Читать книгу: «Texas Vows: A McCabe Family Saga»
Nothing but a house full of boys and one very ornery McCabe man…
| Sam McCabe | Widower, single father of five and spoiling for a fight with the new household manager—Kate Marten. |
| Will McCabe | High school senior and a chip off the old block. |
| Brad McCabe | Sweet sixteen and loving every minute of it. |
| Riley McCabe | In the midst of the terrible teens. |
| Lewis McCabe | The sensitive son. |
| Kevin McCabe | The baby brother. |
Plus one very determined woman!
| Kate Marten | Possibly in over her head and about to drown in too much testosterone! |
Dear Reader,
Of all the books about love and family that I’ve written to date, my stories set in the fictional town of Laramie, Texas, have been the most well-received. First came THE MCCABES OF TEXAS, about John and Lilah McCabe’s four sons. Then, THE LOCKHARTS OF TEXAS. The four Lockhart women who grew up with the McCabe boys are no less spirited—and there’s still one sister who hasn’t yet marched down the aisle! Now, I am pleased to offer you what you’ve been asking for…another story set in Laramie, and one that is longer, more dramatic and even more emotional.
Sam McCabe is the nephew of John and Lilah McCabe. A highly successful businessman, he is overwhelmed at the prospect of bringing up his five boys, ages six to seventeen, alone. Sam has moved back to Laramie to be closer to family. He hopes his boys will be happier if they are living in the small Texas town where he grew up. As is usually the case, it’s just not that simple. His boys are acting up worse than ever, and he finds himself at his wit’s end.
Enter Kate Marten, the kid sister of an old friend with problems of her own. She knows what it’s like to lose a loved one, and she knows she can help Sam and his boys. Unlike the rest of his family, however, Kate refuses to cower in the face of Sam’s bluster, which makes for plenty of tension—sexual and otherwise.
I hope you enjoy this book as much as you’ve enjoyed the rest of the series. Your letters have warmed my heart and made all the hard work that goes into each and every book worthwhile. Thank you and happy reading!
Sincerely,
P.S. Don’t forget to pick up the final installment in the series next month—The Virgin Bride Said, “Wow!” from Harlequin American Romance.
Texas Vows
A MCCABE FAMILY SAGA
Cathy Gillen Thacker
To Charlie—For everything, always.
Read all of the Harlequin American Romance books in Cathy Gillen Thacker’s smash series and find out why Laramie, Texas, is the undisputed matchmaking capital!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS A BAD DAY and it was getting worse, Sam McCabe thought as he called all five of his sons to his study for an immediate accounting of what was just the latest event in a whole string of family catastrophes.
“Don’t look at me. I don’t know what happened.” Will shrugged his broad shoulders. “I was out running. I wasn’t even here.”
No surprise there, Sam thought wearily. At seventeen, the only thing Will cared about was getting in shape for the upcoming football season. He was never around to help out or hold down the fort.
Sam turned to sixteen-year-old Brad, who was busy combing his immaculately tended brown hair and checking out his reflection in the glass-front bookcase in Sam’s study. At Sam’s glare, Brad pocketed his comb and offered his version. “Actually, Dad, I think it was hormonal. You know, one of those ‘women things,’ that made Mrs. Grunwald pack up her bags and walk out of here on such short notice.”
“Hormonal,” Sam repeated disbelievingly. And “no notice” had been more like it. Sam had been called out of an important business meeting to be told she’d already left and wasn’t coming back—not now, not ever. When he’d tried to get an explanation from her, the irate woman had just said he needed to do something about his home situation and hung up.
Sam turned his attention to Riley, who at fourteen was definitely the most mischievous of his brood. And, unless Sam missed his guess, had probably been instrumental in pushing the retired lady-marine-turned-housekeeper to quit.
“I just don’t think she’s cut out to take care of growing boys,” Riley explained with a remarkably sober expression. “You know. Given the fact that she never had any kids herself.”
“Face it, Dad.” Sensitive as always to what was going on behind the scenes, Lewis stepped forward, suddenly looking much older than his eleven years. “We were never gonna be happy with her here, anyway. Mrs. Grunwald just wasn’t Mom.”
And no one ever would be, Sam McCabe thought solemnly. Ellie had been one of a kind. But that didn’t excuse what his boys had done here, chasing away their tenth housekeeper in six months. Not that they would ever come right out and admit that that was what they had done. No, they would continue giving excuses and shifting the blame.
Sam turned to Kevin, his youngest, and the only one of his five boys who hadn’t yet put in his two cents about the latest episode in their lives. “What do you have to say about all this?”
Kevin ducked his head. Sam wasn’t surprised his six-year-old had nothing to say about their housekeeper quitting. Kev hadn’t talked much to anyone about anything since Ellie had died. In a way, Sam could hardly blame him. Since Ellie had died, the light had gone out of all of their lives, and with it the need to even pretend their world would ever be normal again.
Sam looked up to see John and Lilah McCabe in the doorway of his study. His aunt and uncle were not just a gifted nurse and doctor and founders of Laramie Community Hospital, they had been his lifelines to sanity this past year. They’d provided moral support and guidance when Ellie was ill, as well as helped during the dark days after her death.
Sam had moved back to Laramie to be closer to them, thinking more of a sense of family might help his boys adjust to the loss of their mother. And it had helped, but only to a point. The boys still didn’t want a housekeeper, and indeed seemed to be doing everything they could to chase whomever Sam hired away.
After the ninth one had walked out on them, Sam had let his sons talk him into being responsible for themselves. Only to have Kevin end up in the hospital ER with a sprained wrist, numerous abrasions and a cut that needed stitches after a still-unexplained fall off the porch roof. So Sam had hired housekeeper number ten. Unfortunately, Mrs. Grunwald’s take-charge style had not worked well on his boys. And now here Sam was again, relying on his favorite aunt and uncle to come and save the day, when what they really should be doing was savoring the first heady days of their long-awaited retirement.
Gently, Lilah interrupted. “Guys, we need to speak to your dad alone. So why don’t you all see what you can do about cleaning up the kitchen?”
Sam waited until the boys had left, then shut the door to his study before turning back to John and Lilah. “Thanks for coming over. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
Sam shook his head grimly, wondering what it would take to get a housekeeper who was reliable and responsible enough to handle all five of his boys even half as well as Ellie. “You’d think Mrs. Grunwald could have waited to quit until I got back from California.” Instead, he’d had to cut short his Silicon Valley business trip and grab the first flight back to Dallas, then drive to Laramie, where John and Lilah had been holding down the fort, awaiting his return.
“We’re glad to help you with the boys anytime, you know that,” John said sincerely.
“But this is out of even our scope,” Lilah added as if worried.
Sam didn’t like the sound of that. It seemed as if John and Lilah were planning to quit on him, too. “What do you mean?” he demanded tensely.
John clapped a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder and led him over to the leather sofa. “Your aunt Lilah and I both grew up in large families and reared our own. So we know firsthand how chaotic households with a lot of children can be, even under the best of circumstances. But what’s happening here, Sam, in the aftermath of Ellie’s death, is not routine.”
“Which is why we’ve arranged for Kate Marten to talk to you tonight.” Lilah sat on the other side of Sam. “She’ll be over as soon as she finishes with her grief group at the hospital.”
Sam grimaced. “You know how I feel about that little busy-body.” He and the boys had barely moved back to Laramie a month ago when she’d started bombarding him with literature—none of which he’d read—and phone calls—none of which he’d bothered to return—about her professional counseling services.
Lilah and John exchanged a pointed glance. “We know you haven’t given her a chance.”
What would have been the point in that? Sam wondered, even more exasperated. “She’s just a kid.”
“No, Sam, she’s not,” Lilah said firmly as she patted his hand. “And if you took a good look at her, gave her just a few minutes of your time, you’d realize that.”
Sam shook his head and pushed to his feet. “Even if I wanted to meet with Kate—” which I don’t, he amended silently “—I don’t have the time. I’ve got my hands full with the boys tonight.”
“No. You don’t,” John corrected. “Lilah and I are taking the boys to the ranch for the evening.”
Lilah added helpfully, “That’ll give you time to talk to Kate alone.”
Sam knew his aunt and uncle meant well. It didn’t mean they were right. “All I’m going to do is tell her I don’t need her.”
Lilah paused. “If that’s really what you think, then tell her that face-to-face. But at least hear her out, and listen to what she thinks you and the boys need to get your lives back on track.”
Sam knew what they needed—they needed for the damn cancer to never have taken hold in his wife’s body. They needed their family intact, with everything just as it was. But none of that was possible. Much as he and the boys wanted to, they couldn’t turn back the clock. They couldn’t make anything happen any differently than it had. They couldn’t bring Ellie back.
SAM WAS ALREADY two shot glasses into a bottle of Scotch when the doorbell rang. He was pouring himself a third when he heard the front door open, followed by the staccato sound of high heels crossing the foyer and heading his way. From beneath hooded eyes, he watched as Kate Marten paused in the portal, and squinted in his direction.
“Sam?” Her voice filled the dark room as she carefully made her way toward his desk. It was a you-can-tell-me-anything-and-I’ll-understand kind of voice. Soft, seductive, incredibly pleasing to the ear—and the last thing he wanted to hear.
Sam propped his elbows on the desk and cupped his hands over his ears. The last thing he needed right now was Kate Marten’s perky, professional presence.
Too late. As she neared he couldn’t help but catch sight of a pair of long, slender, sexy legs that would have put a swimsuit model’s to shame. Stopping his glance at her dimpled knees—he didn’t need a woman this beautiful around, never mind one of her incredibly aggravating persistence—Sam felt a familiar bitterness seep into his veins. “Go away.”
“Sorry,” Kate responded with a nauseating amount of good cheer. “No can do, Sam.”
Muscles tensing, Sam leaned back in his desk chair and lifted his head. Usually when he told someone to clear out, they went. Double time, when he used that particular tone of voice. Not pesky little Kate. She had to be—what?—thirty-one years old now, to his thirty-six—and still she pursued him with all the unending cluelessness and vigor of a love-struck teenager.
He glared at her, momentarily tabling his urge to punch something—anything—to smithereens. He didn’t care if she thought she was helping. He wanted her gone. Now. For good. “Which of those two words don’t you understand?” he demanded in a voice that wasn’t anywhere near cordial.
“My vocabulary’s fine, thank you very much.” Kate smiled. “As for the rest…” Stepping closer yet, Kate leaned over in a drift of citrus scent and turned on his desk lamp. “I understand you all right—maybe more than you think.”
Grimacing at the glow of the light hitting him in the face, Sam reached out and adjusted the shade so that the beam exposed less of him and more of her. She was dressed in a figure-hugging yellow dress that stopped just above her knees. The matching jacket clung to her breasts and fell away slightly at her midriff. Sam glared at her. Swore. He didn’t want to be this physically close to any woman, never mind a crusading little innocent like Kate. “When did you turn into such a pest?”
Kate’s lips curved into a wry smile. “If I were to believe what you think…the moment I was born.” Her light blue eyes softening, Kate perched on the edge of his desk. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
Sam lifted his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “My house. My choice.”
“I see.” Kate continued to regard Sam steadily.
Sam turned his eyes to the framed picture of Ellie, half buried in a pile of papers on his desk. “You don’t see anything.”
Kate lifted her manicured left hand—which sported a very nice diamond engagement ring—then let it fall back to her lap. “I might if you gave me half a chance.”
“Then see this.” Sam knocked back another shot of Scotch. He set the glass back on his desk with a thud and stared at her. “I don’t want you here. I don’t need you.”
Refusing to back down in the slightest, Kate lifted her delicately arched brow. “What makes you think this is all about you?”
Stung, Sam shifted his gaze away from her, anything to avoid the faint hint of derision in her blue eyes. “What is it about then?” he asked gruffly.
“Your boys.”
Sam lifted his glance to Kate’s. Held it there with effort. “My boys are doing fine,” he said flatly.
“Are they now?” Kate’s goading smile widened as she casually reached over and recapped his bottle of Scotch. “I suppose that’s why they’ve just chased off their sixteenth housekeeper in six months.”
“Tenth.” Before the little know-it-all could get any ideas about dumping his liquor down the sink, Sam took the bottle from Kate’s hand and set it next to him, well out of her reach. “Mrs. Grunwald was the tenth, not our sixteenth, housekeeper.”
“I stand corrected,” she conceded. “And if they’re doing so fine, why did you get called back from California? From what John and Lilah said, that was an important business deal you were negotiating.”
Not anymore, Sam thought, aware his quick exit and the client’s need for an extremely speedy resolution to the problem had put his company out of the running. “Don’t worry. There will be others.” His business never had and never would hinge on any single deal.
“I’m not worried. I know how well your business has been doing. Unfortunately—” Kate hopped down from the desk and began to pace the study “—money doesn’t buy happiness, does it, Sam?”
“You’re on very thin ice here, Kate. So in other words back off.”
Kate turned and looked at him as if she were pleased to know she was getting under his skin. She folded her arms in front of her and said, “You need someone to help you with the boys, Sam.”
Sam lifted his glass in a mock salutation. “The lady wins a prize for that astute observation.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, Kate edged closer, her arms still pressed tightly against her waist. “I am that person.”
Sam poured himself another drink. “I thought I made it clear—I’m not interested in bringing them in for counseling.”
“You know what they say,” Kate replied. “If Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, take the mountain to Mohammed.”
“You’re not coming here to counsel,” Sam said flatly.
“How about I just sign on as your housekeeper then? Temporarily, of course.”
Unable to resist, he goaded her. “What happened? The hospital fire you?”
The last thing Sam needed was Busybody Kate underfoot twenty-four hours a day. Never mind that he knew how his five boys would react to having someone as pretty as Kate living in the house with them. All five of them would have crushes on her in no time. A complication he also didn’t need.
“On the contrary,” she retorted pleasantly, standing so close he could take in the alluring fragrance of her hair and skin. “We’ve had so much success we’re expanding the department. The second grief counselor started last Thursday.”
If she hadn’t been badgering him, charging in repeatedly where she so clearly was not wanted or needed, Sam would have congratulated her. As it was, he let the opportunity pass, and took another sip of his Scotch. “What does that have to do with me?” He studied her, wondering what he could do to incite her to leave and never come back.
Kate pulled around one of the straight-backed chairs from in front of his desk and positioned it so it was two feet away, facing him. Then sat. “You’ve got four weeks until school starts again.”
Four weeks with the boys home every day, able to get into plenty of mischief, while he was at company headquarters in Dallas, struggling to not let any more business opportunities go down the drain.
Had it just been him, Sam could have done with the lost opportunity and income. But he had two hundred and fifty highly qualified e-commerce consultants working for him. If his company went under, the lives of his employees and their families would be thrown into chaos, too. Sam wasn’t about to let that happen. Not if he could prevent it.
Still sipping his Scotch, he watched her gung-ho expression over the rim of his glass and waited.
“Meanwhile,” Kate continued, “I’ve been so busy building up my program at the hospital I haven’t taken any significant time off in two years and I’ve got five weeks of vacation coming.”
Wariness quickly replaced Sam’s willingness to listen. The muscles in his jaw clenched as Kate sank into the chair and crossed her legs.
“And you’re proposing what exactly?” he demanded with a curious lift of his brow, irritated to find he’d been paying more attention to her knees than what she’d been saying.
Kate smiled at him as if her solution were the most natural thing in the world. “That I move in here with you and the boys until school starts and or you find someone to take over the job permanently.”
Sam would have liked to think this was all a goofy impulse on Kate’s part, but he could see by her overeagerness that it was not. The earnest little do-gooder honestly thought she was helping here. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked impatiently.
“A lot of reasons.” Kate turned her hands palm up. “Your parents are gone now, so they’re not available to help you, and you never had any siblings.”
Sam forced a smile through stiff lips and, for his beloved aunt’s and uncle’s sakes, returned with a politeness that was even more strained, “But I do have an aunt and uncle right here in Laramie. Not to mention all four of their sons and their new wives.” That was, in Sam’s view, plenty of family.
“John and Lilah are leaving tomorrow evening to go to Central America to do medical relief work for several weeks. Or had you forgotten?”
Sam had been so wrapped up in his own problems he had forgotten.
“I’ve no doubt Shane, Wade, Travis and Jackson would be happy to help you. Only problem is, they’ve got jobs and responsibilities of their own.”
Sam frowned at Kate’s holier-than-thou tone. “And you don’t?” he countered, doing nothing to mask his disbelief.
Kate straightened her spine indignantly. “I worked as a high school guidance counselor before I worked at the hospital. As it happens, I know plenty about working with kids. But there are other reasons I want to help you out, as well.”
Sam released a long, exasperated breath. He was sorry he’d ever let her get started on this pitch. “Such as…?” he asked, disinterested.
“Our families have known each other forever. And in Laramie, we help each other when circumstances warrant it.”
That was true, Sam thought, but only to a point. He reached for the bottle of Scotch. “You’re forgetting the fact your father despises me.”
Twin spots of color appeared in Kate’s fair cheeks. “What happened between you two was a long time ago,” she countered.
Sam poured himself another shot. “I’m betting your dad hasn’t forgotten or forgiven.”
Beginning to look a little annoyed herself, Kate replied, “That’s not the point.”
With an economy of movement, Sam set the uncapped bottle back on his desk. He regarded her steadily. “Isn’t it?”
“Ellie used to baby-sit me when I was a kid. Did you know that?”
Sam shrugged. As far as he was concerned, that was of no significance. “She used to baby-sit a lot of people around here.”
“Yeah, well…” Kate’s voice took on a tremulous, emotional quality Sam liked even less. “Ellie was especially kind to me in the months after my brother died, and I’ve never forgotten it.” Kate paused and looked down at her hands. “I’ve been thinking—maybe this is the way I’m supposed to repay her kindness.”
Which was, Sam knew, exactly how Ellie would have seen it. Hadn’t that been one of her favorite sayings? One kindness begets another. He sighed again, more loudly, wondering how he had ever allowed himself to get into such a mess. Now he was going to have to do what Ellie would not have wanted him to do: turn down Kate’s offer of help. Aware Kate was waiting for him to say something, Sam finally allowed, “Ellie was a good person.”
“The best.” Kate’s eyes shimmered suddenly. Her voice grew even huskier. “Everybody loved her, Sam.”
But not as much as me, Sam thought, knowing as much as everyone still missed Ellie their grief was nothing—nothing—compared to his and the boys’. He looked at Kate. “The answer is no,” he said flatly.
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “Why not?”
Sam swore silently. She was really going to torture them both by making him do this. He didn’t want to put her down. But, damn her, she’d left him no choice. “Because you’ve never been married or had kids of your own,” he told Kate, giving her a look that immediately relieved her of any responsibilities, any past debts, she thought she had here.
“A fact that will be remedied soon enough,” Kate interjected, wiggling her left ring finger.
Sam blew out an aggravated breath. “The fact you’re getting married to Craig Farrell later this fall changes nothing, Kate. You still know nothing about being a mom.”
“Maybe not,” Kate conceded, clearly hurt he didn’t think her capable. “But I know plenty about being a friend.”
What little patience he had fading fast, Sam shoved a hand through his hair. He wished Kate would just give up and go home. “My kids have friends,” he told her gruffly. “They need a disciplinarian.”
A fact that, to Sam’s consternation, did not faze Ms. Kate Marten in the least. “If you think I can’t bring order to your five rowdy boys, think again, Sam. I worked as a camp counselor five summers in a row. I was an athletic trainer for my father’s football team all four years of high school. I can handle your boys, Sam.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s what Mrs. Grunwald said. And she was a marine. They drove her out in two weeks.” Sam shuddered to think what his kids would do to someone as well-intentioned but as hopelessly naive as Kate Marten.
Kate shrugged and continued to regard him like the dynamo she thought she was. “All that proves is that she wasn’t the right person for the job,” she persisted amiably.
Sam took in Kate’s dress-for-success clothing and carefully selected jewelry. With her soft honey-blond hair falling about her shoulders in a style that probably took hours every day to maintain, she looked as though she belonged in an office, not a kitchen or a laundry room. “And you are?”
“You’re darn right I am.” Kate looked at him steadily. As she continued, her voice dropped a compassionate notch. “Furthermore, I can help you, too, Sam.”
Now that grated, Sam thought. To the point it really shouldn’t go unrewarded. “How?” Sam asked sharply, eyeing her with a brooding stare designed to intimidate.
“By giving you someone to talk to.”
Finally, he acknowledged silently, they were down to the tiny print at the bottom of every contract. “What are we talking about here?” Sam asked in a deceptively casual voice that in no way revealed how truly annoyed he was with her. “Some sort of informal grief counseling on the side?”
“Yes.” Kate beamed her relief that he was catching on. Her blue eyes gleamed with a mixture of gentleness and understanding. “If that’s what you want, certainly I’d be happy to help you with that.”
Sam drained the last of his Scotch. Setting his glass down with a thud, he got slowly, deliberately, to his feet. What was it going to take, he wondered, to get people to stop trying to examine his private pain and leave him alone? What was it going to take to get people to let him grieve, in his own time, in his own way, at his own pace? He’d thought if he left Dallas—where he and Ellie and the kids had made their life together—and returned to the town where he and Ellie had spent their childhoods, that the people would be kind enough, sensitive enough, to just leave him and the kids alone to work through their grief however they saw fit. Instead, everyone wanted to help. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone had some method of coping they wanted him and or the boys to try. Leading the charge of the “Laramie, Texas, Kind Friend and Neighbor Brigade” was Kate Marten.
Sam had tried ignoring her. Been rude and unapproachable. He’d even—for a few minutes tonight—gritted his teeth and tried to reason with her. To his chagrin, all he’d done was encourage her.
And that, Sam knew, as he stood in front of Kate, would not do.
To make everyone else cease and desist their well-intentioned yet misguided efforts to snap him and the boys out of their grief, he would first have to make Kate Marten back off. As disagreeable as he found even the idea of it, Sam knew of only one surefire way to do that.
“If that seems like too much at first, we can just—I don’t know…be friends,” Kate continued a little nervously, finally beginning to eye him with the wariness he’d wanted her to all along.
“Suppose I want more than that?” His idea picking up steam, Sam reached down, took Kate’s wrist, and pulled her to her feet. Ignoring the soft, silky warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, and the widening of her astonished blue eyes, he danced her backward to the wall. “Then what?”
“Um—” Kate swallowed as she tried and failed to unobtrusively extricate her wrist from his iron grip. “We could get into other areas, too.”
Sam smiled cynically at the sheer improbability of that ever happening. Aware his plan was working, he said gruffly, “You’re not getting it.” Sam caged her with his body and braced an arm against the wall on either side of her head.
Her expectant look changing to one of alarm, Kate tried and failed to push past him. “Not getting what?” she asked, still smiling, albeit a lot more nervously now.
“That’s not what I want from you, Kate,” Sam murmured as he slanted his head over hers. Telling himself this was for both their sakes, Sam let his gaze slowly trace the contours of her face, linger hotly on her lips, before returning—with all sensual deliberateness—to the growing panic in her ever-widening eyes. “That’s not what I want from any woman.”
Fear turned to anger as he leaned impertinently close. “Sam…” Kate warned as she splayed both her hands firmly across his chest and shoved. Again to no avail.
Now that he’d found something that would work to rid himself of her, Sam wasn’t going anywhere.
“This is the liquor talking,” Kate continued in her pious counselor’s voice.
Knowing he would have to become a real bastard to remove Kate and her damnable interference once and for all, Sam merely smiled. “I’m not that drunk,” he said, his voice taking on a menacing tone. “Yet.” Before the evening was over, for the first time since the night of Ellie’s funeral, he would be.
“You don’t have to behave this way.” Kate lectured him with a mix of compassion and desperation. Ignoring his obvious disillusionment, she insisted stubbornly, “I can help you.”
Sam shook his head. Kate was wrong. She couldn’t help. No one could. The best thing anyone could do—the only thing—was leave him the hell alone. The sooner Kate Marten understood that, the better.
“The only thing I want is this.” Grabbing her roughly, Sam lowered his lips to hers and delivered a short, swift, punishing kiss meant only to inflame her anger and vent his. “And this…” His hands moved from her shoulders to her breasts in a callous way he knew would infuriate and frighten her even more than his brief, bruising kiss. Ignoring her muffled cry of dismay and shuddering breaths, Sam forced her lips open with the pressure of his and deepened the contact.
“Are you willing to give me that, Kate?” he demanded contemptuously, shifting his hands lower still. “Do your professional services…your unending sympathy for me and all I’ve been through extend that far?” He kissed her again, harder, more relentlessly than before as his hands slipped beneath her dress and closed around the satiny softness of her inner thighs. “Or are their limits on what you’ll take, too?” he taunted, wanting her—needing her—to share some of this pain she had so cruelly dredged up.
