Free Lady Jasmine by Victoria Christopher Murray Page A

OPEN, but her smile turned upside down when she stepped into the hospital room.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone without a tinge of warmth.
    “That’s no way to greet a friend.” Pastor Wyatt held his arms wide, as if to welcome her.
    Jasmine crossed her arms. “Where’s my husband?”
    The associate pastor shrugged. “I just got here, and the room was empty, except for”—he turned and looked at Reverend Bush—“our good reverend here.”
    Jasmine frowned, not liking the way he said that. With her eyes still on Wyatt, she stepped to the bed, checked every single machine and all the tubes that were keeping Reverend Bush alive. Satisfied that the man hadn’t killed her father-in-law, she turned toward the door.
    “Wait,” Pastor Wyatt called her, but she kept moving, ignoring him. “Jasmine, come on. Don’t make me chase you.”
    Those words made her whip around. For a moment, she had to hold her breath as he swaggered toward her. Pastor Wyatt was truly a fine specimen of a man. That had been her thought the first time she had seen him.
    Jasmine had been holding Hosea’s hand when she met Pastor Wyatt at last year’s reception, but when the man parted his lips and smiled with that deep dimple, she’d had to remind herself that he was married, she was married and she didn’t do that cheating thing anymore. But if she did, he would be the one.
    In the year that had passed, he still made her wonder what it would be like to feel his lips on her. To feel his hands all over her. To feel the weight of him on top of her. Even though there wasn’t a single thing—outside of his movie-star looks—that she liked about him, she couldn’t deny the electricity that surged between them whenever they shared the same space.
    “Thanks for stopping,” he said. “I didn’t feel like chasing you down the hall. Although”—he took a step closer to her—“I would have if you made me.”
    Jasmine took a step back, crossed her arms. “What is it that you want, Pastor Wyatt?”
    “Why don’t you call me Eugene?”
    “I’m fine with Pastor Wyatt.”
    His lips slowly spread into one of his cool smiles. “That’s too formal for friends.”
    “We’re not friends.”
    “Not yet.”
    “Look,” she said, blowing out a breath, “if you don’t have anything else, I’m going to find my husband.” She turned away.
    “If I were your husband, I’d be looking for you.”
    Spinning back around, she asked, “Why are you flirting with me?”
    He grinned and held up his hands like he was innocent.
    This time, she was the one who stepped closer, but he didn’t back away. With just a breath between them, he smiled, but she didn’t.
    “I don’t like the way you talk to me.”
    One of his eyebrows shot up slightly. “I don’t know whatyou’re talking about.”
    “I think you do, and I’m not having it anymore. The next time you say something inappropriate, I’m going to tell my husband.” She paused, thought about Enid, said, “Or maybe I’ll just tell your wife.”
    That made him step back. He laughed, but Jasmine could tell that the shot she’d taken had landed.
    “Look,” he touched her arm lightly as he directed her away from the ears of the nurses standing at their station. “I’m not trying to make trouble. I wanted to talk to you about your husband and his quest to be pastor. Why does he want it so bad?”
    Jasmine frowned. “Because that’s what his father wants.”
    “That letter was a mistake,” he said, his voice rising, a little. “The church is my territory.”
    Now it was his tone that made Jasmine step back a bit. “I wasn’t aware the church was anyone’s territory. I thought it all belonged to God.”
    “To God and to me.” Her widened eyes made him soften his tone. “I’m just sayin’ that City of Lights means a lot to me. I moved to New York with the expectation that I’d be taking over one day.”
    “I don’t know what to tell you.”
    After a moment, he