A Passion Denied

by Julie Lessman

  Acknowledgments

  To my agent Natasha Kern and my editor Lonnie Hull Dupont— truly my “divine connections”—I’m still in awe that I get to work with both of you.

  To the great team at Revell, thank you for your patience and support! Especially Cheryl Van Andel, and Dan Thornberg, for their great covers and inexhaustible patience, and to Barb Barnes, whose keen eye and kind heart has made editing an absolute joy for me—thank you, my friend!

  To the Seekers, whose humor, talent and prayers have added so much to my life and kept me afloat more times than I can count.

  To “Club D”—Judy, Linda, Charlotte, and Ruth—your input has enriched my books as your friendship has enriched my life.

  To my dear friends and former coworkers Carol Ann, Tammy, Cynthia, Sandy, Anna, Betty, and Jenny—thank you for all of your support and help. Just as books come to an end, so do seasons of friends being together. But thank God our friendship will live on forever.

  To my lifelong friends, Joyce, Charlotte, and Rusceilla— thank you for a lifetime of love and support.

  To my precious prayer partners and best friends, Joy, Karen, Pat, and Diane—you cover me with prayer and love, day in and day out. What a gift from God you are in my life!

  To my aunt Julie, my mother-in-law Leona, and my sisters, Dee Dee, Mary, Pat, Rosie, Susie, and especially Ellie and Katie, for your continued love and support, and to my dear sisters-in-law, Diana, Mary, and Lisa. I am blessed to call you family.

  To my daughter Amy, who shaped and molded the ending of this book—you are brilliant and beautiful, and I am so proud to be your mom. To my son Matt and daughter-in-law Katie—separately, you are amazing people, but together, you are God’s definition of what a new marriage in Christ should be. I love you all so much!

  To the love of my life, Keith Lessman, the best thing that has ever happened to me, aside from Jesus—life with you is the best romance of all.

  And to the God of Israel for sending his Son to pull me from the pit—you are the air that I breathe and the joy of my soul, and I will worship you forever.

  Coming Summer 2010

  A SNEAK PEEK

  An excerpt from Julie’s next series . . .

  Jack chuckled and massaged Katie’s shoulder. “Hear that, doll? You’re a bad influence—both on Gen’s figure and my wallet. Anybody else want anything? I’m buying.” His gaze flitted to the soda jerk who was bent over the chrome and leather stools with a rag in his hand. Jack put two fingers to his teeth and let loose with a deafening whistle. “Hey, kid, shake a leg—we have an order over here.”

  The “kid’s” back tightened as he rose to his full height, revealing both a broad, muscled back and the fact that he was anything but a kid. In a slow, deliberate motion he turned, eyeing the clock before facing them dead-on. A nerve flickered in his angular jaw while his blue eyes glittered. He forced a smile as tight as the short sleeves of his white button-down shirt, which—Katie hadn’t noticed before—strained with biceps as intimidating as the man’s penetrating gaze. “Sure thing, but we close in ten minutes. Sorry, sodas and ice cream only.” He strolled to their booth with a casual gait as steady and slow as the Southern drawl of his voice. “What’ll it be?”

  Katie felt the tension in Jack’s manner as he cradled an arm around her shoulder. He lounged back against the booth, eyes locked on the soda jerk. “I know it’s late, but the lady here says she’s hungry. She wants a hamburger and fries.”

  The man’s blue eyes flicked to Katie and held, his cool smile braising her cheeks with a rare blush. He nodded a head of white blond thatch toward a large sign over the jukebox. “I apologize, miss, but as you can plainly see, we don’t serve entrees after nine.”

  Katie blinked. And the world would end if he cooked a hamburger after nine? Her stomach rumbled, and she straightened her shoulders with willful resolve. Suddenly, the thought of a thick, juicy hamburger taunted her—just like the annoyingly calm look on the soda jerk’s face. Tilting her chin in a coy manner, she gave him the half-lidded smile that always worked wonders on Jack. For good measure, she propped her chin in her hand and resorted to a slow sweep of lashes. “Aw, come on now, mister, you can make one teeny, tiny exception, can’t you? Just for me? We’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

  His gaze shifted to the clock and back, and then he disarmed her with a smile that made her forget she was hungry for food. “I really wish I could, miss, but a rule is a rule. But if I say so myself, my true talent lies in making one of the best chocolate malts in all of Boston.”

  She stared, openmouthed at his polite refusal. Despite the faint smile on his lips, his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. A second rush of heat invaded her cheeks. The nerve! She jutted her chin in the air and matched his gaze with a searing one of her own. “Yes, well, it’s nice to know you have some talent, but no thank you. Not even if they’re the best on the Eastern seaboard. Let’s go, Jack.”

  Jack drew her close while his thumb glazed the side of her arm. “Come on, Katydid, settle down. I know you’re hungry, but this guy is obviously new and doesn’t realize who we are.” He cocked his head and flashed a patronizing smile. “We’re some of Mr. Robinson’s best customers, kid. So, tell me, what’s your name?”

  Drawing in a deep breath, the “kid” shifted his stance and exhaled. “The name is Luke.” He shot a glance at the clock, then looked back. His gaze softened. “Look, I’m sorry, I really am, but Pop Robinson sets the rules, not me. The grills take forever to cool down, so we do them at nine. Hate to tell ya, but they’re already clean as a whistle and shut down for the night. Now, I have to be somewhere at ten thirty, but if you give me your drink or ice cream orders, I’ll get them as fast as I can.”

  Katie started to rise, but Jack yanked her back down. “That would be great, Luke, just great. Give us six of your best chocolate malts and six glasses of water, and then we’ll be on our way, okay?”

  “But I don’t want his stupid ma—”

  “Hush, Katydid, I do, and if Luke here is nice enough to make them for us, everything is jake.” He smiled again, all the while fondling a golden tress of Katie’s smooth Dutch Boy bob as it curved against her jaw. “Besides, you need something in your stomach. I don’t want you cranky on the way home.” As if to underscore his romantic hopes, his hand absently dropped to caress the long, glass-beaded necklace that draped the front of her silk dress. His fingers lingered along her collarbone with a familiarity that deepened the already uncomfortable blush on her cheeks.

  “Sure thing,” Luke said, his eyes taking in the intimate gesture with cool disregard. His gaze met and held hers for several seconds, unsettling her with apparent disapproval. He turned away.

  Her ire soared. “Extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles,” Katie said in a clipped tone.

  He turned and nodded, his large, full lips pressed tight. “You bet, miss.” He started toward the counter.

  “And don’t skimp on the cherries,” she called after him.

  He kept walking, but the stiff muscles cording his neck and back told her he’d more than heard. She forced a smile to deflect her embarrassment and took a deep breath. “Well, he’s a sunny individual, isn’t he? Night help must be hard to come by.”

  “At least he’s nice to look at,” Lilly said with a sigh.

  “He’s a two-bit soda jerk, Lil, with more attitude than brains,” Roger Hampton muttered. “We oughta complain to Robinson.”

  “Humph . . . he’s not that special.” Katie’s eyes narrowed while she watched him scoop ice cream into the mixer.

  “Come on, Katie, you’re just miffed because you didn’t get your hamburger. The man is a real sheik and you know it.” Gen shot a look of longing across the room, then gloated with a grin. “But it is nice to know all men don’t wrap around your finger as easily as Jack.”

  Jack honed in for a kiss. “That’s not all I’d like to be wrapped around,” he said in a husky tone.

  Katie squirmed and pu
shed him away. “Behave, Worthington, or I’ll make your life miserable.”

  He chuckled. “You already do, doll, but I love every minute.”

  Katie ignored him. She observed the soda jerk laboring over six chocolate shakes and wrinkled her nose. “Get your specs out, Gen, he’s more of a hick than a sheik.”

  Her frown stayed in place until the soda jerk returned, toting a tray of milkshakes to their booth. “Six Robinson’s specials,” he said, depositing a tall, frosty glass with a single cherry on top to each at the table. He set Katie’s down last with a considerable thud. One maraschino from the mountain of cherries obscuring her malt rolled off, landing on the table with a plop. “Enjoy,” he said with a stiff smile. “And let me know if you need more. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

  She swallowed hard, completely unsettled by his direct gaze. “I will. Thank you.”

  He laid the ticket in front of Jack, then returned to the back to finish cleaning up. She stared at her shake and sighed. Suddenly she’d lost her appetite. With a frown puckering her brow, she pretended to sip, all the while watching farm boy wipe down the counter out of the corner of her eye. Her mood darkened. Okay, all right—she’d give him “good-looking,” but she’d bet he was dumb as a post.

  “Hey, Katydid, wake up! You haven’t even touched your malt.”

  The others were staring and half done with their shakes. “Sorry, Jack. Guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

  “Did that bozo upset you? Because if he did, I’ll tell Pop he needs new help.”

  “No, no, please. I’m fine, really.” She watched as Luke disappeared into the kitchen and ignored the warm shiver that traveled her spine. “Just a bit tired, I guess.”

  Jack shot a glance at the empty counter and grinned. “Well, we got something that just might wake you up, don’t we, boys?” He reached for the laminated menu and set it on top of his untouched glass of water, then gave her a wink. With a quick flick of his wrist, he reversed it on the table and slowly eased the menu out from beneath the upside-down glass. The water sealed perfectly, a flood waiting to gush as soon as the “kid” picked up the glass.

  Katie, Lilly, and Gen gasped in unison. “Wow, how did you do that?” Gen sputtered. “Ol’ Luke’ll be madder than a wet hen when he cleans this table.”

  “That’s not the only thing that’ll be wet.” Lilly giggled.

  Warren and Roger grinned and followed suit, careful to keep an eye on the back room. Jack thumped Roger on the shoulder. “Move over, we’re leaving. Gotta get my best girl home.” He tugged Katie out of the booth and pulled her toward the front door.

  Katie skidded to a stop, heels digging in. “Wait a minute, Jack—aren’t you going to pay for the check?”

  “Nope, let Jerk Boy pay for it. That’ll teach him to be rude to my girl. Come on, guys, hurry.” He opened the door with a loud jangle of bells, and when Katie wouldn’t budge, he hoisted her up in his arms and sprinted to his Franklin Sports Coupe parked down the street.

  “Jack Worthington, you stop this very instant!” Her voice rose to a shriek as she fought his hold to no avail. She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears over the laughter of the group as they bolted for the car and jumped in.

  “Come on, Katydid,” Jack said with a broad grin. “It’s no big deal. We’re just having a little fun. Look, I even got you a souvenir.” He plopped her in the front seat of his car and pulled her empty Coca Cola glass out of his pocket.

  Her jaw dropped. She snatched the glass and shook it in his face. “Jack Worthington, you are nothing more than a brazen thief, and I will not be a party to this! Now, I am marching back there right now and—”

  She darted out of the car, but he was too fast. He picked her up with a chuckle and silenced her with a sound kiss, tightening his grip when she started to scream and kick. “Aw, come on, Katydid, don’t be such a bearcat. Jerk Boy had it coming, and you know it. Now get in the car like a good girl—we gotta scram.”

  “How about you scram after you pay the bill?” An icy tone confirmed that Jerk Boy was in the vicinity. His voice, deadly calm and barely above a whisper, packed as much heat as a threat from the lips of Al Capone.

  Katie froze in Jack’s arms, which went as stiff as his pale face. With a slow turn, they faced an apron-clad Colossus of Rhodes, legs straddled and face chiseled in granite. “Put her down,” he whispered in a tone as stony as his stance.

  Jack lowered her to the ground and eased her behind him. “Says who?” he said with a sneer.

  The soda jerk moved in close, towering over Jack by more than half a head. His rock-hard jaw, barely inches from Jack’s face, looked intimidating with a full day’s growth of blond bristle. His wide lips curved in a near smile, but the blue eyes were pure slits of ice. “Says me, you little piker.”

  Jack leaned forward and jabbed a finger in the soda jerk’s chest. “Piker? Who you calling a coward, Jerk Boy? I’m not paying for anything, especially shoddy service.”

  The wide smile broadened to a cocky grin. “My service may be shoddy, rich boy, but I guarantee you my thrashing won’t be. Trust me, your little girlfriend won’t like it if I mess with your face, so I suggest you pay the bill . . .” He fisted Jack’s Oxford shirt and jerked him up. “Now.”

  Genevieve screamed and Warren and Roger jumped from the car. They circled Luke with fists raised, and suddenly it was Jack’s turn to grin. “So, how’s your confidence now, eh, Jerk Boy? Think you can handle three to one?”

  Katie shot from the car and shoved Jack hard in the chest. “Stop it now, or so help me—”

  He pushed her aside. “Stay out of this, Katydid.”

  Warren darted in with a quick swipe, and the soda jerk dodged with the grace of an athlete. His wide grin gleamed white in the lamplight as he egged them on with a wave of his fingers. “Come on, boys, I’ve lived on the streets all my life, so have at it.”

  Roger lunged, and Jerk Boy felled him like a tree with a right hook to his jaw. Out of nowhere, Warren rushed from behind, leg poised in a kick. Latching onto his shoe, Jerk Boy yanked him to the pavement with a sickening thud. Katie screeched in horror. She charged forward, only to be looped at the waist by Jack, who tossed her back in the car, flailing and screaming. He turned with a loud roar and rammed his body straight for the soda jerk, head tucked like a raging bull. In a deft move of his foot, Jerk Boy tripped him and sent him skidding into the street.

  “Jack!” Katie bolted out of the car and ran to his side. “Are you okay?” She helped him as he lumbered to his feet, the right trouser leg of his gray Oxford bags torn and streaked with dirt.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, doll. Just let me at that slimeball—”

  “No!” She planted two petite hands on his chest and shoved him back with more force than her small size warranted. “You’re done, Jack! Do you hear me? Or we’re through.”

  He staggered back, a bloody hand to his head. “Come on, Katydid, don’t talk like that—”

  “I mean it, Jack, I swear.”

  She whirled around, her eyes singeing all of them within an inch of their lives. “Warren, Roger—get in the car. Now!”

  “Come on, Jack, are you gonna listen to her? We can take this guy.”

  Fury pumped in Katie’s veins as she spun around and glared. “So what’s it going to be, Jack—them or me?”

  He glanced from Katie to his friends and then back again, a nerve pulsing in his jaw. His tone was tight as he exhaled his frustration. “Get in the car, we’re leaving.”

  Muttered curses rumbled as the boys stumbled toward the coupe.

  Katie darted toward Jack. With a lightning thrust of her hand, she lifted his wallet from the pocket of his trousers as neatly as a veteran pickpocket.

  “Katydid, what the devil are you doing—”

  She ignored him and marched up to the soda jerk with fire in her eyes. At five foot two, she barely measured to the middle of his chest, but she didn’t give a fig if he was seven foot five. No hays
eed soda jerk was going to intimidate her! She glared up, annoyance surging at having to crane her neck. “How much do we owe, you roughhouse bully?”

  He met her glare with cool confidence, sizing her up with that same probing gaze that had riled her before. “Two-forty-eight total, miss. Forty-five cents for three Coca Colas, a dollar fifty for six chocolate shakes”—a shadow of a smile edged the corners of his mouth—“three cents for extra cherries—and fifty cents for the glass your boyfriend stole.”

  She peeled off two crisp dollar bills from Jack’s stash and threw them at his feet, then spun around and snatched the glass from the front seat of the car. She turned and shoved it hard against his rock-solid chest. “Here, keep the change. Not that the service was worth it.”

  A massive palm locked onto her wrist before she could snatch it away. “Nice girls don’t run with riffraff,” he breathed.

  Julie Lessman is a new author who has garnered much writing acclaim, including ten Romance Writers of America awards. She resides in Missouri with her husband and their golden retriever, and has two grown children and a daughter-in-law. She is the author of the Daughters of Boston series, which includes A Passion Most Pure, A Passion Redeemed, and A Passion Denied.

  You can contact Julie through her website at www.julielessman.com.

  DEAR READERS,

  I hope that reading my books has given you just a touch of the joy I have experienced in writing them. To pour my heart and faith out in a novel on behalf of the Savior of my soul has been a privilege beyond my wildest dreams, and I am truly grateful for your support. It is my prayer that in some small way, the words of these novels will infuse your own dreams with renewed hope, a deepened faith, and greater passion for the true “Author of romance.”

  Please visit www.revellbooks.com for discussion questions and more information about this book and the others in the series. Check out my website at www.julielessman.com, too.