Love Everlasting (Isle of Hope series Book 2) (4 page)

He squinted at her. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

She shrugged. “No reason to. I’m a bottom-liner out of pure self-preservation. I was deeply wounded by charm and beauty, so surface things like that don’t even make the cut anymore. I tend to bypass most of it to get right to the point.” She absently scraped her lip with her teeth, a hint of apology in her eyes. “No matter how sharp that point may be.”

“And here I thought you were the soft and vulnerable twin.”

She grinned. “Used to be.” Her smile faded as she veered off into a distant stare. “Till the truth shattered my world, almost taking my life with it.”

He paused for several seconds, then cleared his throat, peering up beneath the darkest, thickest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. The tenderness in his gaze was so real and intense, it stuttered her pulse. “You know, I barely know you, Shannon, except for snippets here and there I’ve gleaned from Jack, but for some reason I wince inside hearing that. I don’t know—it’s just harder to see pain devastate someone soft and shy like you, who seems to have an innate gentleness about her.”

Her mouth quirked. “Except during detox and discussions of depth?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, smile sheepish. “Except then.”

“Well, then, see?” Hopping up, she grabbed both of their empty cups and took them to the sink. “There’s our first plus as to why Jasmine needs you—your empathy and compassion, Dr. Cunningham. But don’t waste it on me, please. That same truth that shattered my world was also what finally set me free.” Glancing at her watch, she was completely shocked that two hours had already passed since they’d arrived. She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “More coffee?”

“No, thanks. Your mission is to put me to sleep, remember? Not hype me up so I call a cab and go back out.” He squinted at the ceiling as if trying to remember something. “‘You shall … know the truth ... and it shall set you free.’”

She chuckled while she rinsed the dirty dishes and put them in the dishwater, returning with a dishrag to wipe off the table. “Ah, a man who knows Scripture—now
there’s
a plus in the ‘Jasmine Needs’ column. A show of faith—I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” he said with a wry bent of his mouth. “I’m not big on God or prayer, and that’s the
only
thing I remember from Sunday school. That and ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”

“Ah, yes, which brings us to question number three.” She sat back down, hands folded like before, her probing gaze pinning him to the chair. “Explain to me, Dr. Cunningham, just how you can have a fling with anyone else if Jasmine ‘possesses your soul’?”

He grimaced. “Uh-oh, looks like I may have to scratch ‘soft and shy.’”

She shimmied to the edge of her chair, suddenly extremely curious why men—even great guys like Jack before his faith was rekindled—had no qualms about toying with a woman’s affections. “I mean, Jack says you’re a pretty decent guy for a player,” she said, ignoring his flinch, “and you’ve chosen a noble profession, so you obviously have a great love for children. You could have blown me away when Jack mentioned you’ve been part of the Family for Every Child mentor program for years now, which clearly indicates a heart for others.” She leaned in on the table, arms crossed while she absently tugged on her lower lip with her teeth, softening her voice to cushion the blow. “So tell me, Sam, how can a nice guy like you who is supposed to be in love with one woman, tease and take from so many others without ever really giving back?”

“I give back,” he said with a thread of hurt in his tone.

She hiked a brow. “Dinners, dates, and sleepovers? Sounds like more trappings to make
you
feel better. Call me picky, but that doesn’t say love to me, especially for a woman who ‘possesses your soul.’”

He sat straight up, frustration ridging his brow. “Hey, need I remind you it was Jasmine who broke up with me, Miss Bottom-Line? Not the other way around, so technically I’m a free man.”

A weary sigh feathered her lips as she slumped back in her chair, heart aching for this man who was so desperate for love, yet so clueless as to how to go about it. “But that’s just it, Sam,” she said quietly, “you’re
not
free. You’re trapped in a cycle of rejection. Jasmine rejects you, so you reject her back, then you turn right around and reject every woman you use to fill the hole in your heart.”

“You’re crazy—I don’t reject anybody,” he snapped. “Especially Jasmine. For crying out loud, I’m so crazy in love with her, I’m sitting here in my kitchen with the room spinning and a sledgehammer pounding my brain, talking psycho-babble with some girl I just met.”

“Sorry, Sam,” she said, brows sloped in a look of sympathy usually reserved for skinned knees and hurt feelings in the classroom. “But that’s not love.”

“Really.” It was more of a statement than a question as he hiked a leg up on the rung of the next chair, one thick brow jutting high. “Then what’s your definition, Einstein?”

Shannon drew in a cleansing breath, closing her eyes to focus on the only kind of love she would ever settle for again. “‘Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth.’” She opened her eyes, her heart flooding with the assurance that this was exactly what God wanted for her too.

And
for Sam.

Her smile was pure peace. “‘Love bears all things, Sam, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’ And you know why?” She stood and pushed in her chair, that very same love she espoused now spilling from her gaze. “Because ‘love never fails,’ Dr. Cunningham, which is the best news I could possibly give you right now.”

She lifted the strap of her purse off the back of the chair and slung it over her shoulder, heart bleeding for this man who had so much potential—and need—for love. “Because if you apply
that
kind of love in your relationship with Jasmine and every other woman, you won’t fail either, Sam, in finding the kind of love that will truly make you happy.” Her lips twitched with a near smile as she employed her sternest teacher tone. “Now I’m going home, Dr. Cunningham, and
you
are going straight to bed, understood?”

“
Yeeeesssss
, Miss O’Bryen,” he said in a sing-song voice à la Eddie Haskell. He grinned with a wide stretch of arms before shuffling to his feet, fingers suddenly clutching the back of the chair when he started to sway. “
After
I walk you out to your car.”

“No, sir.” She marched around the table, waving him off on her way to the door. “You look like you can barely walk to your room, much less to my car, Doc, so I should be carrying
you
to bed.”

“Mmm … not a bad idea,” he said with a rakish waggle of brows that produced an immediate wince in his face. “Ow—that hurt.”

“Aw …” She fluttered her lashes in sympathy before delivering a dry smile. “Good.” He followed her to the foyer, hand to his head, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Pain, puke, and the promise of a hangover.” Hand on the knob, she turned at the front door with an arch of her brow. “Tell me, Doc, does anything stem the player in you?”

He mauled the back of his neck with a cringe, his smile appearing to be in as much pain as him. “Well, the point-blank truth tends to suck a bit of the wind out of my sails.”

She couldn’t resist a chuckle as she opened the door, lobbing a grin over her shoulder before she slowly shut it again. “Good to know.”

Chapter Four

A player, yes, but a sweet one.
Shaking her head, Shannon yanked the door closed with a smile, squealing when it bounced back with a clunk and a groan.

“
Owwww!
First you bludgeon my heart, and now my arm.” Sam moaned, rubbing his wrist while he sagged against the doorframe. “Okay, that settles it—you’re not a third-grade teacher, you’re a sadist.”

Eyes wide, Shannon put a hand to her mouth, as much to stifle a giggle as from shock. “I am
so
sorry,” she said, backing down his brick serpentine walkway when he started to follow, thinking that even sulking, he looked adorable. “But I did tell you to go to bed, did I not?”

“A bossy sadist at that,” he muttered, padding behind her in his bare feet, hands in his pockets as he gingerly stepped over acorns and sticks.

“You haven’t seen ‘bossy,’ mister, if you don’t get your butt back inside right now.” Keys in hand, she rounded her car and opened her door, pausing to sear him with a threatening look completely ruined by her flicker of a smile. “Goodnight, Sam—
again
.” She slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, groaning when a familiar grinding occurred. The engine refused to turn over as she pumped the accelerator to no avail. “Nooooo,” she moaned to herself, cheeks heating as she tried to remember what Jack had done to start the car when she’d flooded it at home, before the Memorial fundraiser. The smell of gasoline wrinkled her nose as she tried it again. “Come on, baby, I know you’ve endured drool, puke, and Sam Cunningham, but please don’t take that out on me …”

Tap. Tap.

Smothering a groan, Shannon looked up when Sam opened the passenger door, brows in a bunch as he ducked his head in. “What’s wrong?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, figuring she’d given Doctor Love enough grief for one night. “It’s been flooding lately, so now it won’t turn on.”

“Well, you’re in luck, Teach.” A slow grin slid across Sam’s face as he shut the passenger door and ambled around to the driver’s side, opening her door with a wink. “I happen to have a
lotttttt
of experience in turning things on, young lady.” He bumped her shoulder. “Move over.”

Succumbing to an eye roll, she scooted over on the cloth bench seat of her mother’s Impala to let him in.

“Whoa! How short are you anyway?” he asked, fumbling for the lever to adjust the seat. “My knees are in my nostrils.” He jerked it back hard and immediately groaned, plying his fingers to the sudden pain in his head. “Man, shouldn’t have done that.”

“You should be in bed,” she said with a sigh.

“I know,” he said, heating her cheeks with a wayward smile that caused her to inch further away. Pressing his bare foot on the accelerator, he kept it there while he turned the key, head cocked to listen to the starter. “Come on, baby,” he whispered in a husky tone, alarming Shannon when the sound purled heat in her tummy, “I know you can do it.” With a rhythmic grind that seemed to go on forever, the engine finally roared to life, drowning out her loud sigh of relief.

Sagging back in the seat, Sam slid her a sideways smile. “The trick is to keep your foot on the accelerator with no pumping, young lady, then keep grinding and pray like the devil.”

Her mouth crooked. “The devil preys, but not that kind.” She huffed out more air, lips pursed in a tight smile as she shooed him toward the door. “Okay, then, it’s off to bed with you, Doc, but thank you, truly, for starting my car.”

He didn’t move, smile gentle as his gaze roamed her face, her hair, hitching her pulse when it drifted down her body and back. “You’re not the one who should be thanking me, Shan,” he said quietly, “I should be thanking you.”

She smiled, going for casual as she shuffled back a tad. “For adding to your headache with opinions you didn’t want to hear?”

His face faded to serious. “Yeah, for that. Because I have to admit, though you ticked me off pretty good a couple of times” —those chocolate eyes held her captive, probing as if she were a mystery to solve— “for some strange reason, I feel a whole lot better than I did before, and I’m not exactly sure why.”

Her smile was warm. “Because the truth is the cure for heartache?”

He stared, eyes in a squint. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just that good as a friend.”

Her eyes softened, his words so sweet, she had to fight the urge to give him a hug. “I hope so.”

“Me, too,” he said, reaching to skim a finger down the curve of her jaw.

Before she could react, he leaned in and brushed a kiss to her cheek. It startled her so much, she jerked, which inadvertently aligned her mouth with his, barely inches apart. Heat coiled in her stomach as she froze, his shallow breathing mingling with her own. And then her oxygen ceased altogether when he slowly bent in, closing the distance as his eyes sheathed closed.

No!
But her limbs and voice refused to work, the caress of his lips paralyzing all protest. Against her will, a low moan slipped from her throat, his kiss so achingly tender, her body felt drugged as it melted into his arms.
Oh, Lord, help me—it’s been so long …

“Shan,” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear, easing her down on the seat so gently, she was barely aware. “Stay with me …” With a playful tug of her lip, his mouth took hers, disarming her with a dangerous warmth that swirled heat in her belly.

Stay with him.

Spend the night with him.

So he can take another piece of my soul.

Her mind seized, and then her heart.
“No!
” she screamed, shoving him away with such force, he bumped his head on the dash. “Out, get out, you … you … slimy letch!” She flogged him with her fists, not feeling a bit bad over the nasty knot he would have.

“Shannon, wait—” He raised his arms to protect himself, but she only whacked him all the harder, furious she’d been dumb enough to be played by a player. Especially after Jack’s warning.

“He can charm the spots off a kid with measles, which makes him all the more dangerous. So I need someone mature and levelheaded, with an immunity to players …”

Yeah, right. Apparently an “immunity to players” doesn’t inoculate one against “stupid.”

“Shannon, let me explain, please—”

Chest heaving, she jerked one of her high heels off and bullied him with her size five-and-a-half stilettos. “The-only-ex-pla-nation-I-want-from-you-bucko,” she hissed as she bludgeoned him but good, “is-how-to-get-you-out-of-my-car!”

“Hey, that hurts,” he moaned. He clutched his stomach as he scrambled out, finally toppling into the street.

“Good!” She lunged to slam the door, too angry to gloat when he furiously scuttled back before she could take off his big toe. Shifting into gear, she spared him one last glance to make sure he was clear, satisfied to see the fear of God in his eyes. “I hope your stupid tie stinks forever,” she shouted, moisture stinging as she gunned away from the curb.

Just like my judgment in men.