Widow Abbie thought it was a quite a joke that the only man she was attracted to after all these years had to be the youth pastor, Fr Stefan.

It's a good thing actually. Her life was too complicated; nothing would happen with this particular man, she'd be safe. He would never do anything, not even when they ended up trapped in an elevator during a storm...

_______

Abbie didn't care how it was that she had ended up in his arms again, she just didn't want to be anywhere else. She breathed in and out quietly, enjoying his mild scent, praying that he did not notice she had her head laid on his chest.

Her hands were flat against his clerical shirt and she could definitely feel his heart beating rather fast under her palm. She wanted to call out his name, asking for something she did not know herself but her throat was very dry, she ended up only lifting her head, hoping and wishing...

When his lips pressed themselves against hers, Abbie thought she was just imagining things. It felt so good, so warm and delicious, it couldn't be anything else but a fantasy.

He withdrew and Abbie convinced herself she was just dreaming. His strong frame was taut and unmoving against her soft body, he couldn't have bent down and kissed her... And then Stefan kissed her again, lingering this time, his mouth braving a prolonged taste and then another... just a little longer than before...

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