Promises to Keep

by Kathryn Shay

  “Suzanna, I—” His hands fisted at his sides. He looked as though he was keeping himself from grabbing for her. She broke the eye contact first and turned around.

  A long hesitation. Moments passed. She heard him gather his things.

  “I’m going to leave for a while. Either Luke or I will be back. Follow me out. Put on the alarm.”

  “I will. After you’re gone.”

  “Now, Suzanna.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “All right.” He always won. She wondered if his victories were always this empty.

  o0o

  An hour had gone by, and Joe still couldn’t contain it. As soon as he’d left Suzanna’s and driven home, he’d gone out for a brutal run. The Devil was at his heels.

  Goddamn fucking son of a bitch!

  Sex had never been easy for him, given his upbringing. Usually he could control the images. Almost never did he allow them into his consciousness. But tonight, on this cold and lonely street, in grim solitude, the memories came to him, and he was too weak with desire for Suzanna to stop them...

  He’d not even begun to shave the first time a woman had touched him. His father had brought her to his stark room in the shack where they lived in the commune. “Joey, someone wants to see you.” She might have been beautiful, but it was dark, and Joe was frightened.

  Even at almost eleven, he’d known the way she fondled him was different, wasn’t right somehow. “I don’t want to, Dad.”

  His father had snapped on a light. “Go on, son, I’ll be here.”

  Joe had thrown up after that first encounter. And he’d been so confused.

  The next time was even worse, because he’d known what would happen...

  “Come on, baby,” his mother had said, “We’re going down to the pond to swim. We’ll have fun.” He’d been asleep, and remembered the clock had read midnight.

  He moaned. “I’m tired. Please, Mom.”

  She’d let out a sultry laugh. “Everybody’s waiting for us. You can sleep all day tomorrow.”

  “Please, no.”

  “Do as your mother says,” she’d commanded.

  But the worst had been the first time they’d gotten his little sister. He’d hidden her in a copse of trees, and was holding her close to him. “Don’t worry, Ruthie,” he’d said, terrified himself, knowing somewhere inside he wasn’t going to be able to stop them. “I won’t let them get you.”

  Her slim child’s body trembled in his arms. “Joey...” was all she said.

  He hadn’t protected her then, wasn’t able to for a few years after that, but when he turned fourteen, he’d found a way to escape.

  It was a miracle that he’d ever learned to enjoy women and be comfortable with his own body. But he’d had some luck along the way. The foster care parents who took them in when they were finally found on the streets of L.A. were wholesome, happy people who had solid values. They soothed the glass-cut edges of his and Ruthie’s souls. They’d gotten trained professionals in child abuse to work with both him and his sister, and it became clear that these wonderful human beings, at least, knew that what had happened to two innocent young children was wrong, was criminal, really.

  After more counseling in college, Ruthie was able to open up to Al; Joe married a sweet and giving woman with whom he’d had a somewhat normal physical relationship. It had been the stress of the Secret Service job—and Joe’s inability to truly expose his inner feelings to her, to anybody—that had caused the divorce.

  How do you do it? Suzanna had asked. How do you turn it off?

  He shook his head. He’d had no choice, really, if he wanted to survive.

  But tonight, he his will power wavered. He was open to Suzanna. Open, and very raw. His feelings wouldn’t stay down. He felt a clawing need, a terrible thirst that he’d never known before, never wanted to know before. Calling on every one of his skills to stay detached, to do his job, he pounded the pavement. Still, a tapestry of muscles inside of him knotted with raw desire.

  For her.

  His mind wouldn’t blank. He kept seeing her today, for the past three months, confronting him. He’d never respected anyone more.

  Never wanted a woman more.

  Images kept bombarding him: of her smiling at Kelsey; of her amber eyes misting when her son left today; of the anger lighting her face when she viewed Max’s website.

  They just wouldn’t go away. Which was why he found himself at her front door once again. He rang the bell.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Still no answer. He leaned on the button.

  His heart, already drumming in his chest from the exercise, escalated to arrhythmic proportions. Raising his fist, he pounded the door. “Su-zan-na.”

  He started to remove his sweatshirt to cover his hand—he intended to put it through the tall, slender window of the foyer—when the door swung open.

  She was dressed in a long, satiny robe the color of ripe peaches. From the vee in it, and the way it gloved her, he guessed she wore nothing under it.

  Suddenly it was all too much. The wanting and not having. The danger she was in, and his urgent need to protect her. He grasped her shoulders. His fingers bit into her. “Never open the door without checking to see who’s there.”

  “I saw you through the window.”

  “Oh.” His arms dropped. “What the hell took you so long to answer?”

  “I was running a bath. I just heard you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

  You.

  Without answering, he brushed past her and strode inside.

  She stepped out of the way and he slammed the door. Snicked the lock. Her eyes widened at his peremptory actions. Clamping her arms around her waist, she shivered, as if afraid.

  “You should be afraid,” he said silkily.

  “I should?”

  Instead of his breath easing, he became more winded. Her eyes dropped to the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

  He took a step toward her. A side of him had surfaced that he didn’t know existed. “Of what you bring out in me.”

  Though he got close, towered over her, she stared up at him unflinchingly. “I’m not afraid of that.”

  He threaded his hand through her hair. It was heavy and thick and curled around his fingers like a lover’s caress. He pulled—God, somehow gently—and her face tilted. “You won’t necessarily like what you’ve unleashed in me.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  She smiled then, Circe’s smile, and it shot right to his gut. Lower.

  Her reaction totally disarmed him. “You’re playing hardball now, Suzanna.”

  Again, the feminine amusement. “Yes, I am.”

  “Suzanna...” He said it wrenchingly, closed his eyes to get some control. He couldn’t, so he buried his face in her neck.

  It was a mistake. She hadn’t showered yet. The thought that they were both sweaty, earthy, inflamed him. He kissed her bare skin, and she moaned. He bit her neck gently, and she whimpered.

  Then he yanked her to him. He’d lost the battle. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t right. That he’d struggled for years not to let this kind of passion overwhelm him. That he was supposed to be protecting her, and to do it right, he had to have a clear head. All that mattered was that she was here, and for now, she was his.

  His.

  His grip on her tightened. He must be hurting her, but she didn’t protest. Instead, her hands wound around his neck. “Joe.” The word was filled with acceptance, with affection, with need.

  He drew away, slid an arm under her knees, the other to her back, and lifted her. She gasped, then laughed that sultry sound again as he dragged her close. She should protest. She should pound on his chest for him to let go; instead, she clutched at him, buried her face in his sweatshirt as if she belonged there.

  He took the curved staircase two steps at a time. Her weight was nothing with the adrenaline pumping double tim
e through his veins. At the top of the stairs, a long hall stretched out. To the left, light spilled out of a door. “There?” he asked thickly.

  “Uh-huh. Hurry, please.” Her words were muffled by his shirt as she fisted her hands in it.

  He tripped over himself trying to get to her room. Once there, he strode to the bed, set her down, then stretched out on top of her. And, for the very first time, he took her mouth. His mind exploded with sexual fireworks as he devoured her. He would have tried to gentle the onslaught, if he could, but she returned the kiss with equal fervor, gripped his neck, pulled him closer. His hands threaded through her hair; his body sank into hers. The mattress was hard, and her womanly softness poleaxed him with its contrasts.

  When he let her mouth go, he kissed his way down her jaw to her chest and nudged open the vee of her robe. He saw the swell of her breast and groaned. “Suzanna.”

  She urged him down. He kissed the underside of her breast, tongued it. His hands came to her shoulders and eased off the robe, exposing her. Simultaneously, his knee came up; the bottom of the robe parted, and he wedged his thigh between hers.

  “Ohhh...” Her primitive response ignited more sparks in him that flared into painful desire.

  “Ah, love.” His mouth closed over her nipple, and he was lost. The sensation of suckling her overcame him.

  Dimly he was aware of her movements against him. But it was as if he were in a black cloud of craving that blocked out everything else. Finally, her actions got to him. She was tugging at his shirt. “Off,” she said. “Off.”

  Her need gave him the necessary sanity to draw back. “Okay, shh, okay.”

  Her breath was coming in gulps. Her hands were clumsy on his shirt.

  “Let me do it,” he said. It took forever—his own hands were none too steady—but finally he removed his clothes.

  Then he reached down and untied her robe. It fell apart, and he drew in a breath. “You are so lovely.” Bracing a knee on the bed, he ran his palm over her. She started, so sensitized had his mouth made her. He let his hand wander over her stomach; she moaned again, and when he cupped her, she arced off the bed.

  He took the opportunity to remove the robe completely.

  When she reached for him, clasped him solidly in her hand, his body ricocheted.

  “Now,” she said almost incoherently. “Now.”

  He couldn’t speak, only took the time to find his discarded sweatpants and fish a condom from the wallet in his zippered pocket. As he rolled it on, then parted her thighs and felt her wetness, insanity returned. With swiftness, and little finesse, with need and almost no tenderness, he entered her.

  After the first thrust, he was lost.

  o0o

  Light filtered in through the windows, but it was dim and private with the blinds drawn. “Hmm.” Suzanna purred like a kitten at the soft trail of his fingers down her spine. She buried her face in the pillow.

  “Want to sleep?” he asked, his breath fanning her ear.

  “No, just touch me.” Never stop.

  A very male chuckle. “My pleasure.” His hand went to her waist, began to knead there.

  “Ahh.”

  “Hurt?”

  “Um, no.”

  “I was pretty rough the first time.”

  “Were you?” A female giggle. “It was wonderful.”

  A long chuckle. “Better than the second?”

  She studied the armoire, the matching dresser, the blinds on the window. They looked so different now. The last hour had changed everything.

  “I remember the second more. It was longer.”

  And so, so special. He’d kissed her everywhere.

  His hands moved to her buttocks. He massaged there. Another moan. “Mmm. J-o-e...” The word strung out.

  “You pack quite a punch, Suzie Q. You know that?”

  No, she hadn’t known that. She’d had a satisfying sex life with Lawrence, but this had been a blast of dynamite instead of small explosions.

  “Suzanna?”

  She turned over. It was a mistake. The agent was completely gone, and in his place was a sensual, skilled man. His dark hair was mussed from their lovemaking, and a beard was beginning to show. She reached up. “Scratchy.”

  His hand slid to her thigh. “I think you’ve got a brush burn there, sweetheart.”

  A slow, female smile.

  “Don’t do that, unless you want to get another one.”

  “I want to get another one,” she said sleepily.

  He whispered in her ear. “All right. After a nap.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Eyes closed, she felt the weight of him on the mattress, on her pillow. He drew her close, into his chest, and pulled up the duvet. She nestled on his bare skin, inhaled him, and felt his hand come up to her hair. “Sleep now, sweetheart.”

  “You too,” she said.

  He tugged her even closer, and they settled in.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thinking she’d go crazy if she spent one more minute in her house, Kelsey got in her car Monday morning and headed downtown to the pharmacy. She needed more muscle relaxants and would pick them up today.

  How’s the knee, Teach? Luke had asked her after the debacle in her room the day she’d returned to school.

  Better. And I wish you’d address me as Ms. Cunningham.

  Though in the dreams, which continued like X-rated movies, he’d called her Kel, honey, and even baby, for God’s sake, a sexist term of endearment she hated. Her nocturnal fantasies were getting out of control. Everything was.

  Even Suzanna. The principal was dating a staff member, something Kelsey thought she’d never see. But Suzanna had had myriad explanations: that they were attracted to each other, that she was tired of living her life by the book, that since Lawrence died, she’d been lonely and Joe was the first man she’d really been interested in. Still, something hadn’t quite rung true about the whole thing.

  Maybe it was because Kelsey was feeling so confused about Luke that she hadn’t understood what was going on with Suzanna. Luke. Ordering herself not to think about him, she found a parking space in the lot next to the drugstore and exited her sporty Camaro. Carefully, she picked her way across the pavement. The weather had warmed up, causing the snow to turn to a drizzly rain. Wearing thick-soled hiking boots, she was off crutches, and didn’t need to fall.

  Should you be off those crutches already? Luke had asked the day school ended for spring break. Sometimes, he reverted to his old solicitous self. It was almost as if he forgot to be surly.

  The doctor says so.

  He watched her.

  Have a nice break, Luke.

  His eyes had darkened. You goin’ anywhere?

  That’s none of your concern.

  Mr. Wolfe is headin’ for the Bahamas.

  Is he? In truth, Mike had asked her to go with him, but she’d refused.

  Forget it, Luke had said, and left.

  As he walked out the door, Kelsey’s heart sank at the thought of not seeing him for a week. And she was horrified at the intensity of what she felt for him. She’d gone to the doorway and watched him stalk down the hall. He’d punched a locker as he passed it, swearing ripely.

  Steeling herself against the memories, she entered the drugstore; she tried to suppress her guilt, but she couldn’t. The notion that she was warped, or at the very least unprofessional, wouldn’t let her alone. First the dreams, then the longing to be with him. Even Suzanna’s assurance that feelings like this were normal didn’t help. This wasn’t normal, and Suzanna would be ashamed of her. Oh, God, what if she lost Suzanna’s respect? It would kill her. She...

  “Watch it.” Not looking where she was going, she’d bumped into a customer and glanced up. Oh, for God’s sake, this was ridiculous. “Luke?”

  “Hi.” He searched her face before the adolescent sneer claimed his lips. Again, she had a feeling he donned the expression on purpose, almost as if he had another perso
na. “Should you be out in this weather?” he asked.

  “Really, Luke, I’m a grown woman.” She stepped back. “I can decide when I’m well enough to go out.”

  He took in her jeans and short leather jacket with a lecherous grin. “I know you’re a grown woman,” he said silkily. “Out shopping today?”

  She nodded.

  He held up a bag from an exclusive women’s shop in Fairholm. “Me, too. I had to buy a birthday present for my honey.”

  Jealousy, thick and potent, snaked inside her. And once again, she was horrified at her reaction to this boy.

  “Oh, good. Well, I’ll see you around.”

  “Sure, Teach.” He threw her an innocent look. “I mean Ms. Cunningham.”

  Shakily, Kelsey walked away. She turned her head to the left, though, so she could see him saunter to the back of the store. His well-worn jeans gloved his butt and legs. With them he wore a lightweight leather jacket she’d never seen before; it accented the breadth of his shoulders. Waiting by the hair spray until he was out of sight, she stared blindly at the products for a long time. Finally, she headed toward the prescription counter, handed in her order, and sank down on a chair. Her knee hurt.

  And her heart. She had no idea she could...

  He came into her line of vision. Frowning, he stared at a counter in front of him. Her gaze strayed to the display. Boxes and boxes sat before him. There was a sign advertising the product.

  They were condoms.

  She watched him reach for a box, and her heart constricted. He was having sex, of course. He was so good-looking, so mature, so desirable. High school girls routinely fell at his feet. The present. The condoms. For a moment, she was frozen in her seat—staring at him, at his hand closed around a box. Looked like Luke Ludzecky had a hot date tonight. She put her head down, thinking she might be ill.

  “Ms. Cunningham.” The clerk called out her name. She couldn’t respond.

  “Kelsey Cunningham,” the clerk called out again.

  She was forced to look up when Luke crossed to her and squatted down before her, the way a parent might to a sick child. “Give me that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your prescription card.” He nodded to her hand, where she clutched her card and money. “I’ll cash you out.”