Suzanna's Surrender

Chapter Eight

If his nerves hadn't been so tangled, if the need hadn't been so acute, he might have been able to show her tenderness. If his blood hadn't been so hot, desire so greedy, he would have tried to give her some romance. But he was certain if he didn't possess now, possess quickly, he would shatter into hundreds of jagged shards of desperation.

So his mouth was fevered with impatience, his hands rough with urgency. At the first potent taste he understood she was already his. But it wasn't enough. Maybe it could never be enough.

She didn't tremble or hesitate. The vulnerability was cloaked inside a generosity that urged him to take his fill. As her hands roamed restlessly over his back he felt only her hunger, and none of her doubt.

He pushed the cap from her hair, then yanked the band from it so that his hands could take fistfuls of honey – colored silk. And the hands that gripped were unsteady, even as his mouth ruthlessly devoured hers.

She opened for him, releasing a soft and sultry moan of pleasure as his tongue plunged to duel with hers. He wanted so badly, and that want vibrating from him aroused her own. She had risen on her toes, unaware that she was fighting to meet him flare for flare. Her body was quaking with passions long sap – pressed.

And there was fear in that, fear in not knowing what would become of her if she lost that last toehold on control. She had to show him that she could give pleasure, make him enjoy and continue to want. If she fumbled now, lessened her grip on proving herself a woman, might he not find her less than his fantasy?

Yet she had never been wanted like this. Not like this with the violence of desire pulsing in the air so that every breath was like breathing temptation. She strained against him, hoping what she had to give would be enough while her system jolted along the battering tide of sensations.

His mouth raced over her face, down her throat where his teeth and the rough stubble of beard scraped. And his hands – Lord, his hands were fast and lethal.

She had to keep her head, but her knees were watery and her mind was spinning from the onslaught. Desperately she dug her nails into his back as she struggled away from the edge and tried to remember what a man would like.

She was quivering like a plucked bow, so tensed and wired he thought she might snap in two in his hands. She was holding back. The knowledge that she could do so when he was half – crazed brought on a kind of virulent fury. He tore the blouse aside as he pushed her onto the bed.

“Damn you, I want it all.” Breath heaving, he encircled her wrists and dragged her arms over her head. “I'll have it all.” When his mouth swooped down to capture hers, her hands strained under his grip, her pulse jittering in quick, rabbit jumps under his fingers.

His body was like a furnace, hot damp flesh fusing with hers in a way that made her shudder from the sheer wonder of it. Like iron, his fingers clamped hers still while his free hand raked over her in a merciless assault She could feel the anger, taste the frustrated and furious desire. Desperate, she tried to pull in a breath to beg him to wait, to give her a moment, but all she could manage were jagged moans.

The wind kicked the curtains aside, letting dusk pour through. The first drops of rain hit the roof, sounding to her sensitized ears like gunshots that echoed the war he was waging on her. Again thunder rumbled, closer now, warning of a reckless power.

When his mouth found her breast, he let out a hot groan of pleasure. Here she was as soft as a summer breeze and as potent as whiskey. As she writhed beneath him, he dampened and tugged on the taut nipple, losing himself in the taste and texture while her heartbeat hammered against his mouth.

And she wanted as he wanted. He could feel the urgent excitement raging through her, hear it in her quick, sobbing breaths. Her hips arched and plunged against his until he was senseless. He ranged lower, his teeth nipping at her rib cage, his tongue laying a line of wet heat over her belly.

Her hands were free now and her fingers gripped his hair, then tore at the bedspread. She couldn't breathe. She needed to tell him. Her body was too full of aches and heat. She needed...

She needed.

Someone cried out. Suzanna heard the quick desperate sound, felt it tear from her own throat as her body arched up. Whole worlds exploded inside of her with a roar more huge than the thunder that stalked just overhead. Stunned, she lay shuddering under him as he lifted his head to stare at her.

Her eyes were dark, her face flushed with fresh fever. Beneath his, her body shook with aftershocks even as her hands slipped limply from his back to the ravaged bed. He hadn't guessed what it would do to him to see that kind of dazed pleasure on her face.

But he knew he wanted more.

He was driving her up again before she could recover. Now she could only embrace the speed and the thrill of danger. As the rain began to pound, she rolled with him, too giddy to be shocked by her own greed. Her hands were as rough and ready as his now, her mouth as merciless. When he dragged the slacks down her legs, her quick gasp was one of triumph. Her fingers were equally impatient as they yanked the denim over his hips, as they streaked and pressed over slick, heated flesh.

She wanted to touch as urgently as she needed to be touched. To possess even as she was possessed. She craved the madness, the turbulent hunger she hadn't known she could feel, and this tempestuous desire that reared up like a wild wolf to consume.

There was no thought of control now, not from either of them. When he sent her racing up again, then again, she rode each slashing crest only frantic for more. More was what he wanted to give her, and what he wanted to take. As the blood fired through his veins he drove himself into her, claiming possession in a frenzy of speed and heat. She matched him, beat for wild beat, the long, nurturing fingers digging into his hips.

They were alone again, but this time the sea was violently churning and the air was flaming hot. Here, at last was the power and the freedom. The speed was reckless, the journey a glorious risk. She felt him shudder, bury his face in her hair as he reached the end. Suzahna locked tight around him, and followed.

He'd wondered what it would be like for fifteen years. From boy to man he had dreamed about her, imagined her, wanted her. None of his fantasies had come close. She had been like a volcano, smoldering and shuddering, then erupting hot. Now she lay like warm wax beneath him, her body meltingly soft with passions spent. Her hair smelled of sun and sea. He thought he could stay just so for eternity, molded against her with the rain drumming on the roof and the wind blowing the curtains.

But he wanted to see her.

When he shifted, she made a small sound of protest and reached out. He said nothing, only kissed her until she relaxed again. Her eyes were drifting shut when he turned the lamp beside the bed on low.

Lord, she was beautiful, with her hair fanned out on the pillows, her skin glowing, her mouth soft and full. She tensed, but he ignored her discomfort as he took a long, silent study of the rest of her.

“Like I said,” he murmured when his eyes came back to hers. “The Calhoun women are all lookers.”

She didn't know what she was supposed to say or how she was expected to act. She knew that he had taken her to a new place, an extraordinary place, but she had no idea if he had experienced the same mind – spinning ride. Then he frowned and her stomach twisted. With his eyes narrowed, he traced a finger down her throat, over the swell of her breasts..

“I should have shaved,” he said abruptly, hating the fact that he'd scraped and reddened her skin. “You could have told me I was hurting you.”

“I guess I didn't notice.”

“Sorry.” He touched his lips gently to her throat. Her look of dazed surprise made him feel like an idiot. When he rolled away, she reached out tentatively for his hand.

“You didn't hurt me,” she said softly. “It was wonderful.” And she waited, hopeful that he would tell her the same.

“I've got to let the dog in.” His voice was rough, but he gave her fingers a quick squeeze before he left the room.

Suzanna heard it now, the whining howls, the scratching at the screen. She told herself it wasn't a rejection. It only meant that he could go from passion to practicality more quickly than she. They had shared something, something vital. She could cling to that. She sat up, more than a little amazed to see the state of the bed. The spread was a heap on the floor, the sheets a tangled knot at the foot. Her clothes – what was left of them – were scattered with his.

She rose and, uncomfortable naked, tugged on his shirt before she lifted her own. One button out of five remained, hanging by a thread. Laughing, she hugged it to herself. To have been wanted like that. With a little sigh, she bent down to search for her buttons. Maybe now he could be cool and collected, maybe his life hadn't been changed as hers had, but she had been wanted, desperately. She would never forget it.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up to see him standing in the doorway. Obviously walking around buck naked didn't concern him in the least, she thought and felt her steady pulse jerk and dance again. He looked angry. She wished she understood what she had done, or hadn't done, to put that scowl on his face.

“My blouse,” she said. “I found the buttons.” She gripped them in one hand, the thin cotton in the other. “Do you have a needle and thread?”

“No.” Didn't she know what she did to him, standing there in nothing but his shirt, her hair tousled, her eyes heavy? Did she want him to get down on his knees and beg?

“Oh.” She swallowed and tried to smile. “Well, I can fix it at home. If I could just borrow your shirt. I'd better get back.”

He closed the door behind him. “No,” he said again, and crossed the room to take her.

The rain stopped at dawn, leaving the air washed clean. Suzanna awoke to the lazy music of water dripping from the gutters. Before her mind had adjusted to where she was, her mouth was captured in a hot, hungry kiss. Her body catapulted from sleep to desire in one breathless leap.

He'd awakened wanting her. That burning need wouldn't ease no matter how much he took, how willingly she gave. There were no words, none he knew, that could express what she had come to mean to him. From a boy's fantasy to a man's salvation.

He could only show her.

He covered her. He filled her. Watching her face in the watery morning sunlight, he knew he would never be content unless she was with him.

“You're mine.” He threw the words out like a curse as her body shuddered beneath his. “Say it” His hands fisted on the sheets and he buried his face against her throat “Damn it, Suzanna, say it.”

She could say nothing but his name as he dragged her over the edge.

When her hands slid limply from his back, he rolled over, locking her close so that she lay over him. He could be content with her head resting on his heart. He told himself that he'd already pushed her hard and fast enough. But he'd wanted badly to hear the words.

His hands were fisted in her hair. As if, she thought dizzily, he would yank her back if she tried to move. Her body felt achy and bruised and glorious. She smiled, listening to the rapid thud of his heart and the liquid beauty of morning bird song.

Her eyes flew open, her head up. He did pull her hair, but more from reflex than intent. “It's moming,” Suzanna said.

“That usually happens when the sun comes up.” “No, I – ouch.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and reluctantly released her hair. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Yeah.” He ran his hands up and down her back. He liked the long, smooth feel of it. “You dozed off before I could interest you in another round.”

Her color fluctuated, but when she tried to scramble up, he held her firmly in place.

“Going somewhere?”

“I have to get home. Aunt Coco must be frantic.”

“She knows where you are.” Because it was easier to keep her in place, he reversed positions again and began to nibble at her throat. Nothing could have pleased him more than feeling the instant quickening of her pulse under his lips. “And in all likelihood, she's got a pretty good idea what you've been up to.”

Without much hope of dislodging him, she pushed at his shoulder. “I didn't tell her where I was going.”

“I called her last night when I let Sadie in. Scratch my back, will you? Base of the spine.”

She obliged automatically, even while her thoughts spun. “You – you told my aunt that I...”

“I told her you were with me. I figure she could put the rest together. That's good. Thanks.”

Suzanna let out a long breath. Oh yes, Aunt Coco wouldn't have any trouble adding two and two. And there was absolutely no reason to feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. But she was both. Not only relating to her aunt but to the man whose naked body was spread over hers.

It had been one thing to face him at night. But the morning... He lifted his head to study her. “What's the problem?”

“Nothing.” When he lifted a brow she shifted in what passed for a shrug. “It's just that I'm not sure what to do now. I've never done this before.”

He grinned at her. “How'd you get two kids?”

“I don't mean that I've never...I mean I've never...”

His grin only widened. “Well, get used to it, babe.” Considering, he trailed a finger over her jawline. “Want me to help you out with morning – after etiquette?”

“I want you to stop leering at me.”

“No, you see that's part of the form.” He replaced his trailing finger with a light nip of his teeth. “I'm supposed to leer at you in the morning so you don't start feeling that you look like a hag.”

“A –” The word caught in her throat. “A hag?” “And you're supposed to tell me I was incredible.”

Her brow lifted. “I am?”

“That, and any other superlatives you can come up with. Then –” he rolled her over again “ – you're supposed to go fix me breakfast, to show me your talents are versatile.”

“I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're filling me in on the procedure.”

“No problem. And after you fix me breakfast, you should seduce me back into bed.”

She laughed and pressed her cheek to his in a move that disarmed and delighted him. “I'll have to practice up on that, but I could probably handle a couple of scrambled eggs.”

“Let me know if you find any.” “Have you got a robe?”

“What for?”

She looked up again. He was still leering. “Never mind.” Sliding away, she instinctively turned her back as she groped on the floor for his shirt. “And what do you do while I'm fixing breakfast?”

He caught the ends of her hair, let them shift through his fingers. “I watch you.”

And he enjoyed it, seeing her move around his kitchen, his shirt skimming her thighs with the scent of coffee ripening the air and her voice low and amused as she spoke to the dog.

She felt more at ease here, with familiar chores. The bush they had planted was a cloud of sunlight outside the window, and the breeze still smelled of rain.

“You know,” she said as she grated cheese into the eggs, “you could use more than a toaster, one pot and a skillet.”

“Why?” He kicked back in the chair and took a comfortable drag on his cigarette.

“Well, some people actually use this room to prepare entire meals.”

“Only if they haven't heard of take-out.” He saw that the coffee had dripped through and rose to pour them both a cup. “What do you take in this?”

“Just black. I need the kick.”

“If you ask me, what you need is more sleep.”

“I have to be at work in an hour or so.” With the bowl of eggs in her hands, she stopped to stare out of the window. He recognized the look in her eyes and rubbed a hand over her shoulder. “Don't.”

“I'm sorry.” She turned to the stove to pour the beaten eggs into the skillet. “I can't help but wonder what they're doing, if they're having a good time. They've never been away before.”

“Hasn't he taken them for a weekend?”

“No, just a couple of afternoons that weren't terribly successful.” She made an effort to shake the mood as she stirred the eggs. “Well, there's only thirteen days left to go.”

“You're not helping them or yourself by getting worked up.” His impotence grated as he fought to massage the tension from her shoulders.

“I'm fine. I will be fine,” she corrected. “I've got more than enough to keep me busy for the next couple of weeks. And with the kids gone, I can put in more time trying to find the emeralds.”

“You leave that to me.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “This is a team effort, Holt. It always has been.”

“I'm involved now, and I'll handle it.”

She dished the eggs up as carefully as she chose her words. “I appreciate your help. All of us do. But they're called the Calhoun emeralds for a reason. Two of my sisters have been threatened because of them.”

“Exactly my point. You're out of your league with Livingston, Suzanna. He's smart and he's brutal. He won't ask you nicely to get out of his way.”

Turning, she handed him his plate. “I'm accustomed to smart, brutal men, and I've already spent enough of my life being afraid.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said.” She lifted her plate, and the mug of coffee. “I won't let some thief intimidate me or make me afraid to do what's best for myself and my family.”

But Holt was shaking his head. That wasn't the answer he'd wanted. “Are you afraid of Dumont? Physically?”

Her gaze wavered then leveled. “We're talking about the emeralds.” She tried to move by him, but Holt blocked her path. His eyes had gone dark, but when he spoke his voice was softer, more controlled than she had ever heard it.

“Did he hit you?”

Her color deepened, then raced away from her cheeks. “What?” “I want to know if Dumont ever hit you.”

Nerves were tightening her throat. No matter how quiet his voice, there was a terrible gleam of violence in his eyes. “The eggs are getting cold, Holt, and I'm hungry.”

He fought back the urge to hurl the plate against the wall. He sat, waited for her to take the seat across from him. She looked very frail and very composed in the stream of sunlight. “I want an answer, Suzanna.” He picked up his coffee and sipped as she toyed with her food. He knew how to wait and how to push.

“No.” Her voice was flat as she took the first bite. “He never hit me.”

“Just knocked you around?” He kept his voice casual and ate without tasting. Her gaze flicked up to his, then away.

“There are a lot of ways to intimidate and demoralize, Holt. After that, humiliation is a snap.” Picking up a slice of toast, she buttered it carefully. “You're nearly out of bread.”

“What did he do to you?” “Let it go.”

“What,” he repeated slowly, “did he do to you?” “He made me face facts.”

“Such as?”

“That I was pitifully inadequate as a wife of a corporate lawyer with social and political ambitions.”

“Why?”

She slammed down the knife. “Is this how you interrogate suspects?” Anger, he thought. That was better. “It's a simple question.”

“And you want a simple answer? Fine. He married me because of my name. He thought there was a bit more money as well as prestige attached to it, but the Calhoun name was more than adequate. Unfortunately it became quickly apparent that I wasn't the social boon he'd imagined. My dinner party conversation was pedestrian at best. I could be dressed up to look the part of the prominent wife of a politically ambitious attorney, but I could never quite pull it off. It was, as he told me often, a huge disappointment that I couldn't get it through my head what was expected of me. That I was boring, in the drawing room, the dining room and the bedroom.”

She sprang up to scrape the rest of her meal into Sadie's bowl. “Does that answer your question?”

“No.” Holt pushed his plate away and pulled out a cigarette. “I'd like to know how he convinced you that you were at fault.”

Keeping her back to him, she straightened. “Because I loved him. Or I loved the man I thought I'd married, and I wanted, very badly, to be the woman he'd be proud of. But the harder I tried, the more I failed. Then I had Alex, and it seemed...I had done something so incredible. I'd brought that beautiful baby into the world. And it was so easy, so natural for me to be a mother. I never had any doubts, any missteps. I was so happy, so focused on the child and the family we'd begun, that I didn't realize that Bax was discreetly finding more exciting companionship. Not until I found out I was going to have Jenny.”

“So he cheated on you.” His voice was deceptively mild. “What did you do about it?”

She didn't turn around, but began to run water in the sink to wash the dishes. “You can't understand what it's like to be betrayed that way. To already feel as though you're inadequate. To be carrying a man's child and find out that you've already been replaced.”

“No, I can't. But it seems to me I'd be ticked off.”

“Was I angry?” She nearly laughed. “Yes, I was angry, but I was also...wounded. I don't like to remember how easy it was for him to shatter me. Alex was only a few months old, and Jenny hadn't been planned. But I was so happy to be pregnant. He didn't want her. Nothing he'd done to me before had hurt or shocked me the way his reaction did when I told him I was pregnant again. He wasn't angry so much as...irked.” She decided on a half laugh and plunged her hands into the soapy water.

“He had a son,” she continued, “so the Dumont name would continue. He didn't intend to clutter up his life with children, and he certainly didn't want to have to drag me around the social wheel a second time while I was fat and tired and unattractive. The most practical solution was to terminate the pregnancy. We fought horribly about that. It was the first time I'd had the nerve to stand up to him – which only made it worse. Bax was used to getting his own way, he always had. Since he couldn't force me to do what he wanted, he paid me back, expertly.”

Calmer now, she set the dish aside to drain and began to wash out the skillet. “He was still discreet publicly with his affairs, but he made sure I knew about them, and how sadly I compared to the women he slept with. He took my name off the checking and charge accounts so that I had to ask him whenever I needed money. That was one of his more subtle humiliations. The night Jenny was born, he was with another woman. He made certain I knew about that when he came to the hospital so the press could snap his picture while he played the proud father.”

Holt hadn't moved. He didn't trust himself to move. “Why did you stay with him?”

“At first, because I kept hoping I would wake up beside the man I'd fallen in love with. Then, when I started to consider that my marriage was a failure, I had one child and was pregnant with another.” She picked up a cloth and began to dry the dishes. “And I stayed because for a long time, a very long time I was convinced he was right about me. I wasn't clever and witty and sharp. I wasn't sexy or seductive. So the least I could be was loyal. When I realized I couldn't even be that, I had to consider the effect on the children. They weren't to be hurt. I couldn't have stood it if dissolving my marriage to Bax had hurt them. One day, I suddenly understood that it was all for nothing, that I was not only wasting my life but probably doing more harm to Alex and Jenny by pretending there was a marriage. Bax paid little attention to his son, and none at all to his daughter. He spent a great deal more time with his lover than he did with his family.”

She sighed, set the dishes down. “So I hid my diamonds in Jenny's diaper bag and asked for a divorce.” When she turned, the weariness was back on her face. “Does that answer your question?”

Very slowly, his eyes on hers, he rose. “Did it ever occur to you, did it ever once cross your mind that he was inadequate, that he was a failure? That he was a spoiled, selfish bastard?”

Her lips curved a little. “Well, the last part certainly occurred to me. It also occurs to me that my little story is one – sided. I imagine Bax's view of our relationship would differ from mine, and not without some merit.”

“He's still pushing your buttons,” Holt said with barely suppressed fury. “So you're not clever? I guess anyone could manage to raise two kids and run a business. Dull, too?” He took a step toward her, only more furious when he saw her instinctive move to brace. “Yeah, I don't know when I've been so bored by anyone, but then most men are bored with women with brains and guts, especially when they're softhearted and hardheaded. Nothing puts me to sleep faster than a woman who'll sweat all day to make sure her kids are provided for. God knows you're not sexy. I just didn't have anything better to do last night than to spend it going crazy over you.”

He'd trapped her against the sink with his body and with an anger so ripe she could almost taste it. “You asked and I answered. I don't know what you want me to say now.”

“I want you to say you don't give a damn about him.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, his face close to hers. “I want you to tell me what I told you to tell me when I was inside you, when I was so full of you I couldn't breathe. You're mine, Suzanna. Nothing that happened before counts because you're mine now. That's what I want to hear.”

His hands slipped down to clamp over her wrists. Even as she opened her mouth to speak he saw the quick wince of pain. Swearing, he looked down and saw the bruises he'd already put on her. He jerked back as if she'd slapped him.

“Holt –”

He raised a hand to silence her, turning away until he could clear the red haze of fury from his mind.

He'd put marks on her skin. It had been done in passion and without intention, but that didn't erase them. By putting them there, he was no better than the man who had bruised her soul.

He jammed his hands into his pockets before he turned. “I've got things to do.”

“But –”

“We got off the track, Suzanna. My fault. I know you have to get to work, and so do I.”

So that was that, she thought. She'd bared her soul, now he would walk away. “All right I'll see you on Monday.”

With a nod, he headed for the back door, then swore, stopping with his hand on the screen. “Last night meant something to me. Do you understand that?”

She let out a quiet breath. “No.”

His hand curled into a fist on the screen. “You're important to me. I care about you, and having you here, this way, is...I need you. Is that clear enough?”

She studied him – a fist on the door, impatience in his eyes, his body rigid with passions she couldn't quite understand. It was enough, she realized. For now it was more than enough.

“Yes, I think it's clear.”

“I don't want it to end there.” He turned his head, and his eyes were dark and fierce again. “It's not going to end there.”

She continued to study his face, keeping her voice calm. “Are you asking me to come back?”

“You know damn well –” He cut himself off and closed his eyes. “Yes, I'm asking you to come back. And I'm asking you to think about spending time with me that isn't at work or in bed. If that doesn't spell it out for you, then –”

“Would you like to come to dinner?” He gave her a blank stare. “What?”

“Would you like to come to dinner, tonight? Maybe we could take a drive after.”

“Yeah.” He dragged a hand through his hair, not sure if he was relieved or uneasy that it had been so simple. “That would be good.”

Yes, it would be good, she thought and smiled. “I'll see you about seven then. Bring Sadie if you like.”