A Love Surrendered Page 16

  Luke swallowed.

  Issuing a seductive smile, she trailed fingers down his bare chest. “From now on, you’re the only tutor I need.” She tugged him down until his mouth mated with hers. “But it’s only fair to warn you, Mr. McGee,” she said, breathless against his skin, “with extra classes this summer, I may need a whole lot of work.”

  He descended, settling in with a broad grin. “No problem, Sass,” he whispered, his mouth playing with hers. “You can depend on me to work you hard till you shine. But just to make sure . . .” Lips skimming her jaw, he eased his way down, dislodging the strap of her gown with his teeth. “We better begin tonight . . .”

  7

  So . . . how was the wedding?” Joe laced up his boxing shoes and shot a quick glance at Steven, the smile on his lips easing into a cocky grin. “Give you cold chills?”

  Steven wrapped his fingers in a soft cloth before tugging a padded leather glove on with his teeth. “Nope, not as long as Erica doesn’t get any cockamamie ideas that she and I are more than friends. She needed a date, so I helped her out. End of story.”

  “Or the beginning,” Joe said with a stretch, pumping his elbows back and forth to get warmed up. His lips slid to the right. “The woman’s been lovesick over you since that fling you had with her when you broke up with Maggie the first time.”

  Steven exhaled loudly and stood to his feet, jaw stiffening somewhat. “I know, Joe, but trust me, I’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m not interested in anything more this time.”

  Joe flexed his fingers, his smile sobering considerably. “You mean other than dancing or necking?” he said casually, his glib demeanor doing nothing to soften the conviction of his words. “Which is better than before, I guess.”

  Eyeing a free boxing bag, Steven gave a curt nod to the far side of the gym and started walking fast, sweat rag over his shoulder. Joe’s reference to his heated affair with Erica made him itchy to pound the stuffing out of anything he could, and better Pop Clancy’s bag than his partner’s face. Lately Joe had been coming at him a lot about Erica, and Steven was tired of it. The last thing he wanted to do was relive memories of a past that made him feel like dirt, from a time when he’d used Erica to get over Maggie. Not that it worked, he thought with a twist of his lips. He’d picked right back up with Maggie the next year, which devastated Erica, even though he’d ended it with her months earlier. He skirted a ring where a Jack Dempsey hopeful was pummeling a guy twice his size, and Steven wished he could do the same with his past. Annihilate his guilt until it no longer ate at his soul, setting him free from this albatross around the neck of the man he wanted to be.

  A man of honor and truth. A man people could trust. A man he could trust.

  “Hey, wait up.” Joe sprinted behind, stopping Steven with a hand to his arm. “No reason to go off half-cocked.” He switched hands on the jug of water he carried.

  Steven faced him head-on, hands slung low on his hips. “Look, Joe, I thought you wanted me back in the game, having some laughs, seeing women again, right? So what’s your beef?”

  A weighty sigh wavered from his partner’s lips. “Yeah, I did, Steven. But lately, seeing you with Erica, well,” he tunneled a hand through sandy hair, “I guess I’m worried you’re having some laughs with a friend who won’t think it’s so funny when you break her heart.”

  Steven slacked a hip, eyes narrowing at Joe’s veiled implication that he was using Erica. “What are you talking about, Walsh? Erica knows exactly where I stand and yet she still comes around—her decision, not mine. Believe me, I couldn’t be clearer if I sent her a telegram.”

  “Yeah, well, I think maybe you could,” Joe said quietly, his somber expression indicating his concern for their mutual friend. “You could cut her loose altogether, not string her along with dancing and occasional kisses on the dance floor at the Pier.”

  Heat scalded the back of Steven’s neck. “It’s a few harmless kisses, Walsh. For pity’s sake, it’s not like I’m taking her to bed.”

  Joe sighed and positioned himself behind the bag. “You may as well be, Steven. Erica’s crazy about you, and every kiss only makes it worse. I thought at first maybe she’d be good for you, you know? Get you back in the game and maybe you two could really have something together. But the harder she falls, the farther away you seem to get, and I just hate to see a good friend get hurt. We both know there are plenty of girls who’ll accommodate you, girls who are out for nothing but laughs just like you and me.” He girded the canvas bag with muscular arms, leg braced. “Hate to tell you this, O’Connor, but Erica’s not one of ’em.”

  Steven closed his eyes and pawed at his temple with the bulky glove, the old, familiar guilt slithering back in, as hot and uncomfortable as the sweat crawling down his chest. Deep down inside, he’d known it, hated himself for giving in to the temptation Erica always posed—attractive, willing, comfortable . . . safe. Holding her, kissing her, made him feel alive again, like his body could respond to love even if his heart couldn’t. She’d made it perfectly clear he could take it as far as he needed, but what he needed was distance from a past that haunted him, not giving in to passion that would only take him down once again.

  His chest expanded and released. “You’re right.” He opened his eyes to face the friend who never pulled any punches except at the gym, a man who cared about others as much as he did Steven. “Sorry, Joe, never meant to hurt Erica, you know that. Just figured kisses would be safe with somebody who didn’t have a hold on me, but I guess not. At least not for her.” His mouth edged into a sheepish smile. “Got a little too caught up in being with a woman again, I suppose. I’ve been on hold for a while, you know, while you’ve hobnobbed with the ladies.”

  Joe grinned. “Nobody ‘hobnobs’ better than you, O’Connor, when you set your mind to it.” His grin slanted into a dry smile. “That is, when you’re not too busy playing it safe.”

  “Well, trust me, ‘safe’ is the last thing I’ll be playing tonight, Walsh, you can bet on that.” He tossed the sweat rag on the bench and tugged the gloves tighter while he gave Joe a goading smile, moving to face the bag. “Beginning right now.”

  The bag hammered Joe’s jaw without mercy while Steven vented every frustration he had. Over Erica, over guilt he couldn’t forget, and over memories of a woman he wished he could. Maggie. Worlds away and yet always as close as the next thought, she was a two-edged sword, reminding him not only of the kind of love he craved but the kind of destruction a love like that could inflict. No other woman had ever touched him at the core like Maggie, made him feel and care like she had, and Steven missed that. Sweat streamed down his body as he spent his fury on the bag, wondering if he’d ever feel that way again. If any other woman could even come close.

  Annie. With a choking heave, he sagged against the bag with eyes shut, trying to catch his breath, both from exertion and thoughts of someone he had no business thinking about. He hadn’t seen her at Ocean Pier since his big-brother talk, but her wholesome memory ratcheted his pulse even higher while the canvas soaked up his sweat. He was drawn to her, no question. Her clean, natural look, her sweet naïveté, her childlike candor. Her innocence. He winced, taunted by a truth he knew all too well—innocence he would destroy if he ever got ahold of it.

  “Feel better?”

  Steven’s eyelids inched up while he huffed, cheek to the bag. “Not sure.”

  Joe studied him. “You were a whole lot less serious in college, you know that?”

  Steven grabbed the jug and upended it, biceps bulging from the effort. He swiped the side of his mouth, giving Joe an off-center grin. “Naw, I’ve always been the serious one, Walsh, and you know it. Heaven knows one of us had to be. Did you even study once?”

  The twinkle returned to Joe’s hazel eyes as a crooked grin lit his face. “Didn’t have to—my best friend was a brain and a straight arrow when it came to the books.” He snatched the jug and took a swig. “Still don’t know how you did it, burning the candle at
both ends—fraternity president, parties till dawn, obsession with Maggie. And still on the dean’s list without even trying.” He winked and guzzled more water. “Plus keeping Maggie happy through it all.”

  “A little too happy,” Steven muttered, nabbing the water.

  “Yeah, I have to admit, that always surprised me. You have more drive and willpower than anybody I’ve ever seen, Steven, in college, at work.” His lips went flat. “Except with Mags.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Steven’s smile faded into a scowl.

  Joe set the jug down. “To tell you the truth, there was a time I was glad to see the hold Maggie had over you. Since first grade, you’ve been this perfect kid—smart, calm, in control, nothing ever slipping you up. Then you meet her, and boom—all that golden willpower and control flies right out the window. Weirdest thing I ever saw—hard-nosed and unflinching about grades or work, but put you in a car with Maggie Kennedy, and you couldn’t say ‘no’ to save your life.”

  Steven flinched while his eyes trailed into a stare. Or my soul.

  Gripping the bag, Joe leaned to keep his chin clear of the battering zone. “Hey, I met a doll last week, and she’s got some good-looking friends. Why don’t you go tonight?”

  “Sorry, Joe, can’t.” Two minutes of bullet-fire blows had Steven heaving till it hurt, his body drenched from the effort. He collapsed on the bench, wet head plastered to the wall. “Promised Gabe a night of ice cream and checkers,” he said, gasping for air. He swabbed his face with the towel before gulping another swig of water.

  Shaking his head, Joe sucked air through clenched teeth. “Gosh, you’re starting to worry me, O’Connor, opting for checkers with a kid on Saturday night instead of a good-looking doll.”

  Steven grinned. “At least I won’t be dragging my body into church after burning the midnight oil or in need of a confessional when I finally do show up.”

  A bit of the devil sparkled in his partner’s eyes. “But, oh, so worth it, O’Connor, trust me. I think I may be in love this time.” He grabbed the jug and took a long swallow. “Even so, I won’t be in need of a confessional any more than you. You’re not the only one who’s changed since college, you know. I’m looking to keep my postgraduate reputation pristine.”

  Steven unlaced the gloves and tossed them at Joe with a grin, rising to position himself behind the bag. “Well, well, now, would you look at us—two squeaky-clean altar boys with halos aglow.”

  With a low chuckle, Joe wrapped both hands before tugging on the gloves, his freckled face beaming. “Yeah, but my halo will be comfortably off-kilter while yours, buddy boy, will be as flat and stiff as your love life.” He winked. “Hmmm . . . wonder who’ll have more fun?”

  Mr. Mooney, please go home! Glancing at the clock on the wall, Annie chewed on her lip, absently collecting catechism texts from each desk. Her eyes strayed to where Vincent Mooney regaled Faith McGuire with his latest ventures as a romance writer for Love Story Magazine, and her hopes sank along with her shoulders. Trudging to the cabinet to put books away, she prayed for a moment alone with Faith before Aunt Eleanor’s board meeting was over, but it didn’t look promising. Not with Mr. Mooney “mooning” over their teacher! Annie sighed. She was desperate to discuss—and pray—about uneasy feelings plaguing her since she’d made peace with her aunt. But . . . apparently not tonight. Reaching for her purse, she slowly rose, her eyes meeting Faith’s for the briefest of moments, but apparently it was more than enough.

  Retrieving her own purse from the drawer of the teacher’s desk, Faith quickly shook Mr. Mooney’s hand, her smile as warm as the woman herself. “Congratulations, Mr. Mooney, on yet another sale. It’s not easy getting a story published. I know—I’ve been trying for years and only sold one.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, my husband’ll send out a posse if I don’t get home soon.”

  Mr. Mooney took the hint nicely. “Thank you, Mrs. McGuire, for your encouragement, as always.” A twinkle in his blue eyes matched the silver in his hair. “Mr. McGuire’s a lucky man.”

  Faith laughed, slipping her sweater off the back of the chair. “Not if I don’t get home in time to put my daughters to bed. He’s a bit of a softie when it comes to his girls, I’m afraid, and they bamboozle him into piggyback rides and way too many bedtime stories. So the man gets a wee bit cranky if I’m late.” Straightening the teacher’s desk, her gaze connected with Annie’s. “Oh, Annie—you’re still here. Good. I need to ask you something before I go.”

  “Well, good night, Mrs. McGuire,” Mr. Mooney said, making his way to the door.

  “G’night, Mr. Mooney. See you next week.” The gentleman disappeared down the hall and Faith sat down in the first row with a pat on the next desk. “Sit, Annie—you look like you need to chat.”

  Annie glanced at the clock. “But don’t you need to get home?” she asked, concern flitting in her stomach like so many fireflies. “I don’t want your husband getting ‘cranky.’ ”

  “Soon, but not before we talk . . . and set a date to take the girls to story time at Bookends.” She winked. “And don’t worry about Collin. I’ll get home in plenty of time to ward off cranky, I hope. Or late enough that he’ll already be fast asleep.”

  Smiling, Annie plopped down in a desk, grateful for this gentle woman who in some ways reminded her of Mama—patient, kind, and a personality that went from empathy to sparkle in the utterance of a prayer. “Thanks, Faith, I do have something I need to discuss.” Her gaze darted to the clock and back. “But I don’t have much time.”

  “Then tell me quickly.” Faith shifted to get comfortable.

  Puffing out a sigh, Annie fidgeted with her nails, eyes fixed on her hands. “It has to do with Aunt Eleanor,” she began, gaze lifting to offer Faith a weak smile. “She and I had a huge breakthrough last week after you and I prayed, so I can’t thank you enough. But now . . .” Annie swallowed hard. “Well, now I’m feeling guilty about all the things I did behind her back when I first came to Boston.” She took a deep breath. “Things like sneaking out of the house, going to Ocean Pier when she told me not to, and even getting involved with questionable guys.”

  “Involved?” Faith said slowly.

  Annie’s cheeks pulsed with heat. “Well, not like it sounds. I suppose one guy, actually, and only one kiss at that. But I have to be honest, Faith . . .” She peeked up beneath lowered lashes, her reluctant confession making her squirm. “This particular boy—well, man, really—turned my insides to mush so much that I . . . well, I wished it could be more.”

  “We all do, Annie,” Faith said with a squeeze of her hand, sympathy radiating from her eyes. “It’s how God made us as women, to crave a man’s touch, his love. Trust me, I had many a battle when Collin came into my life—both with myself and with him, especially after we were engaged.” Her smile went soft. “But the good news is both you and I are blessed enough to know the truest and surest way to win the right man’s love and respect is God’s way, not ours.” She grinned and gave a little shiver. “Although a kiss from a man who turns our insides to mush can certainly make a girl wish—and do—a lot of things she shouldn’t.” She hesitated. “Are you still seeing him?” Her smile crooked. “This mush-maker?”

  Heat traveled clear to the tips of Annie’s ears. “Oh no, no . . . I stopped going to Ocean Pier, and that’s where I would always see him before.” She exhaled, relief and regret merging in the shaky sigh that escaped from her lips. “Remember the letter I told you about, the one my father wrote me before he died? Well, it changed everything, Faith. So, between God’s conviction and the mush-maker’s insistence that I was ‘too special’ of a girl to be part of the wild crowd—”

  “Wait . . .” Faith sat up. “This mush-maker was trying to keep you from going down the wrong path?”

  Annie nodded, her smile sheepish. “Over and over. In fact, he only kissed me that once to scare me off, he said. To teach a lesson that the wrong guy would take advantage of my innocence.” A wispy sigh floated from he
r lips. “But the truth is, Faith, much to my shame, he made me feel like I wanted him to take advantage. Which is why I stopped going to the Pier altogether. I knew it was wrong, not only defying Aunt Eleanor, but feeling that way.”

  “Good girl,” Faith said, patting Annie’s arm with a smile. “But, I have to admit, this guy sounds pretty special, so no wonder you were smitten. Still . . . ,” she leaned forward to fold her arms on the desk, “God will honor your obedience, Annie, he always does. Now . . . suppose you tell me about your problem with Aunt Eleanor?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking lately that since Aunt Eleanor and I have gotten closer, maybe I should confess all the things I did behind her back.”

  “No!” Faith sat up, brows high and lips parted in a definite “O.”

  “No?” Annie blinked in confusion. “But, why not? I thought confession was good for the soul, being a sacrament of the Church and all.”

  “Good for your soul, maybe, but not Aunt Eleanor’s. Yes, honesty is crucial in our walk with God, for sure, but the Bible tells us that although some things are lawful, not all are profitable or edify. It’s the rule of love God is so partial to—let no one seek his own, it says, but that of the other. Which means,” Faith said with a pointed look, “we have to weigh every word out of our mouth. Although what we want to say may be the truth, if it doesn’t lift the person up, encourage, or set free, more than likely we need to keep it between God and ourselves.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Annie nodded. “Okay, that makes sense, so problem solved. Now . . . I just have one more.”

  “Yes?” Faith arched a brow.

  “My friend Peggy’s older sister and friends are a bit on the wild side, and Peggy told them my eighteenth birthday is coming up. Now they want to take me to dinner, and at first Aunt Eleanor said no. But then she changed her mind and wants to pay for everyone’s dinner.”