Abruptly her smile faded. In his arms she struggled once, and reluctantly he allowed her legs to drop. At the same time, her arms stayed around his neck. Gabriel braced himself for the acid retort, knowing he deserved it. He’d ruined a perfect moment by making an insane declaration even he didn’t want to examine too closely. He bent low to set her feet on the ground and moved to stand. But the arms around his neck didn’t let go. Bewildered, Gabriel met her eyes.

“What?”

“Kiss me, Gabriel. Now.”

“Why?”

“Because right now, standing here, I could fall in love with you, too.”

“Erin.” The name emerged on a wisp of longing.

“Don’t let me think about it. Not too long,” she begged. Then, unwilling to wait, she pulled him to her. In desperate passion, she pressed her mouth to his. For an instant he resisted, and she started to draw away. A ragged sigh rose between them, and her lips curved into a knowing smile. Oblivious to their audience, her past, his career, she fused them together in a kiss that swept through her like lightning.

He tasted both foreign and achingly familiar, and completely right. Leading, she searched his mouth for answers to questions she didn’t dare ask. Who was he, this man who could make her laugh? What did he want, this man who could steal her secrets and tell them to the world? Who was she, the woman who’d gone to such pains to reemerge, only to risk it all on this—this wonderful fusion of flesh and want and need? She angled her head and swept beyond the cool silk of his teeth to the delightful danger of his tongue.

He yearned to give her more. Gabriel dragged her flush against him, reveling in the arc of spine, the instinctive undulation of hips. Needing to see her, he watched as she gave herself to the kiss. In reaction, heat poured out of him, and he could have sworn the air shimmered in the seconds before passion forced his eyes to close.

When his name was murmured between them, he exalted.

IN THE VESTIBULE on Sunday afternoon, where the congregants waited to speak with the pastor, noise milled through in waves of whispered sound. The sermon had been particularly affecting, cautioning attentive parishioners against the evils of sloth and greed. Given the mission trip to Panama scheduled for next weekend, no one failed to understand the message. Cash or coins were due.

Tom Farnen stood near the dehydrated ficus that welcomed visitors to St. Timothy. He curled callused fingers around the damp green check he’d been holding for nearly three hours. The sum on the crinkled paper represented what would have been the whole of his wages for the past month, if he still had a job.