Forgotten Promises (Lost Boys #1)

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I never knew what love was until I met you,” he reads. “And after I learned what it meant to be loved by someone, wholly, completely, I worried I would ruin what we had. My ugly history was even uglier than you imagined, which made me regret plaguing you with it. Made me regret taking advantage of you the way I did.”

  Another pause, and this time, he shuts his eyes, and my constricting heart splits in two. Seeing him hurting absolutely crushes me.

  “My therapist says guilt and shame are by-products of my father’s abuse. Like…something I contracted. Even so, nothing excuses treating you the way I did. How could I ever have tied you?” His eyes get damp as he blinks down at my hands, but there are no scars from the ropes, or damage from the tape. Voice choked with unshed tears, it’s obvious what he’s saying now is not in the letter. “Gagged you? Forced you into a situation where you couldn’t escape.” A tear breaks free and rolls down his face. He drops to his knees before me and looks up, sincerity written on his face. “Morgan, I’m so sorry for taking you. And for making you stay with me. You weren’t mine. I never earned you.”

  A thick sound of grief escapes his throat, and I can’t stay away from him another second. I hold him to me, his cheek on my shirt. He wraps strong arms around me as I lower my lips to his hair. He’s whispering, “I’m so sorry,” his voice broken, my shirt absorbing his sobs.

  “You earned me, Tucker,” I assure him through tears of my own. “You earned me the moment you let me touch you. Learning the truth about your past didn’t make me regret anything. It only helped me understand you more.”

  He takes a deep breath, one that lifts his shoulders.

  “You didn’t trap me.” I stroke his hair with my fingertips and lower to my knees in front of him. His damp face in my palms, I smile through the emotions ravaging me. “I begged to stay.” I blink away more tears. “Remember? I wanted you.”

  Want, I mentally correct. I want him still.

  He swipes his face with the back of his hand holding the letter.

  “Was there more?” I ask, hopeful. “In the letter?”

  “I want you to meet my mom.” He blinks wet lashes at me.

  “In Italy?” I am stunned.

  “Yeah.” He pockets the letter and pushes my hair from my face, his palms cradling my jaw. “I miss your beauty, Morgan. I miss your voice. I miss…this.” He trails his hands down my arms and I raise both hands to his. Our palms are pressed together like we’re on opposite sides of a piece of glass, but then he weaves his fingers with mine, his eyes sparkling. “Nothing feels as good as touching you.” One eyebrow raises and dips. “Almost nothing.”

  My smile finds my face and stays, even through the blush stealing my cheeks. I’ve missed his dry humor.

  “Maybe we can get there again in the future,” he mumbles, moving our hands down, but keeping them linked. “I don’t want to be where we were,” he corrects with a cute quirk of his mouth. “I want a better version of where we were. I want to see who we can be. I want you to see me for who I am without…the secrets.”

  I love the sound of him without secrets. I love him. But it’s too soon. Or maybe it’s too late. If we’re in this for the long haul, there will be time to learn and discover each other again. To feel and search and find.

  “I want that, too,” I admit. “I need a passport.”

  “I need you.” He’s looking at my mouth, and I decide to put us both out of our misery. I lean forward and touch my lips to his. His warmth is undeniable. I can feel every ounce of love and relief and longing mingling in this kiss. A kiss that lasts a long time considering we’re both on our knees bridging the threshold of my front door.

  When he pulls away, my eyes open slowly to find his are already on mine and filled with heat.

  “Would you like to come in?” I ask with a smile.

  He grins back at me. “Yeah.” Then we stand and go in.

  It’s a huge step.

  The first of many.

  Epilogue

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Tucker

  “Wine?” My mom is wearing a dress, her curls brushing the shoulders of a white linen shirt. We’re in Italy at the peak of summer, which my mother insisted was “horrid,” but Morgan and I both agree we want the heat.

  Even with sweat trickling down my temples and the base of my neck, I have never been so happy. Morgan’s father and stepmom made the trip with us—Mom’s idea. My grandparents would have joined us, but they’re in London on vacation.

  My mom’s therapy has changed her in the best of ways. She even attended some of the sessions with Dr. Moore and me, which went really well. If I thought I felt whole last year, I realize with each and every passing day how not whole I am. But that day is coming, I can feel it. I’ll still have problems like any normal person, but the man I’m destined to be is coming…I can feel him hovering just behind a curtain that’s about to open.

  “Yes, always more wine,” Julia tells my mother, hoisting her glass high. Morgan’s dad asks my mother about vintage as my mom’s boyfriend, Dante, comes from the grill with a platter and sets an array of fish and grilled vegetables in front of us. He’s a good guy. I like him.

  The six of us eat, laugh, and Morgan holds my hand under the table.

  After dessert everyone except for Morgan and me wanders off in the direction of the vineyard for a nighttime walk. We sit, surrounded by dirty dishes and mostly empty platters and half-full bottles of wine.

  I pour more wine into my glass, and Morgan’s voice cuts in with the three most beautiful words I’ve ever heard from her: “I love you.”

  We’ve taken it slow this time. As in glacial. My idea. I want things with Morgan to grow naturally, not from some desperate need on my part, or a need to fix things on hers. Resisting her hasn’t been easy. I’ve suffered many a painful morning with thoughts of her on my mind—memories of our time together at the cabin haven’t gone anywhere or faded in the slightest.

  I lower the bottle and give her a shaky smile. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Plenty. But it doesn’t change what I said. I love you.” She heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’ll probably love you forever.”

  Her faux tone of acceptance makes me chuckle. My chest is loose and relaxed. I never thought I’d feel this light. It’s amazing. “Probably, huh?”

  Teasing me, she shrugs a shoulder and rolls her eyes, and that’s when I grab and kiss her, my arms around her. Her fingertips thread into my hair, and I pull back to smile down at her some more. I do that a lot with her. She’s looking up at me with such admiration and acceptance, my heart literally aches.

  “Let’s move here,” she says, fingers continuing to twine in my hair.

  “Your dad will never let it happen.” I moved back to Baybrook shortly after my visit to Morgan’s front porch. Mark agreed to let me be his roomie until I figure out an apartment situation. I wanted to be closer to Morgan. As a result, I’ve spent many dinners with Julia and Aaron. They are not fans of their daughter moving farther than a few hours away.

  “He can visit,” Morgan insists.

  “Mm-hmm.” I’m not taking her seriously, and I show it by leaning an elbow on the cloth-covered table and lifting my wineglass casually by the rim. “And where will we live?”

  “I don’t care.” Her amber eyes are bright in the waning light. Her white dress blowing gently in the breeze. My angel. “I just want to be here instead of Missouri. I’ll sell gelato. Do yard work. Whatever.”

  “Gelato.” My smile turns into a full-on grin. That’s what she does to me.

  “Whatever,” she reassures me, leaning forward to press another kiss onto my mouth.

  With her this close, I can’t keep my thoughts to myself. “I love you, too.”

  “Forever?” she whispers.

  My hand in her hair, I touch my nose to hers. “Probably.”

  For Brad. Though you’re no longer with us, your light still shines.

  Acknowledgments

 
Thank you to Sue Grimshaw for asking for an “anti-hero” and for helping me hone a crazy idea into a reasonable one. (This is what editors are for!) To my agent, Nicole, for everything. To Kate Meader for your support and help. You are brilliant. To Katee Robert for beta-reading. You get me. To Lauren Layne for your helpful insight and your friendship. Thank you.

  To everyone reading this: Thank you for spending your time with Tucker and Morgan. I hope you find beauty in their story. No one is beyond healing. No one.

  BY JESSICA LEMMON

  Lost Boys

  Fighting for Devlin

  Falling for Caden (coming soon)

  Forgotten Promises

  PHOTO: NICHOLAS LONG

  A former job-hopper, JESSICA LEMMON resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing super-sexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine), and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

  Jessica is a social media junkie who loves to hear from readers. You can learn more at:

  jessicalemmon.com

  Facebook.com/AuthorJessicaLemmon

  @lemmony

  The Editor’s Corner

  Bring in the New Year with a new romance from Loveswept—all are specially written with you in mind, so I know you’ll find a story that’s a perfect fit.

  Elisabeth Barrett returns to Briarwood, an unforgettable place where legacy and longing make dreams come true, in The Best of Me. USA Today bestselling author Jamie K. Schmidt follows with the first book in her new Hawaii Heat series, Life’s a Beach, an irresistible tale of second chances. The bad boys of baseball only get better with Katie Rose’s fourth book in the Boys of Summer series, The Heat Is On, where a homegrown baseball star returns to snag the one that got away. USA Today bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly finishes her Dare to Love series with Now and Then, a steamy short novel of lost love, second chances, and hidden dangers.

  New York Times bestselling author Kathy Clark releases After Love, book one in the suspenseful Austin Heroes series. Cecy Robson’s Of Flame and Promise kicks off a sizzling new series in the Weird Girls saga as Celia’s sister Taran fights to have it all. Jessica Lemmon introduces the ultimate bad boy in Forgotten Promises, and Gina Gordon starts her powerful, deeply sensual series Body & Soul where one woman discovers the courage to face life’s greatest challenges in Naked.

  Let’s get sweet with USA Today bestselling author Laura Drewry and her latest, Off the Hook, part of her Fishing for Trouble series, and Zoe Dawson and her first Laurel Falls novel, Leaving Yesterday, for fans of small-town romance. Sidney Halston’s fans will be happy to know another mixed-martial-arts story is en route with Fighting Dirty, and then Claire Kent has you Taking It Off with a male stripper—yum! Adding to this USA Today bestseller list is a fast MC story from Maisey Yates, Strip You Bare. And Sawyer Bennett is bundling her books from her New York Times bestselling Cold Fury Hockey series.

  Looking for a few historical romances? Lavinia Kent releases a Regency favorite in Ravishing Ruby, Sharon Cullen brings you back to Culloden in Sutherland’s Secret, and Pamela Labud’s Hunt Club series begins with To Catch a Lady—all with heroes to die for.

  That’s it for this month—but February is bigger and better than ever before. Hope to see you soon.

  ~Happy Romance!

  Gina Wachtel

  Associate Publisher

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Fighting for Devlin

  by Jessica Lemmon

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  Rena

  The first time I’d seen Devlin Calvary, I held my breath until my chest inflated like a party balloon. Today hadn’t been any different, considering the moment I saw his profile as I strode in, I ducked my head and ran for the kitchen. He was like the sun: hot, and he made me squint if I looked directly at him.

  Other than the flooring good looks of the man who was my boss, my new job had started without a bang. Oak & Sage hadn’t hit a dinner rush yet. My Nazi-like trainer, Melinda, and I were attempting to stay occupied while (according to her) out of shift manager Chet’s sight.

  “How can anyone take him seriously with that lisp?” she spat. Melinda spat everything. She reminded me of an angry cat most of the time.

  I frowned, dusting the broad leaves on one of the fake plants lining the top of the empty booths where she and I were cleaning. Well, where I was cleaning. She was gossiping about everyone she laid eyes on. I didn’t like her all that much, but she was the only co-worker I really knew here. I missed my friends at the recently gone-out-of-business Craft Palace. Right about now, we’d be opening a shipment of new scrapbook paper and dishing about the cute delivery guy.

  “What if he dated a girl with an ‘S’ at the beginning of her name?” Melinda said, an evil smirk on her face. “Like…Sarah. ‘Sthara, you’re stho sthexthy.’ ”

  I tried not to laugh, but it was funny. Mean, but funny.

  “Nervous about tonight?” she asked as I moved to the next plant. “It’s your first time alone.”

  “No, I think I can do it.”

  “It’s a lot of pressure. Don’t underestimate a Thursday. It’s usually twice as busy as Friday but in fewer hours. Plus, you have a three-table section.”

  I glanced at her uneasily.

  “And your tables aren’t in the direct path of the kitchen, so you’ll be double-timing it back there most of the evening.”

  I blinked at her. “Are you trying to freak me out?”

  She smiled, her eyes holding a lazy-cat look, then her gaze slid over my shoulder. I watched as her smile turned…something. Almost lusty. Then I realized why.

  It’s him.

  Crazy as it sounded, I could feel whenever he approached. I clutched my dust rag when his low, commanding voice washed over the air and etched into my skin.

  “Melinda, help the hostesses roll some more silverware, will you?”

  Devlin Calvary. General manager of Oak & Sage, though I would swear he couldn’t be much older than my twenty-two years. The youngest man I’d ever seen in charge of my paycheck was dressed in a suit. He always wore suits rather than the khaki-and-button-down-shirt combo Chet wore. I guess to show he was in charge. But let me tell you, Devlin didn’t need a suit to alert anyone of his authority.

  I ran a gaze up and down the length of his lean body, appreciating his height, broad shoulders, and the air of power and control ebbing off him like expensive cologne.

  When his long, dark lashes gave me a once-over, I felt my throat close off. I’d been introduced to him in passing when Chet hired me. Devlin hadn’t done more than tip his chin in acknowledgment then.

  And he hadn’t spoken a word to me since.

  “Sure thing.” Melinda started, then pointed to me. “Unless you’d rather Rena do it. She really doesn’t know how to do much of anything else.”

  I glared at her, but she didn’t see me, as she was attempting to blind him with the bazillion-watt smile pulling her shiny, red lips. Devlin’s bored expression remained; his chiseled jaw stayed firm.

  “Just you. Rena’s…” He lifted his brows and studied the rag I’d clutched against my chest like a handkerchief. “…petting the plants.”

  Melinda snapped her head toward me, her dark blond ponytail flicking behind her like the end of a very short whip. He walked away and I continued “petting” the fake orchid in front of me as I watched his legs eat up the long aisle leading to the kitchen.

  “You may as well forget about whatever fantasy you’re cooking in your head.” She sneered at me.

  I shook my head in fervent denial—like I suffered any delusions that someone as hot and powerful as Devlin might look at me twice. I knew who I was. I wasn’t the type of girl who snagged the attention of a guy like him.

  “He doesn’t date the
help,” she continued. “He flirts with me, but I’d never.” She cut a look in the direction he’d disappeared, biting her lip. A brief flicker of longing lit her hazel eyes before she muttered, “I don’t have any interest in him.”

  Oh, the lies she told. I rolled my eyes as she turned and walked to the hostess station. I knew damn well that Melinda, or any of the other females in this restaurant, would trade an ovary to be under Devlin’s intense blue-eyed stare for fifteen minutes.

  To be under him, period.

  Devlin

  I cut through the clatter of silverware and tinkling of crystal glasses wearing a smile on my face. Oak & Sage restaurant had been my second home for as long as I could remember. My dad opened it when I was in diapers, and I’d cut my teeth on the corner of table 31. You could say I was born into this life. Along the way, I had inherited another.

  We were busy tonight, even by Thursday standards. I smoothed my tie and buttoned my jacket. As I stepped out of the way of an incoming server with a platter of ribs, I nodded at the guy sitting at table 31. Benny was one of the regulars, his shirt buttons nearly popping as he polished off the end of a very large piece of chocolate cake. He lifted his fork to signal he had money for me, but my sights were set on Sal Crawford: the older man at table 36.

  Mr. Crawford sawed into an overcooked rib eye—why patrons insisted on ruining a forty-dollar steak by ordering it well-done was beyond me—and gestured at his wife, who primly flaked her salmon and listened with half an ear.