I Promise You
Copyright © 2020 by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Model: Kaz
Editor: C Marie and Rebecca, Fairest Reviews Editing
Proof Reader: Deaton Author Services
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IMM Publishing
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Copyright Law:
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If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, this book has been pirated and you are stealing. Please delete it from your device and support the author by purchasing a legal copy. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book or publisher.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked statue and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
First Edition October 2020
Contents
I Promise You Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
About: Dear Ava
Excerpt: Dear Ava
Also by Ilsa Madden-Mills
About the Author
I Promise You Playlist
Click below to hear the music that inspired I Promise You!
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http://bit.ly/IpromiseYou
This book is for all the girls in the world who believe in the power of destiny and true love.
Prologue
There’s a universal truth at Waylon University: the first girl you kiss freshman year at the annual bonfire party is the one you’ll never forget. She’ll crawl under your skin and make her way into your heart. She’ll spark a passion so fierce you’ll burn the world down to possess her.
You might even put a ring on it.
But…
As in all things with fate, the caveat is timing. That kiss can go horribly wrong. She might not want you. She might run in the opposite direction.
And because you kissed, you are screwed.
Supposedly.
The ridiculous legend—the warning—swirls around in my head as I saunter around the crackling fire, my eyes surveying the party in the meadow. The September night is crisp with autumn, the scent of leaves and smoke from the fire wafting in the air. The crowd of students is thick and mostly drunk, some headed to the barn for games, others dancing as a band plays on a stage. My gaze snags on a couple as they sit under a giant oak tree and make out. Here’s some truth: I’m kissing no one tonight. I’m not the superstitious sort, but I’ll admit to a good sense of self-preservation.
Sorority girls follow me as I shoulder my way through the crush of people. I shake off an insistent blonde in a Theta jersey who’s been tailing me since I got here.
“Not tonight, sweetheart,” I tell her with a lazy smile when she latches onto my arm again. She’s hot, all long legs and big tits. “Find me tomorrow.” After this legend crap is null and void.
“Sure, baby. Call me. I stuck my digits in your back pocket.”
Of course she did.
She gives me a blinding smile, strokes my arm, and flounces off.
Some of the guys from the team call my name, motioning me over as they stand next to a keg. I head that way and am almost there when—
Wait.
I stop and my body tenses when I see her.
This girl.
I do a double take.
What the…
An unseen hand strokes down my spine.
She dances alone in the midst of a crowd. Flickering light from the nearby fire glitters over her body, half of her in a dusky shadow, the other draped in glowing illumination. Tanned, slender legs bend as she twirls in a short red mini skirt and black military boots. Swinging her hips, she holds her long hair up as she sways. There’s a dandelion tattoo on her nape.
A silver piercing in her belly button glints under the lights. Closing her eyes, she undulates her body in a hypnotic body roll, her arms stretched toward the sky as she moves to the bass of the guitar.
Her face is heart-shaped with high cheekbones, her lips bee-stung full. Dark eyebrows frame eyes with a slight tilt at the corners. Her breasts are small but pert as they push against a white crop top with suspenders that snap to her skirt. “Not my type,” I murmur to myself, taking in her petite frame.
“Get over here, rookie!” comes from one of the guys, and I wave them off, still watching the babe. From a few feet away, a dude with a red Solo cup in his hand also checks her out. His buddies slap him on the back, urging him on. He takes a deep swig of his drink, hands it off to a friend, and pushes his way through the throng toward her. Dancing behind her, he grabs her hips and leans into her. She shoves him away, and I smile. That’s right, sweetheart. Be you. Dance alone.
Or not, I muse.
Screw that legend. It can’t be real, and my type or not, I’d like a taste of her.
I maneuver her way, moving through the crowd—
“Dillon! Let’s go, man. The guys are asking for you,” comes from Blaze as he grabs my shoulder and drags me to the group of football players. He hands me a beer and grins broadly. He’s a sophomore, and we just met at summer camp. I have a good feeling about him; in fact, the whole team is like a dream come true. I know I’m not the best player—yet—but it’s the happiest I’ve been since my brother died.
“We’re gonna get a group together to enter the rope pull contest. Those Kappa guys are built like tractors, but we can take ’em. You in?” He pops an eyebrow at me.
“Mhmm,” I reply, my gaze back to the girl as yet another guy approaches her. She’s like a damn magnet. She gives him a withering glare then prances off and settles closer to the stage. Off limits, her body language declares.
Vicious girl.
She knows what she wants, and it isn’t those guys.
“I thought this kid was focused. He looks dazed,” Ryker murmurs. He snaps his fingers in my face. “Freshman, get your eyes off the girl.”
“Done,” I say, looking at him. Ryker’s our starting quarterback, and I have a ton of respect for him.
Ryker chuckles. “It’s your first bonfire, but don’t be fooled. Remember: if you see a girl you like—”
“Run as if there’s a three-hundred-pound linebacker on your ass. Don’t engage. Do not get leg-shackled,” I repeat, recalling the warnings the upperclassmen gave us at their dorm room before we piled into cars and drove to the party.
A deep laugh comes from Maverick, another sophomore and our best defensive player. “No joke. There’s weird juju in this part of the woods.”
I let my gaze drift back to her. “Meh, she looks harmless to me.” And what would be wrong with talking to her? Getting a name and number? “Starting to think you tell all the freshmen that so you guys can pick out the hot girls for yourselves.”
Maverick looks at me, and whatever he sees on my face makes him smirk. “Let me tell you a story, kid. I kissed a girl freshman year at this party, and the next time I saw her, she was dating our kicker. Weird, man, just strange how she’s always in my head. I’m telling you, don’t get sucked in. Not worth the headache.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like she found something better.” I grin.
Maverick barks out a laugh. “Tell him, Blaze.”
“The legend got me by my balls last year, man,” Blaze says ruefully as he shakes his head. “I kissed this chick and we ended up in the loft of the barn making out hot and heavy. Poof. She disappears on me. You see a girl with pink hair, call me.”
“Sure.” I’m barely listening, my eyes darting back to the dancing girl, trying to be covert but also not really caring what they think right now.
Ryker guffaws. “Kid, you’re wearing a hungry look. If you wanna go talk to the girl, go on—”
“Says the guy who hasn’t kissed anyone at the bonfire,” Maverick interrupts tersely.
Ryker laughs, waving him off. “But as the legend says, it will come back to haunt you, Dillon, somehow, someday. Wiccans used to live on this land, and they specialized in love spells. The ground we’re standing on is where they lived, where they did their sacrifices. Some say they’re buried in the woods—”
Someone snorts in the background, and I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Come on. There’s no legend, is there? This is a prank and you pull it on all the freshmen.”
Maverick mimics dusting his hands off. “Alright, why don’t you test it and we’ll find out? Just remember, once you kiss her, it’s branded on your heart, some kind of soulmate thing.”
“I call bullshit,” I say on a scoff.
He nods. “Swear. Go to the library on campus. It’s in the history books about Magnolia. They called themselves the Daughters of Venus. You know who Venus is, right? Roman goddess of love, desire, and fertility.”
Unease curls in my gut. If these guys aren’t kidding… “Venus?”
Maverick nods. “Read it after what happened to me freshman year.”
“But the legend itself isn’t in these books? Just the history of the wiccans?” I need specifics. I really want to go talk to this girl.
Maverick raises a brow. “The legend is superstition based on personal experiences. Do you really want to question hundreds of stories from former Waylon students? It’s believed the legend only applies to your first bonfire or to a freshman, so technically the upperclassmen who’ve been here before can kiss anyone without getting hexed, but who knows what’s really true.” His broad shoulders shrug. “I avoid all girls at the bonfire now.”
The seriousness of his tone gets to me.
Okay, I lied before. I am superstitious. Athletes generally are. Sawyer, another freshman, likes to eat a piece of the grass before he takes the field. If it’s turf, he kisses it. Other guys do similar things. And me? Before every game and at halftime, I kiss the tops of my hands as I walk out of the tunnel. It started my senior year in high school, a silent greeting sent up to my brother in heaven. The tradition brought me a prep school state championship. Some scoff at athletes performing repetitive tasks before they play, but it gives me a measure of control and confidence that I’m going to have a kickass game. My motto is, if you believe your ritual gives you a topnotch performance, then why not do it?
Ryker laughs. “Stop messing with him, Mav.”
“I’m not!” he replies. “Delaney…” He grimaces. “She’s everywhere I turn—with another guy…” He takes a swig of his beer.
I don’t know this Delaney, but judging by his face, she got under his skin… “Alright, you convinced me.” I pull out the phone number the Theta tucked in my pocket, crumble it up, and toss it in the fire. It’s extreme, but hey, I’m leery of all and any repercussions from the legend. Sure, I want to meet a nice girl someday in the future, but not my freshman year. Plus, Maverick and Blaze’s stories don’t have happy endings.
Blaze slaps me on the back. “Smart. Wait out the curse. Don’t even talk to a girl tonight.”
An hour later, I’ve had a couple of beers and leave to grab another round for us when I see her again, still dancing. Damn. Isn’t she tired? I stop and stare as she dips down then snaps back up as she slings her hair. She moves like a pro. Stripper? Nah. She’s too young and fresh looking. Maybe a dance major…
My fascination from earlier resurfaces, intensifying tenfold. I’ve imagined her before, like in a fantasy. The slope of her bare shoulder, the dimple at the base of her spine, the weight of her breasts in my hands—
Impossible. I’ve never seen this girl before tonight.
It’s the beer talking.
Yet…
Another lingering look at her and my skin hums, the beat of the nearby speakers pounding, syncing with the thrumming rhythm of my heart. I swallow thickly and nerves fly at me, the same way I feel as I look down a football field with the ball in my hands. Barely aware of what I’m doing, I set my drink on the ground and walk her way. I’m behind her in ten seconds, wondering what the hell is happening.
Don’t even talk to a girl chimes in my head, but I ignore it. I can’t resist the temptation. What’s wrong with just having a little conversation?
The wind rustles through the trees, carrying her scent to me, something tart and fruity.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She doesn’t hear me.
“Hey!” I call.
She turns to me, her lips curled in a smile, and my stomach does a weird flip. An errant thought flies through my head—Wish I could see the color of her eyes—yet I don’t need the light to see the teasing quality of her smile.
Ah, I get it. She’s beautiful. She’s used to guys coming up to her. Right.
But I’m different. I’m the one she’s been waiting on.
Her hair is a rich mahogany color, intermingled with pops of copper and pale honey, and long, the soft ends brushing her mid-back. I picture my hands sliding through those strands as I spread them out on my pillow. I see her sleep-glazed eyes looking at me when she wakes in the morning—
Whoa… That’s just insane.
“Hey?” Her voice is husky and low as she tilts her head, eyes peering deep into mine. The hairs on my arms rise, goosebumps erupting as instinct kicks in.
I pick you whispers through the right side of my brain while simultaneously my left side yells Danger, danger.
I kick the negative thought down as I lean down, my big hands awkward as I cup her face and brush my lips against hers softly. It’s barely anything.
Holy shit, what have you done my brain yells.
She lets out a startled sound as we pull apart.
That’s it, I tell myself, just a little taste and I’m not going to take it any further, but I do, ignoring that voice as I go in and slant my mouth across hers again. My tongue twines with hers, crushing her soft, pillowy lips under mine. She tastes like cherries, rich and sweet. There’s a moment when she hesitates, then she melts into me, a whimpering sound coming from the back of her throat as she parts those luscious lips. Her hair blows around us, caressing my face, tickling my cheeks. The universe tilts, shifts, and spins off in a new direction.
The kiss burns a hole right through me and blood rushes to my groin. I’m in over my head—Who cares?—and I groan, deepening our connection. My hands slide down her cheeks, her throat, then to her arms at her sides. Our joined breaths mingling, I trace my thumbs over the rapid pulse in her wrists. My head swims with images of her body draped on top of me, her fingers tracing my heart as she counts the beats o
f my pulse—
A cry comes from her as she breaks away. “Jerk! Don’t do that.”
“You liked it, babe.”
“What? No.”
“I’m Dillon.”
“Um, I don’t care. Step away.”
“What’s your name? You got a number?” Dillon McQueen does not give up easily. When he sees what he wants, he goes after it. He also sometimes talks about himself in the third person. “Are you a freshman? I play football. Quarterback.” Usually that’s enough to catch a girl’s interest.
She shakes her head, looking almost surprised as she touches her lips briefly. I think she mutters pigskin-toting Casanova. Then, she flips around.
“No, wait! Don’t go!” I say, reaching out for her, but she’s gone, daring one look over her shoulder as she disappears into the crowd of people.
I take off after her, navigating through the throng, jostling into dancers. One of them, a big barrel-chested guy, shoves at me when I bump into him. I fall on my ass. Heart pounding, I scramble back up, dirt and grass on me as I dart through the crowd and look around. My height gives me a decent vantage point, but she’s vanished.
Off in the distance, the football guys hoot my name, then chant Venus over and over.
Well, hell.
Legend 1, Dillon 0.
1
Three years later
I Promise You Page 1