Surrendered Victory

by KC Kendricks

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  Amber Quill Press

  www.amberquill.com

  Copyright ©2008 by KC Kendricks

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Also By KC Kendricks

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  KC Kendricks

  Amber Quill's Rewards Program

  * * * *

  SURRENDERED VICTORY

  By

  KC KENDRICKS

  * * * *

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Also By KC Kendricks

  Passion's Victory

  Shining Victory

  A Taste Of Victory

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 1

  His hand brushing mine excited me beyond anything I'd ever known. Large, tanned and callused, I knew he earned a living with his hands. His long, strong fingers possessed a muscled elegance, much like the rest of him. Short, neat nails belied his trade, that of a carpenter. I shivered as his hand found mine, hidden from public view between our torsos and the bar. Dalton trailed those well-tended fingernails lightly across my palm, sending me his teasing invitation.

  "What do you say? Come back to my place for a while?” His clear tenor held no hint of accent, yet he'd alluded he hailed from somewhere in the South. I'd not heard the story of how he'd made his way to the West Virginian outback, although doubtless he knew my tale.

  Everyone in the company knew I'd been banished here by my loving family with little hope for redemption, following some sort of serious disagreement with my father, the supposed details of which continued to fuel the rumor mill. None of my fellow barflies would guess the truth. I didn't wear it on the skin. It went much deeper, all the way to the soul.

  Almost none of the assembled crowd would guess the truth, I corrected myself. Dalton suspected. Clearly he recognized the indefinable aura that marked us as different, as outsiders. I could still shake my head, decline his invitation, and tender my apologies with no hard feelings. His invitation would remain ambiguous to anyone who'd overheard it.

  My body thrummed with awareness of his nearness. I did my best to avoid breathing, since every time I inhaled, the clean, crisp scent of his aftershave sank red-hot talons into my brain. And underneath the Old Spice, undeniable, alluring, dangerous and unmistakable on the gentle breeze from the ceiling fan overhead wafted a delicious, forbidden male musk.

  "I was hoping to have another drink,” I said, matter-of-factly, painfully, acutely aware that all walls have ears. “It was a long day and I need to unwind for a bit."

  His sky blue eyes, so different from my blue-grey orbs, didn't flicker, reminding me he had some experience at this dance. He nodded. “Yeah, I heard RLK got the contract on River Crossing."

  I nodded, not at all surprised word had already traveled through the local workforce to the “competition."

  "We signed for the first one hundred units. Townhouses. The single families in section three are still on the table."

  Dalton tapped his beer bottle to mine. “Well, then, may the best hammer win."

  We lifted our bottles and swallowed. Pleased I hadn't choked, I set down my empty and motioned for the bartender. She was a cute little blonde with a high-wattage smile she turned on me as she plunked the fresh bottle onto the bar. Friday wasn't her normal shift. I smiled back and tipped her a buck under Dalton's watchful gaze.

  "Do you know her?” he asked causally. I heard the unspoken question he couldn't ask.

  Did I want to know her, biblically speaking?

  Not ready to commit to anything beyond banal conversation, I replied, “She's a nice girl. Becky. Brenna. Bobbi. Something with a ‘B.'” I flashed him my best impish smile. “You should ask her out."

  He knew my game and laughed. “I've seen her boyfriend. Big mother fucker.” He held his hand over his head, indicating the boyfriend must be eight feet tall, considering Dalton was an inch or so taller than me at six-foot-three or four.

  "In that case, I guess it's good I can honestly say I don't even remember her name."

  His triumphant gaze locked with mine. I raised my left eyebrow and played innocent. It was too late for stupid. He knew. Our greetings over and done with, we'd now move to a more private spot where we could talk without too much concern of being overheard. Sweat broke out on my back. Tonight, if offered again, I planned to accept the invitation he'd tendered every Friday for the past few weeks.

  That cocky grin appeared again as he set his empty on the bar and issued his second invitation of the evening. “So, you want to grab a booth? Eat?"

  "Sure. I'll extract trade secrets from you so I can undercut Quality Homes on section three."

  He snorted. “The only secrets I know are measure twice, cut once, and never hand out payroll before three o'clock on any given Friday.” He pointed at a couple vacating a booth. I nodded and we picked up our beers and ambled in that general direction.

  I felt his gaze on my ass the entire twenty-foot stroll. I felt more and more uncomfortable about going home with him, so he was likely in for a big disappointment. I always panicked when the moment of decision was upon me. Only the idea of not going with him sent my heart rate skyrocketing and my vision narrowing into a long, dark, desperately lonely tunnel.

  If I didn't go with him, I'd never know.

  I slid into the booth across from him without looking at his face. I couldn't, for fear he'd see and know the level of indecision, panic, and longing his pursuit incited in me.

  He saw it. “What's wrong? You're a little pale?"

  "Must be the heat.” The air conditioning kicked on at that moment. He looked relieved, and I found it oddly reassuring he wasn't as in control as he seemed.

  I hadn't lied. I was hot, and not just for him. I slipped out of my jacket and tossed it on the seat beside me. I didn't usually wear a suit in the middle of August, but getting that contract signed had been vital. Without it, a lot of people would spend the winter on unemployment.

  The devil on my shoulder, and the devil across from me, had me unfastening the top buttons on my shirt and rolling my sleeves up as far as I could. I watched as Dalton took note that I had a few muscles of my own. Just to tease him I stretched, rolling my shoulders back until the shirt strained across my chest and my spine popped audibly. Damn, it felt good.

  His foot tapped mine. I was not about to play footsie with him in a public bar so I moved mine away and picked up the menu. The place wasn't on a par with New York, but it did offer fresh green salads and two-inch-thick strip steaks.

  Dalton tapped my foot again, this time to draw my attention away from the menu and back to him. I looked into his troubled blue eyes.

  "What are you doing here with me?"

  The question surprised me. I thought he knew. He'd approached me and instigated our conversation after all. I had been sitting at the bar, alone, quietly enjoying my beer when he'd said hello.

  Liar.

  It wasn't good to lie to yourself and I'd certainly done enough of it in my life. I'd lived in denial for thirty-three years. What was denial if not a lie?

  The truth was I'd been sitting at the bar enjoying my beer, hoping he'd walk in, s
it down beside me, and flirt with me again. That's why I'd haunted this lovely establishment every Friday afternoon since the first time I'd seen him here and we'd struck up a conversation. It put a delightful spin on “thank God it's Friday” for me. We'd spent the last six weeks dancing around the fact we were headed for something more than casual friendship. I dropped all pretenses and looked into those sinfully blue eyes again.

  "I'm having dinner with you. What are you doing here?"

  "Trying to figure out why you're having dinner with me."

  I laid my menu aside and fidgeted with my napkin-wrapped tableware. I didn't look directly at him when I spoke. “I need energy. For later."

  Dalton froze for a six-count, then squirmed in his seat. I picked up my napkin and spread it over my lap. I had to give him just a little jab. I couldn't resist. My head would have exploded if I'd even tried not to ask. “Is that swelling painful?” I asked nonchalantly as I smoothed the napkin into place.

  He echoed my actions with his own napkin. “Not a bit. I kinda enjoy it. You want another beer?"

  "Not right now, thanks."

  "How's your swelling?"

  My swelling throbbed like a toothache, not that I'd confess such a thing to him. “I don't have a swelling."

  "Right,” he drawled. I finally pegged him as a Georgia boy. “I bet you do."

  "I bet we're not going to sit here in a public place and flirt.” My hand shook slightly as I downed two large swallows of my beer, knowing I'd better slow down on the brew or pay the price later. “I know I started it, but that guy who just walked in is one of my co-workers."

  "Gotcha."

  I hoped he well and truly did because the unwelcome arrival sauntered up to our booth and greeted me with a big smile. Doubtless he believed he'd stumbled onto me selling out company secrets or some such bullshit. I'd turn him in another direction.

  "'Evening, Reed."

  I did the last thing I wanted to do. I offered him my menu and invited him to dinner. If he accepted, I hoped Dalton would be discreet. If he wasn't, I'd be on the road again to whatever destination my father deemed safer. Or I'd finally do the best thing and go work for another company. I knew sooner or later that would happen.

  "Walter, join us. This is Alan Dalton of Quality Homes."

  Walter looked surprised. Maybe he'd seen Dalton working in the field and not realized the carpenter running the job site was one of the owners of Quality Homes. He recovered quickly and extended his hand.

  "Mr. Dalton, nice to met you.” He turned to me. “Can't stay, Reed, but it's nice he's buying you a drink to celebrate RLK winning the River Crossing contracts.” He clapped Dalton on the shoulder.

  Dalton grinned. “One contract. One. QH is aiming for section three. That's where the real money will be."

  Walter shook his head and looked at me again. “You didn't hear then. Your secretary was looking for you. Word came down and we got section three, too.” This time he thumped my shoulder. “The senior Mr. Kauffman is going to be proud of the job you did here. Well, you boys have a good dinner."

  With that, he meandered off. The senior Mr. Kauffman, my father, wouldn't be pleased or displeased. I'd done my job. End of story. I breathed a sigh of relief at Walter's disappearing back as I wondered if he'd been telling the truth. I reached for my cell phone.

  "Do you mind if I call my secretary?"

  Dalton shook his head. He had to be wondering the same thing. I hit speed dial and my secretary answered on the fourth ring.

  "Where the hell are you?” she demanded.

  I loved her. I really did. She was about my age and we got along great.

  "I'm having dinner, and you?"

  "Likewise. Next time you'll call me before you bolt out for the weekend, buster. We got section three. Be on time Monday because we have work to do. She'd better be worth it, Reed."

  "Oh, she is. I'll do better next time, Mother, I promise. I'll see you bright and early Monday. And thanks. I owe you one.” I flipped the phone closed.

  I rubbed the back of my neck in a futile attempt to ease the tension crawling up my spine. Getting section three wasn't as easy as it sounded. A few of the finer points still needed to be worked out. I'd be in the boardroom, negotiating, for many long hours next week. The solution to one of the problems—additional manpower—might be Dalton himself, if he wanted some sub-contract work to get through the winter months.

  "Congratulations,” Dalton said softly. His curious gaze was unnerving in its intensity. Maybe he wondered why I wasn't doing cartwheels. I tossed a five-dollar bill on the table for the waitress even though we hadn't ordered yet and reached for my jacket.

  "Thanks. Listen, I need to get out here before anyone else comes in."

  "Okay. Is the evening over?"

  Was it? I should have said it was. I should have left him sitting there. But sometimes I'm a fool of highest order.

  His hand rested on the table, palm down, relaxed. The pale band around his wrist where he normally wore a watch showed off his suntan. Slowly, he rolled his hand over. Anyone watching wouldn't think a thing about the small gesture, so easy and natural as he did it. But I knew it for what it really was.

  Invitation. Promise. Please.

  My own personal Rubicon lay before me. The line that once crossed changed worlds. What was would cease and what was to be would come to life with the touch of that hand, and I trembled in the face of it.

  Always before I'd shied away from this moment, running from the commitment the acceptance of truth would bring to my door. There would be no more denials, no more flight. If I crossed my Rubicon, I would be forever changed.

  The freedom that beckoned took my breath away in much the same orgasmic way Dalton did.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 2

  Dalton had a very nice condo in a nondescript building that had once housed a textile mill. Vaulted ceilings drew the eye up to a pair of modern skylights, while restored wide-plank oak floors retained a glowing patina of age. Turn of the century woodwork gleamed softly around doors and windows. I was impressed. When asked, he confirmed my suspicion he'd done much of the work himself.

  "The bedroom isn't finished yet,” he confessed, his gaze intent as he watched me. Maybe he expected I'd run like hell. Or something.

  I deemed bolting an option worth serious consideration. I had, in fact, almost turned my truck around and headed home to the safety of denial.

  Only knowing I'd regret that move for the rest of my life gave me the determination to make the last left turn into Dalton's parking lot. I owed this to myself. If it didn't turn out, so be it. Maybe I'd be able to find a nice girl without too many expectations and settle into a placid relationship. Dinner on Friday night, the weekend sleepovers, the occasional family gathering to keep everyone happy.

  No, I knew I couldn't live that life with anyone, male or female. Besides, I really longed for something more than “placid.” Nor did I intend to end up as fodder for some revolving Internet joke about men. Living alone wasn't as frightening as living a lie.

  Dalton stepped to the large living room window and adjusted the blinds for privacy. I wasn't sure what to say about his bedroom. I just hoped it had a bed.

  "Takes time to fix up a place.” It was a non-committal reply and I was inanely proud of myself to have uttered it—considering I couldn't breathe.

  I'd never taken any flirtation this far, if one could call this flirtation. The seriousness of the situation demanded a different definition of what I contemplated, and it was clear Dalton sensed that. That cool blue gaze never left me.

  "You've never had a man."

  Admitting the truth could lose nothing and perhaps gain much. Uncertainty about how to proceed kept me frozen, standing motionless in the middle of his living room. If he knew, and didn't care, he might guide me carefully over those first hurdles. And if the fact I'd never known a man turned him away, had I lost anything? I thought not.

  I sailed the Rubicon
and no matter on which side I chose to make landfall, the river had been breached and no longer held me in as much awe or fear. A second crossing would be easier, no matter with whom I might share that cruise, but I wanted Dalton to be first. I lifted my chin and looked him square in the eye.

  "I've never been with a man,” I confirmed, more calmly than I felt.

  His next question caught me off guard. “Ever had a woman?"

  That damn left eyebrow of mine shot up. You'd think I was Vulcan or something the way it did that when I was surprised. “Yes. Quite a few. I've enjoyed women. What about you?"

  "Sure. Got two kids, both in college. Wouldn't trade them for anything."

  That begged the question did they know their construction worker dad had a liking for men in his bed. I knew he was divorced. How big a part had his sexuality played in the dissolution of his marriage? I set my curiosity aside, recognizing it as my brain's futile attempt to distract my penis and regain control of my actions. This time I wanted my penis to have the last say.

  Dalton stepped to the bar, set a couple of shot glasses on the counter and poured two bourbons. He held one out to me. “Here. You need this."

  "Like hell. I need ten more just like it.” I accepted the shot and downed it with a quick flick of my wrist. It hit the back of my throat and burned like fire, sliding hotly down to land in my stomach. A warm glow radiated out to my joints, loosening them.

  Dalton held the bottle out to me and I shook my head. I had to be careful with the stuff. It had a way of biting my ass in the morning. “Later."

  He nodded and set the fifth on the bar, indicating with a wave of his hand it would be there in case I changed my mind. I set my shot glass down beside it, noticing how badly my hand shook. Did he see it, too? He'd not missed much about me.

  Dalton picked up a multi-functional remote control and started pushing buttons. The lighting changed and the big screen television came to life with a sports wrap-up show. He flopped down on the sofa and plopped one booted foot on the coffee table.