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She was sin waiting to happen. Heart-stoppingly beautiful in yellow attire, she stood in the doorway of his church sanctuary, surveying the crowd. Perhaps the slant of her eyes or the provocative way she stood--with a hand to a well-rounded hip--set off alarms in his head. One thing was certain. Never in his ten years of preaching had Jourdan Watters ever seen temptation wrapped in such a breathtaking package.

The choir singing behind him became a faint humming as the woman inclined her head toward the usher. She followed him down the aisle. Her beauty sliced through the sanctuary like a beam of sunlight through storm clouds. Male heads turned in indiscreet appreciation of the yellow-clad woman, followed by sharp looks and sharper elbows from their significant others.

Jourdan tried not to enjoy the smooth sway of her hips and the graceful stride of her long, shapely legs as she made her way toward the altar--toward him.

"Have mercy," he mumbled.

The usher's white-gloved hand shook slightly, a lovesick grin on his dark wrinkled face, when he motioned to a vacant seat in the fourth row.

Jourdan closed his own watering mouth, hoping no one noticed the effect she'd had on him. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself even a passing glance at a woman. Not since he'd married his late wife, Cece.

He had a sermon to deliver; he had to concentrate. Closing his eyes, he extended his arms wide.

Oh, Lord. I glorify your name ... The stirring began in his right hand. The one gripping his Bible. From there, a familiar heat went blazing into his chest, surging through his hands, his feet, his soul. He laid his head back and accepted the power that spilled over and through him. Every inch of his being sensitized, he sought to connect with a power beyond himself, until finally the channel of light opened, raining sheets of divinity.

It was time to cast out demons, heal the sick, turn sinners into saints--all in the name of the Lord.

Opening his eyes, he met sin's golden brown gaze.

Sweet Jesus.

She radiated both worldly pleasures and childlike innocence. Even as the Holy Ghost surged through him, her powerfully seductive stare shot an arrow of lust straight through Jourdan. What manner of temptress are you?

Drawing a deep breath, he forced his gaze away from her to the sea of expectant faces looking for spiritual guidance. They wanted a sermon to set their souls on fire--they wanted to jump and shout and scream in the name of the Father.

The blood in Jourdan Watters' veins pumped with new vigor. He would not disappoint the congregation.

Passion Adams exhaled slowly--he had looked straight into her soul. She'd heard volumes about Reverend Watters from his now deceased wife, Cece. Skeptical that any man could deserve a woman's total love and devotion, Passion's curiosity had guided her inside a church building for the first time in her adult life.

The rich bronze of his handsome face met her expectations. But she wasn't prepared for the way her body responded to his deep, dynamic voice, nor to the dark, almost black intensity of his eyes that sent excitement right through her. There was no doubt--this man answered prayers she had yet to make.

Passion wanted him. Unfortunately, she knew she wasn't alone. One look around the pews told her every eligible sister in Zion Baptist Church had all but scratched and clawed her way to the front to be closer to him. Well, Passion didn't have to play that game. He'd notice her--most men did. But what would she say when it happened?

"You know, Laticia, I would be so 'shamed if I ever came to church with a skirt so short you could see my drawers."

Passion glanced sideways at the woman next to her, then sighed heavily. Not again.

"Oooh, I know what you mean, Rochelle. And ain't it a sin to show off cleavage in the house of the Lord?" Both women looked Passion down then up, only to meet her steady gaze.

"Don't go too low, sisters," came Passion's low hiss. "You might get burned."

She smoothed the bright wool of her skirt. Just the very tops of her breasts was visible from the square-cut neckline and her skirt went all the way to mid-thigh. It was one of her most conservative outfits by far.

For the thousandth time, she wished her looks didn't cause such a reaction from other women. It would have been nice to have a friend her own age to talk to. Shirleen was great, but she had enough years on her to be Passion's grandmother.

The women turned their noses to the air and their attention to the divine Reverend Watters.

"Now, some of y'all need to hear this," the reverend teased. "You remember the story of Samson?"

"Uh-huh."

"Go 'head," a woman shouted from the congregation.

"How many of y'all know Samson was a strong man with a woman weakness?" He paused for a barrage of "amens."

"He told his parents to go down to the Philistine Village and get the woman called Delilah. She pleased him well."

"Well," a man sang out in appreciation.

"You know one of those women, doncha?" The reverend flashed a knowing smile at the men, then glanced briefly in Passion's direction. "There are still a few Delilahs around today, aren't there?"

A twinge of guilt tugged at her insides.

"Ooooh, chile! He sure got that right!" one of the women to her side said loudly.

Self-conscious all of a sudden, Passion raised her chin a fraction, trying to ignore the sting of accusation.

"We all know how that story ended." The reverend took a step forward. "This woman ended up betraying Samson, because her loyalties lay with the Philistines."

He strode to the opposite end of the stage. "When we don't do God's will in looking for our mates, we do Satan's work trying to get rid of them!"

He paced across the stage, his black robe floating behind him. "Tell me you know what I'm talkin' about."

"Hallelujah!"

"Preach!"

"Tell me you don't know someone who's wounded his spouse by copulating and fornicating with someone else."

Passion knew a few lowlifes in high places who fit the description.

"How many of them, men and women, feel they are justified because their spouses betrayed them first?" His pacing stopped and he stared out at the audience.

"I'm telling you that the way to understand each other is to first understand the Father and what His plan is for our marriages."

Passion took a deep breath as his eyes met hers once again. His dark, piercing gaze held hers for what seemed a full half minute before moving on. She exhaled slowly, allowing her thundering heart to calm down and quell her doubts. In his eyes she saw acceptance, for certain.

There was something delightfully invigorating about the way the reverend made Passion feel.

The organist played and choir members sang the hymn "Just As I Am."

Jourdan Watters stretched out a hand to his congregation. The calm satisfaction of a sermon well delivered settled over him. "I need all heads bowed, all eyes closed. Please, come to the altar so that I can pray for your marriage or relationship."

Deacons and ushers joined the dozen or so weeping members who came forward.

"Now ... there are some of you who can say you have not accepted Jesus Christ as your savior. Won't you please come?"

He saw tentative movement throughout the audience and he motioned them forward. One by one, they made their way down aisles to the altar. Patience, Jourdan. There's always one more.

"If the Lord has laid it on your heart to deepen your walk with Him today, please obey."

The woman in yellow swung her stunning legs from behind the pew and rose to her feet, taking a tentative tug at her fitted skirt.

Jourdan reached for the water glass on the podium and took a long swallow.

Her head bowing reverently, she swayed her hips like original sin down the aisle.

Jourdan wiped perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief, as though he could remove the lustful thoughts causing confusion. A new fire boiled in his veins. He stepped down to pray with those who'd come forward.

Placing his hands on the shoulders of the first weeping man, he prayed; and the Spirit moved between them.

He went on to the next and repeated his ritual. One after the other, he prayed his way down the altar, aware that she stood last in line--waiting for him. The closer he got, the more her sweet smell teased his senses.

It was a struggle to remain focused on the plump woman before him. Jourdan finished with the kindly older woman, then steadied himself as if to do battle with Satan. He approached the beauty cautiously, almost stopping when she looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled brightly, her face smooth and rich like sienna silk.

"What is your name, Blessed One?"

"Passion ... Adams." Her smile revealed perfect white teeth framed in luscious, raspberry lips.

Jourdan forgot his name--and what he was supposed to do next. Oh yes. Remembering, he placed his palm on the cool skin of her forehead and looked deeply into those honey-flecked eyes. "Do you accept Jesus Christ as your savior?"

"I do. But ... what I would like--," her voice flowed softly, huskily as she met his gaze, "--is you."

Jourdan's muscles tensed.

It was not the Holy Ghost he felt, but an ancient desire born when Adam first met Eve in the paradise of Eden. In chaos, Jourdan clutched at what remained of his self-control, trying not to lose himself in temptation.

Passion. She housed an abundance of it, he felt certain. A slice of panic seized him. Was this beautiful woman yet another gift from Satan to set back his ministry? Jourdan brought his Bible to his chest like a shield. "What manner of temptress are you?"

A brief look of confusion wrinkled her brow before her extraordinary eyes squeezed shut.

Dear God. Why had he said that?

Her lips quivered as Jourdan searched to find words that would erase the embarrassment he'd caused. He sought to comfort her by placing a hand on her shoulder. Yet she backed away, pivoted around, and headed up the aisle.

He blinked a few times and lowered his Bible to his side.

"That was a great sermon, Jourdan," another woman said, her voice piercing his daze.

He blinked twice more and turned to her. Struggling for control, he smiled. "Thanks, Mom."

Evelyn Johnson would always be "Mom" to him. Over the years, he'd grown closer to his in-laws than to his own parents.

Evelyn eyed the beams above his head. "I see you've added some lights. Are you going to be televised soon?"

"We're working on it." Thankful she could bend his attention, he swelled with pride. Jourdan couldn't wait to reach out to the entire world via satellite to do the work of the Lord.

Each night for the past year, he'd had a vision. A huge wall of television monitors spewed murder and profanity upon the populace of Kansas City. In these dreams, the monitors suddenly brightened with pictures of encouragement and love as Jourdan spoke from the pulpit, spreading the word of God. Worshiping converts would fall to their knees before Zion Baptist's altar. Overwhelming peace filled Jourdan's heart, both in his dreams and now.

Not since his call to the ministry had a message been this clearly spoken to him: his destiny lay in saving sinners.

"Don't tell Dad about your TV plans." Evelyn chuckled. "He's already jealous because your church is bigger than his."

Jourdan simply smiled.

The sanctuary slowly emptied. Cranberry upholstered pews fanned out in four sections from the altar, sitting atop lush mauve carpeting. Behind the podium was space for an even larger choir than the present one. And Zion had room for a small band.

Despite generous lighting, Jourdan thought it seemed dark and hollow all of a sudden. The brightness had followed the lovely woman who'd stood before him only moments before. Passion.

He scolded himself silently. How could he be thinking about another woman?

"Jourdan?"

He focused on the serious mien of his mother-in-law.

"Will you be over for dinner?" she asked. "The district attorney will be there."

"I'll be by at about four-thirty." He planted a big kiss on Evelyn's cheek in an effort to cheer them both.

The weight of guilt had settled even heavier in Jourdan's chest. Her mention of Kansas City's incompetent DA caused him to remember an unsolved murder. His wife's.

Had it been only two months since she'd been killed? And here he was lusting after another woman.

Passion threw her yellow purse across the room, then her yellow pumps went flying into the closet.

She regarded herself in the vanity mirror. "Stupid, that's what you are!"

"Who's stupid?"

Passion turned to answer the silver-haired woman in the doorway. "Not you, Shirleen. Me."

"You right about that, chile." She giggled more like a child than a sixtyish woman. "What was you stupid about now?"

Passion smiled sheepishly and watched her plump friend finish an ice-cream cone. "Well, I went to see the reverend," she said.

Shirleen rolled her eyes in amusement. "What happened?"

"I only wanted to get a look at him, you know, so I could see what makes him so special." Passion sighed. "Cece was so fireworks-in-the-sky in love with the man ..."

"You're gettin' off the subject," Shirleen scolded.

"I went for the altar call, meaning to tell him--"

"You didn't!" Shirleen gasped.

Passion shook her head quickly. "No. I didn't say anything ... I mean I couldn't." She shrugged, helplessly trying to find the right words to explain what had happened. "I don't know, Shirleen, I got there and all of a sudden there was this feeling between us--like nothin' I've ever felt before."

"Don't say it." Shirleen wagged a pudgy finger.

"I think I'm in love with him," Passion confessed. She'd thought about it all the way home on the bus. There wasn't any other explanation.

A sigh preceded the older woman's slow steps toward the bed. She sat down heavily and gave Passion a look of pity. "Does you really believe dat?"

Passion folded her arms. "Why else would I tell the reverend I'd accept Jesus Christ as my savior and, while I was at it, take him on the side?"

Shirleen burst into laughter.

Passion began to chuckle as well.

Shirleen wiped tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I 'spose that was pretty embarrassin'. What did he say? What did he do?"

"Asked if I was a temptress, then just stared at me like he knew I was a whore and ... that was that." She lay down on her bed, flat on her back with arms spread wide like the fallen angel she imagined herself to be.

"Now don't you worry, chile. You surprised him is all. Anyhow, you ain't a ho, so stop puttin' yo'self down like dat."

"Shirleen, what do I do now?" Passion rubbed her still-flat stomach. "What happens when this baby comes?"

"We'll get along some kinda way, so don't you fret about it. We'll be fine, just fine. I gets my social security every month, you still have some of that money Miz Watters give to ya."

"I thought about giving the baby to its father. He's much better off financially. And--"

"Now don't go talkin' crazy ..."

"Yeah, but her partial payment won't go that far."

Shirleen took Passion into her stout arms and started to hum and rock her as if she were comforting an infant.

"Shirleen?" Passion pulled away from the older woman.

"What, honey?"

"Do you really think I deserve a good man after the things I've done?"

Shirleen looked Passion straight in the eyes. "Baby, nobody deserves one more."

But did she? Passion left the bed to stare through the security bars on the window. She looked in disgust at the graffiti-splattered buildings and overturned garbage cans, and heard teenage boys talking trash in the alley.

She wanted to be somewhere safe and clean. A place where children and drug addicts didn't end up shot or stabbed in the alley below her window. Somewhere nice to raise a child.

Passion Adams had never known peace. She was determined that this child would.

"I'm yo' friend," said Shirleen. "And I'm tellin' you, ain't no man gonna respect you 'til you respect yo'self."

"One thing's for sure. Reverend Watters hasn't got an ounce of respect for me now. I mean, he acted just like I expected him to, I guess. But it hurt when he asked me what kind of temptress I was. Like I'd asked him to throw me down right there in the church or something. It's like he could see every sin I've committed."

"You only done what you had to do, remember dat." Shirleen gave Passion one of her serious-business looks. "You mine now. I'll look after you, and we'll both look after that young'un in your belly." She stood beside Passion at the window and put an arm around her. "You don't need no man to take care of you."

Passion, a little startled, turned to face the short, plump woman. "Shirleen, I know I can take care of myself. No man has ever given me anything out of the kindness of his heart. But once, just once, I'd like a man to look at me with love instead of lust--like I had more to offer than tits and a--" She stopped at Shirleen's censorious look. "You know what I mean."

"I knows what you mean, sugah." The old woman's hand went to her breast and her eyes clouded in remembrance.

Passion had grown familiar with Shirleen's brief moments of reverie, knowing her thoughts were of William. Even after his death, she seemed spellbound by her husband's deep, lasting love.

Passion let her forehead rest on the cold glass of the window, feeling deep inside her that Jourdan Watters was the one man who could give her spellbinding love.

"I want a man to wake up on the pillow next to me every morning, instead of a quickie before midnight and a promise for next time. I want to have that man's children. I want a life like Cece Watters had." Passion stood straight and looked directly into her friend's eyes. "And, like you said, I deserve it."

Excerpted from Passion by Tanya T. Henderson
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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Passion

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