No Promises

by N. Raines

  "Yeah?" She glanced down at herself as though double-checking.

  "Hell yeah."

  When she looked back up at him, her eyes were wide and glistening, her lips full and slightly open. Inviting his kiss. He accepted the invitation. He set both their beers on the windowsill, then pulled her to her feet and into his arms, wanting to erase all trace of that dickwad Cody from her mind. It might be a pride thing, or a guy thing, but he meant to be the only man in her thoughts tonight.

  She flattened her palms against his back, urging him even closer. Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her off the floor while she threw her legs around his hips.

  Instead of lowering her to the bed, he braced her against the wall. Grabbing her ass, he hitched her higher, tighter against his pelvis. Her legs were still wrapped around him, her dress bunched up around her middle. He wanted her to feel how hard she made him. They were sex to sex now, with only a few layers of clothing separating them.

  She sucked in a hissing breath when he bumped his swollen, denim-covered cock against her. Her eyelids drooped. Yeah. She felt that. She wasn't thinking about that ass Cody anymore, was she?

  Flexing his hips, he nudged her again, aimed for the sweet spot. Sam pushed against him, grasping his shoulders, his neck, to keep from falling. Sweat beaded on his forehead as they rocked against each other. Her face grew flushed; her eyes squeezed tight. Her breath was hot on his neck as his blood thundered in his ears. A tingle worked down his spine, but he fought it back. He didn't want to come yet. Not until she did.

  Thank God, he didn't have much longer to wait.

  "Oh." She trembled, then stiffened in his arms as she climaxed, her pussy pressed hard to the bulge between his legs. To keep from going off, he counted backward from one hundred. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven…

  ****

  Still woozy from her orgasm, Sam was only dimly aware of him laying her on the mattress and removing her panties. Her head and back rested on the mattress while her hips lay on the edge. She held her arms out to Rick. "Come here."

  "In a minute."

  Her lower half was now completely exposed, her dress still bunched around her waist. It would be all wrinkled. She'd have to get it dry-cleaned before Morgan's party.

  So what?

  She shivered as the cool air brushed her naked flesh. Her nipples were hard and achy. Rick stepped between her legs, danced his fingers from her knee to her inner thigh, slipped them between her slick folds. He dipped inside to collect her dew, then swirled it around her swollen, aching clit. She lifted her hips, urging him on, wanting more contact. Suddenly, all her concentration focused on that one spot where his finger teased and twirled, her nerve endings crying More, more.

  Rick stood over her like a giant who wanted to dominate her, claim her, control her response. Who wanted to be the only one in her world. He worked her slowly, easing up on her, drawing out the torment. Her hold on sanity was stretched as taut as piano wire. With one last flick of his finger, the wire broke with a twang and she came hard, her body convulsing. He milked her climax, rubbing and teasing as the spasms went on and on. At last they subsided and all Sam could do was sprawl, limp and inert.

  Rick, on the other hand, couldn't move fast enough. He jerked down his jeans and briefs, kicked them aside. His cock was hard and huge. Sam watched him dreamily as he reached for the bedside table and grabbed a condom. He rolled it on, his expression tight, then grabbed Sam's thighs and entered her in one thrust.

  "Ah!" His forcefulness startled her. Though she was wet and relaxed, it still hurt some. But she didn't care. He pounded into her, following his own pleasure, and his single-mindedness turned her on. She hooked her legs around him, urging him on. Heat sizzled through her, turning her perspiration to steam. "Come on, babe," she murmured. "Come on. Come for me."

  He came with a roar, his face contorting, his hands tightening on her thighs. That tipped Sam over the edge one more time. Waves of delight rippled through her.

  ****

  She didn't mind that she was sore, that the narrow bed had them squished together, or that their skin was sticky with sweat. Rick lay sleeping with his face against her neck. Even his snoring didn't bother her. It was all good.

  The furnishings in the loft were sparse, but Sam noticed that Rick had added a few things. Besides the minifridge, there was a makeshift bookshelf holding a collection of paperbacks. He'd retrieved his laptop from his original apartment and a few other items. He was making the place comfortable, more like home.

  From the way he shifted and sighed, she could tell he had awakened. "I like what you've done up here," she told him.

  He blinked and lifted his head a few inches to look at her. "Huh?"

  "The shelf and the other stuff. Looks nice." If he was fixing up the space, did that mean he intended to stay? Hope surged like bubbles in champagne.

  He grunted and let his head fall back to the pillow.

  "What kind of books are those?" She was hungry to know as much as she could about him.

  He scratched his chest. "What?"

  "Your books. What do you like to read?"

  "Seriously?" His chest and shoulders shook with laughter.

  "What?" Was there something wrong with the question?

  "Why do girls always want to talk after sex?"

  She elbowed him in the ribs, not too hard. "Why do guys start snoring like buffalo the minute they're finished?"

  He raised his head again, pretending to be insulted. "Buffalo? Hey, come on, it's not that bad."

  "You don't have to hear yourself."

  "I do not sound like a buffalo."

  "Oh. Okay. Like a wildebeest, then."

  His mouth twisted in disgust. "A what?"

  "A wildebeest. I saw it on the nature channel," she answered in a superior tone.

  He flopped back down onto the pillow. "You don't even know what a wildebeest sounds like."

  "Yeah, I do. Like you. When you snore."

  "Come here, you." He grabbed her, pulled her tight against him. "Okay. What did you ask me?"

  She loved this. Lying in his arms, chilling, goofing around. Getting to know him. She twirled her finger in his chest hair. "About your books."

  "Hmm. Books. Let me see. Mysteries. Adventure, stuff like that. True adventure. Mountain climbing, sailing around the world…"

  "Would you ever want to do that in real life? Climb a mountain?" Fear clutched her at even the thought of him doing something so dangerous.

  "Maybe. It'd be exciting."

  Of course he'd feel that way. He was a paramedic, an adrenaline junkie. Even his reading reflected that.

  "So what about you?" he asked.

  "I, uh, I like nonfiction. Books about women overcoming obstacles. Stories about animals—"

  "Of course."

  "Of course. Black Beauty was my favorite book when I was little. What was yours?"

  "I was one of those hyper kids who couldn't sit still. Drove my parents nuts. So I didn't read much when I was a kid. Well, except for comic books," he said. "I wanted to be Batman or Spider-Man when I grew up."

  He had wanted to grow up to be a superhero. "You wanted to save people's lives."

  He smirked. "Nah, I just wanted to climb tall buildings like Spidey and drive a cool car like the Batmobile."

  Sam wasn't a bit fooled. "So you grew up to be a paramedic. You still got to be a hero."

  His mouth flattened and his eyes turned dull. "Some hero."

  What was the story with his job, anyway? Whenever she brought it up, he closed himself off, just as he'd done when she asked about his tattoo.

  He was okay with sexing her, but she had to walk on pins and needles when it came to anything really personal.

  Well, it wasn't okay with her. He'd given her the courage to come here tonight in her party dress. She was going to take that courage and forge ahead, whether he liked it or not. "It's awfully quiet and dull around here. Nothing much going on. You must miss the excitement of you
r job."

  His face was a mask. "Miss it? Miss the frequent flyers who call 911 every time they cut their finger or stub their toe? Or the same old drunks who puke all over themselves and you? Take them to the ER knowing you'll see them again next week just as shit-faced. And the druggies so high on God knows what, they try to beat the crap out of you. No, I don't miss that kind of excitement at all."

  "That's not all it was," Sam said, knowing she was treading on dangerous ground. "You helped people. You saved lives."

  A muscle in his jaw quivered. "Do you know how it feels trying to save a kid who was shot right on the street 'cause he got in the way of two wannabe thugs? Or because he found a loaded gun Mommy and Daddy were too stupid to lock up? And you know that even if they fix him up, he's still gonna go back to the same shitty neighborhood, the same idiot parents? The whole system's fucked. I'm glad I'm out of it."

  That startled her. "Are you out of it? I thought you just had some time off."

  He clenched his jaw and a look of self-reproach shot across his face. She knew then that he'd told her more than he meant to.

  "I haven't made up my mind." His voice was low.

  Wow. Sam was shocked into silence. Maybe he was right about things being fucked-up, but if Rick wanted to quit, it wasn't because of the system. It was because something had happened to him, something terrible. Something he wasn't willing to share with her.

  Rick suddenly held up his forearm, the one that read No Promises. "You remember when you asked me about this?"

  She blinked. "Sure."

  "I got it 'cause I fucked up." His expression was grim. "I fucked up and made a promise I couldn't keep." Rick tapped the ink on his forearm. He lay back on the mattress. "I got this to remind me never to screw up like that again."

  Though he pulled her close, Sam knew his thoughts were a million miles away.

  She rubbed his arm, his shoulder, giving him comfort the only way she could.

  "No. I don't miss it." His tone was flat, adamant. Still, Sam had to wonder—who was he trying to convince? Her or himself?

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, Rick was distant and uncommunicative. He barely looked at Sam during breakfast, and any remarks she directed at him were met with shrugs, grunts, and monosyllables. He clung to his pissy mood during their drive to Shankey's. By the time they reached the garage, Sam was in a pissy mood herself.

  She parked the truck at the curb and turned off the ignition. "What's your problem today?"

  He opened the door. "No problem."

  Right.

  She climbed down from the truck and slammed her door hard. He'd already left her behind, like she wasn't even there. Sam took her own sweet time following. She refused to hustle after him like a lost puppy.

  Was he embarrassed about opening up to her yesterday? Was he one of those guys who thought it was "weak" to share his feelings? The thought enveloped her in a black cloud of gloom. She wanted to feel close to him, and not just during sex. He helped her feel good about herself, especially after she told him about the whole Cody thing. Why couldn't he let her do the same for him?

  She couldn't kid herself anymore. She had fallen for Rick Russo. And it wasn't just because he was the first guy she'd slept with. She'd learned things about him she hadn't suspected. He was an idealist—though he'd laugh his ass off if she told him that. He was the kid who'd wanted to grow up to be Spider-Man, who'd turned dreaming of superpowers into the next best thing: saving people's lives in the real world.

  But something had turned him from an idealist to a cynic. Was it the pile-on of daily disappointments and abuse grinding him down, or had something else happened? Something he couldn't or wouldn't talk about?

  Sam clenched her jaw till it hurt, and blinked tears of frustration from her eyes. Why won't he trust me?

  Rick wasn't the only pain in the ass she had to deal with. Big Boy was another one whose trust was tough to earn. Rick brought him bacon every morning, and though Big Boy accepted it the way a king would accept an offering from a lowly subject, the cat still wouldn't let either of them pet him. At the same time, he was always among the first to greet them, as though granting them permission to enter his territory.

  Until this morning. Today he was MIA.

  "Has he ever done this before?" Rick asked as he hefted the cat food bag into the F-150's bed. "Just disappeared?"

  "No." Sam chewed her lip in worry. "Not since I've been coming here." They had already circled the lot twice looking for him.

  "Well, he's due for a break then. Probably just taking a breather, looking for some other cats to boss around." Rick gave her a cocky grin.

  Sam scanned the cat lot one last time before Rick laid his hand on her shoulder. "That cat can take care of himself. He'll probably be back tomorrow, lording over us like usual."

  She nodded, comforted by his touch and grateful he'd dispensed with the hard-ass act. "Yeah."

  Dumb cat. It pissed her off, worrying about him when Big Boy couldn't care less.

  At least Rick was acting human again. He sat comfortably in the passenger seat, not a care in the world. He and Big Boy had a lot in common. Loners who went their own way, did their own thing. Who didn't need anyone.

  Including her.

  "Tell me more about your family," she said as they stopped for a red light.

  He gave her a look of mild surprise. "What for?"

  "Because I asked. I'm curious. I'd like to know more about you. You know plenty about me."

  He shrugged and sighed as if to say, All right, I'll humor you. "What do you want to know?"

  Her hands twisted on the steering wheel. "Just tell me something." Let me in. Talk to me like a friend, not just a hookup.

  "Okay, well, like I said, they still live in the house I grew up in. My mother was a stay-at-home mom. Always there when I got home from school, the whole bit."

  So far, so good. Sounded like a nice childhood. No arguing, no bitter divorce.

  "Then AJ came along. My kid brother."

  That's right. She remembered now that Rick's younger brother had been a few grades behind her in school.

  "He was born with cerebral palsy." Rick's tone was matter-of-fact. There was no embarrassment, no pity or sense that his brother's situation was some big tragedy. "My mom turned into a warrior for him. Got super involved with some organizations to support kids with CP and special needs."

  His mom sounded like a badass. "What's he doing now?"

  "He's a senior in high school, so I guess he's texting chicks and trying to get laid." He paused, shook his head. "No, he's a smart kid. A good guy, not a screwup like I was." Rick's expression softened as he revealed the pride he felt for his younger brother.

  "And he's your only sibling, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "And your father—"

  Rick didn't even let her finish the sentence before correcting her. "Stepfather, actually. He's my stepfather."

  His tone of voice and clipped speech warned her to tread carefully. So. Not quite the perfect family after all. "Okay. But you have his last name."

  "Yeah, he adopted me. He wanted my mom, and I was part of the package. To get her, he had to take me too." He spoke carelessly, but his shoulders were stiff, his body tense.

  God, how awful for him to feel that he wasn't wanted. "If he adopted you, you are his son."

  His lip curled in derision. "Yeah, that's what the documents say. It's all nice and legal."

  "What about your…?" She didn't know how to phrase her next question. She didn't want to say "real father," because that wasn't right. "Natural father" sounded hella awkward. "Birth father"?

  Rick turned her way. "Huh?"

  "About the guy who…you know, was with your mom before?"

  "You mean my sperm donor? He only hung around long enough to knock up my mother before he skipped town. I've never known him. Oh, I know who he is. I have a name. But he's never been in my life."

  Ouch. When they stopped at another r
ed light, she glanced his way. "I'm sorry."

  He shrugged. "What for? You can't miss what you never had."

  Sam knew that for the lie it was. You absolutely could miss what you didn't have. Didn't she miss independence? She loved her father and knew how much he needed her, but sometimes she wished she could walk away from the responsibility. Just live her own life.

  Rick missed that father-son connection. He lacked it, for whatever reason, with his stepfather, and his "sperm donor" was in the wind. No matter how Rick played it off, that rejection must sting.

  Sam startled when a car behind them beeped.

  "Light's green," Rick said.

  Pay attention, Sam. "Yeah." She moved her foot from the brake to the gas pedal. "You never asked your mom about him? Uh, the guy? Or googled him? Tried to find him?"

  "Nah. Figured if he didn't want to know me, I don't want to know him."

  Jesus.

  He shifted in the seat. "Hey, I'm not looking for a pity party. I grew up fed, clothed, had a roof over my head. Got no complaints on that score. I wasn't abused. The old man did all right by me. And my sperm donor, well, he can go to hell."

  She felt the urge to say sorry again, but he wouldn't want to hear it. He'd mistake it for pity. She'd tried to draw him out, get him to open up, but all she'd done was make him drag up a lot of painful stuff from the past. Now he was even more closed off from her.

  Well, Sam, you had to ask, didn't you? Are you happy now?

  ****

  When they got back from Shankey's, Sam changed and headed to work. Rick and Jay went through some of the junk in the shed and worked on the T-bird after lunch. When Jay went upstairs for an afternoon nap, Rick had time on his hands. Time to think, which he really didn't want to do, because his thoughts kept returning to the morning's conversation with Sam. First he'd been a grouchy dick, and then when she'd asked him to talk, he'd puked his guts up about his family. She was probably sorry she had ever asked.

  Even so, he hadn't told her everything she needed to know about him if they were to have a real relationship. But what if he was honest with her, and she took him for a loser and a wuss?