A Love Surrendered (5 page)

She exhaled wispy air. “So you keep reminding me.” She peered up, eyes in a squint. “How old are you anyway?”

He grinned. “Old enough to agree with your aunt. Twenty-five tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”

She beamed. “Well, happy birthday,” she said with a bright smile that quickly sloped off-center. “But that’s hardly old.”

“Yeah?” He crooked a brow. “Old enough to keep you out of trouble, kiddo.”

They turned at the corner, leaving the bright lights of the boardwalk for the shadowed lamplight of Revere Street, and suddenly the memory of Harv and Grove made her shiver.

“Cold?” He immediately took off his coat again and draped it over her shoulders, buffing her arm with his palm as they walked, producing a shiver of another kind.

“A little,” she whispered, suppressing a gulp as she wrapped his coat tight, the scent of Bay Rum taking her captive. “So . . . I suppose Erica’s none too pleased I stole you away?”

He chuckled. “Nope, but she’ll be there when I get back.”

Annie frowned. “Is she . . . your girlfriend?”

His laugh had a definite edge. “Nope. Don’t have one.”

“Why?” she asked, shock halting her in her steps.

He assessed her out of the corner of his eye with a ghost of a smile, prodding her along with a hand to her back. “Because women are nothing but trouble. You should be proof of that.”

“But you kissed her!” she blurted, the words warming her cheeks as her heels ground in.

He faced her, hands latched to her shoulders like a big brother. “That’s right, because news flash, kiddo, most men like to kiss women. It feels good and a lot of guys will say or do anything to get as much as they can,
which
 . . . ,” he said with a stern hike of his brow, “is why you don’t belong in a place like that, at least not till you get a little older.”

She bristled and folded her arms. “Maybe I want to be kissed. Ever think of that?”

Heaving a cumbersome sigh, he started walking, leaving her no choice but to follow.

“Are you one of those guys?” she asked, running to keep up.

“What guys?”

“You know, the ones who’ll say or do anything to get as much as they can?”

He exhaled heavier this time. “Used to be. Which is why I know what I’m talking about.”

She skidded to a stop, heart racing. “With Maggie?”

He stilled, jaw tight as he seared her with a look. “Who told you about Maggie?”

She swallowed. “Joe mentioned her.”

A scowl tainted his face, making him appear harsh in the lamplight. “Well, Joe should keep his mouth shut. It’s none of his business and it’s none of yours.” He kept walking.

“Did you . . . love her?” she whispered, heart thudding.

Her words froze him on the sidewalk, broad back stiff for several seconds till he finally turned. He folded his arms with a casual air, but moonlight revealed a twitch in the hard line of his jaw. “I repeat, it’s none of your business, so either change the subject or you’ll walk home alone.”

“No, I won’t.” She jutted her chin and passed him up, shooting a smirk over her shoulder. “Nose to the grindstone, remember? Heaven forbid Agent O’Connor shirk his responsibility.”

A smile nudged at his lips. “Yeah, well, you’re not my responsibility. I’m just a nice guy who’d do the same for anybody’s kid sister.” Headlights careened toward them at a fast clip, and in the catch of her breath, he yanked her from the curb. “You trying to get yourself killed? For somebody who claims to be smart, you sure don’t think a lot.”

Annoyed, she jerked free and darted ahead. “Yeah? Well, I’m not your little sister or anybody else’s, so you can shove the big-brother act in your coat along with your pistol.”

———

Steven grinned, thinking how cute she looked, stomping away in a huff with a pretty pout on her lips. Head high she barreled ahead, wrapped in his jacket like a cocoon, and he shook his head. Beneath the lamplight, a hint of copper glinted in lustrous blonde hair that bounced on her shoulders. His eyes trailed to shapely legs, and heat swarmed, a painful reminder of how quickly innocence could be lost. He adjusted his thinking and returned to “big-brother” mode, choosing silence rather than offending her further. He caught up at the streetlight before the turn into Louisburg Square, where she stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him.

He grinned. “So what d’ya do when you’re not spending time with people you shouldn’t, Annie . . . ?”

“I’ll be a freshman at Radcliffe,” she said sharply, obviously ignoring his request for a last name. “Where, oddly enough, they haven’t yet realized I’m just a ‘kid.’ ”

Radcliffe?
He frowned. “That’s a great school. What field of study?”

She never broke stride when the light turned, just charged across with back squared. “Education,” she said, tone clipped. “’Cause when I
do
grow up, I hope to teach little kids like me.”

He halted her with a gentle grip on the other side, an apology in his eyes. “Annie,” he whispered, drawing her gaze to his. “I think you misunderstand me. It’s not that I think your age makes you young . . .” His eyes softened at the look of hurt in hers. “It’s your innocence. You’re different than most girls I know—sweet, naïve, pure. I just wanna see you stay that way, that’s all. But you won’t if you spend time with people like Peggy and her sister.”

Moisture glazed her eyes. “Nobody stays innocent forever, Steven. Little girls grow up into women, and women fall in love.”

He cupped a hand to her cheek. “Yeah, they do, kid, but the smart ones guard their innocence, because someday, it’ll be a priceless gift to the man they marry.” He exhaled and slipped his hands in his pockets. “You have something special, Annie. Don’t throw it away like Peggy or Joanie or Erica, okay?” He nodded at Louisburg Square. “Which one?”

“
The second house on the right,” she whispered.

He ushered her through the iron gate and up the steps of a Georgian brownstone where graceful arches hovered over endless rows of windows, suddenly grateful the kid had an aunt who could take care of her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Annie?”

———

Yes, I understand . . .
But the only thing she
really
cared about at the moment was that Steven O’Connor was a man whose touch tingled her skin and quivered her stomach, something she’d never felt before. Pressing a shaky hand to her throat, her breathing shallowed when a strange warmth coated her insides like heated honey.
Heaven help me, is this how he made Maggie feel?

“Good.” He ushered her to the front door and turned the knob, only to find it locked. He glanced at his watch, then
up at the dark windows. “Ten o’clock. I guess your aunt’s in bed. Do you have a key?”

Cheeks burning, she rifled through her purse. “Uh, I may have left it in my room.” She looked up, heart stuttering when her gaze flicked to his lips. Peggy’s words taunted.
“For criminy sakes, Annie Lou, you’re a woman who’s never been kissed, and this is your chance.”

She sucked in a wobbly breath, well aware this was not only a chance to remedy that
and
win a bet but the moment she’d waited a lifetime for—a first kiss that would matter. Guilt squeezed.
But . . . with Maggie’s old boyfriend?
She nibbled at her lip, wondering what her sister would say if she knew.
But it’s just an innocent bet
, Annie argued,
nothing more than a kiss on a dare
. Stomach trembling, she lifted her eyes to his, adamant that Steven O’Connor was just a means to an end, not anyone she ever intended to see again. Right?

“Uh, the back door is probably open,” she whispered, throat dry as dust. “So, I’ll just say goodbye here.” She took a halting step forward, heart hammering at what she intended to do.

He slacked a hip and stepped away, thick, dark brows dipping low with a fold of his arms. “Wait a minute. You didn’t sneak out, did you?” His words were sharp with suspicion.

Heat flooded . . . but not the kind she’d hoped for. “W-what?”

He vented with a noisy breath. “Man alive, I can’t believe you snuck out.” Gripping her elbow, he dragged her down the porch and around the house. “How long have you been friends with Peggy anyway?” he snapped, tugging her up the steps of the back porch. He rattled the knob and shook his head. “The back door is probably open, huh?” He stepped away to survey the house, eyeing a sturdy rose trellis that climbed to just below the second-story windows. His mouth went slack. “You climbed down
that
?”

She nodded with a bite of her lip, peeking up at the sag of his jaw.

Exhaling loudly, he braced her shoulders with a plea in
his tone, his hands burning through his suit coat. “Annie,
please
. You’re too special. Don’t stoop to things like this.”

Tears welled.
Special?
Maybe once, but not anymore. Not with Daddy gone.

Ducking his head, he tucked a finger to her chin. “Promise you’ll stop this lying, sneaking out, acting loose like the others.” His expression intensified as he cupped her face. “I don’t see girls like you very often, kid, and I’d hate to see them ruin you too. Promise you’ll stay as special as you are, at least till the right guy puts a wedding band on your finger.”

She nodded, the lump in her throat coupled with tears in her eyes. Her heart suddenly ached, wishing that somehow, someday, that man might be somebody like him.

He led her over to the brick wall next to the trellis and glanced up. “I don’t guess you need any help,” he said, lips in a dry bent.

“No,” she whispered, suddenly desperate to prove she was no longer a little girl but a woman with feelings. To convince herself and Steven O’Connor that she was not some naïve, backwoods kid adrift in the big city but a passionate woman poised to begin the story of her heart. A story in which the man before her might very well be the first chapter.

Her back to the brick wall, Annie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while goose bumps skittered her arms. She drew in an unsteady breath and rubbed sweaty palms down the sides of his suit jacket now hanging limp on her frame, then extended a shaky hand. The tips of her fingers peeked out from the sleeve of his coat. “Thank you for walking me home.”

He delivered that deadly smile that’d tumbled her stomach all night, eyes twinkling as he gave her palm a light squeeze. “You’re welcome, kid, it was my pleasure.” He tapped a gentle finger to her nose. “Be good, you hear?”

Oh, I hope so!
She eased forward with her heart in her throat.

He held out his hand, eyeing his suit coat. “Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and with a jerky nod, she slipped trembling hands to his waist. Before he could blink, she lifted
on tiptoe to kiss him full on the mouth, her awkward attempt clearly taking him by surprise.

Time stood still and so did he, stone cold for several seconds while her lips tasted his, and then in a harsh catch of her breath, he pressed her to the wall so abruptly, the shock forced all air from her lungs. He kissed her hard, the dominance of his mouth unleashing a throb of heat that wrenched a soft moan from her throat. Her purse dropped to the ground when he jerked her close, the hard, cold steel of his gun cutting into her side. His lips were urgent and rough, heating her body till she was near limp in his arms. “I never met a girl like you,” he whispered, Brubaker’s words hot and hoarse as he nipped at her ear. His hands slipped inside the suit coat to explore with a brush of her hips, a slide of her waist, and she jerked free as her heart seized in her chest.

“No!” Her rib cage heaved when she pushed him away. Cringing against the wall, her voice was a painful stutter as tears stung her eyes. “I’m n-not that k-kind of girl.”

He jerked her chin up with a hard grip, the fire in his gaze smoldering while a dangerous tic pulsed in his jaw. “Then don’t act like it,” he hissed, his tone as cold and blunt as the brick gouging her back. Without another word, he strode down the porch steps and disappeared around the corner, apparently too angry to remember she still wore his coat.

Another heave shuddered from her throat and she slumped to the wall. Hand to her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut, tears of shame and hurt welling beneath her lids.
He’s just like Brubaker
, she thought, and instantly knew it was a lie. Just like the lie she’d told Aunt Eleanor about going to bed early or the promise she’d made Steven to stop acting “loose.” He was as far from Brubaker as she was from being the girl he believed her to be.

“You have something special, Annie. Don’t throw it away . . .”
But she had. Offering something he’d neither asked for nor wanted, winning his wrath instead of his heart.

“You’re different than most girls I know . . .”

Chest quivering, she bent to pick up her purse, her remorse as thick as the shame in her throat.
Apparently not
, she thought, heart sick with regret.

At least . . . not anymore.

Steven heaved the iron gate open with a grunt, letting it slam behind with a loud clang. “Women,” he muttered, storming toward Pinckney Street with his pulse throbbing in his throat. Or little girls who
think
they’re women. Ignoring a red light, he sprinted across, wishing he’d never gotten involved with the kid from Podunk. Nothing riled him more than innocence gone awry, and from the stunt Little Miss Annie Whatever-Her-Name-Was just pulled, it appeared she was well on her way. His jaw settled into a tight line.
Stupid, naïve little kid—kissing a total stranger!
Didn’t she understand most guys had one thing on their minds? That her innocence was at risk every time she even flirted with the wrong one? Men who would tell her she was special, then push until she was just like everyone else.
Men like I used to be
, he thought with a harsh vent of air. His old life was certainly proof of that, wasn’t it?