The Tempting Nun
Christiana, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm, almost triumphant, sensing the hold she had over him—not through force, but through sheer audacity.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said finally, his voice firm but uneven.
“And maybe,” she whispered, “that’s exactly what makes it worth playing.”
Christina reached out, fingertips brushing the heavy gold pectoral cross that lay against his white cassock. She did not grasp it; she only traced its outline, slow and deliberate.
“You call it weakness,” she murmured. “I call it hunger.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted again—tormented. “This is blasphemy. Sacrilege. I wear the ring of Peter. I am the Vicar of Christ on earth. An
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