Page 47 of Storm's Deliverance

Her breath catches.

“Because you’re beautiful enough to steal a man’s breath...” My thumb settles beneath her chin. “And you’re dangerous enough to make him think twice about taking it back.”

The space between us shrinks. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Her lips part slowly before her tongue drags across her bottom lip.

Heat slams through me, and the air turns thick, electric. I can feel every breath she takes, every inch separating us, every beat of my pulse hammering against my ribs. My gaze drops to her mouth. I want one kiss. Just one. A taste. Enough to know if she’d melt or fight me for control. I lean down before I can stop myself.

Her breath hitches, while mine fucking stalls. Another inch. Then another.

Then reality punches straight through the haze. She’s drunk. If I kiss her now, she’ll wake up tomorrow wondering if any of this was real. Wondering if she wanted it, or if I took advantage of a moment she couldn’t fully choose, and I want her choosing me. Every second of it. With no alcohol, no excuses, and no regrets.

The realisation tastes like blood. I force myself back. Distance snaps between us like a stretched wire. Her eyebrows pull together, confusion clouding those impossible eyes, and God help me, the disappointment there nearly breaks my resolve.

“Did he dare you?” Maisy comes bouncing over. Storm steps back and I release my hold of her, hating the cold distance.

Storm clears her throat. “No, you dare me,” she tells Maisy, but her gaze never leaves mine.

“Ummmm.” Maisy pulls as face as she thinks. “I know, I dare you to break into that church.”

My eyes snap to Maisy. “Fuck no.”

“Sure,” Storm answers as she takes off across the street.

“Fuck,” I murmur, chasing after her and Maisy as they chuckle loudly to each other.

She’s already managed to get in by the time I reach the church. I check the door; no broken locks. It must have been open. Thank fuck I don’t have to call Prez and tell him his daughter’s in a fucking police cell.

She stands beside the font, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Fuck, Storm, don’t,” I warn her.

A slow sly grin spreads across her face, and she reaches into her bag and pulls out a jar of Enzos’s homemade spirits. I watch as she empties the entire contents into the holy water.

I run my hand down my face. Fuck.

“You’ve just poisoned the holy water.” Maisy giggles as she stands next to a statue of Jessus, looking up at him. She frowns. “Do you think he will be mad at us?” she asks.

“No, I think he’s very forgiving. Now let’s fucking go before you do more stupid shit, that even he won’t forgive you for,” I snap.

Storm arches her brow. “Sounds to me like you’re chicken shit.”

I sigh. “I’m not a fucking chicken.”

“Bok-bok-bok,” Maisy taunts, making chicken sounds while clucking her arms like wings.

“Fuck, look, we need to go now before more fucking damage is done, and you two end up in a prison cell,” I state sternly. My cell rings and I answer it. “Yeah?”

“Storm with you?” Enzo asks, worried.

“Unfortunately,” I mutter as I watch Storm and Maisy push their faces in the holy water, which is now ninety per cent alcohol, and drink it like dogs.

“Where are you?” Enzo asks.

“The church, but if they carry on, we’ll probably end up in a cell,” I mutter.

“You reckon I could hurdle the pews?” Storm asks Maisy, wiping her dripping chin with the back of her hand.

“You can do whatever you put your mind to.” Maisy nods.

“No, you fucking can’t!” I bark loudly before hanging up the call.