His hands shoot to my knees, so fast I about jump out of my seat. He swivels my stool until I face him, then shifts so his thighs bracket my own.
The solid warmth of him makes me want to melt. Liquid heat slides over my skin and that familiar ache tightens my belly.
God, I’m pathetic.
“Why not you?” One of his big hands retreats to the safety of the bar while the other lightly strokes the fabric of my skirt.
I push him away, but he grasps my wrist and holds me still.
I evade, latching onto indignation as a distraction. “It’s the challenge, isn’t it? I’m sure it gets boring with all those women panting to do your bidding.” I smirk, cocking my head to the side. “But understand this, I’m not some little fuck toy. I’m not going to give in just so you can toss me out with the trash when the fun is over and you get bored.”
“I see.” He picks up the drink and takes a sip. His tongue flicks over his lips, wiping away the alcohol clinging there. “Dirty martini. It suits you.”
“Are you done?” My chest tightens as panic washes over me. I’d made a tactical error and admitted far too much. There’s no excuse for my mistake, other than his presence here tonight has thrown me. I brace myself, waiting for the strike soon to come.
He places the glass back on the bar, his gaze narrows. “Do you really think so little of me?”
I blink and my jaw tightens. “I don’t think of you at all.”
He leans closer, hooking his arm along my waist and tugging me close. Far too close. I force my breathing to remain smooth instead of hitching the way it wants to.
“Don’t lie, it doesn’t suit you.” Before I can strike back, he works his hand under my black, form-fitting sweater, his palm hot against my back. “And for the record, if I wanted a fuck toy, I wouldn’t pick you.”
“Ha!” I hiss the word, ignoring the brand of his palm on my skin. The way it settles there, hot and safe all rolled together. I push at his arms. “So you admit it’s about the challenge.”
“Jesus, I wish.” He plants a hard, fast kiss on my lips, taking me by surprise.
It’s nothing like anything I’d imagined. Over before I can get my bearings. A kiss meant to punish. A bruising of his mouth so jarring I have to brace my hand against the bar to keep from falling into him. My mouth tingles and the need for more sinks into my bones.
His free hand grips my neck, holding me still when I would have pulled back. “Why can’t you believe I want you every bit as much as you want me?”
I scoff, curling my lips into a smirk even though inside I’m a quivering mess. All hot, melting center and pounding heart. “Please give me a little credit. You could have any woman you want.”
“And I want you.”
“What is it with you?” I press, not willing to give an inch. With him, I can’t. If I give in, he’ll turn me into someone I hate. All soft and weak and spineless. I glare at him. “It’s not enough to strip me of my pride by winning every project we compete for, you have to do this too?”
A muscle in his jaw clenches, and he releases me with an abruptness that leaves me shaken. Sitting back on the stool, his green eyes assess me as he takes a sip of the martini before returning the glass to the bar. “Do you want to know why you always lose to me, Juliet?”
Instincts warn I don’t want to hear this, but I can’t back down now. I’d look like the coward I am. I shrug. “Enlighten me.”
He runs his fingers along my jaw. “Because you hold back. You’re so damn busy trying to be this perfect, impenetrable force—so intent on making sure people see past your pretty face to your sharp, biting intelligence—you forget to show passion. And in the end it’s passion that wins.”
My head snaps back as though he’s struck me. He can’t possibly know how close his words are to the ones uttered by my now ex-husband the day he walked out of our marriage. To my horror, my throat closes up tight. Not that I care about the bastard I used to be married to, but because Christos sees my fatal flaws so clearly.
His head tilts and he continues, unrelenting. “It’s hard to be perfect with me, isn’t it? You keep trying. But I see right through you.”
More than anything I want to retort with a scathing remark. Something that will cut him to the quick. But I don’t think I can speak without crying. Me. Who hasn’t shed a tear since I was a teenager.
That he’s managed to bring me close to tears without even trying makes my decision clear. I’m going to tuck my tail between my legs and run. It’s the safest choice. My pride might sting, but in the end, it will hurt much less than a broken heart.
I slide off my stool.
“Running?” he asks casually, as if he doesn’t already know.
“Restroom,” I snap, pushing the word past my tight throat.
I force my steps to stay steady as I retreat. Gaze trained on the restroom sign like my own port in the storm. I don’t look back and I don’t run the way I want to.
I feel his eyes on me the entire time.
After what seems an eternity, I make it to the safety of the bathroom and push open the door. I walk to the row of sinks, putting my hands on the cool granite. I hang my head.
A woman steps out of the stall and strolls to the sink. “You okay, hon?”
I nod, taking deep breaths to calm my pounding heart. Soothe the rush of adrenaline singing through my veins.
The door blows open, and my head lifts, already knowing it will be Christos.
The brunette next to me pauses in the act of putting on her lipstick, eyes going wide.
He flicks his gaze over her. “Please leave.”
The woman drops the tube in her purse and leaves without even a second’s hesitation. That’s the way he is. One uttered command and everyone rushes to obey.
When the door closes behind her, Christos flips the lock. “You can’t run, Juliet.”
I turn to face him. His eyes slide over my black sweater and down my slim black skirt.
I realize we match.
When he takes in my red patented-leather stiletto Mary Janes, he smiles. “Love the shoes.”
The coordinating bag lies on the counter next to me, the keys to the safety of my townhome tucked inside. “I’m leaving.”
He takes three steps toward me, wraps his arm around my waist, and grips my jaw. “Why?”
“I want to go home.”
His gaze flickers over my face. “You won’t be able to sleep. So stay with me.”
This is why I hate him. He knows everything. Knows his power. How weak he makes me. Every damn thing.
I jut my chin. “I sleep like a baby.”
He steps closer.
I retreat.
He advances until I’m pressed against the edge of the counter, with nowhere left to run. His voice is unbearably soft when he speaks. “Those nights you stay up, restless and aching. I am right there with you.”
I blink up at him. Stunned by his admission—one I’d never make—and it makes me question all my assumptions. Is it possible this isn’t a game?
Don’t believe it.
The thought whispers through my mind.
The weight of his body is so close to mine my head spins.
I long to press against him. Want nothing more than to give in, but I resist. “I’m not a cure for your insomnia.”
He dips his head, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck. The shiver he sets off refuses to be contained. He nips the lobe of my ear. “Probably not. But I’m the cure to yours.”
The heat simmering inside me receives a much needed dose of ice water. I open my mouth, but before I can speak, he says, “Once I have you, I’ll need to figure out how to keep you. A job bound to keep a man up at night.”
Why is he doing this? Making me want to believe in him. Believe he’s filled with the same relentless desire that plagues me.
Anger rushes over me, and I push at him. I will not fall for this. The palms of my hands beat against his chest. “Stop this.”
Trapped and helpless against him, his mouth crashes down on me.
On a gasp, my lips part, and he takes full advantage, his tongue stroking mine, sure and strong. The kiss isn’t slow, there’s no coaxing.
He takes. Possesses. Demands.
And I am powerless.
His mouth is the most delicious, most intoxicating, most addictive thing I’ve ever tasted.
I want to resist. More than anything I don’t want to respond.
But it isn’t an option.
So I do the only thing I can and return the kiss with all my pent-up fury. All my anger and fear. All my long-suppressed desire.
A low, guttural growl rumbles from his throat. The female part of me I try so hard to deny revels in the sound. Wants to sink into it. So I fight to get free, all while my lips feast hungrily on his.
His fingers tighten harder on my wrists, most likely smart enough to realize I’m not above using my fists. The struggle escalates. And his ironclad hold works me into a fever pitch the way soft candles and romantic dinners never could.
I twist my hands, yank, and pull.
His fingers don’t budge.
I’m fighting a losing battle. We both know it. I can taste his victory in his kiss.
His lips slant over mine, searing and consuming. His tongue turns aggressive.
Fierce arousal floods my system, hums through my veins until I’m mindless. His free hand tangles in my hair where he twists until pain pricks at the base of my skull.
A whimper fills the air, and I realize it came from me.
I stiffen. Horrified at the needy sound.
But he knows me too well.
Just as I start to come to my senses, he presses that hard, magnificent body against mine, and my reason once again scatters like marbles hitting the pavement.
God, this is too good. Nothing this good can be right.
His hips bump mine, his erection rubs my belly.
It’s not enough. Nothing with him will ever be enough.
My mind fills with all the things I want from him.
I want his cock in me.
I want him pounding into my cunt.
I want his fingers on my clit.
His mouth all over me.
I want to score my nails down his back.
Mark him.
Just as he is marking me.
I want, I want, I want.
This need. This lust. It’s compulsion. Not sane.
He yanks away from me. The second he’s gone, I miss him.
It’s ridiculous, crazy, impossible.
And true.
My body shakes as my chest heaves. I blink into his face, trying to orientate myself.
His green eyes are as dazed as mine feel. His breath is the same ragged rhythm as my own.
We match.
I want to believe it. Trust in it. But something stops me. Habit or fear? A mixture of both? I don’t know, but it lodges firmly in my chest and I don’t know how to set it free.
In truth, I don’t want to. I need that protection as much as I need my next breath.
It’s the only defense I have.
His fingers loosen from my hair and he rubs the soft spot at the nape before stroking down the cords of my neck, up and over the line of my jaw.
My pulse beats frantic and erratic.
In the silence, neither his breath nor mine slows.
Long, strong fingers caress my jaw. I shudder. I can’t help myself.
“One kiss, Juliet.” His voice is hoarse, gravelly. “That’s all it took.”
“W-what?” The question pops out before I can press my lips together.
“Have you ever kissed like that?” The question manages to sound conversational, despite the unevenness of his tone. His thumb brushes over my mouth, rubs along the bottom lip. “I never kissed a woman and had it be like that. Better than sex. Hot and wet and heart-stopping.”
Trust isn’t in my nature. Trust is for the silly and naive.
Not for a woman like me.
Never in my life have I wanted to trust blindly…until right this second.
Fear makes a person do stupid, foolish things. And I’m no exception. I garner my strength and shrug one shoulder. “It was all right.”
The moment the words leave my lips, I recognize my mistake. This is not a man to be pushed. Fear joins the rapid pounding of my heart. My skin flushes under his intense gaze.
“When I decided I’d had enough.” His fingers curl along my jaw, no longer loose and easy. A sense of danger spikes the air and I shiver. “When having you hiss and claw like an alley cat every time I dared get within ten feet of you wasn’t putting a damper in my desire to claim you, and I knew going after you was inevitable. I made a decision.”
I struggle to break free, but he holds fast. I glare at him. “I don’t care about this, Christos.”
“I’m not done.” The words are a warning, and self-preservation has me going still.
I’ll let him have his say, then get the hell out. With any luck, I won’t run into him for a couple of months. Next time I see him won’t be in an enclosed space three sizes too small. Next time, I’ll have built my defenses back up. “What?”
Annoyance flashes across his harsh features. “I decided on brutal honesty.” He shoots out the words like bullets, and they hit with deadly accuracy. “In exchange for mine, I’m demanding yours.”
I push at his chest. “I don’t obey orders.”
He smiles. A wicked, knowing curve of his lips that makes him look like sin itself. “I know.”
Abruptly he releases me. One second I’m free, but before I can move, he has me facing the mirror, my arms pinned behind me again. My heart thuds in my chest.
His gaze on mine, he bends down, and whispers in my ear. “Just remember, Juliet, you picked the hard way.”
“Let me go.” Anger flows through me, or at least that’s what I pretend it is. Once again my breathing hitches, and I watch the telltale rapid rise and fall of my breasts. Giving me away. I want to close my eyes so I don’t have to witness my body’s betrayal, but refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” His gaze rakes over me. “To be so furious and so turned-on.” He leans down and bites the side of my neck, hard enough to leave a mark.
I shoot a spiked heel into his shin.
He winces but doesn’t loosen his grip, instead he kicks my legs apart, as far as my skirt will allow. “I know because I’ve been there. Jesus Christ, you piss me off. Do you know how many fucking times I’ve tried to put you out of my mind? Countless.”
I stop my struggle and stare at him. Hope beats like a tiny bird in my chest. It can’t be true—he can’t feel the same way I do. And even if he does, it’s the challenge, damn it. Men like him are used to getting their way. All I am to him is a dalliance with the unusual. That’s it.
Don’t let him make you believe.
My expression must reveal something because he shakes his head, his gaze softening. “Sometimes you don’t get a choice. Sometimes you don’t get to pick. It picks you.”
For the second time in an hour, my throat closes over. I grit my teeth and will the brightness in my gaze to disappear.
One big hand moves up my waist, over my ribs to cup my breast. His thumb traces a path over my nipple and I bite my lip to keep from crying out as sensation pierces through me.
Such a small touch, almost innocent, and its power shakes me.
He bends down and kisses my neck. His lips a soft brush against my skin. All I want is to tip my head and rest it on his shoulder. It looks strong and capable in a way I can never be. Solid. A nice place to rest while I let him carry me away.
Through sheer, stubborn will, I keep my head up. The muscles of m
y neck ridged with the effort.
“Even now, when you’re so afraid and every defense you have is on high alert, you can’t resist. I could have you naked, mindless and coming in no time flat.”
I start to tremble. Am I so transparent? Is there nothing about me he doesn’t see?
“The only thing that stops me is that if I strip you now you’ll have an excuse to run.” His eyes meet mine. “And you’ll get no excuse from me.”
3
“Did I lose you, Juliet?”
I blink Jonathan Marsh into focus. I’d drifted off again, unable to stop thinking about him.
Over and over my mind returns to the scene in the bathroom. Like a broken record, I replay how he’d touched me. How his hands moved over my body. How badly I wanted him.
And how he’d left me.
He’d made it clear I was powerless against him, turned on his heel and walked away. After, I’d stared at myself in the mirror, fighting the fierce longing squeezing my chest, and hating that he hadn’t looked back.
The weekend had been just as lonely and barren as I’d anticipated and I’d done the best I could to fill my time. Moving through my weekly checklist on autopilot. Now the days wore on and I heard and saw nothing. The startling revelation that I expected him left me shaken. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop waiting for him.
The phone would ring and my heart would leap into my throat.
A knock on my office door and I’d break into a sweat.
Sitting alone in the corner cafe during lunch and I’d find myself staring out the big picture window, searching for any sign of him.
The most disturbing thing of all is how my stomach twists every time I’m wrong.
An entire week has gone by, and Christos is nowhere to be found.
“Juliet?” Jonathan’s tapered fingers brush my forearm.
At his voice, I jerk back to the present.
I flash him my most dazzling smile and murmur an insincere “I’m sorry” while I shift away from his touch. There is nothing wrong with Jonathan. In fact, for a woman fast approaching the wrong side of thirty he’s a catch. That is if I like my men on the elegant waxy side.
I wave my hand over the glittery black-tie crowd littering the field museum. “I thought I recognized someone I knew. I apologize, what were you saying?”
Pride & Surrender Page 2