Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,32

stranger. However, nothing can prepare me for what I see.

A sister I’ve not seen before stands a few feet away, wringing her hands in front of her. The habit conceals her hair, but the few strands which have slipped free reveal a deep brown color. Her olive skin and full pink lips seem to emphasize the bright hazel of her eyes.

For the first time in a long time, I’m moved. I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t feel so…numb. The sister quickly averts her eyes when I continue to stare at her.

“Aleksei, this is Sister Arabella. She just transferred here from America,” Mother Superior reveals.

I simply nod, willing this beautiful woman to meet my eyes again. She is bashful, as her cheeks turn a subtle pink. I’ve not experienced such innocence since…since I met another American beauty. However, the large silver cross around Sister Arabella’s neck is a reminder that she too belongs to someone else—someone else I can never compete with.

Remembering where I am, I clear my throat and stamp down the emotion that has no right being there. “Lovely to meet you, Sister Arabella.”

She works her pouty bottom lip before slowly looking up at me from under her long dark lashes. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Popov.”

I’m surprised she knows who I am. That surprise must show because she quickly explains. “I worked at an orphanage in Savannah. I read all about the recent developments here at the orphanage, so when the opportunity arose to do an exchange, I jumped at the chance. Mother Superior told me you’re to thank for a lot of the changes.” Her soft voice is smooth like a neat scotch and contains the same burn.

I know I’m staring at her again, but I can’t stop. She is absolutely beautiful.

Even though the tunic conceals her body, I can still see that her curves are in all the right places, and I like it. I suddenly wonder what she would look like without it on. She looks young, maybe late twenties. An old man like me, almost double her age, could be her father.

Thankfully, Irina is the reminder I need as her sharp little teeth sink into my leg. “Ski! Choo-choo,” she demands, not appreciating being ignored.

I completely forgot she was still attached to my leg, which makes me feel like an utter bastard but also, a fool. Here I am, visually undressing a sister with a small child clinging to an appendage. There is so much wrong with this picture.

This woman made a solemn vow and belongs to God. But why does that make her all the more desirable? Her sinful looks are only intensified thanks to her habit. It’s given me a peek, but I want so much more.

I know once this life is done with, I’m headed for one place and one place only. But I need to remove myself from this situation because I will not disrespect Mother Superior this way.

“Mother Superior likes to exaggerate,” I reply with a smirk, finally finding my voice. “It was nice to meet you, Sister Arabella, but I think it’s time I read this little цветок her bedtime story. Oh, and please, call me Alek.”

I go to turn, but Sister Arabella quickly extends her hand. I notice it tremble slightly. To the untrained eye, it would go undetected, but to survive in this world, one must pay close attention to uncover if one is friend or foe.

I have a feeling Sister Arabella will be both.

Not wanting to embarrass her, I slip my hand into hers, but the moment I do, an electrical charge pulses throughout my entire body. I’m the one who’s now embarrassed because I can’t prevent the low hum that escapes me.

Those magnificent eyes instantly dart to my mouth before her tongue shoots out and quickly sweeps along her bottom lip.

The action catches me by complete surprise because no, it can’t be. There is no way. But the small intake of breath and the sweet pink to her cheeks betray her. She felt it too.

Jerking back her hand, she seeks the crucifix hanging from her rosary belt. She clutches it in her palm, eyes downcast, and all I can do is stare at her like an idiot because her innocence, her shame have increased my desire to corrupt her all the more.

I begin to wonder things I shouldn’t—the length of her dark hair, the taste of her golden skin, the fullness of her breasts, and if that sweet