Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) by Debbie Macomber Page B

sheets, Joy couldn’t sleep. Unreasonably, she was angry with Sloan. She was irritated, because he knew as well as she did what was happening between them and had done nothing to stop it. Her feelings, emotions, and heart were only playthings to him, a small diversion until he was walking again. She could almost hate him. Almost.
    She lay there for what seemed like hours, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes pictures of Sloan would flash into her mind. Not content with dominating every waking minute, he was determined to haunt her sleep as well. The room felt hot and stuffy. Throwing back the covers, Joy opened the sliding glass door just a crack. A faint moaning sound stoppedher. She had to strain to hear. Sloan.
    Was he in pain? Thoughtless of her bare feet, she slipped outside. Sloan’s glass door was also cracked. The sound of his moans was more distinguishable now, in addition to a faint thrashing noise. Joy peeked inside his room.
    Sloan was asleep and in the throes of some horrible dream. His head tossed from side to side, his blankets a twisted mess around his legs.
    “Sloan.” She hurried to his bedside and placed a restraining hand on both of his shoulders. “Wake up. You’re having a dream.” Lightly, she shook him. “Sloan, it’s a dream.”
    He jerked himself upright, leaning the brunt of his weight on one elbow. For a second he looked at her blankly, then released a small cry of relief. “Joy, good heavens.” His eyes were filled with some unspeakable torment. Forcefully, he pulled her into his arms, his breathing hoarse and uneven. “Oh Joy.” His open hands caressed her back, shooting a tingling fire down her spine. “I thought I’d lost you,” he continued. “You were in the school bus, screaming for me to help you, and I couldn’t get out of the chair.”
    “I’m fine. I’m right here,” she assured him, her hands brushing the hair from his face. Her heart cried out to him.
    “I couldn’t bear to lose you now.” He twisted his upper body, bringing her onto the bed beside him. Positioned so that he was above her now, his anguished eyes stared into hers. “Don’t stop me. I need you so much,” he murmured, before his mouth rocked over hers.
    She gave in to him unselfishly, parting her lips with all the eagerness of her newly discovered love. Her hands roved his back, reveling in the muscular feel of skin under her fingers. He was warm, vital, and, for this moment, this night, hers.
    His mouth left hers and pressed against the gentle slope of her bare shoulder.
    “You’ve been drinking,” she whispered.
    “Yes.” He moved to kiss her neck, his tongue making moist forays against the sensitive skin. “It was the only thing that kept me sane tonight while waiting for you.”
    “Oh Sloan. You didn’t drink after taking any medication, did you?”
    “Don’t ‘Oh Sloan’ me. I know what I’m doing. For once stop being my therapist and be my lover.” His mouth blotted any objection she might have voiced.
    Joy was reeling with the potency of his kisses, when his exploring hands cupped the soft undersides of her breasts.
    “You shouldn’t,” she protested weakly.
    “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath caressing her lobe.
    “No,” she admitted, her arms entwined around his neck. “Don’t stop.”
    Desire, raw and fierce, ran through her blood, spreading a path of fiery awareness that left no part of her untouched. Her senses were in turmoil. No longer did she question right from wrong. No longer did it matter.
    Sloan’s kisses grew deeper, more passionate; their effect drugged her into submission and demanded a response. Trapped in the warm, rushing tide of her love, Joy responded freely, wholly.
    His lips began a downward path from the sensitive cord of her neck. Her long fingernails dug into the rippling muscles of his back as she arched, wanting to give more, needing to receive more.
    “Joy,” he moaned, and