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Promise
Me Chapter One When Pigs Fly. How apropos. The name suited the small-town pub,
although the locale hardly suited him. He yanked his silk tie loose and thrust it into his jacket pocket where it hung on the back of his barstool. He loosened the top two buttons of his shirt, pocketed his diamond-stud cufflinks, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Overhead a ceiling fan whirred noisily yet accomplished little. In agitation he raked his fingers through his hair. People jostled him from all sides. Voices rose and fell in a tumultuous torrent. He sat hunched over his drink, isolated from the boisterous crowd. "I think there’s something wrong with Angel," a male voice said somewhere off to his right. "Not in trouble with the law again, I hope." "I think it’s something a lot more serious." "What could possibly be more serious than that? Heck, that last fiasco had the town talking for months." Uproarious laughter drowned out the voices. Just great. Damon rubbed at the prickly five o’clock shadow lining his jaw. All he needed was to be stuck in a hick town that boasted its own Mafia brute. Any guy named Angel, who was undoubtedly a regular troublemaker with the law, had to be nothing less than a hit man for a gang. He cursed his car for breaking down in the middle of nowhere. He should’ve put his fear aside and flown to Ottawa. He owned a private jet, but he only flew in it under duress. He knew he wouldn’t be in this mess if he could just slay that one incapacitating dragon. Why was hindsight always twenty-twenty? Now here he sat, marooned, while elsewhere, urgent business required his attention. From their haphazard places on the walls, photographs of pilots and poorly rendered paintings of airplanes stared down at him. To make matters worse, he’d ended up in pilot heaven. His temples began to throb with a headache measurable on the Richter Scale. "Angel’s been seeing an awful lot of Stu lately. He’s been flying in at all kinds of odd hours and staying through the night. I wonder what’s going on?" "They are good friends, you know. Hey," a wicked chuckle punctuated the young man’s next words, "you aren’t jealous, are you?" Damon paused with his glass in midair. He glanced about to see exactly what kind of a bar he’d landed in. He noticed a healthy number of women around. He took a cautious sip. The first man, apparently ignoring the intended jibe, said, "I
don’t think Angel’s feeling her old self. She didn’t
come last Saturday, the first I’ve known her to miss in living
memory. I’m just worried about her, that’s all."
Damon, his interest piqued by the overheard conversation, looked towards the door. Several young men, who appeared to have been keeping an eager eye out for the woman in question, jumped up at her entrance. "Angel!" someone called out. "Come on over and join us." "Angel baby, you look sensational." "Wanna beer?" "Bring the lady a beer!" Declining the cold brew thrust in her direction, Angel laughed and greeted people as she squeezed into a spot along one of the long plank tables where a space on the crowded bench had miraculously appeared. Damon blinked. The woman was a vision against the backdrop of the hazy pub. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back. She wore a bright, full skirt that swirled when she walked and a simple, off-the-shoulder T-shirt that enhanced her smooth skin. He forced his attention back to his drink and the captivating ring of condensation. Two seats beside him were suddenly vacated as the men who’d been sitting there left to join the crowd gravitating towards Angel. She held court like some kind of queen. Damon resisted the urge to glance her way. He wasn’t interested. He took another long pull from his drink. Two women immediately claimed the seats beside him at the bar. One woman wore a short black dress that looked a size too small, while the other looked to have been poured into a skin-tight green outfit with flashing sequins that drew a man’s attention away from her face. Studiously he ignored them. "I’m surprised Angel came after all," one of the women said irritably. "It’s tough to get a piece of the action with her hanging around." "You know what they’ve been saying about her after that fainting spell a couple a weeks ago." "Yeah. The guys say she hasn’t been feeling well lately." The woman in the too tight dress snorted. "And I heard Bud say he found her spilling her guts out behind the hangar just the other day. You know what I think? I think little miss perfect finally let some guy under her skirt." "I think you’re right. And if that’s the case she wasn’t so perfect after all not to take precautions." "Serves her right. She’s probably too perfect to know how to get rid of it. Harry!" the woman in black called out in a sharp voice to the bartender. "Bring me a Screwdriver." The woman nearest him, the one glittering in green sequins, seemed to suddenly notice that he was sitting alone. "Hi, honey," she said. "You’re new in town, aren’t you?" Damon stood up, intent on leaving, then decided that he wasn’t about to let these women drive him away. Not deigning to give the woman a reply, he resumed his seat and his taciturn silence. There was no law that said he had to be sociable on his off hours. Angel glanced around at her friends and co-workers and sipped at a glass of water. The scent of Harry’s famous spicy chicken wings made her stomach gurgle in anticipation. An irresistible sense of familiarity and friendship embraced her and she smiled, glad she’d come. "Who’ll we get to strip tonight?" Arlene, one of the women already seated, asked with an exaggerated leer. Dull light gleamed along her dangling earrings and highlighted the purple streaks in her short, spiky hair. She owned the only lingerie shop in town and often went out of her way to promote her goods. "You couldn’t pay me enough." Pete, a gangly young pilot who always looked as if he were trying to grow a beard, shuddered in mock horror while holding up his hands to ward off invisible mobs of women. "You’d have to pay us to watch," Cindy, a pretty, plump brunette and one of the few female pilots, declared. Pete’s ears reddened; Angel laughed at the banter. Idly she glanced through a gap in the surging tide of bodies surrounding her. She spied a stranger lounging at the far end of the bar. The dark stubble hugging his sexy jaw belied the fact that he looked out of place in the pub. No one else wore a suit. Most of the men wore jeans—faded, torn, patched, or otherwise. Some had on khakis, but none wore suits. The newcomer stood up for a moment, tall and broad shouldered—clearly the most handsome man in the room. Angel let her unabashed gaze travel up and down his six foot plus frame. Attractive, she mused. Very attractive. She wouldn’t mind watching him strip. His dark hair looked mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it recently. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to slide her own fingers through its thickness. She stared with uninhibited interest as he settled back down to nurse his drink. He leaned back on one arm while glancing around the room. His roving gaze immediately captured Angel’s blatantly curious appraisal. Lifting his drink, and one dark eyebrow, he saluted her. Checking the impulse to return the salutation, Angel turned aside. Slowly she raised her glass and took another sip. The man looked vaguely familiar, as if she’d seen his face before. Could she be starting to forget things like that? Could she have forgotten ever knowing such a virile man? Goosebumps dotted her flesh at the grim possibility. "Let’s dance." She grabbed the nearest man and hauled him to his feet. "We’ve been sitting long enough." Not until they were halfway across the room did she notice that heavy-set Rob Peterson, one of the newly licensed pilots, clung to her hand. Rob wasn’t exactly one of her favorite people, but he would do in a pinch. "The lady wants to dance!" The call went out to the live band in the corner from another pilot standing on the sidelines. "Give the angel some room to spread her wings." A path opened up to the tiny dance floor, nothing more than a bare space left vacant in front of the band. Once Angel realized what she’d started, she caught the lead musician’s eye. Bud, her flight dispatcher, attacked the strings on his guitar. In the space of a note the leisurely tune disappeared and the steel-stringed instrument throbbed to a rock-’n’-roll beat. Carl, the drummer, touched one of his sticks to his forehead in acknowledgement, and she smiled. He’d keep the music hopping. He worked for her as the flight school’s chief technician. Rob grasped her hand and began to swing her around in a fair imitation of the jive. "I finally got you where I want you." He reeled her in to his side. Angel laughed. "Dream on." With a jump and a shout she flung her hands in the air in time with the music. Another pilot stepped onto the dance floor and tapped Rob on the shoulder, letting him know his time with her had come to an end. Angel kissed her fingertips and waggled them at Rob before giving her full attention to Frank, a reed-slim black man and her most senior flight instructor. A sudden awareness made her glance through a hazy slit in the crowd towards the stranger still seated at the bar. The breath caught in her throat. She wished he’d come and dance with her. She grinned up at a new partner, breaking the eye contact that had held her spellbound. Some time later, several guys from her last course swarmed the
dance floor. They’d been a rowdy bunch to teach and were an
even rowdier group to dance with. Like a hot potato they handed
Angel around and around until the group collapsed in hoots of laughter.
With her arms linked between two chortling men, she stumbled breathlessly
back to her place at the table. Angel grabbed her arm. "Don’t ever envy me," she snapped. "You have no idea…" She turned her head before Cindy could somehow see into her eyes and thereby learn the truth. With trembling hands she pushed her hair behind her shoulders. The worst of it would be to lose her independence. If she could no longer run her flight school, if she was forced to live with her folks again, if she… No one knew. No one had to know. Her pulse raced. The upbeat music, with its surging measure, tugged at her tormented imagination. Boisterous laughter broke into her reverie, and with a start she returned to the conversation. "—came out of the cockpit wearing a parachute and said, ‘you folks wait here while I go down for help!’" Another round of laughter washed over her senses and buoyed her soul. She’d missed the joke, but not the healing laughter. A good dose of humor was just what she needed. Coming tonight had been the best course of action. She smiled up at Frank. She’d ask him to come over later tonight to discuss business. The school was in a lot of financial difficulty right now, but she knew that its reputation was solid enough to weather the storm as long as its creditors didn’t panic. A compelling force made Angel look in the direction of the bar. All thoughts of business flew out of her mind. The newcomer still sat there, watching her with a speculative gleam in his dark-shadowed eyes. Their gazes caught and held. His recurring interest intrigued her. Again she let her thoughts drift over the possibility of watching him strip, or dancing with him, up close and personal. With the safety of distance, she let her gaze linger over his body. This time she offered him a silent salute with her lifted glass. "That guy sure is a hunk." Cindy sighed elaborately in her ear. "What I wouldn’t give to dance with him." "Looks like Dolores and Lydia are trying to do just that." Angel indicated the two women perched like vultures on either side of him. "I guess they’re hoping to get lucky tonight." "He looks too smart for them," Cindy said. "You know, he looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen his face before." She twirled a brown lock of short curly hair around her index finger, her hazel eyes narrowed and thoughtful. "You think so, too?" The relief Angel felt at hearing those words astonished her. "I dare you to go over and talk to him." "No way!" Cindy nudged Angel with her shoulder. "I dare you to go over and talk to him." She chuckled and gave a half smile. "I bet you can’t get him to dance with you." "What do you wanna bet?" Anticipation slammed into Angel. She knew what some people were saying about her, and she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to cower in a corner. "The usual." Cindy raised her eyebrows. "I knit
you something of your choice, or you give me some hours free flight
time." "Don’t count your chickens." Cindy dropped her hand and picked up her mug. "He looks like one tough customer." Before Angel could comprehend her own actions, her feet propelled her halfway across the room. This is insane. What am I doing? She never indulged in her particular brand of brazenness with strangers. But then, a tiny voice reasoned, What’s there to lose? Before she stalled and lost altitude, she closed the distance separating them. Several of the school’s candidates lounged around the bar trying to entice the women sitting there to talk. Dolores and Lydia, flanking the handsome visitor, knew a good thing when they saw it and weren’t biting. Angel stepped up behind the stranger’s broad back. She rested her hand on his shoulder to attract his attention. The feel of his warm, hard muscle under her fingers sent a tingle of awareness coursing through her system. She looked over his shoulder into the mirror behind the bar and their gazes locked. A real-life portrait, hovering there amidst the sparkling lights and the shimmering reflections of the hanging glasses, captured her attention. The man in the mirror lifted the corners of his mouth into a lazy, slow smile that sent her pulse racing. Angel returned the smile and winked. He raised an eyebrow and swung about to face her. Up close she could see that his eyes were a deep, midnight blue. "I saw you coming," he drawled. His husky, sensuous voice sent delicious shivers racing along her spine. Shimmering warmth stole over her. "Let me guess," he said as he looked her up and down, "you’re Angel." He picked up his glass and took a long swallow, then tipped it towards her. "Are you offering to be mine?" "To be your what?" Angel didn’t want to be cast in the same mold as the other two women. Stalling, she hooked her hair behind her ears. "You want me to be your heavenly messenger? After all, that’s what my name means." "Actually, I could’ve used a little divine intervention earlier today. What I figured you’re offering me now, tonight, is to be my own personal angel." The double entendre made her heart skip a beat. Angel intended to maintain control of the situation and knew she had to keep the bantering light. She planted her hands on her hips. "Only the devil would ask that." "My name’s Damon." He grinned. "I’m almost a demon but not quite. Is that devilish enough for you?" He had a very sexy smile. She liked the way his mouth curved higher on one side. The dark, day’s growth hugging his jaw made him appear rakish. No, dangerous. But then, she’d flirted with danger more times than she could count in the cockpit. She could handle him, no problem. "Damon." She tested his name on her tongue. "Loyal friend. Hmmm… and are you? Loyal that is?" Before Damon could respond, Rob Peterson interrupted. "Sooo, Damon," he said as he propped himself against the bar. "Are you here to fly with our Angel?" "Butt out," Dolores snapped at Rob. She turned and glared at Angel. "He doesn’t look like he came here for you," she said pointedly. "He’s not your type." Dolores laid her bright-red-manicured hand possessively on Damon’s arm. Her short, skin-tight black dress showed every curve to great advantage. She leaned closer. "I was just getting to know Damon when you horned your way in." "You obviously didn’t get very far, Dolores." Angel tipped her head and lifted a brow. "It’s Ladies’ Night, and you’re still sitting here." Dolores hissed in displeasure. A hard glint sparked to life in Damon’s midnight-blue eyes. "Now how would you get me to go further?" he asked. Angel’s pulse fluttered in warning at his softly spoken words. "Let’s see…" Angel mused. "We could dance." "I don’t dance." "I’m sure I could teach you." "Maybe I don’t want to learn." Damon leaned his elbows on the bar behind him. He already knew what the two women beside him wanted, he saw their kind often enough, but despite what he’d overheard earlier about her, Angel seemed different. "Why?" He narrowed his eyes. "Why me, when you can have any guy in the room?" "I’ve already danced with them." She dismissed the entire male population with a wave of her hand. Damon enjoyed watching her easy graceful manner when she absently tucked her hair behind her ears. The slight action stirred up the fresh scent of peaches. He’d watched her earlier with the men out on the dance floor. She was a woman who exuded vitality, a woman who lived life to its fullest. Against his better judgement, Angel intrigued him. He thought of all the women he’d ever known, and they were all the same. Their promises, hinted or delivered, always fell short of the mark. What he did want, didn’t exist. He noticed the sparkle of mischief in Angel’s luminous gray eyes. Besides, she wasn’t promising him anything now, was she, other than a bit of fun? Angel tapped a finger on her lower lip. Damon’s gaze followed the small movement. She lacked the painted artifice of the two women flanking him. He felt the arc of sexual tension wrap its sinuous threads about his tired mind, stirring his exhausted body to a heightened awareness of her soft curves. Suddenly weary of where this was all leading, Damon decided to put an end to the banter. He knew she was just teasing, he had seen it all before, but something about her made him hesitate. He looked at Angel, with the light dancing around her head like a halo, and the words to send her away died on his lips. There was just that something about her. "If he doesn’t want to dance with you then you could take him flying, Angel," one of the men leaning against the bar suggested. "A night flight!" "Yeah," another enthused. "Take him to heights he’s never imagined." "You can make him soar, Angel!" "You guys are impossible." Angel groaned and threw up her hands. Damon watched those slim, delicate hands and wondered for an insane moment what it would feel like to have those hands touch him. That’s it. Now he knew for sure that his brains were addled. "You can teach him," Frank said. "If you could teach this drunken sot how to dance amongst the clouds," he explained as he put his arm around Rob’s shoulders and nudged Damon, "then you could teach anyone." "Okay." Angel spread her hands. "But I don’t have time to give him the full course." She smiled. "It’ll have to be a crash course." "Oooh…" A bunch of the fellows winced in commiseration. "Go easy on him, Angel. Don’t let him crash the first time out." "Actually," she lowered her voice, "I had something more like this in mind." On a dare, she asked the handsome stranger for a dance. But somehow she’d gotten sidetracked. She reached out and let her fingers run boldly through Damon’s hair. It felt soft and silky, just like she’d fancied. She stared at the furrow her fingers made, then dropped her gaze to study the pulse at the base of his throat. She noticed a few dark curls lying against the crisp whiteness of his shirt. She imagined touching them; she flexed her fingers. She imagined tasting him; she licked her lips. She imagined loving him; she inhaled his musky scent. Every sight, every sound, every smell struck her suddenly as being brilliantly precious and exquisite. As his hand snaked out to halt hers, a tiny diamond glittered from the eye of an eagle engraved on a gold band around his little finger. The sight of the bird’s reaching wings unfurled her own. "Don’t you dare," he warned as she sidled closer. Angel stared at the sensuous mouth that had just issued the latest challenge. Tonight she dared anything and everything. She leaned forward and put her lips against his. Just a taste. That’s all she wanted. Then she’d go. Totally unexpected, the shock electrified. Angel gasped. His warm breath fanned her mouth with an intensity that seared. She tasted strong liquor, raw male, and glorious life. Their breaths mingled. She breathed in his essence. His fingers gripping her shoulder branded her. Angel plunged in free fall. She never wanted to recover. She longed to fall forever into his embrace. Sanity slapped her in the face. How could she use another human being this way? She tried to pull back, but he held her in place. With her face only a few scant inches from his, she stared into the depths of his dark eyes, gone smoky now with desire. What had she done to him? Her pulse hammered at her throat. What had she done to herself? She had never felt this erotically overwhelmed before. She didn’t want to analyze her uncharacteristic actions or reactions. Shocked at the roiling sensations the simple kiss had evoked, Angel jumped out of his grasp. Her hand flew to her mouth. The sounds of hoots and cheers broke in upon her consciousness.
To top it off, she’d kissed him in a public place. Angel shoved
her hair behind her ears. She tried desperately to recover her senses
before the whistles and catcalls died down. "Sorry fellas." She held up her hands. "I’m afraid Damon’s a slow learner. He’ll have to get himself another dance partner." er quick glance took in both women. She knew Dolores and Lydia would be more than willing to pick up where she’d left off. "He’s all yours, girls." Lydia grabbed his arm. "Let me show you, honey," she said in her sultry voice, "how a real woman kisses." She pressed herself closer to Damon. "I think I just might take you up on your original offer," Damon answered Angel. He stood and towered over her. His inscrutable gaze pinned hers as he ignored Lydia’s more blatant approach. Angel inhaled deeply and willed her heartbeat to slow down. She’d experienced such adrenaline surges after particularly wild flights when safe landings were still in doubt. In this situation she suspected the safe landing was definitely out of the question. Time to bail out. "That’s quite all right." Angel lifted her chin, forcing her gaze not to drop. "I’ve changed my mind." "I don’t think so. I want to dance. And you’re the one I’m going to dance with." He grabbed her hand. Angel groaned inwardly. Would she never learn to curb her impulsiveness? No matter where she was or what she was doing, trouble always found her. Well, she’d have the one dance with him then call it a night. Damon’s hand scalded the small of her back as he propelled her along. His warm breath fanned the top of her head as she felt his lean, hard body pressing up close behind. For a moment she found his strong presence oddly comforting. She recalled the meaning of his name. She could use a loyal friend during the upcoming ordeal. Someone to stand by her through thick and thin. Someone who wouldn’t abandon her when the going got rough. Like the Red Sea parting, the way before them opened up and led unerringly towards the dance floor. The band immediately struck up something with a quick beat, but Damon ignored the rhythm of the music. His left hand clasped her right against his chest while his other hand encircled her waist and pinned her against the solid wall of his hard body. For a brief respite Angel pretended that she belonged in his arms. "You never did answer why you wanted to dance with me." Damon’s breath stirred her hair. "Aren’t there enough other men for you to pick and choose from? Or were you just looking for another one to add to your list?" "List? What list?" Angel looked up at him and laughed. "They’re all my friends." "I’m not." "Actually…" She shrugged in his arms. "I asked you on a dare." "And you, naturally, always accept a dare." He made it a statement. "Always." Matching him step for step, she asked, "So why did you decide to dance with me after all?" "To escape those two femme fatales." Angel laughed at the apt description. Knowing the truth, she chose to enjoy the moment. All thoughts, worries, and fears fled as she allowed herself to be wrapped within the security of his embrace. Melting against him, she savored the feeling of his powerful presence. He lowered his face to hers. He rubbed his rough jaw along the
soft skin at her temple. The tingling sensation reached to her very
toes, and she suddenly felt weak at the knees. She closed her eyes.
His hard thighs rubbed hers. Her legs wobbled. "I suppose you wanted to flaunt that you’re the most desirable woman here. I’ll play along with that. I’m even willing to bet that all the other men in here would go along with that too." He lifted her chin with the back of his knuckles; his big hand still clutched hers in his strong grasp. "What are you saying?" She snapped out of her dream. "Seems to me like they’re lining up expecting to get another dance with you. Maybe even one of those gut-wrenching kisses you hand out so freely." Angel dragged her mind back from the brink of the seductive abyss. Rob staggered into her peripheral view. Noticing his drunken leer, she knew exactly what he wanted. The last thing she wanted was to be passed off to a string of guys for a slow dance. A very slow and intimate dance. For years she’d kept every eligible male, even those not so eligible, at bay. She wasn’t about to let any of them think their chance had come. Experience had taught Angel to spot a problem and make course adjustments long before the situation became a crisis. Intent on catching Damon off guard, Angel raised their joined hands, threw her head back, and in her best instructor’s bellow shouted, "It’s Ladies’ Night Out! Damon here wants to dance! Who wants to be first in line to dance with our handsome guest and show him what a great place Swift Falls is?" Women swarmed the dance floor. They seemed to come out of the
old pub’s woodwork. And then Angel fled into the night, not
even leaving him her shadow to follow. |
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