise, and the mystery of a traveling preacher turns into the pestilence of an outsider camping out on the edge of town taking people’s money.