She came back two nights later.

She didn’t even bother pretending this was about confession anymore, it was all about him, about that voice, that control, that ache he kept leaving in her.

This time, he didn’t wait in the booth.

He was leaning against the altar with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, his eyes locked on her the moment she stepped through the doors.

“Up here,” he said, nodding toward the steps.

Her heels clicked against the stone as she approached. When she reached ...