The Promise of Love

by Lori Foster

  “Skipping straight to tasting. You’ve gone from undressing to tasting. I’m still waiting for the touching.”

  He nodded sagely. “How’s this?” Leaning close, he drew the other nipple between his lips, but before she could protest, he slipped his hand over her smooth belly and beneath the soft waistband of her shorts. She moaned and tilted her hips forward.

  He trailed his fingertips through her soft curls and found the warm, damp cleft between her legs. Stroking her slowly, he carefully worked his flngers back and forth, pressing deeper on each pass until he’d penetrated her sensitive core.

  He felt the sharp scrape of her fingernails across his back and the press of her lips against his shoulder, but he kept suckling and stroking as her body trembled and then slipped into a sharp rhythm of need and desire.

  He added another finger between her legs, and used his thumb to caress the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex, bringing a moan to her lips, a series of whimpers, and then, as her body tightened and clenched around him, his name, shouted between gasps and small cries of pleasure.

  He kept stroking, kept kissing and suckling as she trembled and whimpered. So responsive to his touch, so mind-numbingly beautiful she made him ache, made him want . . . made him want to run for the hills.

  He hadn’t wanted this. Hell, who was he kidding? Two weeks of keeping his distance, of keeping his hands to himself, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d gotten to know her, discovered just how much he liked her, and now there was no denying the truth—he’d fallen deeper and harder than he’d ever fallen before.

  Slowly, mind spinning and heart thundering in his chest, he brought her down from what appeared to have been a bonemelting climax, one that left Betsy Mae sated and limp in his arms and Mark holding her close, his own body hard as granite.

  If only his heart was as tough. Right now, Mark felt as wobbly as those two little newborn calves out in the barn. Wobbly and way too vulnerable for his peace of mind.

  eight

  It took Betsy Mae a few minutes to catch her breath. Longer to get around to opening her eyes, but it was impossible to ignore the fact Mark was still kissing her breasts and his fingers continued their intimate exploration.

  And the evidence was there, right under her butt, that he’d done it all for her without taking pleasure for himself. Now that was a first. Slowly she focused her eyes, blinking owlishly as Mark raised his head, grinned at her, and asked, “Did I miss anything?”

  She didn’t even try and stop herself from grinning like an idiot. “You’re kidding, right? How about yourself? I think you might have missed this.” She rolled her hips, pressing close against his erection, and he groaned.

  Then he planted his hands under her butt and stood up so fast all she could do was cling to him like a little monkey with her arms and legs wrapped around him, and her breasts pressed to his perfect chest. Without a word, he walked her down the hall and into his bedroom, leaned over, and deposited her on the bed.

  She lay there giggling while he grabbed his wallet off the nightstand, pulled out a condom, and ripped off the cover with his teeth. “I didn’t miss it a bit,” he said, as if she’d just asked the question. “But if you were up on your romance novel reading, you’d know that a true hero always protects his woman.”

  He slid his shorts down his legs. Betsy Mae sucked in a breath as he sheathed himself and crawled across the bed until he knelt between her legs. She reached out and ran her fingers along his full length. “Then what does the hero do?”

  Mark shoved his hair out of his eyes and grinned at her. “Why, he makes certain the heroine is truly ready to accept his burgeoning manhood.”

  “Burgeoning? Ooh . . . I may need to look that one up.” She wriggled her hips in anticipation.

  “You do that. Later.” He fell forward, planting his hands at either side of her face. “Now hold still.”

  “Yes sir.” She giggled and felt all her inner muscles clench, waiting for him to fill her. Instead, he was sliding down, lower, and lower still until he grinned up at her from between her thighs. And then, before she had time to tell him that no, she didn’t do that sort of thing, he was tugging her shorts down and doing it—and changing her entire obviously outdated opinion about oral sex.

  By the time Mark moved up her body and filled her with all that burgeoning manhood of his, Betsy Mae was limp as a wet noodle and positive she didn’t have another climax left anywhere inside her sated body.

  She was dead wrong.

  THEIR new group of wannabe cowboys and cowgirls showed up two days later. Mark went out early to check on the twin calves and help Miguel feed the stock while Betsy Mae made sure the cabins were all in good shape and ready to go.

  The last two days had been amazing, but this morning Betsy Mae had been unusually quiet. Mark found himself looking for her no matter what he was doing, hoping for a smile, a quiet word, even a teasing insult. A couple of times he managed to catch her in a private enough spot where he could grab a quick kiss—every kiss he got in return felt like a gift.

  He still couldn’t explain it, but somehow, over the course of the past couple of weeks, he’d gone and fallen in love.

  He just wished he could be certain that Betsy Mae felt the same. He knew he’d left her satisfied and smiling every time they’d made love. Knew he’d never connected with a woman the way he’d connected with this one. Her touch was molten flre in his veins, her kisses tied him in knots, and the joy he’d found when they made love was unlike anything he’d experienced in his life.

  It scared the ever-lovin’ hell out of him. And today, while she had kissed him with enthusiasm, she hadn’t seemed to seek him out as often as he’d looked for her. When they did meet, Mark sensed something missing, a sadness about her that made no sense. He’d tried to talk to her, but she was always busy, always rushing off.

  Something had taken the luster off their loving and left him wondering if there was an important part of the last couple of nights that he’d missed.

  A horn honked. Mark looked up in time to see Will pulling up the long driveway in his big Ford truck. He leaned out of the window as he drove by. “Hey, Mark. I can’t believe you’re still here! When I talked to Betsy Mae this morning, she swore she hadn’t run you off, but I didn’t believe her.” He parked in front of the barn. Annie waved from the front seat, and both of them looked relaxed and rested.

  Mark walked over and opened Annie’s door. “Hey, Annie. I didn’t get a proper hello last time I saw you.”

  She blushed. “I know. I’m sorry.” She took his hand, crawled carefully out of the truck, and planted a big kiss on Mark. “How’s that? I’m so glad you showed up when you did. Will never would have felt comfortable leaving Betsy Mae alone.”

  Mark nodded. “It’s a big job. She handles it well, but I’m glad I could help.”

  “I imagine you’ll be heading over to the Double Eagle, now that they’re over their bug, but I really do appreciate your stepping in.” Will held out his hand. Mark took it, wondering how to explain that he really wasn’t intending to go anywhere.

  “Hey, Will.” Betsy Mae stepped out of the house and flashed her brother and sister-in-law a big grin. “I forgot to tell you—we had twins! That new heifer you bought, the one that was bred to the Charolais? She threw a bull calf and a heifer, both Charolais white and both healthy.”

  “She have any trouble?” Will had reached for his duffel in the back of the truck, but he set it back down and headed for the barn with Annie, Betsy Mae, and Mark following.

  Betsy Mae shot a quick glance at Mark. “Yeah. The flrst one was coming out butt flrst, but Mark got the calf turned. The second one came right after without any trouble.”

  Will stopped and grinned at Mark. “Mark turned the calf? Hey, cowboy. Looks like you’ve settled into the job better than I expected.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He grabbed for Betsy Mae’s hand, but she sort of skipped out of reach. He wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose or ju
st hadn’t noticed him.

  They all stopped in front of the stall to admire the new calves. Betsy Mae’d managed to put Annie and Will between her and Mark. On purpose? He wasn’t sure, but something was feeling less “right” by the moment. At least the calves were in great shape. Their coats were fluffy and clean and the color of rich cream. Mama didn’t seem to mind a bit that her babies were a different color. She munched away on her flake of alfalfa and all was right with her world.

  Mark glanced at Betsy Mae, but she turned away. Damn. He wished he could say the same about his world, but right now it felt totally screwed.

  nine

  Betsy Mae watched Mark head back to his room to pack his bags and she knew her heart was breaking, but it was for the best. He would have been leaving sooner or later, and she didn’t think she’d be able to let him go if he dug himself any deeper into her life.

  The last couple of nights—and days—had been amazing, from delivering the calves to drinking Will’s whisky and making love like there was no tomorrow. Except there was a tomorrow, and it was here, now.

  Damn it. Mark had made her feel so wonderful she wanted to cry just thinking about it, but that was the last thing Will and Annie needed to see. Michelle Garrison had called again this morning, wondering when he was coming back to the Double Eagle. Now that Will and Annie were here, there was no reason for him to stay. None at all.

  It wasn’t like he loved her or anything. What they had was good old-fashioned lust, and it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. Who’d ever think a New York City fancy-pants editor could be happy with a has-been barrel racer? At first she’d thought that maybe they had a chance, but her dreams felt foolish in the cold light of day. They hadn’t known each other long enough or well enough to really talk about the future. Probably for the best.

  Still, she’d never had so much fun in her life as she had with Mark Connor—especially when they made love. He’d make her laugh even as her orgasm was ripping her to shreds. He made her body sing in ways she hadn’t dreamed possible, and he always put her pleasure before his own. Always.

  And damn it all, but he’d made her too frickin’ aware of just how different they were—him with his big-city manners and style, and her so dumb and naïve that she’d probably turned him off altogether.

  That’s probably what was going on. It wasn’t that he had such amazing control—she just didn’t turn him on all that much.

  “Betsy Mae?”

  She jerked around and he was right there, standing not three feet away with his expensive suitcase in one hand and the keys to his Jeep in the other. “You leavin’ already?”

  He shrugged. “I guess there’s no reason to stay. Is there?”

  She shook her head and stared at her boots. “No. No reason. Will you be coming back at all?”

  He frowned. “Well, of course I will. It’s not like I’m going to be that far away. The Double Eagle’s just over the hill.”

  She nodded. She really didn’t think she could say anything without crying, so a nod was the best he was going to get.

  “Well, good-bye, then. Be sure and stop by before you go back to the big city, okay?”

  He stood there a moment. Then he just turned away and left. She didn’t get a kiss. Not even a handshake. A couple of amazing nights together, and there was no lookin’ back.

  CURSING under his breath, Mark threw his suitcase in the back of the Jeep, got in, and stuck the key in the ignition. Then he sat there for a minute, going over Betsy Mae’s last words in his head. What the hell did she say?

  Be sure and stop by before you go back to the big city . . . Why would she say that? He was never going back to New York. Unless . . . what the hell? She didn’t really think he was leaving for good, did she?

  Of course she does, you idiot. Why wouldn’t she?

  He’d been trying to forget New York. He’d never mentioned selling his apartment or quitting his job. Suddenly everything fell into place. Mark slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and called himself a few choice names. Then he got out of the Jeep and stalked across the driveway, up the front steps, and into the house. He didn’t knock. Hell, this place was more home to him than his apartment in Manhattan had ever been.

  He found her in the kitchen, staring out the window toward the hills separating the Double Eagle and Columbine Camp. Her hands were folded, resting on the granite counter, and tears ran down her cheeks. “Betsy Mae?”

  Her back stiffened and Mark fought every impulse he had to just drag her into his arms.

  “What are you doing here?” She sniffed. “I thought you were already gone. Did you forget something?”

  “Betsy Mae? Turn around, sweetheart. Will you look at me?”

  She shook her head and sniffed. “No. My nose is all red.”

  He stepped up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on top of her head. “I love your nose, even when it’s red. I could call you Rudolph.”

  She shook her head and tried to pull out of his embrace, though Mark noticed she didn’t try very hard. “Not funny.”

  “Where’d you think I was going when you asked me to stop by before I left?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Back to New York. Back to your job.”

  “I quit my job, sweetheart. Sold my apartment. Put all my stuff in storage. Everything I’ve got is in that Jeep out front. I came west for a new life, Betsy Mae. I think, deep down inside, I came west for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Slowly she turned and gazed up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swimming in tears. “You’re not?”

  He tugged his handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbed at her eyes. Then he just handed it to her and she blew her nose. “Nope,” he said. “I’m not. At least, not without you.”

  “But . . .” She frowned. “I don’t get it. You’ve got this big important job, you live in New York. What’s out here? Nothing but trees and rocks and cows.”

  “You’re out here.” He leaned close and kissed her. “I think I’ve been waiting for you all my life, Betsy Mae Twigg. Maybe it was reading all those western romances.” He laughed and hugged her tight. She hesitated, as if she didn’t quite believe him. Then her arms slipped around his waist and she lay her head against his chest.

  It felt right, holding her like this. Standing here in the kitchen at Columbine Camp with the sound of cows mooing and wannabe cowboys yelling the way they thought cowboys should yell. This felt right . . . Betsy Mae felt right.

  So did his world. “I love you, Betsy Mae Twigg. I love you more than I ever dreamed it possible to love anyone, and if you think I’m giving up on something this special for an empty apartment and an emptier life, you’re an idiot.”

  She raised her head and grinned at him. “I thought you told me I was smart. How can you call me an idiot?”

  “If you’re smart, you’ll marry me. You might even think about having babies with me.”

  “You sure about that?” She reached up and kissed him. “I’ve been watching Annie. Her ankles swell. She gets bitchy. She wants ice cream at three in the morning.”

  “Then I promise to rub your feet. I’ll make you laugh, and if you want ice cream at three in the morning, I will bring it to you.”

  She laughed and kissed him, hard. “Did you learn all that in those romance novels?”

  “I did.”

  “I love you, Mark Connor. And yes, I will marry you. I might even think about those babies. Just one thing.”

  “One?” He kissed her again.

  “One. You have to promise me, even though you’re not a fancy-pants New York editor anymore, you’ll keep reading those romance novels. Think of them sort of like a refresher course.”

  “I can do that. But I want one thing from you, too.”

  “Hmm?” She nuzzled under his chin and licked the pulse point on his throat.

  “I want you to promise to love me, for better or for worse, forever.”

  “I ca
n do that,” she said.

  And she did.

  life in the past lane

  KATHY LOVE

  “The Beals Point class reunion.”

  “Excuse me?” Rocco said, even though he’d heard his managing editor perfectly—he was just hoping he’d misheard.

  Daniel tossed a folded newspaper across the desk. It landed on the computer keyboard in front of Rocco, rattling the keys. Rattling him even more as he saw the newspaper’s masthead.

  Beals Point Preview.

  Rocco hadn’t seen that paper for years, but nothing about it had changed. Not the font, not the layout. Not the town itself, he was sure.

  “I believe this is your hometown, isn’t it?”

  Rocco stared at it as if the typeset was printed in poisonous ink.

  His hometown? As much as anywhere, he supposed.

  Finally Rocco nodded, realizing that Daniel expected some sort of a response.

  “Well, if my math is right, your high school class is having its fifteen-year reunion,” Daniel said.

  “Good to know,” Rocco said, managing to sound unaffected as he pushed the paper aside. He refocused on the keyboard, trying to remember what he’d been writing before he was interrupted. Ah yes, his date with Charlene, a sweet Georgia peach new to the Big Apple.

  “Don’t you see where I’m going with this?” Daniel said, obviously ignoring Rocco’s attempt to ignore him.

  Rocco had hoped nowhere. At most just pointing out something that might interest him. And didn’t.

  Beals Point. Class reunions. None of that interested him.

  “I want you to go,” Daniel said.

  Rocco’s attention shot to his boss. Was he effin’ kidding?

  “You cannot be serious.”

  Daniel smiled, his gray eyes sparkling, wheels turning. “It’s perfect for your column.”

  Rocco laughed, although he wasn’t amused. “I hardly think a lame small-town reunion is life in the fast lane.”