Suzanna's Surrender

by Nora Roberts

  “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.

  “Pon'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, Suzan-na.” 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.”

  Chapter Nine

  It wasn't candlelight and moonbeams, Suzanna thought, but it was a romance. She hadn't believed she would find it again, or want it. Flexing her back as she drove up the curving road to The Towers, she smiled.

  Of course, a relationship with Holt Bradford was lined with rough edges, but it had its softer moments. She'd had a lovely time discovering them over the past few days. And nights.

  There was the way he'd shown up at the shop once or twice, just before lunchtime. He hadn't said any­thing about the children, or her missing the rou­tine—just that he'd come into the village for some parts and felt like eating.

  Or how he'd come up behind her at odd moments to rub the tension out of her shoulders. The evening he'd surprised her after a particularly grueling day by dragging her and a wicker basket filled with cold chicken into the boat.

  He was still demanding, often abrupt, but he never made her feel less than what she wanted to be. When he loved her, he loved her with an urgency and fe­rocity that left no doubt as to his desire.

  No, she hadn't been looking for romance, she thought as she parked the truck behind Holt's car. But she was terribly glad she'd found it.

  The moment she opened the door, Lilah pounced. “I've been waiting for you.”
/>   “So I see.” Suzanna lifted a brow. Lilah was still in her park service uniform. Knowing her schedule, Suzanna was sure her sister had been home nearly an hour. As a matter of routine, Lilah should have been in her most comfortable clothes and spread out dozing on the handiest flat surface. “What's up?”

  “Can you do anything with that surly hulk you've gotten tangled up with?”

  “If you mean Holt, not a great deal.” Suzanna pulled off her cap to run her hands through her hair. “Why?”

  “Right now, he's upstairs, taking my room apart inch by inch. I couldn't even change my clothes.” She aimed a narrowed glance up the steps. “I told him we'd already looked there, and that if I'd been sleeping in the same room as the emeralds all these years, I'd know it.”

  “And he ignored you.”

  “He not only ignored me, he kicked me out of my own bedroom. And Max.” She let out a hiss of breath and sat on the stairs. “Max grinned and said it was a damn good idea.”

  “Want to gang up tin them?”

  A wicked gleam came into Lilah's eyes. “Yeah.” She rose then swung an arm over Suzanna's shoulders as they started up. “You're really serious about him, aren't you?”

  “I'm taking it one step at a time.”

  “Sometimes when you love someone it's better to take it by leaps and bounds.” Then she yawned and swore. “I missed my nap. It'd be satisfying if I could say I disliked that pushy jerk, but I can't. There's something too solid and steady under the bad man­ners.”

  “You've been looking at his aura again.”

  Lilah laughed and stopped at the top of the stairs. “He's a good guy, as much as I'd like to belt him right now. It's good to see you happy again, Suze.”

  “I haven't been unhappy.”

  “No, just not happy. There's a difference.”

  “I suppose there is. Speaking of happy, how are the wedding plans coming?”

  “Actually, Aunt Coco and the relative from hell are in the kitchen arguing over them right now.” She turned laughing eyes to her sister. “And having a delightful time. Our Great-Aunt Colleen is pretending she simply wants to make certain the event will live up to the Calhoun reputation, but the fact is, she's getting a big kick out of making guest lists and shoot­ing down Aunt Coco's menus.”

  “As long as she's entertained.”

  “Wait until she gets hold of you,” Lilah warned. “She has some very creative ideas for floral arrange­ments.”

  “Terrific.” Suzanna stopped in Lilah's doorway. Holt was definitely hard at work. Never particularly ordered, Lilah's room looked as though someone had scooped up every piece of furniture and dropped it down again like pick-up sticks. At the moment, he had his head in the fireplace, and Max was crawling on the floor.

  “Having fun, boys?” Lilah said lazily.

  Max looked up and grinned. She was mad, alt right, he thought. He'd learned to handle and enjoy her tem­per. “I found that other sandal you've been looking for. It was under the cushion of the chair.”

  “There's good news.” She lifted a brow, noting that Holt was now sitting on Lilah's hearth, looking at Suzanna. And Suzanna was looking at him. “You need a break, Max.”

  “No, I'm fine.”

  “You definitely need a break.” She walked in to take his hand and pull him to his feet. “You can come back and help Holt invade my privacy later.”

  “I told you she wouldn't like it,” Suzanna said when Lilah dragged Max from the room.

  “That's too bad.”

  With her hands on her hips she surveyed the dam­age. “Did you find anything?”

  “Not unless you count the two odd earrings and one of those lacy things we found behind the dresser.” He tilted his head. “You got any of those lacy things?”

  “Not really.” She looked down at her sweaty T-shirt. “Up until a few days ago, I didn't think I'd need any.”