Kitabı oku: «12 Shades Of Surrender: Bound», sayfa 3

“What do you think I should do?” Daniel asked as he pulled Eleanor even closer than she already was.

“I don’t know. You’ve got money, no job, and it’s fucking freezing outside. Go to Tierra del Fuego or something. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

Daniel laughed and the movement of his chest from the laugh against her back nearly sent her reeling again. Could he stop being sexy for one moment? “Tierra del Fuego is nearly the southernmost tip of South America, a stone’s throw from Antarctica. It snows there in summer.”

“Wow. Anyway, you should be used to all that cold. I bet it’s pretty there.”

“Yes, I imagine it is. The natives burned fires constantly to ward off the cold—hence the name Land of Fire.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“Librarian, remember?”

“I keep forgetting.” She reached between his legs and stroked him. “I’m really going to have to renew my library card when I get back.”

“You should,” Daniel said pressing her onto her back and sliding into her. “Watch out for those overdue fines.”

Eleanor laughed softly as she wrapped a leg over Daniel’s back to coax him in even further. “Oh, I think I can afford them.”

Morning came too early for both of them. Eleanor awoke with her stomach pressed to the mattress and Daniel inside her, gently thrusting. He was too desperate for her to even wait for her to wake up on her own. They made love in silence, mute from the pain of having to part too soon.

Daniel pulled out of her at last with a reluctance they both felt. He ran a hot bath for her and with soap and his bare hands washed all traces of himself off and out of her. Eleanor shivered in the water despite its near scalding temperature. She would have preferred to have gone home dirty from him, stained and marked by him. She was grateful for the few black bruises he’d left on her back and inner thighs and the bite marks on her neck and breasts. She knew in a day or two this strange week with him would fade like a morning dream. She needed the marks to remind her it had happened—Daniel was real and she was more than just a seven-day loan. She had belonged to him. She had.

Daniel packed her things while she dried her hair and dressed. She felt odd letting Daniel pack up her stuff but she let him without any protest. She knew that he needed to feel in control of the situation, that her departure this morning was as much his doing as hers.

Eleanor had just finished taming her hair when Daniel came for her. His voice was low and steady, his eyes quiet. “The car’s here.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and gathered her coat and gloves. Side by side they walked in silence down the hallway, down the steps and to the front door. Eleanor reached for the door handle but Daniel stopped her with a hand on tops of hers.

“Daniel, I have—”

“Call me ‘sir.’ One more time at least.”

Eleanor met his eyes and saw them stricken. She felt something hard in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it but couldn’t.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Daniel closed his eyes and opened them again slowly.

“I won’t ask you to stay,” he said. Eleanor could barely look at him although there was nothing more she wanted to do than memorize every line and angle of his face. “But I want to.”

She inhaled sharply and forced a smile.

“I won’t say ‘yes’ if you do ask … but I want to.”

Daniel smiled back and that smile broke her heart more than any tears ever could.

“Go. Go back to him before I change my mind and keep you here forever.”

“He’d come for me, you know.”

“I do know. That’s the only reason I won’t try.”

Daniel took his hand away from hers and let her open the door. The driver got out and put her bags in the trunk. He held the door open for her and she slipped inside. The driver got behind the wheel as Eleanor rolled the tinted window down.

“I won’t ever see you again, will I?” she asked.

“Not unless you leave him.”

“I won’t,” she said with merciless certainty. “But maybe,” she glanced up at the great house looming behind him, “maybe someday you’ll leave her.”

Daniel nodded. “Maybe … Goodbye, Eleanor. Be good.”

She gave him her most wicked grin.

“Yes, sir.”

The car pulled away and headed slowly down the drive. Eleanor closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She would not look back at him. She knew he would still be there on the steps of the house watching her leave him, watching despite the cold, watching until every sign of her had shrunk into the distance and disappeared. That’s where he was. She didn’t have to look back. She just knew it.

Eyes still closed, she felt the car turn left out of the driveway and slam to a sudden stop.

“What the—” Eleanor threw open her eyes and leaned forward. Standing in front of the car in the middle of the road and completely off his property was Daniel. She wrenched the car door open and ran to him.

“Daniel … oh my god … you’re—”

“I lied,” he said reaching for her. “I will ask you to stay. I will and I am. I’m begging you to stay. I need you.”

He kissed and she kissed back, too startled to move, too moved to speak.

She finally pulled away from him.

“Daniel, you did it. You left your house, the property. I can’t believe it.”

Daniel looked at the house in the near distance and laughed as if just now realizing what he’d done.

“This just shows how much I need you. I haven’t stepped foot off the property in over three years but for you … here I am.”

Eleanor held him just a moment longer, pressed her face to his neck and inhaled that scent that was him and only him. And in that one moment longer she saw their life together—the days among books, the nights wrapped around each other, the mornings for anything they wanted … and they would never have to be apart and there would never be another second of waiting for a door to open just enough for her to slip inside without anyone knowing … she could be Daniel’s and Daniel could be hers and all she had to do was say ‘yes.’

“No,” she said and let him go.

“What? No what?” Daniel looked utterly stricken.

“If you were still in there, in your fortress, then I would know how much you needed me. That you’re here, you’re free … it’s proof that you don’t need me at all.”

“Eleanor. Please.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said backing away to return to the car. “I know it won’t help anything but you should know … only leaving him would ever hurt more than this.”

She looked at him one last time before slipping back into the car and saying one terrible word—”Drive.”

The car started forward again and this time nothing and no one tried to stop it.

Three months later …

She was seeing him tonight, all night. The knowledge of twelve uninterrupted hours with him left her dancing through her day. She danced home from work at eight and dropped her bag full of library books on her kitchen table. She would shower and change and in one hour, nine on the dot, she would be his, completely his all night long.

“Ellie?” her mother’s voice called out from behind a closed bedroom door. “You’ve got mail. On your bed.”

“Thanks!” she called back and danced to her room, not curious in the least what bit of junk mail was waiting for her. She glanced at the bed and saw a postcard on the corner of her quilt. She picked it up. On the front was a photo of mountains, snow-tipped and verdant. Now curious enough to care she flipped the card over and read …

Tierra del Fuego is actually quite lovely this time of year. Say hello to Astor and Lenox for me. Love.

It wasn’t signed. Only “Love” and nothing else. But it didn’t need a signature. Daniel … she couldn’t believe he’d actually gone and left his home—gone even to the ends of the earth. The lingering guilt at leaving him so abruptly disappeared at last. He was fine and even more he was free.

Eleanor slid the postcard into a book she’d just finished reading and danced to her shower.

She knew what love was. And it was expecting her at nine.

Taste of Pleasure

About the Author

In 2003, award winning author LISA RENEE JONES sold her Austin, Texas based multi-state staffing agency and has since published over thirty novels and novellas across several genres. Booklist says about Jones’ suspense: “… truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann. Alpha, military, and paranormal romance readers will want Jones’ entire series.” Lisa is active on Facebook and Twitter, and you can find her at www.lisareneejones.com. Lisa enjoys receiving e-mails from her readers! Email her at LisaR…@att.net (LisaRenJones@gmail.com - w/o the spaces). Please note that while Lisa reads all of her e-mails, it may take some time before you receive a response due to deadlines and other commitments. She’ll respond as soon as possible. If you like to receive information about Lisa Renee Jones’ latest books and news about contest giveaways, as well as any other information that might be fun or interesting to you, sign up for Lisa’s Newsletter.

PROLOGUE

“Silk” was the name swirled in fancy, curly writing on the edged-glass, double doors of the entrance to the club. Inside, skin, sin and satisfaction dominated more than the menu—it dominated private cubbyholes with sheer curtains, the open areas as their centerpieces. Velvety couches sat in these showcased areas, all well adorned with naked bodies indulging in sublime delights.

This was a place Sarah Michaels would never in a million years have dared to enter had she known what to expect. Her close friend Carrie had dared her to be “wild and crazy,” in celebration of her acceptance into UCLA’s law school. And since lately, “wild and crazy” meant a burger and fries without the take-out bag and library decor, the idea held appeal. She yearned to let her long raven hair out of its tightly braided confines as much as she hungered for a little male companionship. She’d worked hard these past few years to build a future outside her family’s business, to create her own identity. To stand on her own. She deserved some fun, to play a little.

But the bodies melting into bodies, the sighs and moans, were far more than she had bargained for. Sex surrounded her. Disturbingly, despite the illicitness of it all, a part of her that she didn’t recognize as herself was aroused, excited. She felt young, inexperienced, afraid, but yet she was effortlessly seduced. Deny it as she might wish to, she reveled, with an uncomfortable certainty, in the hedonistic indulgence of watching. This was not her—she was prim, proper, all about business. The dampness clinging to her panties defiantly contradicted her silent claim.

Sarah crossed her arms in front of her body and clung to any form of cover, a shell to hide beneath. She found it in her slinky black dress and a silent vow that it would not be removed despite everyone else’s state of undress.

Everyone included Carrie, who she’d just left in a private room attended by the companionship of two other females. The facade of sweet, little-girl and Goldilocks innocence that often clung to Carrie had vanished almost instantly upon entering the club. From Sarah’s witness, Carrie was more like the wolf with her prey—in control, hungry for respect and pleasure.

Unwilling to consider how easily her study buddy might have become something far different and irreversible, Sarah had quickly left Carrie’s presence. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t want, nor did she need, to face her own potential actions tomorrow through Carrie’s eyes. Deep down, she recognized a desperate craving for anonymity, for the freedom it offered.

Sarah inhaled, finding herself at the bottom of a winding metal stairwell. Hesitating a mere moment, she raced upward, away from her friend but not from this place—reluctantly admitting her attraction to its forbidden allure. Had Carrie seen this side of her? Seen things Sarah wasn’t willing to see in herself?

At the top of the stairs she found more couches, more curtains. A heavily shadowed corner offered the impression of invisibility, and Sarah pressed tightly into its hollow. It somehow granted her permission to remain. To allow the music, soft and sultry, to ripple through her body as surely as did the lusty heat of arousal as she watched one sensual act after another.

How long she stood there, she did not know. How long until he appeared—far too long. Tall, powerfully muscled, with longish, light blond hair, he stood before a half-moon-shaped couch, a light spraying him in a dim glow, as if he commanded its attention. Certainly, he commanded hers, and that of the two voluptuous, naked females who stood before him, offering their bodies for his enjoyment, receiving a noncommittal inspection in return. He was arrogant, dominant in his demand for attention by way of sheer existence. She was instantly submissive to that demand, instantly seduced. He wasn’t even naked, but then, he didn’t have to be—he was that ruggedly beautiful. His presence exuded an elixir of leather-clad man rippling with delicious muscle and erotic promises.

Heaviness expanded in her chest, her nipples tingled and tightened. Her eyes traveled his body with frenzied hunger. Never before had she drunk of a man’s presence as she did this one. Never before had every pore of her body cried out in explosion at the mere sight of masculinity. She wanted to know why, wanted to know “more.”

She studied him, inspected his physique with the thoroughness of an artist inspecting a masterpiece. She blinked as he removed his shirt. Wet her lips at the sight of his bare chest, his skin glistening golden-brown beneath the glowing lights. Broad shoulders complemented a defined chest sprinkled with just the right amount of hair. Her eyes dropped to his ripped abdominals where a tattoo circled his belly button. She couldn’t make it out, wanted to make it out, wanted to see it up close, touch it … lick it. Her hand went to her stomach. God. What was this man doing to her?

Suddenly, his chin snapped upward, attention diverted from the females at his feet, gaze snapping to Sarah’s corner. She froze, heart skipping a beat. Could he see her? Panicked for reasons she couldn’t explain, she searched his face. But that question was shoved aside as her stomach fluttered violently. She knew him. She knew those eyes, knew them well enough to know what she could not see at this distance—that they were baby-blue, sparked with flecks of amber that made them look like ocean water twinkling at sunrise. Knew him because their families were enemies, a friendship flawed through the corporate anger that had arced between two fathers—his and her own.

Seconds passed, pregnant silence surrounding her, blocking out the music, the surroundings. There was just her and him. Tension stretched, and so did the warmth in her body, so did the arousal heavy in her limbs. His lips twitched, lifted—a smile but not a smile. Awareness. That word came to mind. He knew she was there, that she watched, that she longed to do more than watch. Perhaps he knew who she was. Perhaps he did not. If he did, he gave no indication of that knowledge. His eyes lingered, held her paralyzed. An invisible hand seemed to stretch across that couch, across the space, and caress her with promises of forbidden pleasures she would not soon forget.

She should have moved. She should have left. She felt traitorous to her family, to her roots and to herself. Rebellion and desire flared out of nowhere and pressed her against the corner wall, not away from it. Sarah wasn’t going anywhere, she realized. She was staying. She was watching. She was celebrating.

CHAPTER ONE

Eight years later

If not for the weight of the four long weeks as interim CEO at Chocolate Delights, Sarah suspected she would have known he was there. Suspected she would have recognized the tingling awareness trickling down her spine as more than the warm splash of water in the Olympic-size pool of the Houston, Texas, country club. Instead, she dismissed the sensation as the edginess created from hours of boardroom brawls, an edginess she’d hoped to dispose of in a dozen laps. And since her swim appeared to be failing miserably, she had every intention of pulling out the big gun—a pint of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. Of course, she’d have to run by the store. Unlike her Austin home, her corporate apartment wasn’t well stocked with critical necessities like her favorite frozen treat.

Her mouth was watering with anticipation of the cookie dough flavor she adored, when she brought herself upright, her fingers curling around the concrete ledge of the pool, and blinked a pair of dusty cowboy boots into view. Boots that could have belonged to any one of the hundreds of club members, but the late hour, near nine o’clock in the evening, coupled with the instinctive thunder of her heart, said they did not. Those boots were going to be trouble, like everything else that had been thrown her way since her father’s diagnosis a month before.

Slowly, Sarah’s gaze lifted, taking in long, muscular, jean-clad thighs and lean hips before jerking to his face—Ryan White, aka the CEO of Delight’s rival, Deluxe Sweets, for the past five, highly successful years. Ryan White, who was also the star of most of her midnight fantasies. She didn’t think for a minute that his appearance poolside was a coincidence. Nor was his choice of faded jeans, rather than one of those designer suits he’d worn to grace the covers of numerous business magazines.

Deceptively casual. Calculated. As was his showing up when she was darn near naked. Well, she wasn’t a young college kid anymore, easily intimidated. She was a corporate attorney with years of experience. Granted, only a few of those years were actually with Delights before she and her father bumped heads over the direction of the company’s future and she’d departed. But that made no difference. She’d met plenty of men like Ryan White, men who were after success at all costs. Okay, maybe not exactly like him. A flash of him standing over those naked women in that club years before had her swallowing hard. Regardless, he was after something—and she knew what. She knew all too well. And he could forget it.

“You heard about my father,” she said flatly, not playing the game of unnecessary introductions any more than she would play cat-and-mouse.

He bent down, light blond hair framing a handsome face. “How is he?” Ryan asked, his voice, his expression, actually sounding concerned.

Emotion welled in her chest, defensiveness rising in her chest. “He has cancer,” she said. “Other than that, he’s great.” And he’s ready to quit fighting, she added silently. The certainty that he would lose the company was eating him alive as rapidly as his cancer. And with good reason. It was in financial ruin. No doubt, Ryan thought to take advantage of the weakness. He could think again.

Sarah lifted herself out of the pool and directly into his path, giving him no chance to avoid the splash of water. She expected him to back away. He didn’t. His hands went to her waist, over the simple, navy, one-piece suit that had felt conservative before it was wet and clinging to her every curve. Sarah froze, heat rushing over her, awareness like she hadn’t felt, well … ever.

“Hello to you too, Sarah,” he said, his eyes latching onto hers, simmering with heat, his voice a confident, sexy drawl that dripped arrogance and sex. His gaze melted into hers a moment, and then, with intentional directness, he let his eyes slide downward, over her nipples pebbling through the material. Lingering, touching her without touching her.

How long had she wanted this with this man? How long had she known what she knew now? That he was the definition of forbidden fruit. She wanted to shove him away; she wanted to stay close. But she held her ground, refusing to be intimidated. Seconds ticked by like hours, before crystal-blue eyes the color of the pool lifted back to hers, heat simmering in their depths. Then he said, “It’s been a long time.”

A long time. In three words, the intimidation rolled through her. In three words, he had successfully zapped her customary control—hit her with the dreaded memory, too soon after the wave of emotion over her father—and melted her into a rare moment of weakness. Heat and embarrassment flooded her system, weakening her knees. They had not seen each other since they were children except once in that club so many years before. The idea of him using that night against her to gain an upper hand didn’t sit well. Not well at all.

Her teeth ground together, her words intentionally prim and perfect. Controlled. Something she had mastered in the courtroom. In her life. “Please let go of me.” She smiled. “Or you might slip and fall into the pool. In some mysterious way I’d have nothing to do with, of course.”

His lips hinted at a smile, and his light blond hair accented the baby-blue eyes, alight with mischief. “You should remember our childhood games enough to know I never back down.”

Their childhood. He’d been talking about their childhood. Not the club. Relief washed over her, and so did the recovery of her courtroom-honed sparring skills. “Because back then,” she said, “I wouldn’t have made you back down. But this is now, not then.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve changed.”

He chuckled and stepped backward, hands up in mock surrender. “You wouldn’t have won so many cases in the courtroom if that wasn’t true.” And before she could process his admission that he’d followed her legal career, he added, “Other things can change too, Sarah. Family feuds begin and they end. We could start that ball rolling with a cup of coffee.”

Or with a bedroom brawl. She shoved aside the naughty thought with a sharp reply. Too sharp, she realized too late. It showed her hand, showed he’d gotten to her. “Save your dollar and your sweet-talking conversation.” She hugged the small towel around her a bit tighter, discreetly, not about to let him see her squirm. “Chocolate Delights isn’t for sale.”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly so that only her practiced courtroom skill allowed her to notice. “You intend to try and turn the company around then,” he said. “Good.” He smiled. “And you aren’t about to have coffee with me, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she agreed quickly.

He smiled. “Not even if I promise not to talk business?”

“Not even.”

“I’ve done the whole take-over-for-my-father bit,” he said. “You might be surprised at what I could do to help.”

“Me or you?” she asked tightly, convinced he was a problem, no, more than a problem—dangerous, lethal—because she actually wanted to say yes to coffee. Yes to a “bedroom brawl.” Yes to anything that involved this man.

“If I say both?” he asked. “Will I be sent for execution?”

“Both would indicate you have a self-serving purpose in mind, thus making a date with Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream my best offer of the night.” The flippant retort held a well-intended bite. Ben & Jerry competed with the new ice cream line he’d just released at Deluxe. And it was darn good ice cream. Better than her previous favourite, but she’d never admit that to anyone. Ever. Especially not to Ryan. Nor would she admit she occasionally sneaked a pint of Deluxe’s bestselling Cake Batter Deluxe ice cream into her freezer.

Unexpectedly, Ryan laughed, a deep, throaty masculine sound that rumbled in her ears and shimmered across her skin with electric delight. “Damn, Ben & Jerry are always keeping me on my toes.” He took a step backward. “I’ll leave you to them then.” He winked. “For now.” He started to turn and stopped, his tone shifting to solemn, his expression with it. “Delights has been in trouble a long time, Sarah. If your father could have fixed what’s broken, he would have. If you want to save it, don’t question yourself. Don’t worry about what your father will think when he returns. Own your role.” His tone softened. “And if you change your mind about that coffee, you know where to find me.”

He turned and sauntered away, a sexy swagger to his hips, her heart racing with his every step. He reached for the door, and glanced over at her. “You should live a little dangerously tonight,” he said. “Try the Cake Batter Deluxe.”

And then he was gone, tempting her in all kinds of dangerous ways.