Free Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) by Debbie Macomber Page A

inside of her wrist. “I do, too.” His eyes holding hers, he lifted her fingers to his mouth.
    Joy tugged, and immediately Sloan released her hand. The potential for danger was powerful and strong. If she let Sloan kiss her fingers, it wouldn’t be enough; she’d want to taste his mouth over hers. She couldn’t risk weeks of hard work for something as fleeting as physical attraction.
    Awkwardly, she stood and backed away. “Good night, Sloan. Sleep well.”
    Somehow Joy managed to keep from running into her room. By the time she closed the bedroom door, she was trembling. Covering her face with both hands, she paced the carpet, her heart pounding like a trapped fledgling. Either she come to her senses or resign from this case. The matter was simple. She was a professional therapist, sensible and proficient. She knew better than to nurture this powerful physical attraction. In the end she would leave the cripple, not Sloan. But just as she recognized she must rein in her feelings, she knew she couldn’t bear to leave him now.

    The next morning, Joy was in the pool doing laps when Paul brought Sloan to the water’s edge. Once placed on the side of the pool, Sloan could lower himself into the blue depths.
    Treading water at the deep end, Joy waved. “I’ll be right there.”
    “Don’t hurry on my account,” he shouted back.
    A smile flashed from her eyes, and with even strokes Joy swam toward him.
    “You look bright and cheerful this morning.” Sloan had been up, dressed, and eating breakfast by the time Joy returned from her run. Normally, he delayed starting the day as long aspossible. Joy remembered the struggle she had had just to keep his draperies open the first few days after she’d arrived. Sometimes she forgot how far they’d come. But seeing him now, she was reminded how much further they yet had to travel.
    Clara hurried onto the patio. “Sorry to bother you, but Mr. Whittaker Senior is here.”
    A hardness stole over Sloan’s face. “Who does he want to see this time?” The question was barely civil.
    Joy bit into her lip to restrain an angry response.
    Clara wiped her hands on her apron, obviously flustered. “Mr. Whittaker says he wants to talk to you.” She directed her answer to Sloan.
    “Tell him I’m busy.”
    “We can do this later,” Joy inserted eagerly. “I’ll come back—”
    “No.” His angry shout shut her off.
    “Sloan, please,” she whispered.
    “Do as I say, Clara.” He directed his attention to the housekeeper, his dismissal final.
    With a quick bob of her head, Clara turned and hurried toward the house.
    His narrowed gaze swung to Joy. “Was this brilliant idea yours?”
    Joy returned his stare speechlessly. Was Sloan implying that she had sent for his father?
    “Is it?” he shouted.
    “Of course not. What are you suggesting?”
    “I saw the two of you together,” he hissed. “I’m not stupid. You two have something up your sleeves. Let it be known right now. I don’t want any part of it. Is that understood?” The last words were shouted.
    “Something up our sleeves?” Joy echoed incredulously. “Your father is half killing himself to maintain the business.
Your
company, I might add. He’s dying in stages. In case you’d forgotten, your father’s retired.” Joy paused to draw in a breath. “Are you so self-absorbed that you haven’t stopped to think what his life has been like since your accident? Not only is he worried sick about you, but he’s taken over your position in the company—with all the stress and worries. But you, Mr. High and Mighty, you’re so caught up in self-pity, all you see is yourself.”
    Sloan’s face became sickeningly pale. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Are you accusing me of lying now, too?”
    “What can you expect me to think? My parents told me Harrison was in charge of thecompany.”
    “Have you looked at your father lately, Sloan, really looked? Can’t you see what’s happening to