Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) (12 page)

That evening, Joy’s own feelings were mixed. She was sorry she’d said anything to Sloan about going out, and forced herself to dress in her best suit: black pants and a soft cream blouse with a matching jacket. A strand of pearls graced her neck. While freshening her makeup, Joy tried to convince herself she was doing the right thing. The physical attraction between her and Sloan was growing more powerful every day. Of the two, she was the one who had to keep a level
head, because she was the one who stood to lose the most.

On the way out of the house, Joy stopped in the kitchen and told Clara where she could be reached in case of an emergency.

“I think it’s time you took a day off, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Clara murmured, as she dried the pots and pans from dinner.

“I don’t mind,” Joy agreed, and impulsively hugged the older woman.

“Must say, you look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Clara.”

“Don’t suppose Mr. Whittaker’s taken a look at you yet?”

“I haven’t seen him since dinner.” Quickly, Joy changed the subject. “You know where you can reach me.” Joy realized the housekeeper was much too observant not to have noticed what was happening between Joy and Sloan.

“Got it right here.” She patted her apron pocket. “Let your hair down, girl.”

“Honestly, it’s only three inches as it is,” Joy said, with a small laugh as she opened the swinging door that led out of the kitchen.

She was in the marble-floored entryway when Sloan spoke.

“Don’t you ever wear dresses?”

Joy stopped and turned. He was in the living room, almost as if he’d been sitting there waiting for her. His hard expression was a shock. Sloan hadn’t looked like that since the first days after her arrival.

“Sometimes,” she answered softly. “Usually full-length ones, so I can be assured no one is going to be shocked if they happen to catch a glimpse of my scars.”

“That’s considerate of you,” he muttered.

“It’s not consideration. It’s protection for my ego. These days women wear pants most anywhere, so it isn’t any faux pas if I do.”

His eyes held hers. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you decided where you’re going yet?”

“Dan and I are going to dinner.”

“Dan?”

“An old friend.”

“How old?”

Joy inhaled a deep breath. “You’re being ridiculous; you know that, don’t you?”

“I suppose I am. Go on, go. Have a good time.” He jerked the wheelchair around so his back was to her.

“Oh boy, here it comes.” Joy moved to stand in front of him.

“Here what comes?” he barked.

“That ‘poor little boy’ act. You want me to feel guilty. You’ve even gone to great lengths so I’ll experience this terrible guilt.”

“Now you’re the one being ridiculous,” he declared, but his eyes refused to meet hers.

“Poor crippled Sloan has to sit home while his physical therapist Joy paints the town.” She raised her eyes heavenward in a mocking gesture. “I suppose you’re planning to wait up for me, too?”

Sloan’s nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed. “Get out of here.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she returned flippantly, and swung the strap of her purse over her shoulder in a defiant action.

Joy was halfway out the door when she heard him draw in a quick breath and utter something violent. She decided she would prefer not to know what he’d said.

The small apartment in the heart of town looked exactly as she’d left it. Joy walked around, inspecting each room. She’d been back only once since moving into Sloan’s. The rooms were compact and unappealing after the luxury she was accustomed to living in these past weeks. In some ways Joy doubted that her simple life would ever be the same again. Certainly her heart wouldn’t. If she had a whit of common sense she’d pack her things and leave him now before their feelings for each other developed further.

A quick knock on the door was followed by a blond head. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Hi, Danielle.” The one thing about tonight that Joy regretted was letting Sloan assume she was seeing a man. It seemed childish now, but vital at the moment.

They ate at a Chinese restaurant and drank several cups of tea while chatting over old times. When Danielle suggested a movie, Joy readily agreed. After a quick phone call to Clara,
she sat through a nondescript movie. No matter how hard she forced herself to watch the screen, her thoughts continually drifted back to Sloan.

Danielle and Joy parted after the show, and Joy drove back to her apartment. Her watch said it was only ten. Much too early for her to head back to the beach house. If she was going to feel like a criminal because she took a night off, then he could sit and wait.

With the television on, Joy slouched across a lumpy couch and laid her head against the back cushion and closed her eyes. When she opened them again it was well past two o’clock. Oh heavens, she hadn’t meant to stay away this long. If Sloan had waited for her he’d be in a fine mood by now.

When she pulled into her parking spot in front of the house, she took in several calming breaths. Mentally, she prepared herself—for what, she wasn’t sure.

The porch light was on, and another in the long hallway that led to her room. She turned off the outside light and tiptoed into the entryway. A deep voice flew out from the living room. “You look like a thief in the night.”

Startled, she let out a gasp. Her hand flew to her breast. “What are you doing there?” she demanded defensively.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I live here.”

“I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did,” she apologized. “You frightened me.”

He moved closer to her. “Did you have a good time?”

“Wonderful,” she lied.

“How was Dan?”

“Good.” She took in a deep breath. “Is this an interrogation?”

“No, just curiosity.”

“I didn’t mean to stay out so late.” She could have kicked herself the minute the words slipped past her mouth.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say.”

“Yes, well, I think I’ll get to bed.”

“Did Dan kiss you good night?” The question came abruptly, issued with impatience.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Her hand tightened around the strap of her purse.

“You don’t look like you’ve been kissed.”

“Sloan, please.” She released the words on a sigh.

“At least when I kiss you, there’s no doubt. Your eyes grow warm and gentle, your face is flushed, and you have a look about you that begs for more.”

Joy looked away, but not before she saw the way Sloan’s fingers bit into the arm of his chair.

“Does Dan make you feel the way I do?” he continued, his voice raspy and deep. “Does your heart beat faster when he holds you? Or is it just the thrill of having a man, a real man, one you don’t have to look down to?”

“Stop it,” she cried, her voice strained and weak. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” The temptation was to cry out that he was more man than she’d ever known, all the man she’d ever need. Were he never to take another step, she couldn’t love him any more than she already did.

Joy inhaled a sharp breath, and her eyes rounded at the startling realization. For days she’d been struggling with herself, refusing to accept the truth. Now, in her anger, she acknowledged her true feelings. It was too late; she was already in love with him.

“Joy?” Sloan paused and took her hand. “Are you all right? You look like you’re sick.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, and pulled her hand free from his. “I just need to lie down.” She felt like she was staggering as she rushed down the hall to her room. Of course, she wasn’t, but it seemed her whole world had crumpled in on top of her, and the weight was more than she could possibly manage.

“Joy, wait,” Sloan called out after her, but she ignored him and firmly shut the bedroom door.

Even after she’d changed clothes and crawled between the fresh sheets, Joy couldn’t sleep. Unreasonably, she was angry with Sloan. She was irritated, because he knew as well as she did what was happening between them and had done nothing to stop it. Her feelings, emotions, and heart were only playthings to him, a small diversion until he was walking again. She could almost hate him. Almost.

She lay there for what seemed like hours, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes pictures of Sloan would flash into her mind. Not content with dominating every waking minute, he was determined to haunt her sleep as well. The room felt hot and stuffy. Throwing back the covers, Joy opened the sliding glass door just a crack. A faint moaning sound stopped
her. She had to strain to hear. Sloan.

Was he in pain? Thoughtless of her bare feet, she slipped outside. Sloan’s glass door was also cracked. The sound of his moans was more distinguishable now, in addition to a faint thrashing noise. Joy peeked inside his room.

Sloan was asleep and in the throes of some horrible dream. His head tossed from side to side, his blankets a twisted mess around his legs.

“Sloan.” She hurried to his bedside and placed a restraining hand on both of his shoulders. “Wake up. You’re having a dream.” Lightly, she shook him. “Sloan, it’s a dream.”

He jerked himself upright, leaning the brunt of his weight on one elbow. For a second he looked at her blankly, then released a small cry of relief. “Joy, good heavens.” His eyes were filled with some unspeakable torment. Forcefully, he pulled her into his arms, his breathing hoarse and uneven. “Oh Joy.” His open hands caressed her back, shooting a tingling fire down her spine. “I thought I’d lost you,” he continued. “You were in the school bus, screaming for me to help you, and I couldn’t get out of the chair.”

“I’m fine. I’m right here,” she assured him, her hands brushing the hair from his face. Her heart cried out to him.

“I couldn’t bear to lose you now.” He twisted his upper body, bringing her onto the bed beside him. Positioned so that he was above her now, his anguished eyes stared into hers. “Don’t stop me. I need you so much,” he murmured, before his mouth rocked over hers.

She gave in to him unselfishly, parting her lips with all the eagerness of her newly discovered love. Her hands roved his back, reveling in the muscular feel of skin under her fingers. He was warm, vital, and, for this moment, this night, hers.

His mouth left hers and pressed against the gentle slope of her bare shoulder.

“You’ve been drinking,” she whispered.

“Yes.” He moved to kiss her neck, his tongue making moist forays against the sensitive skin. “It was the only thing that kept me sane tonight while waiting for you.”

“Oh Sloan. You didn’t drink after taking any medication, did you?”

“Don’t ‘Oh Sloan’ me. I know what I’m doing. For once stop being my therapist and be my lover.” His mouth blotted any objection she might have voiced.

Joy was reeling with the potency of his kisses, when his exploring hands cupped the soft undersides of her breasts.

“You shouldn’t,” she protested weakly.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath caressing her lobe.

“No,” she admitted, her arms entwined around his neck. “Don’t stop.”

Desire, raw and fierce, ran through her blood, spreading a path of fiery awareness that left no part of her untouched. Her senses were in turmoil. No longer did she question right from wrong. No longer did it matter.

Sloan’s kisses grew deeper, more passionate; their effect drugged her into submission and demanded a response. Trapped in the warm, rushing tide of her love, Joy responded freely, wholly.

His lips began a downward path from the sensitive cord of her neck. Her long fingernails dug into the rippling muscles of his back as she arched, wanting to give more, needing to receive more.

“Joy,” he moaned, and bruised her mouth with a scorching possession. “Do you realize how long it’s been since I touched a woman like this?”

The whole world came to a sudden, abrupt halt. A woman. Any woman would have done. She was convenient, here, now. A passing fancy until he was ready for the Chantelles of this world.

Dragging her mouth from his, she pushed him away. “No more,” she whispered, and struggled to sit upright.

Sloan went still. “Are you hurt? What is it? What did I say?”

The question was almost ludicrous. She was dying, and he wanted to know if he had caused her pain.

“Joy?” He raised himself up and brushed the hair from the side of her face. “What’s wrong?” His tender concern was nearly her undoing.

“Let me go,” she cried, her voice pitifully weak. She shut her eyes and waited for him to release her.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” His voice was thick with frustration. “Are you crying?” A finger brushed the wetness across her cheek. “Joy, please. Tell me what I did.”

“It has been a long time since you’ve touched a woman,” she whispered, achingly, at last. “So long that you’d hold any willing woman.”

“That’s not true. I can’t think of anyone else when you’re in my arms. It’s you I want,” he muttered thickly. “Only you.”

“That will change,” she said confidently, “and soon.”

He groaned her name.

“Please let me go,” she pleaded, her voice quivering uncontrollably.