A Love Surrendered

by Julie Lessman

  He strode to the door, and her heart climbed in her throat. “Patrick, please—talk to me!” But his posture was as hard as the night Sam O’Rourke had come to town years back, upending their happy home. She’d seen the same cold anger that she saw now, and shame slithered in to join forces with fear, icing her skin. She’d promised then never to keep the truth from him again, never lie, never deceive. Never withhold information he had a right to know in order to manipulate her own way, and never put her desires before the integrity of their marriage. She swallowed hard. Before the integrity of the man before her, whose pride she’d wounded again.

  She ran to his side, her remorse as real as the tears on her cheeks. “Patrick, I’m sorry! Adopting Gabe means the world to me, it’s true, but not as much as our marriage. I was wrong for not discussing this with you, wrong for trying to force your hand, and I’m sorry.” She placed trembling fingers to his arm, eyes pleading with his. “Please forgive me and come back to bed.”

  A nerve flickered in his cheek as he stared, his anger appearing to ebb despite the resolve she saw etched in his face. “Empty apologies won’t win my favor this time, Marcy, but I appreciate the fact you can admit you were wrong.” He gripped her chin, the softening of his tone an indication they were on the mend. “I love you, Marcy, you know that. And because of that love, I was willing to forego my reservations regarding Gabe. You didn’t need to calculate or manipulate to get your own way. My love should have been enough.” His fingers slid from her chin to the side of her face, cupping her head at the back of the neck, his strength gentle but firm. “And your love for me should be enough as well—to trust me as the head of this family regarding decisions affecting my life as well as yours . . . and this family’s.”

  A sigh wavered from her lips as she nodded. “You’re right, Patrick, and I apologize again for not discussing this with you sooner. And for shamelessly resorting to both feminine and culinary wiles to force my own way.” She drew in a deep breath. “I truly mean it, that if you say no to this adoption, then the decision is done.”

  He studied her through wary eyes that held a hint of regret. “That said, darlin’, your apology may have diffused my anger, but your actions haven’t exactly shored up my trust. I can’t help but suspect that although you say I have the deciding vote, those may be mere words from someone who still expects to get her own way.” He sighed and pulled her into his arms. “Which means, darlin’, that although I may be inclined to sign those papers in the future . . . ,” his hold stiffened, as if to brace himself for her volatile reaction, “I’m not inclined to do so tonight.”

  Her eyelids wavered closed, all hope for Gabe to be an O’Connor by Christmas as out of reach as her husband’s trust. But not forever, she reminded herself, grateful that Patrick had left the door open . . . Exhaling her resignation, she sank against his chest, putting her dream for Gabe into the hands of God—a God who had ordained her husband as the head of this family.

  She drew in a cleansing breath and released it again, along with her right to be angry. “I understand, Patrick, and as I said before, this decision is done.” Pulling away, she retrieved the adoption papers and returned to his side, standing before him with shaky resolve. “And to prove your trust is more important than any desire I might have to adopt Gabe and that I mean what I say, let’s put this to rest right now.” With a firm set of her jaw that belied the sting in her eyes, she ripped the papers in two and then again before crumpling them in a ball. Marching over to the waste can, she tossed them inside before squaring her shoulders. “Now, can we go to bed, please?” she said with a catch in her throat. “I’d very much like for you to hold me.”

  He stared, mouth ajar. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

  Marcy staved off the inclination to bristle with a jut of her chin. “What? You think I’m so inflexible that I can’t accept when God tells me no?”

  A boyish grin eased across his face as he slowly moved to where she stood with her hands on her hips. He latched a sturdy arm to her waist and pulled her close, teasing her senses with a whiff of musk soap. “So I’m God, now, am I?” he said, trailing her jaw with kisses.

  She slapped at his chest, dodging his lips when they dove for her neck. “Hardly, Patrick O’Connor. God is a God of mercy, not some Irish tyrant who bullies his wife.”

  He chuckled as he held her at bay, one brow angled high. “Bullies his wife? You mean the same wife who ‘bullies’ her husband through blatant manipulation?”

  Her smile slanted as she tilted her head. “If it was ‘blatant,’ you stubborn Irishman, you would have seen through it with the pie. I despise coconut cream, and you know it.”

  His laughter was warm against her ear when he swallowed her up in his arms. “Despise my pie, yes, but you love me, so I just assumed there were no strings attached, Marceline.” He kissed her neck and shocked her when he swooped her up in his arms.

  Her breath caught. “For heaven’s sake, Patrick, what are you doing?”

  He carried her to the bed. “Just following orders, Marceline. You wanted to go to bed and you wanted me to hold you. Your wish is my command.”

  The edge of her lip crooked. “If my wish was your command, Patrick, I’d have signed papers tucked in my drawer right now.” She sighed and leaned against his chest, allowing his arm to reel her in close. Moisture suddenly misted her eyes. “Do you realize the last time you carried me like this was over the threshold of this house over thirty years ago?”

  His voice was tender and husky with emotion. “Lightest burden I’ve ever had.”

  She sat up, the makings of a pout on her lips. “Oh, so now I’m a burden, am I?”

  The grin on his lips softened into a smile. “Loving you has never been a burden, Marcy, even on our worst day.” His smile veered off center. “Perhaps ‘challenge’ is a better word.”

  She started to swat him, but he disarmed her with a chuckle and a firm hold, tugging her back before shifting her to face him again as they lay side by side. With a tender stroke of her jaw, he leaned to kiss her, his touch almost reverent. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Marcy—ever. You have brought me more joy than I ever dreamed possible, more joy than I ever deserved.”

  “Except for tonight,” she whispered, her heart swelling at the look of love in his eyes.

  “Especially tonight,” he said softly, brushing his lips against hers with a kiss that quickened her pulse. He gave her a tight squeeze and then bounded from bed. “I need water. Do you want anything while I’m up—water, another fan . . . new husband?”

  She sighed, head propped on her elbow. “Water would be nice, thank you, but hurry up, please. I believe you’re cutting into my holding time.”

  He disappeared down the hall and she lay back, staring at the ceiling with a melancholy smile. “You say ‘all things work together for good to them that love God,’ so I’m going to hold you to that. Because if ever there was a demonstration of my love for you and Patrick, Lord, this is it.” She closed her eyes and waited, finally hearing Patrick’s bare feet padding down the hall. He closed the door, then returned to the bed to deliver the water.

  She sat up. “Thank you,” she said, brows knit in a frown when he turned on the light. She blinked, hand to her eyes. “What are you doing?”

  Ignoring her, he proceeded to the wastebasket, where he fished out the crumpled papers.

  “Patrick, what on earth are you doing?” she repeated, the crack in her voice conveying her shock. She blinked and pushed the hair from her eyes when he sat on the bed and unraveled the papers, smoothing them out. Her breath hitched at the tape he held in his hands. “W-what are you d-doing?” she whispered, barely able to breathe.

  He glanced up, the look of love in his eyes bringing her to tears. “You tore it up to win my trust; I’m patching it to win yours.” He caressed her cheek with his fingers, his voice rough with emotion. “Because God knows, Marceline, when I see you give up the desire of your heart to honor me, I will move heav
en and earth to give it back.”

  Oh, God, just like you . . .

  She stared in disbelief as he repaired the papers with awkward strips of tape and then reached behind him for the pen on the nightstand. Her heart caught in her throat when he signed and handed them back, lips cocked. “Your signature has already been applied, I believe?”

  She blinked, feeling as if this were a dream, and then with a broken sob, she lunged into his arms, knocking him flat on the edge of the bed. “Oh, Patrick, I have never loved you more!” She smothered his neck with kisses, now salty from her tears, then squeezed him as if she would never let go. “I just knew it! I knew you would never disappoint me, because you, my love, are man with a voracious need to give to those he loves.”

  “Mmm . . .” Nestling his lips in the crook of her neck, he drew her body flush with his. “Voracious appetite, indeed.” He pulled back to study her with a twist of his lips. “Even so, I think you’re a little too sure of yourself, woman.”

  She sat up, clutching the rumpled document to her chest with another sweet sting of tears. “Oh yes, my love, I am—quite sure I’m one of the luckiest women alive.”

  He plucked the papers from her hand and placed them on the nightstand with a perilous smile. Tugging her close, he smothered her throat with soft, lingering kisses. “And I’m quite sure that tonight, at least, I’ll be one of the luckiest men alive.” He prodded her back on the pillow, voice husky with intent as he nuzzled her mouth. “Make love to me, Marceline,” he whispered, “before Gabe makes me too old to enjoy it.”

  Marcy cupped his jaw with eyes full of love. “Only if you admit Gabe keeps us young.”

  His eyes drifted closed as he bent to suckle the soft flesh of her ear. “Mmm . . . maybe a wee bit, darlin’,” he whispered. His lips trailed the curve of her jaw, hovering before he slid his mouth firmly against hers. “But you? In my bed like this?” He feathered a finger along the lacy strap of her gown. “Makes me feel all of twenty again . . .”

  14

  She was hopelessly in love and knew it. Annie relinquished a contented sigh, sneaking a peek at the man of her dreams as he regaled her with a comical tale of Joe’s deathly fear of carousels after retching on a merry-go-round with his three-year-old niece. Despite the chilly autumn night, she felt warm and gooey inside, totally relaxed against the front seat of Steven’s father’s car as they drove home from dinner and the movies. She studied his handsome profile, the clean line of his jaw, and another wispy sigh floated out. Oh, Lord, if only he felt the same . . .

  It certainly seemed as if he did, at least given the last four weeks, which had been the best of her life. Phone calls during the week and dates on the weekend had not only given her glimpses into a deep and honorable man who gave his all to every task—at work, in his family, and with her—but also hints of the shy and endearing little boy who was curious about life and bent on conquering it. From moonlight strolls on Revere Beach to picnics in the park to fishing with Glory and Gabe, Steven possessed both a quiet strength and a mischievous humor, a man who was at home wrestling with her sister on the floor or discussing politics with her aunt. Other than their date last week when he’d kissed her in the car rather than walking her to the door, he’d been the perfect gentleman and most definitely a man who could turn her insides to mush with the crook of his smile. She tugged on her lip. Or too many heated kisses in a car?

  He turned and gave her an easy smile, and it may as well have been a heat wave in July. Swallowing hard, she responded with a shy one of her own, her pulse skipping when he reached for her hand. “Great movie tonight, wasn’t it, Trouble in Paradise?”

  “Mmmm . . . I love romantic comedies, but then I love romance in any form,” she teased. “As long as I’m with you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Good to hear,” he said with a grin, tingling her skin when he slowly grazed her palm with the pad of his thumb. “I sure don’t want any trouble in our paradise, Annie, because things are too good the way they are.”

  “I agree,” she whispered, casually slipping her hand from his when the tingle from his touch triggered a warm shiver. She deflected with a reach into her purse to pull out some gum. “Juicy Fruit?” she asked, unwrapping a piece and offering it to him.

  “Thanks.” He took it and popped it into his mouth. “You cold?” he asked, extending an arm as an invitation to snuggle close.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Yes you are—I just saw you shiver.” He patted the seat, then tugged her over. His muscular arm looped over her shoulders and butted her close. “Now . . . isn’t this better?” he asked, fingers gently skimming her throat.

  Annie gulped. Um . . . yes and no . . .

  He stopped at a red light, stealing her breath when he casually slid her hair aside to kiss her neck. “You drive me crazy, Annie,” he whispered.

  The light turned green, and she started breathing again . . . until his fingers traced to the hollow of her throat in gentle exploration. She closed her eyes, feeling her body beginning to hum. “We should stop . . . ,” she whispered, totally unaware she’d spoken aloud.

  “Mmm?” His voice sounded husky and dazed while his hand roved up to graze the lobe of her ear. “You say something?” he asked, maneuvering the corner with one hand before easing the car to the curb in front of her house.

  Relief whooshed from her lungs when he downshifted and turned the engine off, and before he could touch her again, she scooted over and reached for her purse. She gave him a feeble smile, fingers white on the knob. “This w-was a w-wonderful evening, Steven, thank you so much,” she said, words tumbling over each other as she waited for him to open his door.

  Only he didn’t. “Don’t go yet, please,” he whispered, curling an arm to her waist with a smoky look in his eyes. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Steven, it’s late, and I should go in . . .”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s only eleven, and your curfew is midnight, remember?”

  A lump shifted in her throat.

  He turned her to face him, fanning her hair away from her face while his thumb grazed the edge of her jaw. “Annie, please, I’m crazy about you and I would never hurt you,” he said softly, bending to brush her lips with his own.

  Her eyes fluttered closed while her breathing quickened, and the caress of his mouth, the scent of his aftershave, weakened her resolve.

  “I think I may be falling in love with you,” he said quietly. Taking her hand, he slowly lifted it to his mouth and kissed her palm, his gaze locking with hers. “I have something I want to give you, to let you know how special you are to me.” He reached into his pocket and placed a delicate silver chain in her palm with a ring attached. “It’s only my college ring, Annie, but I want you to have something of mine now to show my intent. And then someday, if things work out, I hope to give you the real thing.”

  “Oh, Steven!” Her heart soared in her chest. “Do you mean it?”

  He grinned. “What do you think?” he teased, gently nuzzling her lips before easing her back to deepen the kiss.

  Oh, Faith, he loves me! As if they had a mind of their own, Annie’s arms slipped around Steven’s neck, and she returned his kiss while a heady warmth invaded her body.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice almost hoarse as his hands swept the length of her hips, skimming her thigh and quivering her stomach.

  “A good night kiss is fine, but when the flutters and tingles escalate, nip it in the bud . . .”

  Faith’s words broke through the haze and she gently shoved him back, her breathing as labored as his. “Steven, I should go,” she said, “before we get carried away.”

  He smoothed disheveled curls from her eyes, cradling her face with his palm. “I’m in love with you, Annie,” he whispered, a tinge of hurt in his eyes. “Doesn’t that mean anything? I’ve been on my best behavior for months now, so please—can’t I just hold you awhile?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t
think we should. The more we kiss, the harder it is to stop.”

  “That’s normal,” he said, gaze tender. “When two people feel the way we do, it’s natural to want to be close, natural to want to give of ourselves to each other. Because that’s what love is.” Grazing her jaw with his thumb, he slowly leaned in, mouth hovering over hers. “Let me love you, Annie,” he whispered, skimming her lips, “just for a while . . .”

  Real love denies self to give those we love God’s best.

  Faith’s words drifted in her brain, causing her to shudder. “No, that’s not what love is,” she said quietly, nudging him away once again. “I can’t allow myself to be intimate with you, Steven, and we would, because when you touch me, kiss me, even a little, I feel myself losing control, and I love you too much to risk that.” She steeled her resolve, painfully aware she may well lose him. “And if you truly loved me,” she said, her voice a pained whisper, “you’d honor my wishes for a kiss at the door instead of pushing for more.”

  He blinked, the barb of her words obviously triggering his temper. “And if you really loved me, you’d trust me with more than a kiss at the door.” A nerve flickered in his angular jaw. “Which is why I didn’t want to get involved with someone as young as you in the first place.”

  She stared, jaw slack before her ire flared. “You mean someone as young and ‘innocent,’ as I recall, which certainly wouldn’t be the case for long if you had your way.”

  ———

  She may as well have slapped him, given the sting of heat in his face—her words slammed against him with all the force of his guilty past. She didn’t trust him, and with good reason, but the reality of her statement stripped away any self-respect he’d earned in the last three months. He’d worked hard to meet her demands, deny himself any desire he’d felt to kiss her, hold her, touch her, and for what? So she could fling it in his face once again that he couldn’t be trusted, that he would use her like he’d used her sister. The injustice of it was like a blow to the chest, joining forces with the fear in his gut that said she was right.