The Promise (5 page)

“You—”

“Ah-ah. Unless you’re about to utter an endearment, I’d keep quiet if I were you.” His eyes narrowed on her stormy expression. “Make my blood boil, Sharon. Then you can call me anything you like.”

It was too much of a temptation to resist, she decided, already running choice names through her mind, completely forgetting her ultimate objective. She leaned forward and pressed her lips hard against his for what she considered an overly long time.

He didn’t move.

She pulled away and looked at him.

“Try again,” he suggested softly.

This time she parted her lips and brushed them back and forth against his. He didn’t stir, and when she pulled away, she saw challenge in his eyes.

“Well, you could help,” she burst out.

“This was your idea,” he reminded her.

Yes, it was, she thought, and right at this moment she was thinking it was a very bad idea.

She had known she would have to be held In his arms, that he would more than likely kiss her and caress her, and that eventually she would have to go to bed with him. She hadn’t liked the idea, but she understood it had to be done and she looked on it as the price she had to pay to get what she wanted.

Unfortunately and for some odd reason, she hadn’t really considered the reality.
This
was the reality: the way the combined musk and spice scent of his body had entered her brain and was clouding her thinking, the way heat had begun to congest her lungs.

She couldn't go through with it.

Dammit! She had to go through with it!

She wanted, overwhelmingly needed, a baby. A child. Someone to nurture and take care of, someone to watch over and help grow into adulthood. Someone to whom she could give all her love.

She had to continue. If she made him feel the things he said were necessary for him to feel, then he would agree to do what she wanted, and she would get her baby. It was as simple as that.

“Sharon?”

She leaned forward again, and this time she put her arms around his neck and kissed him with urgency, with open lips and thrusting tongue, with passion that was acted.

He saw straight through her feigned eagerness. Still, her pretense gave him a hint of what it might be like if she weren’t playacting, and it made him curious. He settled farther back into the comer of the couch and took her with him. “Easy, easy,” he murmured against her lips. “Let’s go a little slower and see if we can’t make a real fire.”

Her sudden stiffness didn’t deter him. He lightly fastened his teeth on her lower lip, and taking his time, he nipped and licked at the sweet, soft flesh. Surprisingly, the more he tasted of her, the hungrier he became. But he forced himself to remain patient until, almost imperceptibly, he felt her begin to relax, her body softening by degrees as little by little she seemed to melt against him, and her contours melded more perfectly to his. Then he slipped his tongue between her parted lips and began a mating dance with her tongue.

Her heart gave a kick against his chest, then begin to race, and his own heart responded the same way. It was crazy, he thought, coming alive with her like this after all these years. He had started this kiss out of curiosity to see how she would react. Not once had he considered how
he
would react. He had approached the kiss as one might idly sample a smorgasbord, to see if there was anything he liked.

He liked everything. Having her against him, her open mouth working beguilingly and persuasively on his, had him aroused beyond belief. He tightened his hold on her and took her breast into his hand.

Sharon couldn’t breathe for the wanting that had taken her unawares, and now she was suffocating in the heat being generated by his kisses. She didn’t want to respond to him. She needed to stop him, but for the moment it was beyond her ability to do so. She was desperate for his damnably sweet, fiery kisses.

His hand smoothed back and forth across the soft wool that covered her breasts, her full shape exciting him. Soon he felt her nipple stiffen, and intense pleasure surged through him at the proof that passion was growing in her as it was in him.

He slid down against the couch’s cushioned pillows so that he was half lying and she was over him. His blood had heated, thickened, a fever had taken over his brain. He grasped a handful of her skirt and drew it upward until it was around her waist. Then he delved beneath the lace edge of her panties to her firm, round bottom.

She heard herself moan just as panic began to edge into her consciousness. She tried to push against him, but she was barely able to move.

His arousal pressed against her, his long fingers kneaded her flesh, creating a magically wild, sensuous feeling. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before he would be caressing her in another, more intimate place. She was already moist from anticipation, but she couldn’t allow it to happen. If she didn’t call a halt to this soon, she would embarrass herself, like someone starved losing control at a banquet.

“Conall,” she said breathlessly. “Stop.”

He made an indistinguishable sound and arched his hips up to her. Through the silk of her panties she felt the pressure and fire shoot through her. Reality was slipping away, and she reached out for a lifeline. “Conall...”

This time he heard the tinge of alarm in her voice, but a compelling need was driving him. She was so soft, her curves so enticing, her taste so sweet.

“Conall.”

The next moment she was free and on her feet. Her chest heaved as she tried to draw a deep breath, her limbs trembled, her skin was flushed. “I’m sorry. We can’t do this."

Slowly, with effort, he sat up and straightened his clothes. “Why not?” he asked, his words clipped, his tone harsh. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

“No.” Her fingers entwined and held hard. “What I want is for you to make me pregnant.” 

He let out a string of curses that charged the air between them.
“If
such a thing were possible, and
if
we had continued as we were going, that might have happened.”

“Not
nowl Now
is the wrong time! If you had looked at the chart I gave you, you would have seen that.”

Conall jerked to his feet. “I don't understand what’s going on here, and I don’t think you do either. Out of the blue today you show up at my office with a seventy-year-old note that’s not worth the paper it’s written on, and a totally outrageous, not to mention impossible, proposition. Documents and charts aside, I don’t think you’ve thought this whole thing through.”

“You’re wrong,” she said, drawing another deep breath. “I've thought through everything very carefully. This situation is and will continue to be uncomfortable, awkward, and unorthodox, to say the very least. But I’m willing to suffer through it, and you’re going to have to make up your mind to suffer through it too.”

“Suffer? Is that what we were just doing?”

 “Bastard.”

"You’ve already called me that. Think of something new, Sharon.”

“Damn you, you’ve
got
to honor your grandfather’s promise.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Then change your point of view. I went through hell because you declared yourself infertile. You owe me, Conall, and what I want is a baby.”

Three

Conall tapped the report on his desk and smiled at the tall, sandy-haired man across from him. “Excellent job, as always.”

Amarillo Smith gave a brief nod. “Glad to have been of help.”

“As usual, your work is top-notch. This report tells me everything I need to know, both positive and negative, on Dugan Industries, and it gives me an insight into the personality of Jules Dugan. The information will be invaluable. ”

The two creases in Amarillo’s cheeks that normally showed as vertical lines deepened. “That’s our intention.”

While Amarillo laid a booted foot over the opposite knee, Conall studied him. He had known the man for about three years, since before Nico DiFrenza’s marriage to his cousin, Caitlin. Shortly after the marriage, Nico and Amarillo left the Boston police department and opened an investigative and security firm serving big business. Whether a company wanted information on another company for help on a proposed takeover, an upcoming lawsuit, or in uncovering leaks,

Amarillo and Nico were the best. Conall used their services frequently.

He considered Amarillo a friend, even though he knew he might have to wait a long time before he learned everything there was to know about him. But there was no doubt in his mind that he could trust him with the most sensitive and secretive information.

“I've checked on Caitlin and the baby, so I know they’re doing fine. How’s Nico?”

The creases deepened even further as a wry grin split Amarillo’s face. “I’m having a hard time getting him into the office these days, and when he does make it in, he stays only a few hours. He seems to think there’s never been a baby boy like little Deverell Niccolo DiFrenza. He also seems to be under the impression that he is single-handedly inventing fatherhood.”

A week ago, Conall would have laughed. But Sharon’s reappearance in his life had reminded him that he would never be able to father a child. He was extremely happy for Nico and Caitlin, but he envied Nico his pride in his new son.

He pushed away from his desk and stood. “I’ve got a problem, Rill.”

“What can I do to help?”

It was typical of Amarillo to cut straight to the bottom line. The problem was Conall didn’t have the faintest idea what Rill could do to help. He didn’t even know why he felt the urge to bring him in on what was happening, except Amarillo had one of the coolest heads in a crisis situation he had ever encountered. As succinctly as possible he told him the entire story. He finished with, “Hell, Rill, she wants me for stud service.” 

Powerful shoulders shrugged beneath a western-cut suede jacket. “She wants to use you, so you use her instead.”

Conall shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”

 “Keeping a lovely woman in bed for two weeks would be some men’s dream.”

“Yeah, well, not mine.” He said it, then immediately knew it wasn’t true if the lovely woman was Sharon.

“Okay, so I’ll put her under my microscope. By the time I’m through. I’ll know what color polish she puts on her toenails and how many rollers it takes to set her hair.”

He hesitated. “I’d rather hold off on that.” Amarillo eyed Conall thoughtfully. "You know, Conall, there might be a relatively easy way to find out if she’s lying or not. Be tested again.”

He shook his head. “No.” He couldn’t bring himself to go through the humiliation of the procedure and the ultimate pain it would cause when the doctor gave him the same results he had the last time.

“Then tell her to get lost and to hell with her.” “No.”

Amarillo exhaled heavily. “Conall, I’ve just presented you with every alternative I can think of. ”

 “I know, but none of them is acceptable to me.” He grimaced. “I've tried to break this down into one, two, three. A, B, C. But it’s not that simple. What happened In our past keeps getting in my way.”

“Then the best advice I can give you is get into the present. That and let me investigate her.”

 "Investigation is out,” he murmured, then focused on what Amarillo had said about the present. He felt helpless without a course of action, but Amarillo was right. To formulate a course of action, he needed to deal from the present, decide what he wanted in the here and now.

Looked at from that perspective, it was simple. He wanted Sharon.

* * 

Sharon opened her front door, then stepped back. Conall entered, vital and electric in a black evening suit. When he had called earlier and said he had made up his mind and would be over, she hadn’t been able to guess what his decision might be. She still couldn’t. His expression was unreadable. She hoped her expression was equally enigmatic.

Somehow, though, she didn’t have much confidence in her ability to hide her nerves. It had been approximately forty-eight hours since she had last seen him. During that time she had dredged up every possible mistake she felt she had made with him in their two recent encounters. And she had put herself through torture wondering what he was thinking.

Now everything she had done in the past ten months had come down to this moment. If he said no, her whole life would be drastically changed. She would have to reformulate her goeils, make new plans. But most of all, she would be left to contend with the incredible, awful void in her life that had finally driven her to go to him in the first place.

The idea of having Conall make her pregnant had only firmed in her mind ten months before. But in ways she was sure she hadn’t even thought of yet, Conall had shaped her life. If it all dead-ended here, she didn’t know what would be left.

She noticed him casting a disapproving gaze around her apartment and had no idea why. But as before, his presence seemed to threaten all things fragile, and she was reminded he was a man who commanded an empire. He had no need to be careful or subtle. “Would you like to sit down?”

He turned to her with an abruptness that took her off guard. “Why do you live in such a small place?”

“Excuse me?”

“You must make a good salary.”

“I do.” Wariness laced her tone. “You saw my tax statements.”

“I didn’t look at them. There was no need, since I knew there wouldn’t be a baby involved.”

She almost staggered as despair hit her like a physical blow. “Then your answer is no.”

“I didn't say that. I said I knew there wouldn’t be a baby involved, and there won’t be, because I’m sterile. But I’ve decided to spend the two weeks with you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said slowly.

He smiled and propped his elbow on the fireplace mantel. “Our affair was hot despite the fact that you were also sleeping with Mark Bretton."

 “I did no such thing, Conall.”

He found himself wishing like hell he could believe her, but he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “We definitely had something back then, you and I. It was sweet and wild and uninhibited. Under normal circumstances it would most likely have run its course and fizzled out as most youthful affairs do. But ours didn’t have a chance to end naturally. It hit a solid wall of lies and infidelity—”