Midnight Promises

She said the first thing that came to mind. “You let the barber scalp you again.”

He gave her an irritated glance. “I’m trying to have a serious talk, here, Annie. Do you think we could save the comments on my appearance for later?”

“It’s not just your hair. You’re looking thin, too, and you’re limping. You need to take better care of yourself, Jack.”

He cocked his head to one side. “I know what you’re doing. The question is—do you?”

“I’m not doing anything except offering you a little advice.”

“You’re trying to go back to pretending you’re my sister. It won’t work, Annie. Not anymore. Not when I’ve held you in my arms and felt you turn to fire.”

Her face went hot and tight. She turned away. “I’m not going to go to bed with you.”

“Want to bet?”

Something dark and ominous in his voice made her whirl—but as fast as she moved, he was faster. He seized her shoulders and jerked her up against him, and she almost cried—at the harshness of his face, at the impossibly dear feeling of his body against hers. Her heart pounded. “Let go of me.”

His lip curled. “I don’t think so.”

He was looking at her mouth, and the throb of her pulse alarmed her more than the taunting arousal of his body. She tasted that dark rhythm in her throat. And elsewhere. “I don’t want this.”

“You know, I don’t think you ever lied to me before you married me.”

She’d been wrong. She had seen a hardness like this in Jack’s eyes before—when he was competing. Jack was easygoing most of the time, but there was a buried edge to him that surfaced when he set himself to win, and she had become a challenge to him. Something to be won.

“I’m going to kiss you, Annie.”

No, she thought. But she didn’t move. No, she stood there, stiff and trapped by his hands and the hammer of her pulse. Maybe if I let him kiss me, he can stop trying to win. Maybe then he’d let her go.

His head lowered—but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, the tip of his tongue painted one long, sweet sweep of temptation on her lower lip. She jerked her head back, but his hands on her shoulders tightened, holding her in place. Her breath hitched as he used his tongue to tickle along the line of her throat.

She pushed at his chest. “Dammit, Jack, don’t do this. Don’t play with me.”

“Who said I’m playing?” This time his mouth didn’t tease. It claimed. Hot, hard, ruthless, it asked nothing of her and demanded everything.

Heaven help her, she wanted to give him all that he demanded, and more.

There was heat, a rich current of heat urging her to let go of common sense and heed the clamor of her senses. There was taste, the heady taste of Jack, a shock of familiarity in spite of the time that had passed since she’d learned it on the night he married her. Just before he left her.

She shuddered and managed to wrench her head back. “Jack—” She shoved at his chest. He didn’t move. His body was hard and urgent against hers, his scent filling her nostrils until she wanted to howl with the unfairness of it all. “This isn’t right.”

“It’s right.” His eyes were hard, his voice soft. “Let me show you how right it can be with us, Annie.”

“What the hell is going on here?” a deep, gravelly voice demanded from behind her.

Annie closed her eyes. Great. The only thing worse than having her brother walk in on a clinch between her and Jack would be if Jack—

“Not much, Ben,” Jack said, his eyes never leaving Annie’s face. “I’m just saying hello to my wife.”

Yep. That was it. Now her day was complete.

The storm had passed, leaving the air still and cold, the sky crowded with stars, and the porch swing wet. Annie ignored the dampness seeping through the seat of her jeans and pushed gently with her feet, listening to the creak of the chain and trying not to think. There were no good thoughts to keep her company tonight, none at all.

But she did have company from the one member of her household who wasn’t upset with her. Twenty pounds of cat sprawled warmly across her lap. Samson’s version of offering comfort meant allowing her to minister to his pleasure by lifting his chin so she could scratch underneath. As she did, his inaudible purr vibrated beneath her fingertips.

Ben always said the animal was too blasted lazy to purr out loud.

She sighed. Her oldest brother was barely speaking to her. Charlie had actually yelled at her—an event almost as rare as for Samson to purr out loud—and Jack…well, if Jack didn’t exactly hate her, he sure didn’t like her very much right now. Everyone she cared about was angry and hurt, and she was to blame.

Not that Jack didn’t share some of that blame. He’d dropped his bombshell as casually as if he were talking about the weather, knowing full well what the effect would be. He’d done it that way on purpose, to get back at her, and that hurt. In all the years she’d known him, Jack had never set out to hurt her.

But everything was different now, wasn’t it?

Was taking her to bed supposed to pay her back, too? It would be a tidy sort of revenge, she supposed, to claim the wedding night she’d denied him and then be off to Timbuktu—this time without inviting her along for the ride.

Until that afternoon, Annie would have said Jack wasn’t capable of using sex as a weapon. Now she wasn’t sure.

“So what else is new?” she muttered at Samson. It had been so long since she’d been sure of anything that she’d forgotten what it felt like. Not since she quit her job and married her best friend. Of course, she hadn’t originally intended to marry Jack. At first she’d tried to get away from him. Then she’d decided to go to bed with him.

How had she managed to accomplish what she hadn’t set out to do, and failed at what she thought she wanted?

Jack, she thought. Jack was what had happened to her plans. Of course, they’d been pretty screwy to start with….

Denver, last July

Annie pulled the last of the books down and set Early Childhood Development in the box with the others. She straightened, grimacing. Her ribs were still sore. She wouldn’t be able to carry any of the boxes she was busy filling, but her brothers would be down in a couple of days to help.

She looked around at the clutter of boxes and clothes filling her formerly tidy apartment. So many dreams were being packed away along with her textbooks. But she was still going to teach, she assured herself. Just because Denver hadn’t worked out didn’t mean she couldn’t still be a teacher. It was all she’d ever wanted.

No, she thought. Be honest. Teaching wasn’t all she’d wanted. But it was an attainable goal, unlike the foolish longing that was sending her away. The doorbell rang. She threaded her way through the boxes to the door, wondering which of her friends from school had dropped by. She’d be glad of some company. Packing was a melancholy business.

But it was an old friend, not a new one, she opened the door to.

His hair was shaggy, his shirt was wrinkled and his jeans were old. He looked wonderful. She wished with all her heart he was still on the other side of the world. “Jack! I—I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t think you were due back for another few weeks.” She’d been counting on that.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Packing.” She turned away, going back inside. “As I’m sure you can see.” She hadn’t expected him to be angry. It disconcerted her.

“Dammit, Annie. Why didn’t you tell me?” He followed her into her apartment that had pleased her so much when she first moved in, the first place of her own she’d ever had. The complex had been brand-new then. After living in an old house all her life, followed by an old dorm while she was at college, she’d thought she would enjoy the newness. That was yet another thing she’d been wrong about. After a while the new apartment had seemed cold and impersonal instead of fresh and exciting.

She moved to an open box, and began wrapping a glass bowl in newspaper. “You weren’t here, Jack. How could I tell you?”

“Your brother managed. He called me the day before yesterday. I chewed him out for not calling me sooner and got here as quickly as I could.”

She stopped, her back to him. “Which brother? Charlie?”

“Of course. Ben doesn’t like me.” He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, studying her face intently. “Aw, hell. Annie.” He lifted a gentle hand to her cheek.