Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance (Beautiful Series)

“IT’S HERE!” Holding the thin piece of plastic in my hand feels like having a piece of my freedom I didn’t know I’d been missing. The replacement credit card is just the first in many things that I need to replace since Clint the Cunt, as Bridget and I have named him, took everything I owned.

It’s been seven days in the house, and already I feel at home. I’ve barely seen Callum at all since the midnight slut-shaming incident. He’s been eating and sleeping at the rectory since. There have been guests checking in and out everyday, so I’ve been spending my days helping Bridget and Daisy with things around the house. I like having new people in the house for breakfast, and I especially love the idea of this being the only thing I have to do around here. Maybe if he doesn’t come back, I won’t have to worry about those other things he said the job entailed.

I’ve never stayed in a bed and breakfast before, so it’s weird to me that a hotel would include sitting around a table together with complete strangers, but it seems to be so normal here. They can sit in the parlor at the various other tables if they choose, but I think they come for the experience. As Bridget has told me, the house has been in their family for generations and comes with more stories and history than I’ll ever know.

“What’s here?” asks a deep voice from behind me. Spinning around, I rest my back against the lobby counter and stare into the emerald eyes of Father Fuckface, in his full black outfit with the white collar. Even the middle of summer is pretty temperate here, but still, he must be hot in all that black. He keeps his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, but I still wonder how it must feel under those thick black pants.

“It’s my credit card,” I answer proudly.

“Going shopping?” There’s a quizzical turn to his brow as he stares down at me. He’s so much taller than me it’s almost intimidating. I normally like super tall guys, but they usually aren’t trying to be so dominating.

I’ve considered since that night that maybe he doesn’t remember what he said to me or how close he got to me, but even Bridget said it wasn’t like him to spend so long away from the house, so I assumed he remembered and was embarrassed.

Which makes me wonder why he thinks it’s okay to talk to me like nothing happened now. I’m waiting for an apology that doesn’t look like it’s coming. Isn’t that a Catholic thing? Asking for forgiveness.

Of course, I’d just tell him he could take his forgiveness and shove it straight up his ass.

“Maybe,” I finally answer, looking anywhere but in those cold eyes.

“Not today. We have work to do.”

Inwardly, I groan. I’ve been getting along so nicely helping out inside the house with Bridget, but I knew I was dreaming. He’d be here to steal me away from all the joy and comfort any minute.

“Bridget can let you borrow her work boots for now,” he says with a deep grumble.

He brushes past me to head for the kitchen. “I’m going to show you how to clean Misty’s stable and feed her, which you’ll need to do daily. Once a week, she needs brushing, and once you’re comfortable with her, you’ll have to give her some exercise.”

It takes me a moment before I realize he’s talking about a horse, and I feel my insides sour at the thought. It’s not the first time he’s mentioned a horse, but I was just sort of hoping we could avoid bringing it up again. I never even had a pet growing up, let alone a full-size horse. What’s the point, anyway?

“Get dressed and meet me out in the van in fifteen minutes,” he says.

“Are you working in that?” I gesture to his priest uniform, or whatever it’s called. I don’t know why I asked this or why I’m even entertaining the idea of a conversation with him, but the question slips out.

Glancing down, he shakes his head, then turns to stomp up the stairs. “Of course not.” He scoffs like I’m an idiot. “We had a charity breakfast this morning.”

A charity breakfast. Of course. He probably feeds the homeless and spoons oatmeal into the mouths of little old ladies to complete his bullshit holier-than-thou image.

He’s in the van with the engine running when I emerge from the house with an old pair of boots and clothes from Bridget that are all a little too big. I need to buy work clothes, but I haven’t the slightest idea where I would even do that.

As I climb in, I immediately notice the scent of his cologne, the memory of that night in the dark hitting me like a truck. Did he just put that on or does he always smell this good? I don’t ask, but I turn my head away and inhale it, savoring the smell. I’m obsessed with men’s cologne. Something about it just turns my gears, and I love how one scent can take you back. I can remember almost every man I’ve been with based on just their cologne.

But Callum’s is different. It’s fresh with something ancient-smelling and earthly. Hell, maybe it’s frankincense from the church, but I kind of love it. Even if I can’t stand him.

“I’ll show you around the farm today, and you can get started with Misty.”

We take a gravel path that you couldn’t even call a road toward the barn in the middle of the field. I spot the black and white horse about halfway down the road. I watch Callum out of the corner of my eye as he leans against the open window and keeps that subtle scowl in his brow. It’s like he’s always thinking of ways he hates me.

As we pull up to the barn, he throws the truck into park and hops out, shouting toward the horse who comes trotting up toward him. Something keeps me stuck in place as I watch the animal approach him, rubbing its nose against his chest.

When he turns to look for me, I cower farther down into the van. “Aren’t you going to put it in the stable?” I ask.

Callum ignores me and turns to the horse, gently stroking her nose and mumbling something to her in a way that is almost gentle. Carefully, I open the door and stand still as stone by the truck.

“She’s gentle. Come here.” He holds a hand out toward me with one on the horse’s nose.

The intensity in his expression and the way his accent creates a little flutter in my gut has me inching my feet toward him. For some reason, I actually take his calloused hand as he guides me toward the horse. She’s probably not the biggest horse, but she still towers over me. With a nudge to my arm, she breathes out, a gust of air through her nostrils hitting my chest.

A high-pitched squeak comes out, and Callum’s grip on my hand tightens. “Relax.”

He positions himself behind me, putting me between the horse and him. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest as he guides my hand down the animal’s nose then her mane. She barely reacts as I run my fingers through her long black hair.

Slowly, I begin to relax. The warmth of Callum’s hands over mine is a complete dichotomy from the man who insulted me a few days ago. He has so much confidence with the animal, but exhibits a gentle but firm side that keeps Misty calm. Fuck, it’s keeping me calm too.

That is until I feel Callum abandon me and I see him walking over to the barn, leaving me alone with the horse.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I gasp, forgetting my filter.

He doesn’t answer, just turns back with a pail full of what looks like soft apples. Disappointment written all over his features—probably from my language—he drops an apple in my hand.

He returns to his place at my back and he leans against me, pushing my hand to the horse’s mouth.

Goosebumps break out across my back as I take in his scent, close enough to overpower the horse’s less than appealing odor. Without letting him see, I swallow and bite my lip to keep from letting it hang open.

His body is flush against mine, and I’m sure this has to be against the priest rules. I guess as long as he isn’t enjoying it, it’s okay to help a young woman feed an apple to a horse.

Even if he thinks she’s a slut.

Each time Misty takes an apple from my hands, I ease into a new level of comfort. Like he can sense it, Callum steps away. I risk a glance in his direction, searching for any sign that being so close to me had any effect on him, nerves or discomfort or stiff jeans, but he moves around the barn, picking up rakes and shovels looking a little too nonchalant for my liking. If I stood that close to any other guy, I’d at least notice something in him change.

“Every morning, you need to come out here and make sure Misty has water and fresh hay. Every other day, her stall needs mucking. The floor needs sweeping, and she’ll need exercise around the yard.”

“Okay.” I keep feeding apples to Misty like a robot. I’m afraid if I stop, she’ll start eating me instead.

“Come here, Cadence.”

As he turns and disappears into the barn, I let the sound of my name on his lips course through my mind again and again. The gentle way it rolls off his tongue makes me hate him a little more. I’d prefer he go back to calling me slut so that at least I can compartmentalize my feelings for him more clearly.

Carefully, I step away from the horse and drop the bucket on the same box I saw him retrieve it from.

He shows me the different steps to caring for Misty and cleaning her stable, tending to the small garden behind the barn and keeping up with the grass. It’s not much, and none of it seems beyond my abilities, but I know this is only half of it. I still have work to do at the house too. I wonder how long I’ll be working each day and how all of this labor is going to feel after a few days. I don’t work out much, and I certainly don’t do a lot of work like this.

After we leave Misty, he takes me back to the house. There’s a small shed behind the house, and he takes me through the lawn maintenance I’m supposed to do there.

By this time, it’s past noon, and my stomach is grumbling. I’m having a hard time focusing on what he’s saying, but he just keeps droning on and on with instructions, and I know that I’m not retaining any of it. I’ll get the hang of it when I actually do it. I can’t remember it all now.

“Are you listening to me?”

I look up from the ocean view to see his face, red-cheeked and sweat beading on his brow from the sun.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask.

“We’ll eat after we go through this.”

He catches me rolling my eyes at him, and I watch his jaw clench. Suddenly, I know for a fact that he remembers the night in the dark. It’s in the disappointed expression on his face. I like a child about to be scolded.

“Please remember you’re here to work, not to mess around. This isn’t a game. This is our business, our home. If you won’t take it seriously, then I’ll be the first to put you back on a plane to California. Before your thirty days is done if I have to.”

The air has grown stiff and awkward between us while I grovel, biting my lip and hating him like I used to hate my dad for talking down to me.

And the same thoughts repeat in my mind, like a silent anthem to myself.

You’re wrong about me. You’re wrong about me. You’re wrong about me.

He thinks I’m a spoiled princess, a slut, a stupid girl who can’t do anything. A rich California millennial afraid to get her hands dirty. I refuse to be belittled and treated like an idiot. I won’t tell him what a jerk he’s being or how wrong he is.

I’ll show him.