Cruel Promise

by K. A. Linde

  He winked at me. “Chicago.”

  I grinned like a fool. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Now, get your ass in the car, so we can go.”

  I did as he’d said, sliding into the passenger seat of my Subaru. The drive was about two and a half hours, and by the time we made it to our hotel, it was late. I was already tired from the exhausting couple of weeks, but the drive had made me sleepy, too. I shook it off as we parked in the garage. He grabbed his duffel and then wheeled my suitcase inside the Palmer House.

  I nearly sighed with relief. I hadn’t known how much I’d missed a real city until I was back in one. Chicago wasn’t New York, but it was better than nothing.

  Plus, even I could admit that the Palmer House was a gorgeous hotel. An enormous, high-painted ceiling with columns bracketing the lobby and large red-carpeted staircases. If we weren’t staying at a Percy hotel, this was a good option.

  Sam quickly checked in and then came back to me. I bit my lip, debating on what I was about to do and then decided it was do or die. Might as well make the most of it.

  “I got you an extra key,” he said, passing it to me.

  “Thanks. You know, let me talk to them. I bet I can get an upgrade.”

  He laughed. “You think?”

  “I’m really good at it.”

  He handed me the rest of the information and his ID. “If you want to try.”

  “Be right back.”

  I walked up to the counter and smiled at the man behind the desk.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Hi, I’m Larkin St. Vincent,” I said, sliding him my black card. “Upgrade us to the penthouse.”

  His eyes widened at that name. Even here, my family made waves. “Of…of course, Miss St. Vincent.”

  Another minute later, and I had the keys to the top floor. I dragged Sam to the private elevator that took us up, up, up, and then we burst into our suite. His eyes rounded in shock.

  “You talked your way into this?” he asked incredulously. “What the hell did you tell them?”

  I carefully shut the door behind me and headed into our living quarters. I didn’t know what room Sam had reserved, but this had three bedrooms, a living room, dining room, pool table, Jacuzzi, and the best view of the city imaginable. It was exactly the sort of room that Larkin St. Vincent would get. Just not the Lark that Sam had gotten to know. I didn’t know which me was me. But I knew that if I wanted to be with him, I couldn’t keep hiding who I was any longer.

  “I have something to tell you,” I said, turning to face him.

  He’d stripped out of his winter jacket and looked at me with confusion. “That sounds serious.”

  “It is…a bit,” I admitted.

  “Okay. Should I sit down?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve been hiding part of who I am. I told you that I’m Lark Vincent, but that’s not exactly true.” I waved my hand. “Well, it is, and it isn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Larkin St. Vincent,” I blurted out. “Of St. Vincent’s Resorts and St. Vincent’s handbags and cosmetics.” I swallowed. “I’m the sole heir to St. Vincent’s Enterprise.”

  Sam sank into the chair with a plop. “Oh.”

  I bit my lip and looked away. I hated that oh. I knew what it meant. I’d seen it in people all my life. Heat colored my cheeks. Shit. I’d thought that it would be different with Sam. I’d thought that telling him wouldn’t change anything. Or at least, I’d hoped it wouldn’t. That it would be different than everyone else in my life. For so long, people had seen me as dollar signs or a name. It was exhausting.

  “Yeah,” I said softly, crossing my arms over my chest. “I guess…this is why I don’t tell anyone.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  “Because they look at me like that.” I pointed at him.

  “How am I looking at you?”

  I shrugged.

  He came to stand before me and tipped my chin up. “How am I looking at you?”

  But when I stared deep into his dark depths, it wasn’t there. I wasn’t just my parents’ money in his eyes.

  “Usually, people get weird about it,” I admitted. “They start to see me for something else.”

  “Lark, I only see you for you. Who your parents are, how much money you have, whether or not you’re an heiress,” he said with a soft laugh, “none of that matters to me.”

  I swallowed. “Really?”

  He nodded. “In fact, I hate that you ever had to lie about your identity. Though I think it all makes sense now.”

  “What does?”

  “I’ve been taking things slow with you because I felt like that was what you wanted. Like…you were hiding yourself from me. You weren’t fully into this.”

  “I was. I am,” I gasped.

  He stroked my cheek with his thumb. “I know. I see that now. I think I thought that you pulling back from me had something to do with our relationship. But I was seeing your fear about revealing who you really are.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I hated hiding. I just wanted to be…normal.”

  He chuckled and kissed me hard once. “Normal is overrated.”

  II

  “Sam, please,” I whispered against his lips.

  I pushed my fingers up into his hair, trying to get more of him. More, more, more. I couldn’t get enough.

  He didn’t try to stop me or slow us down. He leaned into my kiss, sliding his tongue along the seam of my lips and opening me to him. Our kiss deepened, intensified, until I felt like I could barely breathe. I wanted him to devour me whole.

  He seemed to sense that in my mood. The next thing I knew, he reached down and hoisted my legs up and around his hips. I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck and securing myself to him. But he was already walking us toward the open bedroom door.

  My back hit one of the posters, and he ground against me. I whimpered in desperation. Fuck, I wanted him. I wanted him so bad. Waiting had been so hard. But he’d known something was off even though I’d never told him. Sam knew me. Better than my parents. Better than anyone maybe. He’d seen the truth. He just hadn’t known what it was.

  And I loved him for it.

  The thought shook me to my core. I’d fallen in love with him.

  This was what it was supposed to feel like.

  Not the sham of relationships I’d had growing up. Not the thing they said it was, but what it really was. The highest high. Like I was soaring above the clouds. Everything in the world disappeared. And together, we transcended time, space, and reality. Until there was just this moment. I was perfectly okay with that. I was perfectly okay with falling in love with Sam Rutherford.

  But I was done waiting. We were stronger, happier for it, but it didn’t mean that I wanted to wait a second longer now that we were on the same page.

  “God, Lark, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he said, breaking from me and lowering me to my feet.

  “Me too. So much.”

  He stripped me from my jeans with practiced ease. My sweater came next along with the tank top I wore under it in lieu of a bra. I stood before him in nothing but a thong, and soon, that was gone, too.

  We’d gotten here before. Done everything but sex. And I trembled with need at the knowledge that there would be no stopping, no complaints about getting sleep or having to work the next day. Just us together. Like I wanted.

  Sam dropped to his knees before me, lifting one leg over his shoulder. He slid his hand up my inner thigh until he brushed against my core. I jerked slightly at his touch, but soon, his mouth replaced his fingers.

  “Oh fuck,” I groaned at the first flick of his tongue against my clit.

  I reached up and grasped the poster on the bed to hold myself in place. I felt like any second I was going to collapse as he pleasured me with his skilled tongue. A second later, he inserted a finger inside of me, and my moans were audible. A second finger followed, and I half-wanted to ride him I was so
turned on. My orgasm hit me in a rocking spasm all at once. It was like the two-and-a-half-hour ride up to Chicago had been all the foreplay I needed.

  “Fuck, Lark,” he said.

  His eyes were glazed with need as he rose to his feet and removed his own clothing.

  “I want you,” I told him.

  He grinned a cocky smile that I claimed as my own. I’d only ever seen him use that particular smile with me. And I was perfectly okay with that.

  My eyes rounded at the sight of him as he stripped out of his boxers. He jutted upward, hard as a rock. As if my own climax had made him as hot as it had made me. I reached out and took the length of him in my hand. I experimentally pumped up and down, up and down. He twitched in my hand, clearly enjoying my ministrations.

  “Lark,” he groaned.

  “Should I taste you?”

  He clutched my arms and pushed me back a step closer to the bed. “I’ve waited for you this long. I’m not waiting any longer.”

  My smile was teasing. “How do you want me?”

  He withdrew a condom and placed it in my hand.

  I tore the foil and removed the condom. “Tell me.”

  He chuckled softly. “You’re issuing commands now?”

  I stroked his dick one more time and then pressed the condom to the head of him, ever so slowly dragging it down his length. “I like to know.”

  “I want to get inside of you, Lark,” he told me. “I want to make love to you.”

  Make love.

  My heart stuttered in my chest.

  Not fuck.

  Not have sex.

  He wanted to make love to me.

  “You do?” I whispered, losing my bravado.

  His eyes were bright with need when he looked down at me. “Yes. I love you, Lark.”

  I inhaled sharply at the words. The words I’d thought but hadn’t been able to say aloud. It was as if he’d read my mind. Seen deep inside of me and known my soul. It amazed me that we were on the same page. Thinking the same thing in nearly the same moment.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered back.

  Something I’d never told another person. Not once. And I was glad because they never would have been true before this.

  I crawled backward on the bed, and Sam followed me, laying his weight across me. Our eyes caught and held. I loved him. It was a surreal moment. And it felt utterly, perfectly, unanimously right. That we had always been leading up to this moment. From that first day on the campaign when I’d walked into the office.

  He brushed a lock of my red hair out of my face and then eased forward into me. I was already so primed that there was no resistance. He slid in like he was always meant to be there. My missing puzzle piece.

  Our bodies moved together. A fluid motion so smooth and familiar, it was as if we’d done this before. And I didn’t want to stop. Not as he brought his lips onto mine. Not as I snaked my legs around his waist to draw him closer against me. Not as his hands dug into my hips so that he could drive into me faster. Not when we hit the peak and fell off together.

  Stars exploded in my vision as I cried out into the night. He was right there with me.

  My body turned to mush. Sweat coated my pale, freckled skin. My chest heaved up and down from the exertion.

  And I felt the best I’d ever felt.

  “Please tell me that you brought more condoms,” I said in between deep breaths.

  Sam laughed and kissed my shoulder before sliding out of me and heading for the bathroom. “You’re in luck, City Girl.”

  I chuckled and threw my hands above my head in delight. Exhaustion took me just as hard, and by the time he returned, I was nearly asleep. I never slept enough on campaign. It was hard to calm down after such crazy days and harder to wake up. To feel this relaxed was almost unheard of.

  “Going to fall asleep on me already?” Sam asked, running a hand down my back.

  “So comfortable.”

  “I have a present for you.”

  I rolled over and groggily opened my eyes. “A present?”

  He nodded. Then he held out a carefully wrapped gift.

  I grabbed my sweater off the end of the bed and pulled it on over my head before reaching for the package, which was about the size of my palm. I slowly unwrapped it. My hand went to my mouth as I realized what I was looking at. Nestled in the center of the paper was a small wooden lark.

  “Is this…me?” I asked. My eyes lifted to his. “Did you make this?”

  He sank onto the bed next to me. “Yeah. My dad taught me to carve when I was young. It’s a hobby that soothes me when I can’t get my brain to shut off. So, I’ve been working on it for a couple months right before bed.”

  I pulled the bird to my chest. “Sam, thank you. This means so much.”

  “I know it’s not what you’re used to,” he said after a minute.

  I shook my head. “No, don’t condition it. It’s perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said and softly kissed me again. “And I’m glad that you told me who you are. That must have been difficult.”

  “No, I never should have hidden from you in the first place.”

  “I understand why you did. You didn’t want to be judged for who you are. A lot of people look at me and see dumb Southern hick,” he said with a shrug. “But I hope that I show others that I’m more than that.”

  I laughed at his description. “I think we’re both a lot more than we seem. Even though, under normal circumstances, we’d be complete opposites.”

  “Then thank god for the campaign,” Sam said, pulling me into him. “Otherwise, I would never have met you.”

  “Yes,” I said, sinking into him. “Thank god for the campaign.”

  III

  From that moment on, our summer was dedicated to the national convention. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—the convention was in Milwaukee in the middle of July. Which meant that our entire office and as many volunteers as we could muster were supposed to drive into Milwaukee to be part of the process and fill seats.

  I loved campaigns. From the outside, it might look frustrating. But from the inside, it was packaging a candidate into a believable platform and selling them to people like any other household product. It was taking something I believed in and making it consumable for others. People were twice as likely to vote every time they talked to someone about who they were going to vote for. They were even more likely to vote if someone knocked on their door or if they gave money to a candidate or if they volunteered for a campaign. Getting out there and organizing the campaign meant that I was having a literal impact on not just the campaign, but also the country. And it was worth it to me. The long hours and the high stress were all worth it.

  But I hated the convention.

  Yes, I wanted to see Woodhouse get nominated officially. The rest of the fanfare gave me a headache. A lot of pomp and posturing that did little to change anyone’s mind. That money would be better off on the ground as far as I was concerned.

  Not that I could say that to anyone but Sam and Moira as we got our volunteers off of the bus and directed them to their designated seats.

  I was already tired by the time we snuck away with our staff badges to find a good place to grab a beer.

  “I’m thinking beer and then a nap,” I said with a yawn.

  Moira nodded. “I’m down for that.”

  “Don’t y’all want to see the nomination process?”

  “No,” Moira and I said in unison. Then we burst into laughter.

  “Your loss,” Sam said with a shrug.

  “Oh, look, delegates,” Moira said as we passed a group of men and women in expensive business suits, wearing floor credentials.

  I scanned the crowd with excitement. These were the people who actually got to cast the ballots for the primary nomination. It was purely a formality at this point, but still, it felt like an important job. And they got the best seats, too.

  “I recogniz
e a few of them,” Sam said. “That guy is a state senator from North Carolina. That woman is a governor of, I think, Nevada. The redheaded man is the mayor of San Francisco.”

  Sam continued on, pointing out people that I’d had no idea how he knew. He must have had a knack for names and faces, or he studied this information extensively. It was damn impressive.

  “Beer,” Moira said, trying to pull him away. “You can fangirl later.”

  Sam laughed. “I’m not fangirling.”

  “Yes, you are,” I said with a grin.

  Then a voice called out from the crowd, “Lark!”

  I glanced up, immediately on guard. Who the hell would know me here?

  But then I saw a woman melt out of the crowd and stride toward me. She was a tall, imposing figure in a white power suit.

  I heard Sam say next to me, “That’s Leslie Kensington. She’s a state senator in New York. She was barely defeated in her governor race a few years ago.”

  “I know,” I said as I stepped up and embraced my best friend’s mother. “Leslie, it’s so good to see you.”

  “You too, dear. What are you doing here?” Leslie asked. “I thought you were in New York.”

  I held up my staff credentials. “I’m working as a campaign organizer for Woodhouse in Madison.”

  “That’s incredible,” she said with a genuine smile. “I had no idea you had an interest in politics.”

  “I didn’t either. I saw Woodhouse speak in the city last year and decided I had to join up. I’m loving the work though. It’s very rewarding.”

  Leslie smiled at me. And my heart swelled. I hadn’t realized that I’d missed my home so much. I hadn’t had pangs of homesickness, but here, with Leslie, I felt different.

  “I’m so glad you’re doing it. We need hardworking people like you. What do your parents think?”

  I waved away the question I had no intention of answering. “How’s Penn? And Court?” I added hastily.

  “You know my boys.” Leslie rolled her eyes, avoiding the question as deftly as I’d avoided hers.

  I laughed. “I sure do.”

  “Anyway, I have to return to my delegate duties. But when you come back to the city, come find me. I need some new, young talent. I’m thinking of running in the next mayoral race.”