A Kiss Under the Christmas Lights by Peggy Jaeger

Author:Peggy Jaeger [Jaeger, Peggy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christmas, rmoance, New York
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2016-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Walking home from the train three hours later, I was still reeling.

I’d been kissed by a priest.

A priest.

Well, okay, for the purposes of full disclosure, an almost-priest since he hadn’t been ordained yet. But regardless. He was a man who had no business kissing a woman, any woman.

And it wasn’t a simple, chaste, little buss of his lips on my cheek. The kind you’d give a child or an elderly relation.

No.

It had been a full-out, tongue-mating, inside-quaking, panty-dropping kiss filled with passion, longing, and—again, blessed Lord, forgive me—absolute and total lust.

On both our parts, because not only had he kissed me, I’d kissed him back.

Boy, had I. No thoughts of what I was doing or with whom had stopped me. In all honesty, I don’t think anything short of being forcibly wrenched away from him by someone else would have stopped me from responding to his kiss.

Which, I kept asking myself, was worse? His initiation of the kiss or my response to it?

We were both culpable for our actions, so I couldn’t find a satisfying answer to the question.

I don’t have any memory of finishing up the exam. I could have failed and gone down in accounting flames, or sailed through it with a perfect score, for all I knew.

Somehow I made it back home after the testing finished for the day and—thank you, Jesus—the house was empty. Daddy, I knew, was at work, and since this was Monday, Mama and Nonna were at the nursing home visiting Uncle Vito, Nonna’s older brother.

I had the house to myself for at least another hour. There was no way I would have held up to Mama’s scrutiny or Nonna’s sixth sense had they been home when I arrived. They would have descended on me like hungry lions on prey—mercilessly—sucking my bones dry of any and all information, because they would have known something out of the ordinary had happened to me. Something monumental and soul changing. Something I didn’t want to share. With anyone. Ever.

I should have felt unclean, dirty, hellbound.

Why I didn’t was unsettling, to say the least.

When Tim Santini’s mouth had claimed mine, I’d responded like I’d never done before to any other kiss. I’d quite simply lost my mind of all sensible function when our lips met and mated.

Of course, I’d been kissed before. Even an overprotected twenty-four-year-old Italian girl and baby of the family who still lived at home with her parents, had found occasions to be kissed.

I’d been kissed well, and not so well.

I’d been kissed by teenaged boys who were nervous, unsure, and sloppy.

I’d been kissed by grown men who were experienced, cocky, and rehearsed.

But never—never—had I been kissed like Tim kissed me. In his arms I’d felt wanted, cherished, desired. The sense that I knew the taste of him as well as I knew the taste of Mama’s cooking was overwhelming.

Our mouths and our bodies seemed to be forged for one another, two halves making a whole. Like red sauce and pasta. Cannoli shells and ricotta cheese.

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