Surrender

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Kayden steps to me and lowers my hands, his covering mine, now resting between us. “You will. And talking about it seems to fill in holes for you.”

  “Yes. It does, actually.”

  “So talk to me,” he encourages. “Tell me the part we both know you don’t want to talk about.”

  “How I ended up with Neuville.” I hate that just his name sends a shiver of dread down my spine.

  “Yes. How did you end up with Neuville?”

  I withdraw from Kayden, moving to sit in the chair, and he doesn’t try to stop me. Somehow, he seems to understand that I’m not rejecting him. I’m just not capable of reaching the monster in my life when the man I love is touching me.

  “I had a dying man at my feet,” I say, as Kayden once again leans on the desk, “a necklace in my pocket, and people after me who would likely kill me for it.”

  “And you had no money or resources in Paris,” he supplies, leading me to my next decision.

  “Exactly. And knowing I had the necklace that seemed to be the reason David was killed, I couldn’t call the police without taking the risk of alerting who knows who. I needed help, and I needed it fast.”

  “You called Neuville.”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “Where else was I going to go? He was conveniently the only person I knew. The man set up to be standing in my path. He was this rich, powerful man who seduced me with any method he could including the promise of a safe place to hide that was never safe at all.”

  “You were drawn to him,” Kayden says, and it’s not a question.

  My eyes meet his, and the combination of knowledge in his eyes and understanding in my belly punches me in the chest. But I don’t run from it, or try to sidestep it. “Yes,” I admit, self-loathing filling me. “I was. Too much in the beginning, I think, and being that bad a judge of character doesn’t seem accurate. I don’t understand it, yet I’ve had random flashbacks that tell me it’s the case.”

  Kayden pushes off the desk and steps in front of me, offering me his hand. I flatten my palm in his, warmth radiating up my arm, across my shoulders and chest. But I don’t look up and make eye contact, instead savoring the way I feel him everywhere, in places he isn’t touching me but I want him to touch me. In places deep in my soul that somehow I still don’t know, but he does. We linger like that a few moments, connected in ways that I know I have never felt with any other person, right in ways that I somehow know few things have been in my life before him. And this bond I share with this man only drives home how odd my pull to Neuville had been.

  It is this question I’m still asking when Kayden gently urges me to my feet, but when I would search those now warm blue eyes for an answer, he simply offers me one. “We’re all human,” he says. “You were alone, and from what I can tell, you’d been alone a very long time.”

  Somehow he’s hit on exactly my feelings when I’d called Neuville that night at the chocolate shop. “That’s not an excuse for not seeing him for the criminal he was right away. I might not know if I was CIA or not, but I know I’ve had the training and experience to see through that man.”

  “He’s the head of the French mob for a reason,” he says, his hands settling on my waist. “He’s a master manipulator.”

  “Don’t make excuses for me, Kayden,” I say, my fingers balling around his shirt. “Excuses equal weakness, and you can’t have a weak woman by your side, any more than I want to be one.”

  He turns us, settling me against the desk, his hands on the desk on either side of me, mine beside his, while his big body frames mine but does not touch it. “I didn’t give you an excuse, Ella,” he says, his voice strong, almost hard. “I gave you a reason, a way to understand your actions and decisions, because you can’t control what you don’t understand. You are human—and if you forget that, it becomes a weakness. Know yourself. Know what can or cannot get to you, because your enemy always will.”

  Those words trigger a whisper of my father’s voice in my head: Know yourself better than anyone else knows you. Know your adversaries more than they know themselves. That was exactly why I’d taken on the façade of a schoolteacher. To know me more than others knew me. But who were those others, and why did that matter? And why is my declaration to Niccolo, that my past has nothing to do with the necklace, feeling less and less right?

  four

  Ella.”

  I blink at the sound of Kayden’s voice and come back to the present, with me still leaning on the desk, him in front of me, his hands bracketing my body. “Where are you in your head right now?” he gently prods.

  “Thinking about control,” I say. “Everything is about control. I was trying to get it when I lost it completely.”

  His eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, hyperaware of my hands touching his on the desk behind me, “and that’s the problem. But I am certain of this: my mind shows me things in seemingly random ways that always prove not to be random at all. I told Niccolo the past has nothing to do with the necklace, yet I keep seeing the past weave its way into the present. My father keeps coming back to me.”

  “He formed much of who and what you are.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “And it could be that, but I’m not sure anymore. When I told Niccolo my past had nothing to do with the necklace, something felt off. And almost immediately when I got in the car with you and Adriel, I flashed back to something that happened at my old home in the States.”

  “What happened?”

  “Two men visited me and I know they were CIA, but I know it somehow connected to my dad’s death. I kept my gun close. What the hell does that even mean? Are they bad? Am I? Oh, God—what if I’m working for Niccolo?”

  He cups my face. “You are not working for Niccolo.”

  “You can’t know that. We can’t know that.”

  “You remember when you are connected to things.” His hands move to my waist. “Do you feel connected to him?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Then you are not working for him. And we know you weren’t working for Neuville.”

  “Why did I remember that day now?”

  “You just found out your father was CIA this very evening. A high-level CIA operative who was murdered. Of course your mind is going there, but don’t read into it. The possible reasons for that encounter are many.”

  “But it was important. That meeting is why I created the façade of being a schoolteacher. I needed to convince them that I wasn’t a problem.”

  “ ‘Them’ who?”

  “I don’t know. The CIA, I think. Or maybe they were helping me hide. I hate this not knowing, so much! But more so, the idea that I was hiding from something that could have brought attention to Sara really worries me.”

  “You would never put someone in danger, especially someone you care about.”

  “I can’t risk her or anyone else. We can’t risk a mobster getting that necklace.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I need to go to Paris.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “I have to go, Kayden. If conversation triggers memories, then seeing where I was will remind me—”

  “No. And in case you didn’t get that—no.”

  “You don’t get to make this decision.” I try to escape the cage of his body and the desk, only to have his hands come down on either side of me once more. “I’m serious, Kayden. You aren’t—”

  “Neuville is hunting you.”

  “And I have Evil Eye to protect me.”

  “To avenge your death,” he says, “which isn’t going to happen because I won’t let it.”

  “The threat of Evil Eye—”

  “Won’t bring you back once you’re gone, and I do not plan on losing you.”

  “I thought you said it protected me.”


  “Never assume absolute protection, or you’ll let your guard down. I know you know that. Especially with people who are emotionally involved, like Neuville.”

  “Emotionally involved?”

  “No matter what he feels for you, you sliced his pride. You escaped. You beat him. Men like him don’t like to be beat.”

  “We haven’t beat him yet, but we can. And we can’t do that if we go on like this. And I need to protect everyone. Sara is—”

  “I’ve already told Matteo to coordinate protection for her, and she’ll never know we’re there.”

  “For how long do we do this, Kayden?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “I can’t let her become a target.”

  “Blake Walker didn’t share her information with Alessandro. I made sure of it, but we don’t know if we can trust Blake’s word. Matteo is checking them out, and I’m going to contact my people inside the U.S. government agencies about him and Chris Merit. But even if we can trust one or both of them, Alessandro’s resourceful and Blake didn’t have his guard up with him. We’re not taking any chances with your friend.”

  “What about your people, Kayden? Marabella? Adriel? Giada? And you, Kayden. Being close to me means being at risk as long as I’m hunted.”

  “We’re going to end this.”

  “Exactly. We have to end this. And I’m not missing the fact that you haven’t denied the danger.” I don’t give him time to argue. “I remember a chocolate shop I went to when I was waiting for Neuville to pick me up that night David died. I could have hidden the necklace near there, or even in the shop itself. I need to go there and—”

  “I’ll send Adriel—”

  “How would Adriel know anything about what I need to see and remember?”

  “You send him to the places you want him to go; he’ll take video. He’ll—”

  “This is ridiculous.” I shove on his chest. “Let me off the desk.” I slide to the left but he shackles my arm.

  “Ella,” he says, turning me to face him, our opposite hips pressed to the desk. “He’s a good man.”

  “I don’t trust him, Kayden, and you won’t listen. You aren’t hearing me.”

  “Sweetheart. I always listen to you.”

  “No. Not about this. And I get it. He’s been with you forever.”

  “I’m listening. Tell me now.”

  “The day of the party,” I say quickly, “I was with Giada, Adriel, and Marabella in the television room in the store. I had my journal with me to make sure I could jot down notes as I remembered things, but I walked off and left it for a few minutes. Adriel had it. He returned it to me. There were two pages missing, Kayden. A drawing of the necklace.”

  “Adriel’s a Hunter, Ella. He would have made sure you didn’t miss what he found. He would have taken a picture instead.”

  I feel the blood run from my face, disappointment and hurt stabbing at me. “Giada,” I whisper, my hands settling on his chest. “I thought I’d gotten through to her—but the only way she knew that necklace was important was through betrayal.”

  Kayden shifts us, resting my backside against the desk again, his legs framing mine in a position of control. He always needs control, and that should bother me after all I’ve been through, but somehow it doesn’t.

  “Are you sure that page wasn’t gone for longer than you realized?” he asks.

  My brow furrows. “Well, I . . . I guess not, but I never took it out of the castle. So really, it doesn’t matter when it happened. It has to be Giada. You have no idea how much that disappoints me.”

  “We’ve been watching her, sweetheart. She’s had no more contact with Gallo since we called her on it. She’s had no contact with anyone else of concern.”

  “It can’t be Marabella.”

  “There are cameras in the store. We can look.”

  “You think it could be her?”

  “I think it’s Giada,” he says. “But the good news is, whatever her reason for taking it, she hasn’t acted on that reason yet. And she knows she’s being watched. So she’s not going to act on it anytime soon.”

  “There is that,” I say. “But we’re off track here. Paris, Kayden. Let’s end this. Let’s go and I’ll—”

  “No, Ella. There is nothing you can say that will convince me that we should do this.”

  “You don’t get to decide this on your own. I’m not one of your Hunters.”

  He tangles his fingers into my hair and drags my gaze to his. “You’re the woman I love more than life itself, and I will not, I am not, going to lose you.”

  “You won’t,” I vow. “I know how to—” His mouth closes on mine before I can say “protect myself,” a hot slide of tongue that I feel in every part of me, wicked hot, passionate. Demanding.

  I try to resist, to insist we talk first, but on the next caress of his tongue I taste his fear of losing me, his need to protect me, and yes, possession. He wants to possess me right now, I feel it in every part of me, and I know it’s driven by a need to protect me. Because I’m a part of him, as he is of me, and those things undo me. Those things take me to a place that I can only go with him, an escape I would never dare allow myself without him. I sink into the kiss, arching into his body.

  He tears his mouth from mine, our gazes colliding, and he repeats, “I love you, woman.”

  “I love you, too,” I say, emotion welling in my throat, while his hands slip under my sweater, warm, right, and he eases it upward, pulling it over my head and tossing it away.

  “Isn’t Adriel waiting for us?” I ask, sounding as breathless as I feel. “We need to deal—”

  He kisses me again, another deep slide of tongue against tongue that is over too soon before he declares, “Adriel can wait. I cannot.” He says those words with a low rasp to his voice that leaves no question that he means them, his fingers trailing down my cheek and settling at the center clasp of my nude bra, which he unhooks.

  “I can’t do us halfway, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m yours and I’m not going to let you get hurt. You’re just going to have to deal with what that means, if I’m what you want.”

  My hands go to his as they cover my breasts. “I don’t want halfway either,” I say. “I just—”

  “You just what?” he asks, leaning in to press his cheek against mine, his fingers teasing my nipple, tightening it into a hard, sensitive knot.

  “I just want to . . . ” He gives my nipples gentle tugs and I swallow against the sensations rolling through me, before I manage to finish with, “ . . . do the right thing.”

  He goes still for a moment, his breath warm on my neck, his hands bracketing my waist. “Do the right thing,” he repeats softly.

  “Yes,” I say. “Do the right thing.”

  He leans back to look at me, his blue eyes etched with shadows, and some emotion I cannot name. Seconds tick by that give me zero answers to what he’s thinking, and without a word or a response, he reaches over and pulls open a drawer before setting something next to me that I can’t see.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, curious and confused.

  He takes my hands and presses my palms together, never once looking at my naked breasts. “Lace your fingers,” he orders softly.

  There is a sudden newly sparked erotic charge in the air and my nipples tighten again of their own accord. I do as he asks, and for a moment, his hands hold mine, the look in his eyes dark, unreadable, and for reasons I cannot name that reach beyond that charge in the air, my heart begins to race.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks.

  “You know I do.”

  “I do know,” he surprises me by saying. “But though you say you know, too, I’m not sure you really do.”

  “I do,” I insist. “I absolutely do.”

  “Just know this. I would never betray you. I would never hurt y
ou. I would, as I have said, and will say over and over, die for you.”

  “As I—”

  “No,” he says roughly, his voice gravelly, affected. “Do not say you would die for me, because that is not what I want from you. Never do I want that from you.”

  “I know you don’t want that,” I say, my voice now gravelly as well, “but you see, I feel what you feel. I can’t stand the idea of living instead of you, without you.”

  “I don’t plan to let you.” His fingers flex around my hands. “Hold them right here.” He waits for my reply and I give a tiny nod, before he reaches beside me and produces a roll of masking tape, already tearing a long piece.

  “What are you doing?” I ask again, my heart now skipping and racing, but by the time I start to pull my hands back, he’s already holding them.

  “Aside from protecting your newly inked wrist by avoiding a tie that would be on top of it,” he says as he attaches one side of the tape several inches up my arm, “I’m proving a point.” He finishes wrapping my arms, then grabs the roll to pull off another piece.

  “What point?”

  He wraps more tape around my arms. “You can’t get free,” he says, tossing the roll over his shoulder. “I can do anything to you I want to do to you, and you can’t stop me. You could fight, but I’m bigger and stronger. Does that scare you?”

  “No, it doesn’t scare me, but if I wanted to get free, I could fight. I’m good at fighting.”

  “Do you want to fight me, Ella?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Because you’re safe with me. I want you to stay safe with me. That is why we can’t go to Paris. Not now. Not yet. I’m not trying to dominate you or control you. I just want you to be alive to fight with me like you just were. To change my mind. And for me to change yours, and in this case, I’m going to.” He folds my hands behind my head, and orders me to keep them there while his hands slide to my back, molding me to him, his breath a warm wash on my lips. “I can’t lose you, Ella.”