A Love Surrendered

by Julie Lessman

  Amusement laced Steven’s tone. “Oh, don’t worry, you two-bit greaseball, I’ll come up with something—assault, maybe, or even that rotgut stashed in your coat.”

  Annie sniffed and pulled away. The steely smile on Steven’s face appeared all the more ominous, given the shadow of bristle on his hard-angled jaw.

  “Or maybe just because you’re downright ugly. Either way, I have friends in the precinct who owe me favors, so go ahead, Brubaker, I’m beggin’ you to just give me a shot.”

  Billy cursed and shoved past, leaving Annie quivering in the cold while she stared at the floor, too embarrassed to meet Steven’s eyes. She heard his noisy sigh before he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders with a parental air. “I’m taking you home, kiddo.”

  “But Peggy—”

  He gripped her arm, pulling her up short, his glare making her squirm. “I don’t care about Peggy. She can handle this, you can’t. You’re too young.”

  “I’m as old as she is,” she said, a pout in her tone as he dragged her inside. “Or will be.”

  He held the door, palm hard against the small of her back, steering her in. “Peggy’s been around, you haven’t. In a place like this, you stand out like a sore thumb, begging for trouble.”

  She wheeled on him with fire in her eyes. “I am not stupid, you know, nor some dumb cluck who’s gonna let every Tom, Dick, and Harry take advantage.”

  He angled a brow. “No . . . just every Harv, Grove, and Billy.”

  She blinked, cheeks burning at the truth of his statement. She looked away, tone angry despite tears pricking her eyes. “I don’t care, Steven, you treat me like I’m a kid and I’m not.”

  He chucked a finger to her chin, his tone suddenly soft. “No, you’re not. You’re a young woman too special for a place like this, Annie, mixing with the likes of Joe, Peggy, and Erica.”

  “And you?” she said with a hike of her chin.

  He smiled. “Yeah . . . especially me.” He folded his arms. “So . . . you gonna let me walk you home, or are you going to stay and get in more trouble?”

  She heaved a heavy sigh, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be home safe in her bed. She crossed her arms to her waist and peered up with a jut of her jaw. “I’ll go,” she said with a threat in her tone, “but I’d stay if I wanted to.”

  He grinned, gently pressing her shoulder to the wall. “I’m sure you would. Stay here. I’ll get your sweater and purse and tell the others.”

  “Wait!” She jerked forward, hand to his arm. “You’re not going to tell ’em anything to make me look like some, some . . . ,” she gulped, cheeks warm, “little baby, are you?”

  A boyish smile curved on his mouth as he tweaked a lock of her hair. “No, ‘baby doll,’ ” he said, a hint of laughter twinkling in his eyes. “I’ll just tell them you’re sick to your stomach.”

  “But I’m not,” she said, no longer comfortable with telling any more lies.

  With a gentle tap of her nose, he gave her a look that quivered her belly. “Oh yes you are, kiddo.” He turned to weave his way through the crowd, but not before delivering a final glance over his shoulder. “’Cause if kissing Brubaker didn’t make you want to throw up your supper, you either have a cast-iron stomach . . .” his smile took a slant, “or one monumental tolerance for pain.”

  A grin tugged as Steven made his way through the crowd to where Annie stood welded to the wall, hugging his jacket like a shield to ward off unwelcome attention. It all but swallowed her whole as her anxious eyes scanned the throng of people, reducing her to the little girl he’d rescued in the street. His grin broke free and he shook his head. A sore thumb, no doubt about it, he thought with a sigh. Snow White in a sea of scarlet women . . .

  A man approached her, and every muscle in Steven’s body tensed as if it were his little sister plastered against that wall. He watched as she shook her head before dropping her gaze to the floor, and the knot in his stomach slowly unraveled. Good girl.

  Her pinched look relaxed when she spotted him, and instantly a soft wash of pink stole into her cheeks. He exhaled slowly, certain he was doing the right thing by taking her home.

  “Here.” He replaced his coat with her bulky sweater. “Button up, ’cause sea air gets cold.” Waiting, he finally returned her purse and put his own jacket on, then hooked her elbow. “Where do you live?” he asked, his tone as impersonal as if he were processing paperwork at the office.

  ———

  Where do I live? Air clotted in Annie’s throat at the revelation he’d be walking her home to a house he might recognize if Maggie had taken him there. She absently gnawed on her lip. Probably not, though. Maggie lived in the Radcliffe dorm and couldn’t abide Aunt Eleanor either, even though her aunt’s money afforded an education few women enjoyed. Annie drew in a bolstering breath, realizing she’d have to take her chances. And if Steven O’Connor and his friends found out she was Maggie’s sister? A knot dipped in her throat. Well, then so be it. She certainly knew she’d have to tell them eventually, but not just yet, at least not till she had a chance to try her wings and experience what Maggie had.

  She sucked in a deep draw of air. Besides, from the rift mentioned in Maggie’s letters between her, Erica, and Joanie and their catty comments tonight, Annie was pretty sure neither of them would want anything to do with her, nor would Steven, most likely. She peeked up, noting dark stubble on his clean-shaven jaw as he towed her down the moonlit piazza to the ramp of the Pier and suddenly decided she wanted more time in Maggie’s world. After all, it wasn’t as if she were lying, actually . . . She gulped. Just delaying the truth a wee bit.

  With another deep breath, she finally mustered the courage to tell him her address. “Beacon Hill,” she muttered, out of breath from trying to keep up.

  The sculpted profile turned, a ridge forming between dark brows. “Whereabouts?” His curious gaze flitted down her misshapen, bulky cardigan in apparent sympathy, as if he knew it were a faded hand-me-down from her mother.

  Heat burnished her cheeks. “Louisburg Square.”

  Steven whistled while he studied her with a half smile. “A little rich girl, huh?”

  “Not me, my aunt,” she said with a bite in her tone.

  “You don’t like her?” He eyed her with a squint.

  She huffed out a weary sigh, guilt creeping in over the strained relationship with her mother’s sister. “Not really, but we just moved in three months ago, so maybe it’ll change.” She pulled on the sleeves of her sweater to tuck her fingers inside, wishing she’d worn her coat and gloves as Aunt Eleanor always nagged her to do. “Although I have my doubts.”

  “Why?” He clasped her arm to help her across the dark beach.

  Pulse racing, she forced herself to concentrate. His firm hold made her forget all about the cold, and she stumbled over a lump in the sand, causing his grip to tighten. “Well, Aunt Eleanor never married, you see, so she knows nothing about being a parent or a guardian. Despite the fact I’ll be eighteen in two months and I took care of Daddy and my little sister after Mama died, she treats me like a child.” They reached the boulevard, and he looked both ways, carefully steering her across. On the other side, he released her arm, and immediately the fog cleared from her mind, allowing her to focus on her aunt. “When it comes to my life, she’s as rigid as the wood in this boardwalk. Things like ridiculous curfews, forcing me to go to catechism class, and refusing to let me bob my hair.”

  He shot her a sideways grin. “Sounds like a smart woman to me.”

  She peered up, head cocked. “Spoken like a true tight-lipped arm of the law, Agent O’Connor, nose to the grindstone as Joe so aptly pointed out.”

  A boisterous group of men and women spilled out of a noisy dance hall, and Annie’s heart swooped when Steven shored up the small of her back, guiding her past. He glanced over, his angled smile matching hers. “A tight-lipped arm of the law with his nose to the grindstone who saved your pretty hide tonight, I might add—tw
ice.”

  She exhaled wispy air. “So you keep reminding me.” She peered up, eyes in a squint. “How old are you anyway?”

  He grinned. “Old enough to agree with your aunt. Twenty-five tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”

  She beamed. “Well, happy birthday,” she said with a bright smile that quickly sloped off-center. “But that’s hardly old.”

  “Yeah?” He crooked a brow. “Old enough to keep you out of trouble, kiddo.”

  They turned at the corner, leaving the bright lights of the boardwalk for the shadowed lamplight of Revere Street, and suddenly the memory of Harv and Grove made her shiver.

  “Cold?” He immediately took off his coat again and draped it over her shoulders, buffing her arm with his palm as they walked, producing a shiver of another kind.

  “A little,” she whispered, suppressing a gulp as she wrapped his coat tight, the scent of Bay Rum taking her captive. “So . . . I suppose Erica’s none too pleased I stole you away?”

  He chuckled. “Nope, but she’ll be there when I get back.”

  Annie frowned. “Is she . . . your girlfriend?”

  His laugh had a definite edge. “Nope. Don’t have one.”

  “Why?” she asked, shock halting her in her steps.

  He assessed her out of the corner of his eye with a ghost of a smile, prodding her along with a hand to her back. “Because women are nothing but trouble. You should be proof of that.”

  “But you kissed her!” she blurted, the words warming her cheeks as her heels ground in.

  He faced her, hands latched to her shoulders like a big brother. “That’s right, because news flash, kiddo, most men like to kiss women. It feels good and a lot of guys will say or do anything to get as much as they can, which . . . ,” he said with a stern hike of his brow, “is why you don’t belong in a place like that, at least not till you get a little older.”

  She bristled and folded her arms. “Maybe I want to be kissed. Ever think of that?”

  Heaving a cumbersome sigh, he started walking, leaving her no choice but to follow.

  “Are you one of those guys?” she asked, running to keep up.

  “What guys?”

  “You know, the ones who’ll say or do anything to get as much as they can?”

  He exhaled heavier this time. “Used to be. Which is why I know what I’m talking about.”

  She skidded to a stop, heart racing. “With Maggie?”

  He stilled, jaw tight as he seared her with a look. “Who told you about Maggie?”

  She swallowed. “Joe mentioned her.”

  A scowl tainted his face, making him appear harsh in the lamplight. “Well, Joe should keep his mouth shut. It’s none of his business and it’s none of yours.” He kept walking.

  “Did you . . . love her?” she whispered, heart thudding.

  Her words froze him on the sidewalk, broad back stiff for several seconds till he finally turned. He folded his arms with a casual air, but moonlight revealed a twitch in the hard line of his jaw. “I repeat, it’s none of your business, so either change the subject or you’ll walk home alone.”

  “No, I won’t.” She jutted her chin and passed him up, shooting a smirk over her shoulder. “Nose to the grindstone, remember? Heaven forbid Agent O’Connor shirk his responsibility.”

  A smile nudged at his lips. “Yeah, well, you’re not my responsibility. I’m just a nice guy who’d do the same for anybody’s kid sister.” Headlights careened toward them at a fast clip, and in the catch of her breath, he yanked her from the curb. “You trying to get yourself killed? For somebody who claims to be smart, you sure don’t think a lot.”

  Annoyed, she jerked free and darted ahead. “Yeah? Well, I’m not your little sister or anybody else’s, so you can shove the big-brother act in your coat along with your pistol.”

  ———

  Steven grinned, thinking how cute she looked, stomping away in a huff with a pretty pout on her lips. Head high she barreled ahead, wrapped in his jacket like a cocoon, and he shook his head. Beneath the lamplight, a hint of copper glinted in lustrous blonde hair that bounced on her shoulders. His eyes trailed to shapely legs, and heat swarmed, a painful reminder of how quickly innocence could be lost. He adjusted his thinking and returned to “big-brother” mode, choosing silence rather than offending her further. He caught up at the streetlight before the turn into Louisburg Square, where she stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

  He grinned. “So what d’ya do when you’re not spending time with people you shouldn’t, Annie . . . ?”

  “I’ll be a freshman at Radcliffe,” she said sharply, obviously ignoring his request for a last name. “Where, oddly enough, they haven’t yet realized I’m just a ‘kid.’ ”

  Radcliffe? He frowned. “That’s a great school. What field of study?”

  She never broke stride when the light turned, just charged across with back squared. “Education,” she said, tone clipped. “’Cause when I do grow up, I hope to teach little kids like me.”

  He halted her with a gentle grip on the other side, an apology in his eyes. “Annie,” he whispered, drawing her gaze to his. “I think you misunderstand me. It’s not that I think your age makes you young . . .” His eyes softened at the look of hurt in hers. “It’s your innocence. You’re different than most girls I know—sweet, naïve, pure. I just wanna see you stay that way, that’s all. But you won’t if you spend time with people like Peggy and her sister.”

  Moisture glazed her eyes. “Nobody stays innocent forever, Steven. Little girls grow up into women, and women fall in love.”

  He cupped a hand to her cheek. “Yeah, they do, kid, but the smart ones guard their innocence, because someday, it’ll be a priceless gift to the man they marry.” He exhaled and slipped his hands in his pockets. “You have something special, Annie. Don’t throw it away like Peggy or Joanie or Erica, okay?” He nodded at Louisburg Square. “Which one?”

  “The second house on the right,” she whispered.

  He ushered her through the iron gate and up the steps of a Georgian brownstone where graceful arches hovered over endless rows of windows, suddenly grateful the kid had an aunt who could take care of her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Annie?”

  ———

  Yes, I understand . . . But the only thing she really cared about at the moment was that Steven O’Connor was a man whose touch tingled her skin and quivered her stomach, something she’d never felt before. Pressing a shaky hand to her throat, her breathing shallowed when a strange warmth coated her insides like heated honey. Heaven help me, is this how he made Maggie feel?

  “Good.” He ushered her to the front door and turned the knob, only to find it locked. He glanced at his watch, then up at the dark windows. “Ten o’clock. I guess your aunt’s in bed. Do you have a key?”

  Cheeks burning, she rifled through her purse. “Uh, I may have left it in my room.” She looked up, heart stuttering when her gaze flicked to his lips. Peggy’s words taunted. “For criminy sakes, Annie Lou, you’re a woman who’s never been kissed, and this is your chance.”

  She sucked in a wobbly breath, well aware this was not only a chance to remedy that and win a bet but the moment she’d waited a lifetime for—a first kiss that would matter. Guilt squeezed. But . . . with Maggie’s old boyfriend? She nibbled at her lip, wondering what her sister would say if she knew. But it’s just an innocent bet, Annie argued, nothing more than a kiss on a dare. Stomach trembling, she lifted her eyes to his, adamant that Steven O’Connor was just a means to an end, not anyone she ever intended to see again. Right?

  “Uh, the back door is probably open,” she whispered, throat dry as dust. “So, I’ll just say goodbye here.” She took a halting step forward, heart hammering at what she intended to do.

  He slacked a hip and stepped away, thick, dark brows dipping low with a fold of his arms. “Wait a minute. You didn’t sneak out, did you?” His words were sharp with suspicion.

  Heat floo
ded . . . but not the kind she’d hoped for. “W-what?”

  He vented with a noisy breath. “Man alive, I can’t believe you snuck out.” Gripping her elbow, he dragged her down the porch and around the house. “How long have you been friends with Peggy anyway?” he snapped, tugging her up the steps of the back porch. He rattled the knob and shook his head. “The back door is probably open, huh?” He stepped away to survey the house, eyeing a sturdy rose trellis that climbed to just below the second-story windows. His mouth went slack. “You climbed down that?”

  She nodded with a bite of her lip, peeking up at the sag of his jaw.

  Exhaling loudly, he braced her shoulders with a plea in his tone, his hands burning through his suit coat. “Annie, please. You’re too special. Don’t stoop to things like this.”

  Tears welled. Special? Maybe once, but not anymore. Not with Daddy gone.

  Ducking his head, he tucked a finger to her chin. “Promise you’ll stop this lying, sneaking out, acting loose like the others.” His expression intensified as he cupped her face. “I don’t see girls like you very often, kid, and I’d hate to see them ruin you too. Promise you’ll stay as special as you are, at least till the right guy puts a wedding band on your finger.”

  She nodded, the lump in her throat coupled with tears in her eyes. Her heart suddenly ached, wishing that somehow, someday, that man might be somebody like him.

  He led her over to the brick wall next to the trellis and glanced up. “I don’t guess you need any help,” he said, lips in a dry bent.

  “No,” she whispered, suddenly desperate to prove she was no longer a little girl but a woman with feelings. To convince herself and Steven O’Connor that she was not some naïve, backwoods kid adrift in the big city but a passionate woman poised to begin the story of her heart. A story in which the man before her might very well be the first chapter.

  Her back to the brick wall, Annie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while goose bumps skittered her arms. She drew in an unsteady breath and rubbed sweaty palms down the sides of his suit jacket now hanging limp on her frame, then extended a shaky hand. The tips of her fingers peeked out from the sleeve of his coat. “Thank you for walking me home.”