Page 97 of The Promise
He was a shadow man. Existing on memories and anger—on resentment for what had been and could never be again. And now… now it seemed that even that had all been a lie. His mother hadn't run away at all. She was dead.
The words brought bitter tears to his eyes.
Dead.
And because they'd all been so quick to believe the worst, they'd betrayed her far worse than they'd ever believed she'd betrayed them.
Patrick stood up, crossing to the window, the moonlight washing over him, soothing in its touch. His mother had been his whole world. And maybe, he admitted, that had been the problem. Maybe he needed to find himself. Figure out who the hell Patrick Macpherson really was. And only then would he be able to love someone else.
He closed his eyes, and wondered if Loralee would be willing to wait.
Michael stood in the doorway,watching her sleep. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He let his eyes trail downward, taking in the soft curve of her shoulder and the sweet swell of her breasts, and he felt himself growing hard, despite all that lay between them.
God, how he wanted this woman.
He crossed to the bed, sitting down beside her, tracing the curve of her face. Her eyes flickered open, regarding him with a sleep-clouded gaze. "Michael." His name come out like a sigh and he shivered as the sound caressed him.
"I'm sorry." He blew out a breath. "I shouldn't have walked away."
"No." She shook her head. "It was my fault. I just can't tell you what you want to hear."
"I know." He stroked her soft skin, needing her more than he could have believed possible.
"Nothing's changed, Michael." She met his gaze, her eyes searching for confirmation.
"I know that, too." He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side.
"Stay with me, then." She reached for him, her need reflected in her eyes, and his heart began to hammer in his chest as the burning in his loins spread upward and inward, filling him with a driving need.
With shaking hands, he pulled off his clothes, her body warm against his as she helped with the buttons. Reaching back with one hand, he cupped her neck, twisting around, pulling her with him, satisfied when the maneuver placed her firmly beneath him. She arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples tracing lines of fire each time she moved.
With a groan, he took possession of her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep into her warmth. She met his passion stroke for stroke, and when her hand closed around his aching manhood, her rhythm matched the pace of their dueling tongues. Balancing on the precipice, he held tight, wanting more than quick release.
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, their mouths still locked in a mind-numbing kiss. His fingers closed on her nipples and he rubbed and teased until she cried out for more. Replacing his fingers with his mouth he suckled at first one nipple and then the other, his mouth relishing the feel of her body responding to his. He tugged lightly with his teeth and she ground her hips against him, writhing with need.
"Now, Michael, please."
The entreaty was all he needed. Rolling over again so that she was nestled in the warmth of the covers, he lifted his body, bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes locked on hers. With one smooth stroke, he drove deep inside her, her body surrounding him in throbbing heat.
Her legs moved apart as she shifted, pulling him deeper, her arms locking around his shoulders. He lowered his head for a reverential kiss and then, feeling her tighten around him with impatience, began to move, his thrusts meeting hers, body against body, until he truly couldn't tell where he left off and she began.
And in the moment just before the world turned to light, he knew that somehow he'd find a way to convince her to stay. They belonged together—now and always—and he wasn't about to let her go without a fight.
27
The first trace of fuchsia had inched its way over the tops of the mountains, the color reflecting off of the bottoms of the clouds as if a celestial spotlight lit each one. Cara sat on the porch steps, hugging her middle to ward off the early morning chill, her attention riveted on the magnificent display above her, watching as the deep pink slowly faded into orange-tinged gold. She longed for a paintbrush, wanting to capture the magic.
"Penny for your thoughts."
Cara started at the sound of a voice, glancing up to see Loralee emerge from the doorway. She smiled at her great-grandmother, the concept somehow seeming less foreign now that she'd had a little time to get used to it. "I was wishing I could paint the sunrise." She patted the plank next to her, and Loralee dropped down beside her.
"It'd be nice to capture the magic. Hold on to it for the hard times." Loralee closed her eyes, the sun illuminating her face. "This is my favorite time of day."
"Mine, too." Cara studied the soft lines of Loralee's face. She'd always imagined that ladies of the evening were a harshlot, but Loralee had a special glow about her. Almost as if the sunshine emanated from inside her.Goodness. That's what it was. Pure and simple goodness.
"Are you going to stay here? When this is over, I mean?"
Cara bit her lip, considering the question. "I don't think so."
