Chapter Four
Clara
Clara’s mind was spinning. Mark had been handsome before, but now, all grown up, and standing before her, no longer in a cassock, but black pants, black shirt, and dog collar, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. The addition of a shadow of evening stubble did nothing to detract from his appeal, nor did the fact his hair was a little long and curled over the collar at his nape.
When she’d walked into the room, she’d had a sudden rush of heat blast through her system. It tugged at her breasts, between her legs, and she was back there for a moment, pressed up against him in that barn. Returned to a time when he was hers to touch, all over, every last inch of him.
“I’ll leave you to catch up,” Reverend Gerald said, beaming. “How lovely, Mark, that you have old friends right here in Southwark.”
“Yes. Indeed.” Mark kept his attention on her.
His eyes seemed to bore into hers. The depths burned with heat and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Or maybe it was that she didn’t dare hope she still saw a spark of passion there, a small glimmer of the electric attraction that used to fizzle between them?
“What a small world,” Reverend Gerald said, stepping away and shaking his head.
“I … er, brought the album,” Clara said, tapping the side of the bag she had over her shoulder.
“Oh, yes. Perfect.” He nodded. “Shall we?” He gestured to a low sofa in the corner. The arms were threadbare. It held several soft embroidered cushions, and before it was a low wooden table set with a bunch of flowers.
A few people stopped Mark to speak to him as they made their way across the room. He was clearly a hit with the females of the group, and Clara noticed that both Jean and Mable had on lipstick tonight, something she’d never seen before. Mark was completely charming with them, though he did have a knack of moving a conversation on so he could move on.
Clara smiled as he nodded at the sofa. “After you.”
She set down her wine and settled back, retrieved the album, and flicked it open.
Mark sat next to her. A little closer than she’d expected, possibly nearer than he’d expected, too, because the old cushions and worn springs tipped his big body to hers.
He glanced at her as his leg pressed up against her thigh.
Clara nibbled her bottom lip and covered up the fact they were touching by opening the album across their laps.
“Sorry,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay.” Anyone else she’d have shifted away. But not Mark. The heat of his flesh through his trousers and the solidity of his muscles had her heart skipping with delight and a wonderful tingling sensation running over her body.
She cleared her throat. “This is the fete last year,” she said.
“Very colorful, looks like the sun came out.”
“Yes, it was a great day. We raised a lot of money for the church fund.”
Mark leaned across her, his shoulder brushing hers.
She held her breath.
“Is that you?” he asked, pointing to the picture on the opposite page.
She laughed as a flush of embarrassment caught her unawares. “Yes, silly really. We dressed up as milkmaids and handed out ice cream to the kids.”
He chuckled, a lovely low vibrating sound that she wanted to go on and on. “I like it.”
“It’s not my best look.”
He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he opened his mouth.
She wondered what he was about to say. Something about her looks? How she was now compared to then when they’d…
But he closed his mouth again and set his attention back on the album. His shoulders tensed a little.
Clara pulled in a breath and turned the page. The next set of photographs were taken during a walk they’d enjoyed along the Thames and a park picnic. As Clara explained what they were doing then turned the page, she realized just how much she did with the congregation. Sure, she had friends at work, most of which were her own age and whom she enjoyed spending time with. But here, at St. Agnes church, she really felt at home. Perhaps it was because in the hustle and bustle of life in London it held the intimate care of a family. She knew everyone, and they knew her and she could be herself. She also enjoyed the fact she could help out and had the energy and the commitment to do so.
As she came to the end of the album, she was a little sad. She’d enjoyed sitting close to Mark, his leg against hers and the scent of his faded aftershave.
But glancing up, she noticed the majority of parishioners had wandered off. She’d been so engrossed in her conversation she hadn’t even been aware.
Reverend Gerald was still there, chatting quietly to Derek, who’d recently lost his job and was getting divorced.
“Wow, I guess it’s getting late.” Mark glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize. I was having such a nice time.” He leaned forward and finished off the last drip of his wine.
“Me neither.” Clara watched him drink, the way his lips touched the glass and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “And I have an early shift tomorrow.” She closed the album and stood. The day had been an emotional whirlwind. From the moment she’d seen Mark stepping up to the pulpit, her feelings for him had done nothing but grow and grow. It was as if history was tempting her, willing her to rekindle the love for him which had never died.
But he’s a man of the cloth.
Hardly boyfriend material.
Hell, he probably had no intention of ever having a girlfriend, a wife, or settling down. He was married to the church and to God. It was the path he’d chosen, and for all she knew he could be off on a mission by the end of the week.
Suddenly an overwhelming sensation of despondency gripped her. She quickly slotted the album away and clasped the handle of the bag as she tugged it onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”
“Clara?” He stood, unfolding to his full height.
She felt small next to him as he loomed over her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern creasing his brow.
“Yes.” She nodded sharply. “I just need to get home.”
“Which is?”
“Only a five-minute walk from here.”
He nodded at the high window, which was now in blackness. “It’s dark.”
“There are lampposts.” She stepped away, needing to put some physical distance between her and Mark before she grabbed him, pulled him close, and kissed him the way she used to. It would surely get this ridiculous growing crush out of her system, put a halt to it, but it would also likely give Reverend Gerald a heart attack.
And she didn’t want that on her conscience.
“I should walk with you, make sure you get home safely.”
“I’ve done it a hundred times.” She turned to Reverend Gerald and raised her hand. “Goodbye, Reverend, see you on the ward tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” He smiled then returned to his conversation with Derek.
Before Clara had even reached the door, Mark was pulling the handle. He held it open, his jaw set in a steely, determined line, one she recognized from his younger days.
She sighed. There was no point arguing. He’d made his mind up. The trouble was she didn’t trust herself, especially now she’d had a glass of wine and darkness would be a cape of privacy around them.
Within minutes, she’d pulled on her cardigan, and they were heading east toward her block of apartments.
“Do you miss the countryside?” Mark asked, striding along beside her.
“A little, but there’s plenty of open spaces here if you look for it. Lots of wildlife, too.”
“I’m glad I grew up with fields and woods,” he said. “It made for a fun childhood, plenty of freedom.”
“I agree.” Again, she thought of the barn, of the freedom they’d had back then to go for a romp in the hay, undetected, undisturbed. “That day in the…” Her words trailed off.
He appeared to hesitate then. “Go on.”
She should just say it, get it off her chest. “That day in the barn. Do you remember it? When we—”
“Of course.” He stopped suddenly and turned to her.
Also drawing to a halt, she looked up at him. A light was directly behind him, and she could only just make out his features. “Oh,” she said. “I’m glad, that you remember.”
“How could I forget?” He reached out and took a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s the one and only time I’ve ever had intimate relations with a woman.”
“It is … then … with me?” It was as she’d suspected, but still Clara was shocked. How the heck did a gorgeous guy like Mark resist all the females that must have flirted and attempted to seduce him over the years?
And why, much to her annoyance, did that increase her attraction to him tenfold?
Only with me? Really?
He spread the strands of her hair out, watching his own movements as he did so. “Yes, that day is imprinted on my memory. Of course it happened before I made my commitments to God, our relations, and I’ve made my peace with the fact we were out of wedlock.”
“We were young, in love, experimenting the way all teens do.”
“In love.” His gaze lifted and connected with hers. “Yes, we were, very much so.”
She bit on her bottom lip. Could he love her again? Was there still a kernel of longing in his heart for her? They’d ended so brutally, like a Band-Aid being ripped from a wound that hadn’t healed, and for her at least, it still hadn’t healed. It was raw, and it ached in the very center of her soul.
He leaned forward a little, his attention now on her mouth.
Damn it, she wanted to kiss him, even if it meant going to hell. Surely burning for all eternity would be a small price to pay to have his lips on hers once more.
Does he want to kiss me?
Suddenly he straightened and looked in the direction they’d been walking. “We should…”
“Yes. Come on, this way.” She snatched in a breath and balled her hands into fists. She had to stay strong. Reverend Mark was off limits, no matter how tempting he was.