Free Sensuous Angel by Heather Graham Page B

desperate, passionate love to her!
    But, oh, what a lovely dream!
    St. Philip’s Episcopal Church.
    Episcopal!
    Oh, what an idiot she had been! She should have known—she should have realized the truth about “Father Luke.” She had just been conditioned all her life to believe that a man called priest was naturally a Roman Catholic.
    He wasn’t. He was Protestant. Episcopalian. Donna closed her eyes for a minute, angry but smiling dryly. To her grandfather, anyone who wasn’t a Roman Catholic was a bit of a heathen.
    Donna repeated the simple fact in her mind. Luke Trudeau wasn’t a Roman Catholic. He wasn’t sworn to a celibate life.
    Great. She had spent her night wondering if there really was a hell where she might burn in torment forever for lusting after a priest and he was an Episcopalian, allowed by his religion to marry, to love a woman. And he had known that she thought him a Roman Catholic and he had played on her sense of morality with a great deal of amusement. Damn him! Even if he was a priest!
    “Donna? We should really go in. The service is about to begin.”
    Donna mechanically curled her lips into a smile for Tricia. “Yes, heaven forbid! I’d hate to walk in late and disturb the service.”
    Tricia, who had arrived at the Plaza at precisely four with a waiting taxi, looked confused by her tone of voice. Donna tried to make her smile into something more sincere. She failed miserably; she was too angry to smile. But she slipped an arm through the other woman’s and led the way down the walk to the church.
    “It’s beautiful,” she murmured inanely, needing something to say.
    “Yes, isn’t it? It’s one of the oldest churches in Manhattan. The stained glass was brought from England, and a lot of the marble came from Italy. It really is a beautiful church.”
    Donna smiled her reply because they had entered the small apse. There was a peaceful quiet within the church—one that almost negated her feeling of anger, but didn’t quite succeed. She still felt as if she had been taken for a fool as she followed Tricia into a back pew and knelt beside her, lowering her head in silent prayer. Nothing came to mind except for the itching desire to slap a too-handsome priest across the face.
    The chorus began to sing, accompanied by the strains of an organ, several flutes, and a number of softly strummed guitars. She saw Luke then, as the service began. His voice was deep and husky, pleasantly resonant as it carried throughout the church. She didn’t hear the service, just his voice.
    He wore black and white robes, and despite her anger, Donna found herself dropping her eyes. Even if he was an Episcopalian, she was somewhat ashamed of her thoughts. They were extremely irreligious. She didn’t hear the words of prayer, just the rise and fall of his husky tenor, and it seemed that her stomach formed knots as she listened.
    And then, to her dismay, she discovered that his eyes had locked with hers. The fire within them seemed to ignite a burning low within her belly. Eternity passed—or was it just moments? She looked about herself. Nothing was amiss. But it was, it was. She was sitting through a church service, and all she could think about was this man.
    But it was all right to think about him. Episcopalian priests married, but did they become involved in affairs? An affair? The last thing she would want from him would be an affair. Then what did she want? Marriage? Oh, what was she thinking about? She still wanted to kill him.
    She looked at her hands and discovered that her fingers were trembling, as if they too were lost in memory of touching the dark hair that curled over his collar, feeling the hard knot of muscle in his shoulders as they danced.
    Donna took a deep breath. She hadn’t even been thinking about Lorna or about her coming interview with Andrew McKennon, the man she was there this evening to see.
    Tricia gave her a nudge on the arm, and Donna glanced up, startled. “The collection