Secret surrender, p.3
Secret Surrender, page 3
He shouldn’t have cared about her despondency, but he did. He didn’t like this ending. Didn’t like letting her go or letting her believe he’d lied.
Discord burrowed its way into the depths of his stomach, a discord that said it would linger if he let her drive away.
Dammit. Fine. I’ll fix it.
He raced after her, his footfall loud enough on the gravel that she spun around, and her amber gaze caught his.
“Wait. I ruined your night.” He paused, still not totally sure why it mattered to him that her mood lifted. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. My night was ruined before I met you.” She jangled her keys in his face and stepped back, continuing on her way in a swirl of turquoise material. “I’m going home to kick myself over ever coming here.”
Even as she walked away, or maybe because she walked away, a vise wrapped around his heart, deepening his struggle to let her go.
Her night was ruined and so was his mission. As much as he could try to salvage things with work, he didn’t truly want to. So maybe tonight’s failure didn’t have to be a total loss. Maybe he could turn this around.
There are worse ways to ruin my life.
“Take me with you.” His muscles sagged as the words escaped his mouth, surprising even him.
Somehow this woman made his body work separate from his brain, but then, did he always have to be in complete control?
She turned, her sandy brows knitting together, and she gawped at him for the longest time. “You’re not serious.”
She tilted her head sideways, giving him an off-center stare, suggesting she maybe saw that he was serious.
That seriousness should have bugged him, but didn’t. If she said yes, if she took him with her, he’d ditch tonight’s mission and break with the syndicate altogether. Let this woman decide his fate. A rushed escape, sure. And even if he didn’t plan to stick with this woman in any long-term way, she would provide his initial excuse to leave. His shot of courage.
The syndicate had always been a soulless endeavor, not much more than an illegal means of making rich men richer. This one poor life decision had been allowed to linger for far too long.
Or maybe I was just too chickenshit to leave…
He strolled over to her and tilted her chin up, a little lost on why this stunning woman had been absurd enough to ever look his way. Still, her motivations for looking weren’t his concern. All he cared about was how he wanted this woman like he wanted his next breath. “We’re both not having any fun here, but maybe our night doesn’t have to end so badly after all.”
“You really think I’m about to let you, a total stranger, into my car?” The skin at her eyes constricted into a scowl.
He did his best to hide any hurt at her rebuff. “You already let me kiss you.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, and that turned out just great.”
Despite her words, she didn’t move. She merely blinked up at him as if a small part of her wanted him to convince her.
He pressed his palm to her face and used his touch to give her a moment to warm to his proposal of a second chance. Heaven knew and he knew, like most things in life, she was too good for him. So maybe he was being an unfettered jerk, but just once, he wanted to steal one of those good things. Even if just for one night.
“That kiss was great.” Color spread over her cheeks, and he stroked his thumb over her soft skin, a silent prayer playing through his mind that she’d come around. But prayers aside, he wouldn’t leave her decision to fate alone, so he dropped a feather-light kiss to her lips, a reminder of what they’d already shared. His promise of what would come if she agreed. “My leaving had nothing to do with my interest in you, Sarah.”
Her eyes drifted shut, as though the sound of her name got to her. “And I’m supposed to just drive us back to my place so we can… so we can…”
A breath fell from her, and she flung her eyes open, failing to finish the sentence.
“Yes.” His answer came on a husky tone, and he leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth, that kiss stealing his ability to determine who did the seducing here.
Despite her tough act, her gaze softened. “Who are you?”
The vise around his heart tightened again, her doubt feeding his desperation. “I told you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You told me your name, but I don’t know who you are. How can I trust you? This”—she pulled back a little, only to stop like she had second thoughts—“this is a terrible idea.”
“No one in Harlow knows me, and I leave town tomorrow.” He pulled her closer, and she let him. His heartbeat soared, this woman a rare and spirited find. “We want each other. I’m not about to rat you out to your neighbors. I won’t ask anything beyond tonight. That makes this plan perfect.”
Her cheeks went a shade darker, while her gaze darted over his face. Her generally stiff stance seemed less about fear and more about being all too used to holding herself accountable.
“I’d wager most single women around here don’t get many chances to break away from maintaining their squeaky-clean image.” He leaned in farther, set on assuring her there’d be no consequences. “What have you got to lose, Sarah?”
He dropped a final kiss to her lips, vowing he would abandon his need to convince her from here on out. Yes, he wanted her, but he’d already put forth his case and wouldn’t bully her into a decision.
Her direct stare held him a beat longer before she blinked away her hyperfocus and lifted her hand, splaying her fingers over his chest in a demand for his full attention. “Get in the car.”
Five
Sarah pushed the front door to her house open and turned to speak to Dean. He loomed behind her, the fire in his eyes swallowing her words while seconds passed with nothing but the quiet night as her buffer. He leaned in, his arms quick to enfold her, and his lips crashed down on hers, his unabated intensity suggesting he’d held onto his desire to kiss her the entire drive over.
To be fair, her body felt on fire that entire time too. Now that his tongue swept hers in hot, delicious strokes, she got the sense that earlier burning was a small spark compared to the inferno coming her way.
He walked her backwards into her house, a loud bang sounding as he kicked her front door closed. She didn’t have time to think too much on the door kicking, his kiss devouring her soft moans while his hands worked up her waist and onto her shoulders, tugging down the straps of her dress.
The heavy material pooled at her feet and she chuckled. “Not wasting any time, are you?”
“We don’t have time to waste.” He hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Bedroom?”
She reached out an arm and pointed to a closed door behind her. Cool air brushed her near bare skin, his wide footsteps taking her across the floorboards to her bedroom door, where he pinned her against the cold wood panel.
For the first time since they’d crossed her threshold, he slowed—slow in that he cupped her face with his hands and drove home a deeper kiss, one that sent a prickling sort of shimmery sensation over her skin—his hands soon sweeping down the sides of her body and stealing her breath with his caress.
She’d come out of a long-term relationship, wasn’t at all inexperienced when it came to sex, and while the actual “sex” part of this hookup hadn’t even started, none of that felt like this. So thrilling. So all-encompassing.
He ground against her, excitement impossible to miss as his lips found a new place at the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and whispered a languid and breathy, “Oh, God help me.”
He ground into her again, the pressure against her sex bringing forth another moan. “You’ll have to settle for my help tonight, honey.”
She flung her eyes open and eyeballed his dead-serious expression before laughter burst past her lips and shattered the heavy moment. His dire scowl faded, and his lips pulled into a wide and boyish grin, where before, nothing about him had read as sweet or endearing.
And those eyes. Those eyes held a glint like nothing she’d seen in him up until now. He’d held such a pent-up air, she hadn’t considered him capable of unbridled joy, but he outright shone now, like if she peered any closer she’d see galaxies of stars inhabiting his irises.
The desperate energy between them shifted to something less obvious, something deeper, more personal. So she leaned in and instigated the next kiss, taking time to savor this moment and man, a stranger who could embody anything her mind decided for him.
Even then, she preferred to unravel whatever mystery lived here. She slid her hands under his t-shirt, feeling the soft lap of fire on her palms, a man hot with need, the side of his ribcage unforgivingly firm.
The door handle’s light click had her sinking her weight into him. While he took her the short distance to her bed, she crept his shirt higher and over his head.
Cotton sheets crumpled beneath her, the metal crown from the soiree falling off her head and somewhere above her. She arched up, expecting his weight to cover her next, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he knelt beside her, their gazes entangling for a moment before his attention slid down her body in slow appreciation. “You’re perfect.”
Heat rushed her face, and she flicked her gaze down to the breathtaking view of his broad shoulders and lightly tanned skin, lower to his chest and the light sprinkling of hair that trailed down to defined abs, then lower still to where that hair disappeared beneath the waistline of his black jeans.
She snapped her attention back to him watching her and the reminder of his statement on her “perfection”, conceding he was far more qualified for the title.
“So are you.”
His expression slacked, like her open praise surprised him, or maybe that a man with such a cagey presence didn’t get all that many compliments. Either way, his strong stare didn’t leave her, and he crawled over, his body covering hers.
She lost herself to another of his kisses, to the sensation of his skin on hers, and his weight pressing her into the bed. She wanted more. Wanted to obliterate the need growing within her. To, as he’d said, use what little time they had. So, she slid her hands down to his belt, only for him to press his palm over hers. “No. Not yet.”
She pulled her lips away and frowned at him, his thumbs stroking her hairline on either side of her face while he held a grave expression.
“We both know where this is going, but I’ll get there much quicker than you. So”—he leaned in again and slipped a hand under her back, unhooking her bra—“you first.”
The top half of her underwear disappeared somewhere on the bed, his lips soon meeting the dip at her throat and traveling lower. First along her collarbone, his breath warming her skin, then to her breast, where his tongue met her nipple in a barely perceptible, soft brush.
She drew a sharp breath and arched into him, begging him to hurry, while he took his sweet time. His large hand engulfed her other breast, and she pressed into him some more, each soft kiss and gentle scrape of his teeth melting her cares.
She needed to forget the chain of disaster that had brought this man to her bedroom. Boy, did he deliver, his mouth traversing lower to her belly, his hands lower still—his fingers hooking to the sides of her panties and then stripping her bare.
His gaze caught her in a silent question, though even through her expanding need, she whispered, “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His expression didn’t change, no smile, not even a frown, just simple acceptance. “You want me to.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded, not used to giving over any control, somehow willing to just for this moment. He was right. She did want this. Wanted to lose herself. To experience someone else taking over… if only for this short time.
So, she watched as his hand swept to her knee, pushing her open.
He watched her too, watched her there, completely exposed, before his rapt attention snapped to hers. Her body responded with instant heat, melting her muscles into surrendering some more. He seemed to notice and crept lower, so that his lips made fast contact with her inner thigh.
She arched at the rousing sensation, each kiss traveling higher until he met the juncture of her sex, his kiss soon shifting to an unabashed brush of his tongue, his long fingers meeting with the center of her tummy.
He held her still and held her gaze, demanding she feel every changing touch he unleashed upon her body—soft and hard, fast and unhurried—the stroke of his thumb at her bud bringing her to a climbing pant. Something about his quiet approach suggested that he derived pleasure from her pleasure, that he gauged her reaction and adjusted his touch until she clawed at the bedsheets and rewarded his patience with her fast unraveling.
He used his elbows to pin her open, a subtle gesture for her to relax and surrender some more—surrender an alien concept to her, but one she tried, anyway.
One look at this beautiful stranger sent an electrified prickle through her body. All that power, and muscle, and a good dose of mystery. He clearly wouldn’t give up until she followed where he led.
One moan after another wrenched free of her throat, his equal parts challenge and restraint allowing room for her to feel—to express the pleasure she often held close. She would not see him after tonight. What did she have to lose from exploring? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
So, she begged for more, when she never begged for anything—and the more she gave in, the more he gave, too. As though he knew. As though he saw that she wasn’t the type to yield, while for once, she could be more herself than she’d ever been.
She focused on what he did to her. The pressure of his touch. A pressure that grew until she groaned from the overpowering assault on her senses; all the while, he held her open and vulnerable, undoing her with every caress until a shuddering climax took her over.
Excitement swept the air from her lungs, forcing her to gasp for her next breaths, the soft clinking of his belt reminding her that he wasn’t done. He was hard and ready, and he slid on a condom before quickly entering her in one long and confident stroke.
She arched and savored the tension and the heat, the undeniable connection, despite his newness to her. His cobalt stare refused to let her go—so intense, so direct—his hands clasping at her outer thighs, while he wrapped her legs around his waist. “You have amazing legs.”
She opened her mouth to offer some self-critical reply, but he thrust into her again, burying himself deep and stealing her words. The feel of him, the explosion of each passionate thrust igniting her every sensitive nerve, rushed her second climax out to the open.
He answered her arousal with increased speed, capturing each of her moans with his mouth and releasing a few of his own satisfied sounds. With each passing second, his thrusts grew harder and wilder, her fingers digging instinctively into the heat of his shoulders before he swelled within her.
Eventually, the fever cooled, and he released her legs from his waist. Though he remained inside her, his elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of her head, and he bent to kiss her again. “I guess this is where I’m supposed to leave?”
The upward curve to his lips held an air of hope. He didn’t want to leave.
She pressed her hands to his face and pulled him in for another kiss, only releasing him long enough to say, “Oh no, our night’s only just starting.”
Six
“I can’t believe something like this could happen in Harlow.”
Sarah blinked and shook her head at Ally Egan’s voice, that voice drowning out the fevered chatter at Maynard’s Tavern and the jangle of thoughts clouding her mind. Ally, four years younger than Sarah, cradled a droplet-covered glass of lemonade between her palms, her elbows digging into the bar, while her lowered pale blue gaze half-hid under her flop of short ice-blond hair.
“Ally, tragedy doesn’t always strike based on where you live.” Sarah cleared her throat, the hard ball of friction in there not shifting. Or maybe that ball consisted of guilt, more than anything that could be easily moved.
Two days since the soiree and her hot night with Dean. He’d left her house early afternoon the next day, and she hadn’t even gotten his full name, much less heard from him since—not that she wanted any other ending.
Still, while she’d spent her post-soiree morning sharing a shower with a tall, hot, mystery man, Blaine’s world literally went up in flames. So of course, as per local tradition whenever anything dramatic happened, much of Harlow converged on Maynard’s tonight to unload their shock and gossip.
“I just feel bad for Emilia.” Ally shook her head, still not lifting her gaze from the bar counter. “That her deranged and estranged husband could storm into town, gun in hand and hell-bent on hurting her. I mean, he traveled all the way from LA, despite being on the run from police. What sort of entitled ass sets his wife’s house on fire?”
A deranged one, obviously. And that same entitled ass had also come demanding Emilia return the millions he’d stolen from her family in the first place…
Deranged. Entitled. What a savage mix.
Sarah frowned down at her hands and the tall glass she polished. “I didn’t even know Emilia was married.”
How had she let go of her relationship with Blaine without knowing that piece of information?
Why does it matter? He didn’t love me. At least, he didn’t love me enough to stay.
And now Blaine lay in a hospital faraway in Minneapolis, all because the would-be hero had quite literally been caught in the crossfire between Emilia and her husband. As in, he’d taken a bullet to the chest, his chance of survival still unknown.
Ally’s eyes welled with tears, and her shoulders trembled. “There wasn’t any love between Emilia and her husband. She told me about Anthony just yesterday. She found him terrifying and had already filed for divorce. This is all so unfair. That horrible people can mess with the lives of everyone around them.”
Yes, unfair. And Emilia also had injuries, since Anthony’s attack had started on her before moving to Blaine. Only, Emilia somehow got hold of a knife, and Anthony’s life ended soon after.
