Surrender to Temptation

by Lauren Jameson

• • •

  I was immensely comforted by the fact that Suzanne’s Diner still existed, right in the middle of what the tourists laughingly and the locals seriously called downtown in Cambria.

  Suzanne’s still had the same chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and sweet buttered corn that I remembered from my youth. Now, of course, I accompanied it with rich red wine instead of orange soda, and thought that it was a vast improvement.

  “Don’t look now, but I think you have an admirer.” The waitress was one of Suzanne’s granddaughters, or at least I assumed she was, for the ringlets falling out of her messy ponytail were the same unmistakable shade of red that the owner’s hair had once been. Her pale skin flushed as she gestured with a slight sideways nod, setting my fresh glass of ice water down on the table and scurrying away.

  Having had one too many glasses of red wine to care about being subtle, I turned in the direction that the young waitress had gestured.

  The man at the next table didn’t smile when I turned and caught his eye, and despite the very nearly mocking set to his lips, I suddenly felt as though I were in the midst of the waves that I had been watching only an hour earlier—as if the heavy water that was infused with salt was pulling me under and claiming me as its own.

  He was . . . dark. That was my first thought. Though his tanned skin was actually the burnished gold of tequila and his eyes were the color of rum, the tousles of hair that were nearly jet-black combined with his expression to lend him an air of power and authority, and something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. His face was sculpted, his features arrogant and aristocratic, and I was quite certain that that face had inspired many a lusty daydream.

  I was no better. As those golden eyes, surrounded by thick, dark lashes, stared so boldly into my own lighter blue ones, I felt a sexual tug like nothing I’d ever felt before. I wasn’t a virgin—no, there was Tom, and my high school boyfriend, and the two somewhat disastrous one-night stands that I’d had in between.

  None of those had inspired anything that felt even a fraction as seductive as the frankly intrusive examination by this man at the next table. He brought to mind every intimate fantasy I’d ever had, and I felt certain that he and that wicked-looking face were capable of inciting many more.

  He lifted his wineglass and tipped it at me, then returned to his meal—some kind of healthy-looking grilled-fish-and-steamed-vegetable thing—as if he’d never seen me in the first place. I was left with flushed skin, nipples that had contracted to the point of pain, and a dull ache between my legs.

  What was that? I had to sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching over and fisting them in the stranger’s hair.

  Instead of doing that, I focused on my plate, which, while incredibly appetizing only moments before, now held little appeal.

  Scooping up a small forkful of potatoes, I pressed it into my mouth, forced myself to taste and to swallow. There were times in my life that I’d dreamt about this exact meal—my comfort food of choice—and now it was dry as dust in my mouth, tasteless and unnecessary.

  I swallowed, the potatoes feeling like glue as they worked their way down my throat. When I’d succeeded in that small movement, I rewarded myself by sneaking a glance across the restaurant at the handsome stranger.

  He was watching me again, and he wasn’t even being discreet. Self-consciousness washed over me, followed quickly by irritation, no doubt brought on by the wine that was flowing through my veins.

  “If you’re going to stare, you might as well join me.” My scowl was only half in earnest—the other half was hiding the tremble of my lower lip.

  I needed to squash this ridiculous lust. Not only was there no way that this man—this stranger—was feeling the same way, but I was really in no position to be thinking about sex.

  The man raised an eyebrow at my tone—unless I was very much mistaken, he was not the sort of man who was used to be being spoken to like that. He frowned slightly, as if playing my words back in his head. Then, to my astonishment, he shrugged slightly and stood, catching his own wineglass in his hand as he did.

  “I think I will.”

  Startled by his reaction, I swallowed—hard—as he rose and made his way over. He seated himself at my table as comfortably as if he owned it, and I studied him from beneath my makeup-free lashes as I tried to compose myself.

  He was dressed casually, blue jeans and a black button-down shirt, but he still didn’t seem like the type of person to bum around a tiny surf town like Cambria. No, unless I was very much mistaken, he’d paid a pretty penny for the jeans, and for the shirt, as well.

  I peeked under the table, no longer bothering to be subtle. Yup, I was right—his feet were clad in polished black loafers, not the flip-flops or even skater sneakers that most Californians wore on their off time.

  “Do they pass inspection?” Caught in the act, I snapped my stare back to the man’s face. My fascination with his footwear had brought on a small curve of his lips, and the result was so wicked, so enticing, that I picked up my wine and gulped, just to keep from drooling.

  What was I doing? My life was in shambles. I was in no place to be having lustful thoughts about anyone, let alone some tall, dark, and handsome stranger. Sex would only complicate things.

  “I’m Devon.” Panicked when his smirk suggested that he knew where my thoughts had run, I blurted out my name. The words wanted to keep coming, and they seemed beyond my control, so I shoveled a forkful of meat between my lips and instantly wished I hadn’t.

  The meal that I had been so enjoying earlier in the evening now tasted like sand, scraping at the tender insides of my throat.

  “Is it not to your liking?” Before I could say a word, the man had signaled my waitress, who of course came right over.

  I would have done very nearly anything this man asked, too.

  “Clear away the lady’s plate, please. Bring a bowl of berries, if you have them, with cream.” Where I would have been apologetic for sending my meal back without having finished, my dinner partner spoke as if he knew that he would be obeyed without a fuss.

  Of course, he was.

  “Did it occur to you that I might not have been done?” I wasn’t sure that I liked having my decisions taken away from me, and I felt the start of a frown between my brows.

  He cocked his wineglass in my direction and took another sip. “Was I wrong?” His tone, of course, told me that he knew he was no such thing. I wasn’t about to lie, either, so instead I narrowed my eyes at him.

  Grumpiness seemed to be my only defense against the attraction that was consuming me, attraction that I knew he couldn’t possibly return.

  “It would be nice to know the name of the man who is feeding me dessert without dinner.” There. I’d surprised him again. I smirked and sat back in my chair, pleased to have scored a point in this strange game that we were playing.

  “It’s Zach—Zach.” He seemed to cut himself off.

  “Zach.” I rolled the name around on my tongue, decided it suited him—mostly—though it wasn’t quite as dark and intriguing as he was.

  I told him so. “I was expecting something more like ‘Count Vladimir the Third.’” Zach blinked, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if I’d offended him or delighted him. When a full smile, a real one, broke out over his face for the first time since I’d laid eyes on him, I concluded that it was the latter.

  “I find you so refreshing.” He leaned in closer to me and my breath caught in my throat.

  I didn’t know what I was expecting—didn’t even know what I was hoping for—but when he again relaxed back in his chair, I felt oddly deflated.

  The silence stretched out, and while Zach seemed content with it, I squirmed.

  “Where are you from?” His expression darkened at the question. I couldn’t fathom what was wrong with what I had asked, but I felt the need to apol
ogize.

  “I’d much rather hear about you.” I was aware of the overly smooth change of subject, but if the man wasn’t going to talk, I certainly couldn’t make him. I didn’t much want to, either, but I’d had just enough wine, and was feeling just off balance enough emotionally that once I started to talk, I couldn’t stop.

  “I’m from Sacramento. Well, not originally. I was born in D.C. And I guess I don’t live in Sacramento anymore.” The reminder saddened me. I loved the city, had very much loved my apartment, but at the moment knew that I couldn’t go back.

  “I guess I’m not from anywhere, right now. My lying asshole of a boyfriend cheated on me, so I quit my job and came here, ’cause it’s one of my favorite places. And I have no idea what I’m going to do next.” The panic came then, washing over me in one quick wave.

  Oh, no. I wasn’t going to have a panic attack here. Not now. Not in front of this man.

  I inhaled, then let the air out, repeating until I felt calmer. When I realized that I’d just done a relaxation breathing exercise in front of a sexy stranger, I felt like smacking myself upside the head.

  Of course, I’d also just told him that I was so alluring that I couldn’t keep a man, so the breathing was probably nothing.

  Biting my lower lip, ashamed, I dared to sneak a peek at the man sitting across from me.

  He was watching me with eyes at half-mast, and he looked so damn sexy that I actually trembled. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of the dessert that I hadn’t wanted, and wasn’t sure I could stomach, not with my internal upheaval.

  I couldn’t help but notice that the scarlet color of the strawberries was enticing against the stark white of the bowl. I caught the eye of the waitress, who winked at me knowingly as she added a separate dish full of soft whipped cream.

  I felt my skin flush, the same hue as the berries, with mortification. For something to do, I took a berry in my fingers, toying with it so that I didn’t have to look Zach in the eyes.

  He had to know how attracted to him I was feeling, I was certain of that. There wasn’t a woman in the small restaurant who wasn’t watching him at least out of the corner of her eye— and that included Suzanne, the owner, who had looked at least eighty when my parents had first brought me here twenty years ago.

  “Let me.” Zach’s voice had dropped in timbre, sounding even more alluring to my ears than it already had. Reaching across the cheerfully checkered tablecloth, he took the strawberry from my fingers.

  The small patch of skin burned where his fingers brushed my hand. Inhaling sharply, I jolted, forgetting that now wasn’t a good time, forgetting that I’d just met this man. His expression mirrored mine in intensity. I had no idea what had just happened, but unless I had been robbed of all of my senses, he felt it, too.

  “Open your mouth.” Zach swiped the berry that he had nipped from my fingers through the mound of whipped cream before pressing it against my lips. I opened my mouth, my tongue flickering out to lick up the cream.

  He moaned softly. Emboldened by forces that mystified me, I took a small bite of the juicy berry, chewing slowly, licking my lips after I’d swallowed.

  His eyes followed the motions of my mouth, entranced, before flickering back up to look me in the eyes.

  “What is going on?” I regretted the words the moment that I’d said them—how naive was I? I knew exactly what was going on, but I didn’t have the sophistication to make the next move.

  Though my better judgment was screaming at me, I was praying that Zach would ask me to come with him to his hotel, to his house, to his tent, if that’s where his bed was. My flesh felt swollen, full to bursting with need.

  With a brief thought of the dark blue negligee that was still in its bag in my car, I told myself that I deserved one night of pleasure.

  My words might as well have been a slap. Another persona entirely came over Zach, one who was calm, in complete control, and who washed away all traces of the sexual creature who’d been in his place only moments before.

  “I must go. I have an early morning.” He shifted on the chair, pulling a wallet from the pocket of his snug jeans. The movement made the muscles of his arm tense, and I was entranced, as well as confused.

  “Oh.” That had been abrupt. I blinked, my mind sorting furiously through the last few minutes.

  Had I said something wrong? Done something strange?

  I didn’t think so, and I had just enough wine left in me to be irritated by the sudden withdrawal of this fascinating man.

  “Well, thanks for the company.” My voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Always lovely to meet a new person.”

  Zach had been in the process of standing, and he straightened as though I’d struck him. I again got the impression that he was not at all accustomed to being questioned.

  “Agreed.” He peeled a bill out of the folds of a wallet that looked to be made of hand-tooled leather and placed it on the table without checking the denomination.

  “Before you go, tell me something: What’s a man like you doing in a tiny beach town like this?” I had nothing to lose by asking. Clearly I was not going to have all of my desires satisfied, so I wanted at least to have my curiosity quenched.

  Apparently I’d asked something either very insulting or very personal, since a hint of anger flickered over his strong features. He didn’t answer, just nodded in my direction before striding away to the front door.

  Watching him walk away was like having a limb amputated. I tried to convince myself that the melancholy was because of the recent turn of events in my life, but I knew better.

  I’d found something that I wanted desperately, something that made complete and total sense in the chaos that was my life.

  It had stayed just long enough to tease me with what I could never have.

  Growling with frustration, I tipped my head back and downed the last inch of wine in my glass, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when I’d finished. As I lowered my chin I caught the stares of two girls who were barely out of high school, if at all. They wore tight, sheer tank tops and shorts that rode up high on the thigh. Though one was a blonde and one a brunette, their faces were nearly identical, smirking with amusement at my predicament.

  My face flushed. I was already embarrassed enough. And then I did what it seemed I was becoming very good at doing.

  I ran.

  • • •

  “I own a house in Cambria. I’ve come here since I was a child.” I gasped as the voice came out of the velvet night. Turning toward the man who had spoken, I glared, hands on hips.

  “How lovely for you.” Suddenly furious, and angry at myself for the burst of joy I’d initially felt at encountering him again, and for finding that the mere sight of him did strange things to my insides, I moved briskly off down the quiet street. My motel was only a block or so away.

  Main Street was close enough to the water that I could hear the water lapping at the shore. The sound usually soothed me, but tonight it grated at my nerves. I’d gotten nearly all the way back to my motel when I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning me.

  Then Zach’s hands were fisted full of my hair, his lips a whisper away from my own. My breath caught in my throat, and my body pressed itself into his.

  My entire being was drawn to his heat, to the smell of soap and musk and man.

  I opened my mouth to say something, and gasped when he tugged on my hair, drawing my head back until I had no choice but to look up into his eyes.

  Wetness surged through my cleft. I’d never been held this way, never been looked at with torment and desire at the same time.

  I loved it.

  “I am a very successful man, Devon. I’ve had to be ruthless to make my way.” His eyes narrowed, judging my response, but I found that his harsh words only made me tremble with need.
<
br />   “That ruthlessness applies to all areas of my life. I am not a nice man.” His expression dared me to argue with him. I wasn’t about to. He seemed like a lot of things right in that moment, but nice wasn’t one of them.

  “I don’t care.” It was naive, I knew, but I truly didn’t. Part of me thrilled at his violent words, a part of me that I would never have guessed even existed.

  Something flashed through his expression, gone so fast it was hard to believe that it had even been there, but I knew what I’d seen.

  He liked the way that I responded to him. Liked it a lot.

  “I’m not for you.” I was about to speak, about to object, and instead found myself moaning when he slowly, deliberately closed his teeth over the pulse beneath the line of my jaw. He bit just hard enough to sting and, I imagined, to leave a mark, his actions those of an animal asserting dominance over his prey. As he bit, his hand found the soft mound of my breast. He pinched my nipple through the fabric of my top and bra, then pulled, then pinched again.

  A short, hard burst of pleasure rocketed through me and I cried out loud, right there at the end of Main Street.

  Then I was trying to stay upright on legs that were trembling ferociously. I stared up at Zach with what I knew was raw need and confusion in my gaze.

  I watched as he pulled that second Zach back over himself like a cloak, the Zach who was calm and reasonable and not governed by desire. I opened my mouth to say—well, I don’t know what I would have said. He cut me off before I could try to frame a sentence.

  “Stay away from me.”

  • • •

  “Excuse me. Miss Reid?” I tried to erase the scowl from my face as I turned toward the clerk who called me over to the front desk where he stood. It wasn’t his fault that I had lain awake half the night with dark dreams that left me sweaty and trembling. It wasn’t his fault that my early-morning walk along the beach hadn’t been able to erase any of the feelings that had been stirred up the previous evening.

  “Yes?” The Sand Pebble Inn was a lovely, clean motel, and I was expecting the young man to ask me to fill out a customer survey, or something of that nature.