Surrender to You

by Shawntelle Madison

  Surrender to You is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Shawntelle Madison

  Excerpt from Reason to Believe by Gina Gordon copyright © 2016 by Gina Gordon

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Reason to Believe by Gina Gordon. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  ebook ISBN 9781101883204

  Cover design: Carrie Divine

  Cover photograph: MediaGroup_BestForYou/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Shawntelle Madison

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Reason to Believe

  Chapter 1

  Carlie

  Less than six hours after arriving in Boston from London, and I couldn’t keep still: tonight I was gonna be fucked until I couldn’t walk straight. For the fourth time, I switched from leaning on one leg to the other. A light tickle along my inner thighs from the ribbons on my garters made me ache further. I didn’t have much longer until cocktail hour at the Subarctic Club.

  First things first though: before I could get a drink and be rid of this pent-up sexual tension, I had to make some arrangements.

  “How do you plan to pay for the room, Miss Jason?” the front desk clerk at the Bellevue Hotel asked. My cellphone sang the chorus from M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls,” but I ignored it.

  “American Express, please.” Before I’d walked into the opulent lobby with its marble floors and red carpets, I’d considered the answer to this question. My American Express black card had enough credit for a month’s stay, as long as that stay didn’t include room service, overseas calls, or extravagant perks like raiding the minibar for Milky Ways.

  As he completed my registration, the front desk clerk was all smiles. More than five years ago, I’d started out as a hotel concierge. Back then, the eagerness to please oozed out of my pores. Every happy customer meant a positive review or a possible promotion. Working at a five-star hotel in NYC was like that. Maybe that was the reason why I ended up opening my own personal concierge business.

  The clerk finished my transaction, handed me a keycard, and gave me the standard spiel. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he added.

  “Thanks, Frank, you’ve been more than helpful.” Working the front desk was a thankless job. Everyone came to you with their problems—plugged-up toilets, complaints about the couple next door screaming out expletives during sex—but you always had to appear calm and polite. Even if you weren’t feeling it.

  After I settled into my room, I finally returned the call from earlier. This particular person wouldn’t be satisfied with a text message.

  “What’s wrong now, Penny?” I asked with a sigh.

  “What’s wrong is you got back from the U.K., stopped at my place, hung out with Sophie, and then didn’t wait for me to come home.”

  I rolled my eyes. At least she wasn’t in front of me right now. There would be over-the-top hand gestures involved, and head rolling. As one of my best friends since our days in the foster care system, I loved Penny dearly, but once you ticked her off, you heard about it for weeks. At least Sophie was far more levelheaded.

  Relaxing was out of the question, so I decided to chat with Penny on the way to a coffee shop across the street from the hotel. Downtown Boston buzzed around me, making it hard to hear our conversation.

  Even this early in the afternoon, Penny continued to berate me with that saccharine voice of hers. “If you weren’t staying in town for a while, I would’ve snatched your fake-blond ass off the street and beat you down for ignoring one of your besties.”

  Umm, thank you? “Oh, don’t be mad you can’t pull off blond.”

  “Have you ever seen a blond Indian chick? The men come running, sweetie. So where are you going and when are we hanging out?”

  “We can have breakfast tomorrow, if you want.” Yep, I dodged her question.

  “When have you ever seen me up early enough for breakfast?”

  Never, which is why I suggested it. “Look, I’m borderline jet-lagged, so by tomorrow morning I can tell you whatever you want.”

  “Why tomorrow morning? Why can’t you stay here with Sophie and me?”

  “And sleep on your couch for a week?” I chuckled. “No thanks.” I had a whirlpool bathtub, and I planned to make good use of it.

  “I have a queen-sized bed—” she began.

  “I’m good, girl.” Not happening. Doing the roommate thing with her for over ten years as a kid was enough.

  “So where are you going?” Penny was a pro at poking in my business.

  “To get some coffee so I can wake up.”

  She took a deep breath. “You’re not seeing him, are you?”

  Now that made me stop in the middle of the crosswalk. A car honked at me, forcing me to keep going. She knew me all too well.

  “You are a little freak of the week,” Penny chirped.

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Does Sophie know you’re about to hook up with Tomas again?”

  Of course, Sophie didn’t know. If Penny hadn’t pried, I’d be able to shove whatever happened tonight into a pretty little box I could hide under my bed.

  She kept going. “You two need to stop doing this. I’m all for casual sex every now and then, but hooking up with the same person every couple of years is saying something.”

  “Maybe it means we like to fuck each other?” An approaching lady, who appeared to be around my age, flashed me a dirty look for cursing. I didn’t see any sensitive young ears skittering about.

  Penny laughed into the phone. “No, it means you two can’t commit, and you care about each other.”

  This little speech wasn’t new. Sophie and Penny lectured me every chance they could get.

  “You two keep running away from each other, only to end up back together,” Penny said. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to stop running?”

  I held back a snort. “Tomas isn’t waiting for anyone. Nor has he ever waited for me after we had sex. We both get what we want and we move on. Like we should do with this conversation.”

  “Fine, but I’m calling you extra early tomorrow mor
ning just because I can.”

  “Bring it, babe.” Penny slept like the dead. She wasn’t calling anybody…

  —

  Two hours later, after somehow getting off the phone with Penny, the sun had set, and now I wove through the crowded floor at the Subarctic Club in downtown Boston. The heavy bass to the pop music thrummed through my bones. Just another night of partying for the young and elite. Out of all the places I could’ve selected, I considered this neutral ground. Tomas wasn’t the kind of guy to seek out the flashing lights or the bubble-gum, sunshine electronic music blasting through the speakers. He was more of a jazz or big-band club kind of guy. Give him smooth music and I’d be the one playing into his hands.

  But not tonight.

  I made my way to the bar on the other side of the huge rectangular room. Shelves with beautiful sparkling liquor bottles and dark blue lights extended from the bar below to the ceiling above. This was my first time visiting the place, but I liked the overall nautical vibe.

  With so many people here, it was hard to avoid prying eyes. Whether the dancer was a man or a woman, their first glance was what usually enchanted me. A beautiful half-Asian, half-black girl danced suggestively with a group of friends. She looked at me over her shoulder and her face blossomed into a smile. As pretty as she was though, tonight wasn’t about playing, but finding a place to wait for Tomas. Just the thought of seeing him made my stomach quiver.

  I moved faster. Anticipation snaked up my back. I scanned the bar to find a place to slide in. The club was pretty packed, so I had to walk a bit. One man smiled my way and gestured for me to take his place so he could stand behind me.

  No thanks. I shook my head. Repaying the favor wasn’t happening. I kept going until I spotted a man leaving the bar holding a few shots. He hurried back to his table of friends, and I took his place.

  Once I slid onto the warmed leather seat, I sighed. There wasn’t a place like this in London. I only had to close my eyes to hear the sounds of the Northeast. In just this one club, I could hear accents that existed only in the United States. Technically, I was more of a New York City girl, but I could learn to love Boston based on what I’d seen so far.

  The bartender approached me. “What are you having tonight?”

  I hesitated at my choice, but gave in. I’d deal with the real world tomorrow. “Two shots of vanilla vodka, please. No ice.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Time passed, but not much. Maybe it seemed as if I sat there for a long time, but I didn’t. The moment the seat next to mine opened up, Tomas Goodfellow slid in beside me. My breath caught in my chest and a hum settled in the back of my throat. As much as I wanted to focus on the bartender, who flipped shot glasses and placed them in a perfect row for his cheering customers, my body always reacted the moment I saw Tomas.

  Not a single person close to us suspected they were drinking next to one of the richest hoteliers in the world. He was just Tomas to me.

  I sucked in a deep breath. Memories of his strong citrus scent with a hint of spice flared in my mind. I could pick out the individual flavors: ginger, bergamot, cardamom, along with a hint of grapefruit and lavender. Damn, he always smelled good enough to eat.

  Just one peek wouldn’t hurt.

  Eyes forward, Carlie. Of course, I failed miserably and looked at him briefly. My eyes drank him in from the curve of his strong jawline to his dark brown eyes. And his lips. Tomas had the kind of lips that were meant to be sampled. They were sensuously shaped, practically mocking me while I stared. When I turned my head just right, I could make out the slight upward tilt in his lips.

  The bartender asked if he wanted anything.

  “Vanilla vodka, please. Two shots,” he said.

  Somehow, even though we sat next to each other, our bodies didn’t touch. The edge of his arm, where firm muscles bulged from underneath his dark gray shirt, was mere inches from mine. An itch formed along that tiny patch of my skin. He radiated warmth, and the need to slide into his arms grew overwhelming.

  Tomas finished his first shot quickly while I continued to sip mine.

  “I’ve been watching you from across the room,” he said to me, a hint of his Portuguese accent touching his words. He had the kind of voice that slid up your inner thighs.

  “Are you a stalker or something?” I whispered.

  “Would you like for me to be?” His eyebrows lowered, and a dark smirk filled his face.

  I smiled as he extended his hand toward me. “I’m Tomas. What’s your name?”

  “Grace.” Choosing my name for the evening was a game we played once in a while. So far I’d only picked virtuous names by alphabet: Amity, Charity, and now Grace.

  “Do you come here often?” He gestured for the bartender to bring him another drink.

  “Never been.”

  His arm finally brushed against mine as he leaned closer. “Interesting choice.”

  He asked me what I was doing in town, and as usual, I kept things vague. I was on a personal trip to find someone important and I needed a drink to settle my nerves. Which was the truth.

  “Have you found what you’re looking for yet?” he asked me smoothly.

  Does he mean my search for my parents or my desire to see him tonight?

  Faintly, I felt his fingertips press on the middle of my back. A light caress meant to tease. I needed much more than that tonight.

  “Not yet.” All this small talk was nice, but my patience was running out.

  Down the bar, a group of women were eyeing Tomas. They smiled repeatedly and pointed in his direction. The countdown began until a drink would come his way. He had that effect on other women. Just like he did on me. What made me different though, I told myself, was I didn’t care.

  Less than a minute later, a glass of expensive brandy appeared—along with a business card with a phone number. “From the ladies over in the corner,” the bartender said, “with their compliments.”

  “Show-off,” I couldn’t help but whisper.

  “Have you had any bought for you yet?” Tomas replied.

  “The night is young. Sooner or later, someone will become brave enough to buy me a drink, but I think we should go somewhere quiet before the cougar club comes prowling your way.”

  I turned my head toward his, trying to keep myself from falling for him. The intensity of his gaze had a way of making me succumb every time.

  “We should.” He placed a few bills on the bar to pay for both of our drinks.

  Somehow, I added distance between us. For a fleeting moment, I told myself to walk away. If I were smart, I would’ve already buried my feelings as deeply as he did.

  “Let’s go then,” I said.

  I left first and he trailed behind me. Not once did he touch me. We left the Subarctic Club and made our way to the busy street. A Maserati sedan waited at the curb. Silence settled between us as we slipped inside. This was the game we always played. No polite conversation to ask how the other was doing or even a dinner to set the mood.

  All these things were my own fault, though.

  I was the one who’d made Tomas this way.

  Chapter 2

  Tomas

  The moment Carlie’s text message flashed on my phone—after four years no less—I didn’t hesitate to clear my schedule. Every message she’d sent me over the years had been this simple: flight to Boston arrives at 11 am. subarctic club at 8 pm.

  Her messages always meant only one thing: meet and fuck.

  As much as I traveled, I was surprised she knew I was here.

  The woman next to me in the car shifted, placing one leg over the other. My gaze drifted up the perfect curve of her calves to the place where her garter ribbons peeked out from under her short leather skirt. Grace, as she’d called herself this time, watched the brownstone buildings we passed as we drove farther into downtown Boston. In the darkness of the Maserati, I could still make out every feature. Even if I closed my eyes, I could clearly recall everything about her. The di
mple in her cheek when she truly smiled. The dark shine to her olive green eyes when she saw something she wanted. But her hair color was all wrong. How she thought blond hair was better than her natural red, I didn’t know, but this was Carlie, after all. She jumped in headfirst on everything. On closer inspection, I noticed she was thinner than usual. Had she been working too much?

  The makeup she wore covered all the endearing light brown freckles that dotted her face and trailed down her neck and back. Countless times I’d kissed that skin, commanded her with a single glance to fall to her knees so I could twine my hands in her curly, red hair and draw her mouth to my cock. My fingers on my right hand gripped my knee tighter. The need to reach for her grew stronger. Only a few inches separated us, but now wasn’t the time to make my move.

  Soon enough, my lazy moment taking her in came to an end. We reached the destination Carlie had given the driver: the Fulbright Hotel. I smiled at her choice. She’d picked one of my competitors. The dark interior of the car was suddenly illuminated by all the lights blanketing the entrance.

  The bellman opened the door and offered his hand to help her out. Then it was just me and her walking side by side. Every once in a while, her arm brushed against mine and a sense of déjà vu crept in. We’d walked this path before in another place and another time. The apex of these events was always the same: we ended up in bed.

  And yet, standing this close to her left my stomach muscles tense, my breath quickening and my heart racing. We reached the elevator, and the doors opened not long after I pressed the button. Instead of an empty cab, a family of seven took up most of the space. The parents beckoned an older boy and what looked to be his girlfriend, along with three younger kids, to make some room. We shuffled inside and took a spot in the left corner. Ironically, we faced each other, nearly nose to nose, with little room to budge. Her back was to the wall and I practically caged her in.