PrideandSurrender (3 page)

He stilled, his muscles tensing and bunching.

I loosened my grip.

He raised his head.

My hands fell away.

He stepped back.

The loss was crushing.

Throat tight, I swallowed past the lump trapping all of my
air. I wanted to say the words. The need to say them beat a pounding rhythm in
my chest, desperate to break free. If I let them go, maybe they would free me
too?

But my lips pressed firmly closed. And I hated myself for
it.

I’d known it would be over all too quickly.

As hard as I kissed him, as hard as I tried to memorize his
touch and the way he felt under my hands, as hard as I tried to imprint the
weight of him against me, it hadn’t been enough. With him, it would never be
enough.

He met my gaze, his green eyes turbulent. “Why?”

I shifted my attention, staring at the blurring work of art
on the wall over his left shoulder.

He gripped my chin and jerked my attention back. “At least
look at me while you lie through your teeth.”

I steeled my expression and met his stare. “Leave me alone,
Christos.”

His fingers tightened along my jaw. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?” My chest squeezed.

“How else can I prove to you that I’ll keep coming back?” He
lowered his head and licked at the seam of my lips. “How else can I prove it’s
not a game?”

My ribs constricted. Why couldn’t I believe him? People
thought I was a risk taker, but I wasn’t. Where it really counted in life, I
was a coward. The cold, hard truth was I’d been guarded for so long I no longer
knew how to be any other way. I almost cried as my stubborn pride refused to
give him what he needed to hear.

And I felt it—his need for me, his desire—the problem was I
didn’t know how to trust it. To trust him.

He sighed. His mouth curved down as his expression set in
resignation. “Will you ever give an inch?”

“I-I don’t know how.” The truth of my words vibrated through
the empty corridor.

“I know.” He stroked my cheek. “You’re not a game, Juliet.”

I frowned. So badly I wanted to ask the question—how could
he want me? It didn’t make any sense. There were a million women out there
better than me. Soft, willing, happy women who would be able to give him
everything—so why would he want me? When I’d never be whole enough? The desire
to know the answer burned in my stomach, but I didn’t ask. I was too afraid it
would make me look weak.

He tilted my chin, leaned down and brushed his lips against
mine. It was sweet and tender. A kiss of promise, of truth.

It made me want to sob. To sink into it and never come up
for air. Our mouths hovered until I was leaning into him, desperate for more.

“Tell me how to make you believe?” His words whispered
across my sensitive skin and sank into my bones until I ached.

I didn’t know how to tell him I was too afraid to believe. I
pulled away and a bitter cold replaced all the heat he’d generated. I looked
behind him again and willed myself not to cry. At least for a couple more
minutes. My chest was so tight, so constricted I felt as if I might snap. I
shook my head. “You can’t.”

A whisper along skin.

A rush of tingles exploded down my neck, pushing me into
wakefulness when all I wanted was to float along in that place between dreams
and consciousness. I squeezed my lids tight, desperate to recapture the sleep
that had been eluding me.

“Juliet.”

His voice. I sighed in contentment, relaxing into the warmth
of that low, deep rumble.

Fingers ran through the strands of my hair.

Reality rushed over me. I jolted awake, my head jerking as
it fell off the palm it rested on. I blinked my desk into focus. Sucked in a
breath and held it tight in my lungs. For the third time that week I’d dozed
off in my office.

Insomnia did that to a person.

I’d been dreaming of him. Again. He’d invaded my dreams just
as he’d invaded my life.

“Sorry I woke you.” Christos. I tilted my chin up and there
he was.

Gorgeous in a light camel-colored causal sweater and jeans,
he smiled down at me, his finger tracing the line of my jaw.

I released the pent-up air. It had been six days since I’d
seen him. An eternity. Although I hated my weakness, hated how much I wanted
him, my heart sang in joy. “You’re here.”

“Katherine let me in.”

Later, I’d think about if I should kiss her or kill her.

He nodded, glanced the clock on my desk. “You didn’t go.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I knew.

When Jonathan had called, I’d declined the invitation. In
the end, it had been the only choice. The denial that Christos had anything to
do with my decision sat poised on my tongue—I sighed, a long deep breath that
sounded as weary as I felt—I couldn’t.

I was too tired to fight, to struggle. I cleared the sleep
and the protest from my throat. “No, I didn’t.”

Something flickered in the green depths of his eyes. “Why?”

I couldn’t deny my happiness in seeing him, but I hadn’t
become a different person overnight. If he expected me to voice the confession
of what we both already knew, he would be waiting a long time. With a shake of
my head, I bit the inside of my cheek.

One corner of his mouth tilted up. “That’s all I’m going to
get?”

“I didn’t want to,” I said, shrugging one shoulder.

A chuckle vibrated from his chest. “I’ll take it.” He held
out an outstretched hand. “Come with me to the couch, I bought you something.”

Unable to resist, I glanced over my shoulder and what I saw
made my chest squeeze tight. My vision blurred as my eyes welled with sudden,
unexpected tears. They’d been doing that a lot lately. Once the dam broke, I
didn’t seem to be able to stop. It made me remember why I stopped crying in the
first place, and I longed to find that numb place again. But it eluded me.

My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my lips. I blinked
rapidly.

On the square coffee table in front of the couch he’d set
out a picnic. Spread over the white tablecloth was two crystal goblets, a
couple bottles of wine and a tray of cheese. Large red grapes and lush
strawberries overfilled a bowl. A platter of sandwiches filled a plate. In the
center of the table was a low glass vase packed to the brim with blood-red
roses. No leaves, no filler, just a tight bunch of flowers. A beautiful slash
of color across the white linen.

It was the sweetest, most romantic gesture anyone had ever
done for me. I’d believed I hated romance, hated the soft gooeyness of it—but I
was so wrong. Pleasure swelled in my chest until it felt as though it might
burst.

I glanced over at him, he watched me with that intent
expression he wore. Trying to peer inside my head and learn all my secrets. I
swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Y-you…” My voice came out as a strangled
croak and I cleared it. “You did this for me?”

He shifted his large frame so he faced me, raising his hand,
his strong fingers curled over my neck. The weight of his palm so right, and I
didn’t know what to make of it.

I should feel suffocated, not safe.

The sense of security washed over me so powerful and
intense, I had to force myself to stay upright. As if he read my mind, his
fingers tightened and his other hand slid along my waist.

Steadying me. He anchored me like my own personal port in
the emotional storm. His thumb slid over my bottom lip. “I would do anything
for you, my Juliet.”

My jaw tightened. The truth of his words shining in his
eyes. He was winning. Slowly but surely, each time he came back, each time I
saw him, he chipped away at my defenses and I found myself believing.

“Thank you,” I said, my tone shaky. For the first time in my
life, I wanted to talk, to spill those secrets he seemed to want. But the
feeling was so foreign, so out of my comfort zone, panic washed over me, making
my blood rush through my veins and a low buzz fill my head.

He smiled then, a heartbreaker of a smile that melted some
of the ice I kept around me like a second skin. “You don’t owe me anything,
except to eat until you’re full.” He glanced down, his lips curving wider,
making him look almost boyish. “You’re looking a little scrawny.”

“That’s a lie!” The tension broke and I laughed a little,
the sound rusty. I wasn’t heavy, but I wasn’t anywhere close to scrawny.

He cocked his head to the side, and his expression flashed
with something purely male. “You’ve lost weight.”

I shrugged. Maybe a little. The stress of the last few weeks
had had an effect on both my appetite and my ability to sleep.

“I like you better with some meat on your bones.”

I opened my mouth to say something scathing, but he chose
that moment to swoop down and capture my lips with his.

The kiss was searing. Liquid heat poured through me as our
mouths fused together. It was like coming home. Exactly where I was supposed to
be.

I pressed close, desperate for the feel and taste of him. He
kissed like no man I’d ever known. Taking and demanding yet so fully focused on
me it was impossible to resist. Impossible not to surrender and give him
everything he wanted.

I lost myself in him. And the thought both thrilled and
scared me.

How did I stay whole when another person consumed me?

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he pressed his
forehead into mine. We stayed like that for long, silent minutes, exchanging
air as we both struggled to control the desire between us.

“I want you, Juliet. But I’m not going to fuck you on the
floor of your office.” A strangled-sounding chuckle rumbled from his chest. “At
least not until I’ve had you a few dozen times.”

A couple weeks ago I would have protested, but my mouth
stayed firmly shut. There didn’t seem to be any point in denying the obvious.
Christos would be inside me, and I didn’t just mean his cock. I meant him. And
I wanted him there. Despite every single argument, rational thought and belief
I had, I still didn’t want to say no to him anymore.

For at least this brief moment in time.

He nipped at my lower lip and a piercing pleasure shot
through me. “Let’s go eat.”

Moments later, he nestled me into the couch, tucking me into
the corner. To my surprise, despite the wary, uncomfortable feeling sitting in
the pit of my stomach, I let him. For the simple reason that I wanted to make
him happy. From the second I’d met him I’d been nothing but a prickly pain in
the ass, and I wanted to show him at least a glimpse of the woman I could be.

I wanted to show us both a glimmer of the woman I wanted to
be.

He sat beside me and trailed his hand down my bare thigh and
over my knee, leaving a path of goose bumps in his wake. He reached lower and
encircled my ankle with his long fingers, drawing my foot onto his thigh. The
sharp heel of my shoe poised on his jeans, forcing my legs to part ever so
slightly as my skirt rose up. I stared down at the picture we presented.

The angle of my leg. The slope of my calf. His dark fingers
wrapped around my fair skin. Warmth rushed to my belly at the image we
presented, erotic and intimate.

I met his eyes. The green depths blazed with heat and
hunger. His fingers stroked over my ankle. “Let me take care of you.” His words
were a husky plea.

I fell. Gave in. Surrendered. For now.

With my heart pounding in my ears and fear rushing through
my veins, I nodded.

Relief and sheer pleasure flashed over his expression. He
lifted my foot and dipped his head. The thick black hair like silk as it
brushed along my skin. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.

He pressed his lips to the inside of my ankle, his tongue
flickering along the bone. It was exquisite and intimate. A rush of greediness
shook me.

He lifted his head and our gazes locked together. “Thank
you.”

He slipped the shoe off and repeated the same gesture with
the other foot, tucking them both underneath me when he was done. Desire hummed
inside me, making me forget all about the fight, the struggle. For this moment
in time, I wanted to be free. Free to touch him, free to relax, to let down my
guard.

“Red or white?”

Dazed, my muscles already loose, I blinked back at him, at a
complete loss for what he was talking about.

“Wine, Juliet.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he
waved the goblet he held in his hand.

Least he get too comfortable, I raised one brow. “You’re
pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

He shrugged one big shoulder, not even bothering to look
chagrined. “Everything about you pleases me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You must be a glutton for punishment.”

“You’re not as scary as you’d like to be.” He leaned
forward, running a hand along my thigh as if he’d been doing it for years. “I
see past all your defenses.”

My throat dried up like a mirage in the middle of a desert.
I licked my lips. The need to know what he saw beat in my chest. Was I brave
enough? I nodded. Today, I was. I propped my head into my open palm and asked
tentatively, “And what do you see?”

His hand smoothed over my leg. “First, red or white?”

I looked at the delicate spread stretched out on the table
before me. “Normally, I prefer red, but this seems like a meal made for white.”

He nodded, leaning forward he picked up a bottle and
uncorked it. “Red it is.” He poured the deep, smoky liquid into the glass and
handed it to me. “You should always go with what you really want.”

I took the glass with trembling hands and raised it to my
lips, taking a sip. The smooth, dry flavor of pinot noir slid down my throat,
warming my nervous stomach. I’d never been wooed before, never encouraged it
from men, but Christos made it work.

He poured himself a glass and leaned back on the couch, his
hand never moved from my leg. He glanced around my office, taking in the
exposed brick and duct work, the high ceilings that made up the loft space. “I
like this, it fits you.”

“Katherine found it. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. She might have found the
space, but this office is all you.”

I frowned. Somehow irrationally irritated by his assertion.
The space was all warm and cozy with dark cherry woods, deep reds and rich
browns.

Couldn’t he see how cold I was? If I’d picked something that
reflected me, I’d have gone with gun-metal industrial. “Katherine decorated.”
My tone took on the distinctive bite I reserved just for him.

He cocked one brow. “She obviously knows you well.”

I opened my mouth to protest then snapped it shut. What was
I doing? Did I really want to ruin this decadent mood between us over
decorating? I shrugged and took another sip of the wine.

He pointed at a framed photograph. “That picture, it’s
beautiful and haunting. Who’s the artist?”

I stared at the black-and-white photo, a long stretch of
deserted highway with an abandoned farmhouse on the side, storm clouds filling
the vast sky. My heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t the first person to ask the
question, and I’d never told anyone who’d done the piece. But I wanted him to
know. I took a deep breath and dove in. “I am.”

His fingers tightened on my leg and there was a moment of silence,
the air still. “You’re very talented.”

“It was a fluke,” I said, matter-of-fact. I wasn’t being
modest. I’d never been able to capture anything quite like it ever again,
although I’d tried countless times.

“Maybe.” His head rested along the back of the couch and he
turned to me. “Or maybe you’re just too scared at what you felt to journey
back.”

Again his own personal brand of truth hit me as if I’d been
jackknifed in the stomach. It was the reason I’d never told anyone I’d done the
picture. The expectation of a follow up that was far too desolate for me to
explore.

I licked my lips. Words filled my mouth, desperate to
escape. I’d never been a talker, never wanted to confess. I loved the safety of
everything being locked up inside me. Trapped in a tight cocoon of my own
making, spinning around me in layer after layer, protecting the fragile insides
no one but Christos had ever suspected.

As much as Christos scared me, the words tumbled out anyway,
at long last refusing to be contained. “Sometimes, when I need to think, I get
in my car and drive. I always go somewhere remote and I always take my camera.
I like photography and the unexpected things you encounter when you develop the
photo.

“The storm had been about to break when I spotted the house.
I pulled over and there was no one out. I still remember the whip of the wind
against my hair, the smell of danger and electricity charging the air. The
contrast between all that lonely isolation and the violence of the upcoming
storm…” I trailed off, taking a sip of the wine. Sitting in the car that dark
afternoon with the storm raging around me, I’d felt alive and raw and so very
alone.

His strong, warm palm rubbed, taking the chill away. “You’ve
never told anyone, have you?”