Read Online The Preacher's Son #2: Unleashed by Jasinda Wilder - Free Book Online
Authors: Jasinda Wilder
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1
I left the bed and donned a robe from the bathroom, a thin, silky flower-print thing that came to my knees. I knotted it tight so my breasts were covered, hidden. I tried to pretend my heart wasn't knocking in my chest just as loudly as Pastor McNabb's fist was on my door.
"Stay here," I told Tre.
I pulled the door open. "Can I help you?" I asked.
"Where is my son?" It was a harsh demand, no Southern politeness here, just angry brown eyes and sweating jowls.
"Can I help you, Pastor McNabb?" I repeated, trying to force myself to coolness.
"I want to know where my son is!"
"Well I'm not sure why you would come pounding on my door, then. If that's all..." I trailed off and started to push the door shut.
His hand caught the door and he began pushing past me. "He's here, woman. His truck is in your driveway. I saw you talking to him after sermon yesterday. Don't play games with me, not about my boy." Brian McNabb was furious, jabbing a finger in my face.
"Excuse me, Pastor. This is my home, and I have not invited you in," I said, pushing him back out the door. "You can leave now. I have no reason to answer your questions. Your concerns regarding your son's whereabouts have nothing to do with me."
The pastor stood in the doorway, seething. "You seduced my boy, harlot. You ruined him. I know he's in there, up in your bedroom, your...your den of iniquity." He spat on the ground at his feet. "You just tell my son he ain't welcome in my home no more. You tell him that, harlot. He made his choice, now he's gotta live with it."
I noticed his accent, so carefully cultivated to be charming and reassuring in the pulpit, had taken on a different tone, now. I regarded him with an icy glare, hoping he couldn't see the pounding of my pulse in my throat.
What had I done?
"Pastor McNabb, you are out of line. You are barging in here, into my home, making accusations, calling me names, and publicly disowning your son when you have no facts, no evidence, besides your son's vehicle in my driveway." I jabbed my finger at him, as he'd done to me. "You are rude, uncouth, and unwelcome. Please leave. Now."
He turned and stormed off, stopping at the sidewalk and facing me once more. "You tell him what I said, Mrs. Harley. I meant it. I know the truth, and so do you. You tell him."
I watched him drive away in his rattling old forest-green Cadillac, and then shut the door. Tre was standing just out of sight, on the middle of the stairs. He wasn't crying, but he was clearly distraught.
I crossed over to him, took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen. Wearing just his jeans, zipped but unbuttoned and showing that sexy V of muscle and a hint of the thatch of curly black hairs, I felt a flood of desire for him, even as the gravity of the situation permeated the air between us.
He sat down at the island, perching on the stool, shoulders slumped, forehead buried in his hands.
"What did I do?" he said. "What did I do?"
I put my hands on his shoulders, standing behind him. I kissed his back between his shoulder blades, feeling a tenderness for him that I shouldn't have, not so soon, not when this was supposed to be just...
I trailed off the thought, in my head, realizing I really hadn't considered what this relationship might be, when I invited him here. I just knew I wanted him, and that an afternoon of sex with him would go a long way to helping me realize I had really started my life over.
And now, suddenly, I had ruined this young man's life.
"You made a choice, Tre," I said. "I don't know your dad, but he may come around. You never know. And if not...Well, if he's so easily able to disown you for one little choice like this, then I just have to question his...not his love, but his ability to accept you."
"He won't come around," Tre said, his voice low and miserable.
"Maybe not," I said. "But, you know...if you're gonna make your own decisions in life, it probably would have come to this at some point. If you decided
I left the bed and donned a robe from the bathroom, a thin, silky flower-print thing that came to my knees. I knotted it tight so my breasts were covered, hidden. I tried to pretend my heart wasn't knocking in my chest just as loudly as Pastor McNabb's fist was on my door.
"Stay here," I told Tre.
I pulled the door open. "Can I help you?" I asked.
"Where is my son?" It was a harsh demand, no Southern politeness here, just angry brown eyes and sweating jowls.
"Can I help you, Pastor McNabb?" I repeated, trying to force myself to coolness.
"I want to know where my son is!"
"Well I'm not sure why you would come pounding on my door, then. If that's all..." I trailed off and started to push the door shut.
His hand caught the door and he began pushing past me. "He's here, woman. His truck is in your driveway. I saw you talking to him after sermon yesterday. Don't play games with me, not about my boy." Brian McNabb was furious, jabbing a finger in my face.
"Excuse me, Pastor. This is my home, and I have not invited you in," I said, pushing him back out the door. "You can leave now. I have no reason to answer your questions. Your concerns regarding your son's whereabouts have nothing to do with me."
The pastor stood in the doorway, seething. "You seduced my boy, harlot. You ruined him. I know he's in there, up in your bedroom, your...your den of iniquity." He spat on the ground at his feet. "You just tell my son he ain't welcome in my home no more. You tell him that, harlot. He made his choice, now he's gotta live with it."
I noticed his accent, so carefully cultivated to be charming and reassuring in the pulpit, had taken on a different tone, now. I regarded him with an icy glare, hoping he couldn't see the pounding of my pulse in my throat.
What had I done?
"Pastor McNabb, you are out of line. You are barging in here, into my home, making accusations, calling me names, and publicly disowning your son when you have no facts, no evidence, besides your son's vehicle in my driveway." I jabbed my finger at him, as he'd done to me. "You are rude, uncouth, and unwelcome. Please leave. Now."
He turned and stormed off, stopping at the sidewalk and facing me once more. "You tell him what I said, Mrs. Harley. I meant it. I know the truth, and so do you. You tell him."
I watched him drive away in his rattling old forest-green Cadillac, and then shut the door. Tre was standing just out of sight, on the middle of the stairs. He wasn't crying, but he was clearly distraught.
I crossed over to him, took him by the hand and led him into the kitchen. Wearing just his jeans, zipped but unbuttoned and showing that sexy V of muscle and a hint of the thatch of curly black hairs, I felt a flood of desire for him, even as the gravity of the situation permeated the air between us.
He sat down at the island, perching on the stool, shoulders slumped, forehead buried in his hands.
"What did I do?" he said. "What did I do?"
I put my hands on his shoulders, standing behind him. I kissed his back between his shoulder blades, feeling a tenderness for him that I shouldn't have, not so soon, not when this was supposed to be just...
I trailed off the thought, in my head, realizing I really hadn't considered what this relationship might be, when I invited him here. I just knew I wanted him, and that an afternoon of sex with him would go a long way to helping me realize I had really started my life over.
And now, suddenly, I had ruined this young man's life.
"You made a choice, Tre," I said. "I don't know your dad, but he may come around. You never know. And if not...Well, if he's so easily able to disown you for one little choice like this, then I just have to question his...not his love, but his ability to accept you."
"He won't come around," Tre said, his voice low and miserable.
"Maybe not," I said. "But, you know...if you're gonna make your own decisions in life, it probably would have come to this at some point. If you decided
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