Emily and the Priest Read Online Free Page A

during the week.” Father Mark reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out a very old looking key. “The church keeps it locked to keep out vandals.”
    “I didn’t know this was back here.”
    “Most people don’t.” He led her around to the side of the chapel. “It’s tradition that you should only enter a chapel from the side door.”
    She followed him inside, expecting it to be musty and dank, but instead the mahogany pews gleamed and the stained glass windows near the ceiling reflect ed multi-colored patterns on the wood floor.
    “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
    “My great-great-great grandfather held services in this church.” Father Mark pocketed the key, gently closing the door behind them. “When it was built, the whole community hauled field stones from their farms, and stone masons worked all summer to finish it.”
    “Your great-great-great grandfather was a priest?”
    “He was a preacher . And he wasn’t Catholic—he was Baptist.” He dipped his fingers in the holy water in the vestibule and made the sign of the cross.
    Emily followed his example. “Baptist preachers can marry, can’t they?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why can’t Catholic priests?”
    He hesitated as they entered the chapel, the stained glass windows throwing rainbows across his uplifted face and Emily thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
    “It’s Canon law,” he said finally. “Since the twelfth century, all priests have been celibate. Some say Pope Calixtus the second created the law because he was afraid of the heirs of priests looking to inherit church money or property.”
    Emily snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s always about the money.”
    He quoted, “‘An unmarried man is anxious about the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord. But a married man is anxious about the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and he is divided…’ That’s from Corinthians.”
    “Is that true?” she asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    He looked so different in street clothes , so much more accessible to her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to be bold, to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him, but she didn’t dare.
    “Do you think it w as because Jesus was celibate? ”
    He shook his head and sighed. “Do you want to know something scandalous?”
    “What?” She felt his hand slip into hers and thrilled at his touch, letting him lead her toward the front of the church as he spoke. “I don’t believe Jesus was celibate. I believe he loved Mary Magdalene. I think he loved her deeply, and I think he loved her openly. As much as I love you. ”
    She was too stunned to speak, stopp ing and blinking up at him, heart soaring, belly burning. Her mouth was dry, her hands, even the one holding his, trembling.
    “And he wasn’t bound by any of man’s laws .” His voice was soft, his eyes too, as he gazed down into hers. “ He loved her without restraint.”
    His kiss burned her lips, fire scorching its way down her throat, into her belly, through her limbs as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was lost, too buoyed by his words to stop, to let herself think about anything but how he felt pressed against her, his hands moving to her lower back to press her closer.
    “Oh Emily,” he whispered, finally breaking the kiss, his face buried in her hair. She whimpered in his arms. “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I can’t help it. I want you so much.”
    “I want you too,” she confessed, letting her bare thigh slide between his. She wasn’t wearing tights under her uniform skirt—just knees socks.
    “We can’t,” he croaked, holding her out at arm’s length.
    “Oh Father, please…” She couldn’t stop, not now, knowing he wanted her, just as much as she did him. He’d professed not just lust, which was a sin, but love for her, and she believed him. It had been there a long time between them, unspoken, forbidden. But it was here now, burst forth, and nothing could