Total Surrender

by Erika Wilde

  “Not even Gavin.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a gloating statement of fact.

  Despite the situation, she couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, he’s tried a few of the times we’ve gone out, but I’d rather eat a whole jar of jalapeño peppers than allow him to touch me like that.” She shuddered at the thought, then met his gaze more seriously. “I’d like to think my virginity should be worth something to help reduce my father’s debt.”

  He shrugged, back to masking his true feelings in an indifferent façade. “A couple thousand, I suppose.”

  She winced at his deliberately insensitive remark. Okay, that hurt, but what did she expect from a man who held such a deeply ingrained grudge against her father? Clearly, her virginity held no great value to him and she was nothing more than a warm female body to sate his baser desires.

  “Well, I suppose a couple thousand dollars is a start toward that repayment,” she said, trying to make light of the situation.

  He didn’t look amused. In fact, he suddenly looked very fierce and intense. “No, this is a start,” he growled low and deep in his throat.

  Quick and sudden, his hand shot out and she gasped as he shoved his fingers into the loose knot of hair swept back and secured against the nape of her neck. A few pins holding the intricate style in place jostled loose, hitting the marbled floor with soft metallic pings as he used his grip on those strands to pull her head back. His lips came crashing down on hers in a searing invasion that was far from sweet, gentle, or romantic.

  Arabella’s hands came up to his chest, not to push him away but to curl her fingers into the material of his shirt so she had something to hold on to for this wild, seductive ride unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She did nothing to stop him or the aggressive, all-consuming kiss that immediately ignited dark and forbidden desires inside her. The kind of brazen and wicked yearnings that should have shamed her because Maddux was ultimately her enemy, as well.

  But there was no denying the growing ache between her legs as his mouth ravished hers, or the knowledge that giving herself over to this man was going to be far easier, and possibly more enjoyable, than she’d ever imagined.

  Chapter 7

  Maddux meant to punish Arabella with his hard, contentious kiss, or at the very least instill a healthy dose of fear in her, even though he knew both impulses were pretty fucked up. Then again, he was feeling pretty fucked up after all that had gone down in his office and the lengths to which he’d been forced to go for the repayment he demanded of her father.

  But ultimately it didn’t really matter what he intended, because his plan quickly backfired mere seconds after his mouth had claimed hers and she’d willingly yielded to his demanding assault on her senses, allowing him to release all the frustration, pain, and anger brewing inside of him for the past hour. He unleashed all those turbulent emotions on her in the deep, hungry, greedy thrust of his tongue and the deliberate, relentless way he plundered her mouth. The same way he wanted to plow hard and deep into her body.

  A part of him wanted her to fight him, to hit him, to shove him away and slap his face for being so barbaric with her—anything to make resisting her more difficult. But this sweet submission of hers . . . it was nearly his undoing after the shitty way he’d treated her. He deserved her fury, not her capitulation.

  Instead, she swayed into him of her own accord, her breasts pressing against his chest and her lush, soft lips pliant beneath his as he swept his tongue deep inside her mouth. She trembled and moaned, not in pain but with a need and hunger that matched the one burning him up inside. His cock thickened and throbbed relentlessly, and it took every ounce of control he possessed not to back her up against the nearest wall, hike up her dress, rip off her panties, and fuck her so hard he’d forget everything that had transpired tonight but the sheer, mindless ecstasy of taking what was now his.

  Somehow, through the haze of lust fogging his mind, he managed to remind himself that she wasn’t one of his normal conquests who knew and enjoyed just how dominant he liked to get in the bedroom. She was a virgin, for Christ’s sake. Yet the thought of being the first man to show her how good a cock could feel thrusting in and out of her desire-slickened pussy, and being the one to make her scream in pure pleasure as she came all over his shaft, was like an irresistible temptation that was beginning to override common sense.

  Forcing himself to stop, he tore his mouth from hers, and her lashes slowly fluttered open, revealing blue eyes that were so fucking trusting he felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. Despite being warned and shown how merciless and cold-hearted he could be, and despite that unrelenting kiss that was only a preview to his more uncivilized side, she was looking up at him with damp, kiss-swollen lips and like she wanted more of what he’d just doled out.

  Grabbing her arms, he gently but firmly pushed her away, and it was that deliberate separation, combined with the purposeful scowl he gave her, that effectively snapped her out of the dreamy trance she seemed to have fallen into and jerked her back to the reality of the situation.

  Good. Because he wasn’t any kind of Prince Charming here to save the day, despite the fairy-tale ball she’d attended. No, he was the villain and the beast in this scenario and that would never change.

  “Go to bed,” he ordered in a harsh tone, and spun around on his heel and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him so hard the walls vibrated—and hopefully helped to instill some much-needed apprehension in Arabella.

  He headed straight to his office at the opposite end of his penthouse, immediately poured himself a hefty amount of the bourbon he’d shared with his brother and sister earlier in a toast to Theodore’s demise—which Maddux had royally screwed up—and downed every last drop in one long swallow. He welcomed the burn of alcohol as it seared its way down his throat and spread throughout his belly like fire as he added at least another four shots to the glass in his attempt to get shit-faced.

  How could a plan that should have been so simple and easy to execute have gone so fucking wrong? Instead of destroying Theodore Cole, he’d given the man a reprieve . . . and as Maddux tossed back another drink, he swore that’s all it would be, and a brief one at that because he’d made no promises to relinquish Theodore’s debt or assets. Taking Arabella was definitely a form of vengeance . . . just not one his brother and sister had anticipated.

  “Fuck,” he muttered beneath his breath, hating himself for being so weak and for letting Arabella derail his plans. Maddux’s siblings had counted on him, had trusted him to extract the revenge fourteen years in the making, and he’d let them down.

  Not ready to face his brother’s and sister’s disappointment and outrage for the choice he’d made, Maddux pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He sent Hunter and Tempest a brief joint text before they tried contacting him first, or worse, came to his penthouse tonight when Maddux wasn’t in the frame of mind to explain his decision.

  It’s done. I’ll talk to you both in the morning.

  Yeah, it was done, all right, he thought sarcastically as he tossed his phone onto his desk and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office that overlooked the city. He finished the rest of the bourbon, grateful to finally feel a buzz settling in, taking the edge off the strong urge to put a fist through the wall in anger and frustration for the idiotic choice he’d made tonight.

  Instead, his conversation with Arabella in his bedroom filtered through his increasingly fuzzy mind. She’d point-blank asked him what her father had done to earn Maddux’s rage, and instead of taking the opportunity to shatter her perfect illusion of her father’s character by revealing the truth, he’d evaded the question, because he wanted Theodore to have to confess to his daughter the kind of life he led, the people he’d bullied, and the few he’d even killed.

  Maddux laughed bitterly because he knew in reality Theodore would never admit to any transgressions that would tarnish his reputation, which meant at some
point, Maddux would enlighten Arabella. It was the kind of bombshell to drop when he was done with her and decided to give her back to her father . . . who’d so easily given up his daughter in hopes of having his debt forgiven. Maddux could only hope that finding out what kind of monster her father really was would essentially destroy the relationship between Arabella and Theodore.

  In the meantime, Maddux had a twenty-five-year-old virgin in his bed—and a feisty, gutsy one at that. Learning she’d never slept with a man before shouldn’t have surprised him, considering he was aware—based on the weekly PI reports he received—that Gavin had managed to scare off any guy who’d shown Arabella the slightest bit of romantic interest.

  A sardonic smirk twisted across Maddux’s lips as he gazed out the window and slowed his alcohol consumption down to smaller sips now that the effects of the bourbon had calmed him considerably. Gavin clearly wanted Arabella’s innocence for himself, and how ironic was it that her virtue now belonged to Maddux, which had to be driving the other man absolutely insane. And judging by her eager response to his hot, aggressive kiss, and witnessing the desire in her eyes after the fact, there was no denying that seducing Arabella would be far easier than Maddux had anticipated.

  A few hours later, with Maddux drunk enough to have drowned out all the recriminations he’d heaped upon himself for the night’s events, he stumbled his way back to his bedroom. He stopped at the closed door for a few seconds, preparing himself to deal with Arabella, but when he finally stepped inside, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t awake as he’d braced himself for, even though he had ordered her to go to bed.

  Instead, he found her asleep on top of his king-sized mattress. Having removed his shoes in his office, he moved quietly into the room, and since she’d left one of the nightstand lamps on, he was able to see her, even if his vision was a little blurred around the edges from all the liquor he’d consumed. He stopped at the opposite side of the bed from where she was dozing, narrowing his gaze for better focus. As he registered the way her tiny body was curled into a fetal position, along with the dark, exhausted smudges beneath her eyes and the way the strands of her hair that he’d dislodged with his hands earlier fell across her beautiful face, something unfamiliar and oddly protective stirred in his chest.

  Fucking alcohol was messing with his head and his emotions.

  She was still wearing her elaborate ball gown because she obviously had nothing else to sleep in, which couldn’t have been comfortable, along with her heels that peeked from beneath the hem of her dress. Her hands were tucked under her cheek on the pillow, her soft lips parted as she inhaled and exhaled deep, even breaths. All curled up, she looked so small and vulnerable and defenseless, even though he’d seen for himself what a tough, strong-willed, and stubborn little spitfire she’d been during her father’s ordeal, and even after that when she’d dealt with Maddux alone.

  But silently watching her now, with his animosity and bitterness dulled by alcohol, he was hit hard by the knowledge that she’d been through an enormous and unexpected emotional trauma tonight, and he’d been nothing short of a hostile asshole who’d lashed out at her for her father’s sins. She’d undoubtedly come to the fairy-tale ball expecting to enjoy a fun, fanciful evening and had ended up a prisoner to a man who wanted to hate her . . . but he just couldn’t summon the contempt.

  He rubbed his forehead wearily, then before he could change his bourbon-soaked mind, he retrieved one of his T-shirts from the closet, then walked around the big four-poster bed to where Arabella was dozing. Her back was now facing him, and wanting to at least make her comfortable while she slept, he first removed her heels, then started unzipping her dress from where it began mid-back, all the way down to the base of her spine, until the fabric loosened from her body.

  The first thing that registered was all that soft, creamy-looking skin he wanted to caress with his fingers, or even better yet, lower his head and skim his lips from her bare shoulders down to the curve of her ass, where a pair of cream-colored lace panties settled on her hips. Steeling himself against the rush of heat that went straight to his aching groin, he gently rolled her to her back and began working the sleeves and the bodice of her dress down her arms and chest.

  She moaned softly, her lashes slowly fluttering open. Confused, disoriented eyes stared up at him, and he immediately stopped removing her gown, because the last thing he wanted Arabella to think was that he was trying to take advantage of her. He might have been a grade-A bastard to her earlier tonight, but he’d meant what he said when he’d told her he’d never force her.

  Her head tipped drowsily to the side on the pillow, a frown creasing her brow. “What are you doing?”

  There was no panic in her voice, just a calm, trusting curiosity that slayed him. “Putting you in something more comfortable to sleep in,” he said, his tone gruff. “Is that okay?”

  She blinked up at him, still seemingly half-asleep. “I don’t have my nightgown.”

  “I know.” He felt the slightest tug of a smile at how cute she was, then managed to suppress it before it fully formed. “You can wear one of my T-shirts for now.” Tomorrow, he’d send for her clothes and other personal items.

  “Thank you.” She sighed with gratitude. “The top of the dress was tight.”

  She sat up and pushed the voluptuous gown down her petite form, kicking off all those layers of fabric with her feet. Maddux sucked in a quick breath. Jesus Christ, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Nor was she particularly modest about exposing her small, pert breasts and barely there underwear . . . or maybe she was so emotionally and mentally tired that she didn’t realize how complacent she currently was, or she just didn’t care.

  But to him, she was pure, sinful temptation, and he quickly yanked his T-shirt over her head and arranged it to her thighs. Then he pulled down the covers so she could slip between the sheets and comforter, and she didn’t hesitate to snuggle into his bed as though she fucking belonged there.

  When he was certain she’d drifted off to slumber again, he removed his own clothes down to his boxer briefs, then settled onto his side of the mattress, though there was a good four feet between them. He reached over and switched off the nightstand light, then tried to relax enough to let the last remnants of alcohol lull him to a nice, passed-out state of sleep. It was probably the only peace he was going to get for a good while.

  He was nearly there when Arabella’s soft, husky voice jarred him awake.

  “Maddux?”

  He turned his head on the pillow to look at her, but her face was in shadows and he couldn’t see her expression. “Yes?” he replied, his tone brusque, mostly because he was annoyed that she’d made his body completely aware of her all over again.

  He heard her exhale a soft breath. “Whatever my father did to you and your family . . . I want you to know that I’m very sorry.”

  Well, shit. What the hell did he say to that sincere acknowledgement and apology? It wasn’t her fault that, beneath her father’s expensive suits and fancy trappings, Theodore was nothing more than a cruel, cold-blooded, self-centered man. But responding with a pat it’s okay response wasn’t going to happen, either, because no amount of contrition would ever change the past or bring Maddux’s parents back or be enough to forgive her father for his heartless, vindictive ways.

  So, he evaded the issue all together. “Go to sleep, Bella,” he said, and was grateful when he was met with blessed silence.

  Chapter 8

  Arabella had no idea what time it was when she finally woke up the following morning. There were no clocks in Maddux’s room, and her cell phone, which she’d kept in a hidden pocket that had been sewn into her gown so she didn’t have to carry a purse all night at the ball, was somewhere tangled up in the heap of material on the floor . . . while she was wearing one of Maddux’s T-shirts.

  She could have gotten out of bed to retrieve her phone, but moving in any way meant risking awakening her bedmate, who was sleeping on his side, facing her. And
right now, with the light of day streaming in through the glass slider leading to a master suite terrace, Maddux looked so calm and peaceful without animosity and anger slashing across his face and blazing in his eyes.

  He was a stunningly gorgeous man. His features were perfectly defined and masculine, but in slumber, all those rough edges were softer, the harsh clench of his jaw now relaxed. His lips looked full and sensual, and her stomach tumbled with awareness when she thought about that hot, provocative kiss they’d shared.

  His dark, longish hair was a tousled mess around his head, and morning stubble covered his jawline, which only added to how attractive and sexy he was. The covers were bunched around his waist, and since he was without clothes, she had an unobstructed view of his broad shoulders, his wide, muscled chest, and the impressive bicep in his arm that looked as big as a melon, even unflexed.

  He was utterly flawless . . . except for the large, unsightly scar on the side of his neck that ran down his shoulder and encompassed part of his arm. Whatever had happened to cause that now healed wound, it had to have been painful and hellish, because his skin was disfigured enough in that one area to indicate some kind of major trauma at some point in his life.

  Her heart tightened in compassion at the horrible thought, at the possible agony he’d suffered. Without thinking of consequences, she reached out and lightly brushed her fingers along the marred flesh that covered the curve of his shoulder, as if touching it might lessen the severity of whatever had caused the multiple scars.

  Belying his restful pose, Maddux’s fingers instantly grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away at the same time his eyes fully opened, looking directly at her, his gaze far more cognizant than she would have thought.