Page 11 of Suzanna's Surrender

  spray. She didn't look like a princess now, but like a queen who knew her own power and was ready to wield it.

  He let her race where she chose, knowing that she would end where he had wanted her for most of his life. He wouldn't wait another day. Not even another hour.

  She was breathless and laughing when she gave him the wheel again. “I'd forgotten what it was like. I haven't handled a boat in five years.”

  “You did all right.” He kept the speed high as he turned the boat in a wide half circle.

  Still laughing, she rubbed her hands over her arms. “Lord, it's freezing.”

  He glanced toward her and felt the punch low in his gut. She was glowing—her eyes as blue as the sky and only more vital, the thin cotton pants and blouse plastered against her slender body, her hair streaming out from under the cap.

  When his palms grew damp and unsteady on the wheel, he looked away. Not falling in love, he real­ized. He'd stopped falling and had hit the ground with a fatal smack. “There's a jacket in the cabin.”

  “No, it feels wonderful.” She closed her eyes and let the sensations hammer her. The wild wind, the golden evening sun, the smell of salt and sea and the man beside her, the roar of the motor and the churn­ing wake. They might have been alone, completely, with nothing but excitement and speed, with either of them free to take the wheel and spear off into that fabulous aloneness.

  She didn't want to go back. Suzanna drank deeply of the tangy air and thought how liberating it would be to race and race in no direction at all, then to drift wherever the current took her.

  But the air was already wanning. They were no longer alone. She heard the long, droning horn of a tourist boat as Holt cut the speed and glided toward the harbor.

  This too was lovely, she thought. Coming home. Knowing your place, certain of your welcome. She let out a little sigh at the simple familiarity. The blue water of Frenchman Bay deepening now with eve­ning, the buildings crowded with people, the clang of buoys. It was all the more comforting after the frantic race to nowhere.

  They said nothing as he navigated across the bay and circled around to drift to his pier. But she was relaxed when she jumped out to secure the lines, when she ran her hands over the dog who leaned against her legs, begging for attention.

  “You're quite the sailor, aren't you, girl?” She crouched down to give the dog a good rub. “I think she wants to go again.”

  Holt stepped nimbly to the dock and stood a foot apart. “There's a storm coming in.”

  Suzanna glanced up and saw that the clouds were blowing slowly but determinedly inland. “You're right. We can certainly use the rain.” Foolish, she thought, to feel awkward now and start talking of the weather. She rose, uncertain of her moves now that he was standing here, tension in every line of his body, his eyes dark and intent on hers. “Thanks for the ride. I really enjoyed it.”

  “Good.” The pier swayed when he started for­ward. Suzanna took two steps back and felt better when her feet hit solid ground.

  “If you get a chance, maybe you can bring Sadie to visit Fred this weekend. He'll be lonely without the kids around.”

  “All right.”

  She was halfway across the yard, and he was still a foot away. If it hadn't seemed so paranoid, she would have said he was stalking her. “The bush is doing well.” She ran her fingers over it as she passed.

  “But you really need to feed this lawn. I could rec­ommend a simple and inexpensive program.”

  His lips curved slightly, but his eyes stayed on hers. “You do that.”

  “Well, I...it's getting late. Aunt Coco—”

  “Knows you're a big girl.” He took her arm to hold her still. “You're not going anywhere tonight, Suzanna.”

  Perhaps if she'd been wiser or more experienced, she would have gauged his mood before he touched her. There was no mistaking it now, not when his fingers had closed over her with taut possession, not when his needs, and his intention of satisfying them, were so clear in those deep gray eyes.

  She wished she could have been so certain of her own mood and her own needs.

  “Holt, I told you I needed time.”

  “Time's up,” he said simply, with an underlying edge that had her pulse jerking.

  “This isn't something I intend to take casually.”

  Heat flashed into his eyes. From miles away came the violent rumble of thunder. “There's nothing ca­sual about it. We both know that.”

  She did know it, and the knowledge was terrifying. “I think—”

  He swore and swept her into his arms. “You think too much.”

  The moment the shock wore off she began to strug­gle. By then he had already carried her onto the back porch. “Holt. I won't be pressured.” The screen door slammed behind them. Didn't he know she was afraid? That she was so afraid if she took this step he would find her dull, shrug her off and leave her shat­tered? “I'm not going to be rushed into this.”

  “If you had your way, it would take another fifteen years.” He kicked open the door to the bedroom then dropped her onto the bed. It wasn't what he had planned, but he was too knotted up with terror and longings to struggle with soft words.

  She was off the bed in a shot to stand beside it, slim and straight as an arrow. The lowering light, al­ready gathering gloom, crept through the window at her back. “If you think you can cart me in here and throw me on the bed—”

  “That's exactly what I've done.” His eyes stayed hard on hers as he pulled his shirt over his head, “I'm tired of waiting, Suzanna, and I'm damn tired of wanting you. We're going to do this my way.”

  It had been like this for her before, she thought as her heart sank to her stomach like a stone. Only then it had been Bax, ordering her into bed, peeling off his clothes before he climbed on top of her to take his marital rights, quick and hard and without affection. And after, there would come his derision and disgust for her.

  “Your way's hardly new,” she said tightly. “And it doesn't interest me. I'm not obligated to go to bed with you, Holt. To let you demand and take and tell me I'm not good enough to satisfy. I'm hot going to be used again, by anyone.”

  He caught her arms before she could storm from the room, dragged her struggling and swearing against him to crush his heated mouth to hers. The force of it sent her reeling. She would have stumbled away if his arms hadn't banded her so tightly.

  Over the fear and the anger her own needs swelled. She wanted to scream at him for pulling them from her, for leaving her raw and naked and defenseless. But she could only hold on.

  He yanked her away, arm's length, his breath al­ready ragged and shallow. Her eyes were dark as mid­night and held as many secrets. He would uncover them, that he promised himself. One by one he would learn them all. And tonight, he would begin.

  “No one is going to be used here, and I'm only going to take what you give.” His tensed fingers flexed on her arms. “Look at me, Suzanna. Look at me and tell me you don't want me, and I'll let you go.”

  Her lips parted on a shaky breath. She loved him, and she was no longer a girl who could hold love to herself like a comforting pillow in the night. If she was not as strong as she hoped and able to hold her heart and body separate, then she had no choice but to unite them. If that heart was broken, she would survive.

  Hadn't she promised them both there would be no regrets?

  She lifted a hand to his gently though she expected no gentleness in return. The choice was one she made freely.

  “I can't tell you I don't want you. There's no need to wait any longer.”

  Chapter Eight

  If his nerves hadn't been so tangled, if the need hadn't been so acute, he might have been able to show her tenderness. If his blood hadn't been so hot, desire so greedy, he would have tried to give her some romance. But he was certain if he didn't possess now, possess quickly, he would shatter into hundreds of jagged shards of desperation.

  So his mouth was fevered with impatience, his hands rough wit
h urgency. At the first potent taste he understood she was already his. But it wasn't enough. Maybe it could never be enough.

  She didn't tremble or hesitate. The vulnerability was cloaked inside a generosity that urged him to take his fill. As her hands roamed restlessly over his back he felt only her hunger, and none of her doubt.

  He pushed the cap from her hair, then yanked the band from it so that his hands could take fistfuls of honey-colored silk. And the hands that gripped were unsteady, even as his mouth ruthlessly devoured hers.

  She opened for him, releasing a soft and sultry moan of pleasure as his tongue plunged to duel with hers. He wanted so badly, and that want vibrating from him aroused her own. She had risen on her toes, unaware that she was fighting to meet him flare for flare. Her body was quaking with passions long sap-pressed.

  And there was fear in that, fear in not knowing what would become of her if she lost that last toehold on control. She had to show him that she could give pleasure, make him enjoy and continue to want. If she fumbled now, lessened her grip on proving herself a woman, might he not find her less than his fantasy?

  Yet she had never been wanted like this. Not like this with the. violence of desire pulsing in the air so that every breath was like breathing temptation. She strained against him, hoping what she had to give would be enough while her system jolted along the battering tide of sensations.

  His mouth raced over her face, down her throat where his teeth and the rough stubble of beard scraped. And his hands—Lord, his hands were fast and lethal.

  She had to keep her head, but her knees were wa­tery and her mind was spinning from the onslaught. Desperately she dug her nails into his back as she struggled away from the edge and tried to remember what a man would like.

  She was quivering like a plucked bow, so tensed and wired he thought she might snap in two in his hands. She was holding back. The knowledge that she could do so when he was half-crazed brought on a kind of virulent fury. He tore the blouse aside as he pushed her onto the bed.

  “Damn you, I want it all.” Breath heaving, he en­circled her wrists and dragged her arms over her head. “I'll have it all.” When his mouth swooped down to capture hers, her hands strained under his grip, her pulse jittering in quick, rabbit jumps under his fingers.

  His body was like a furnace, hot damp flesh fusing with hers in a way that made her shudder from the sheer wonder of it. Like iron, his fingers clamped hers still while his free hand raked over her in a merciless assault She could feel the anger, taste the frustrated and furious desire. Desperate, she tried to pull in a breath to beg him to wait, to give her a moment, but all she could manage were jagged moans.

  The wind kicked the curtains aside, letting dusk pour through. The first drops of rain hit the roof, sounding to her sensitized ears like gunshots that ech­oed the war he was waging on her. Again thunder rumbled, closer now, warning of a reckless power.

  When his mouth found her breast, he let out a hot groan of pleasure. Here she was as soft as a summer breeze and as potent as whiskey. As she writhed be­neath him, he dampened and tugged on the taut nip­ple, losing himself in the taste and texture while her heartbeat hammered against his mouth.

  And she wanted as he wanted. He could feel the urgent excitement raging through her, hear it in her quick, sobbing breaths. Her hips arched and plunged against his until he was senseless. He ranged lower, his teeth nipping at her rib cage, his tongue laying a line of wet heat over her belly.

  Her hands were free now and her fingers gripped his hair, then tore at the bedspread. She couldn't breathe. She needed to tell him. Her body was too full of aches and heat. She needed...

  She needed.

  Someone cried out. Suzanna heard the quick des­perate sound, felt it tear from her own throat as her body arched up. Whole worlds exploded inside of her with a roar more huge than the thunder that stalked just overhead. Stunned, she lay shuddering under him as he lifted his head to stare at her.

  Her eyes were dark, her face flushed with fresh fever. Beneath his, her body shook with aftershocks even as her hands slipped limply from his back to the ravaged bed. He hadn't guessed what it would do to him to see that kind of dazed pleasure on her face.

  But he knew he wanted more.

  He was driving her up again before she could re­cover. Now she could only embrace the speed and the thrill of danger. As the rain began to pound, she rolled with him, too giddy to be shocked by her own greed. Her hands were as rough and ready as his now, her mouth as merciless. When he dragged the slacks down her legs, her quick gasp was one of triumph. Her fingers were equally impatient as they yanked the denim over his hips, as they streaked and pressed over slick, heated flesh.

  She wanted to touch as urgently as she needed to be touched. To possess even as she was possessed. She craved the madness, the turbulent hunger she hadn't known she could feel, and this tempestuous desire that reared up like a wild wolf to consume.

  There was no thought of control now, not from either of them. When he sent her racing up again, then again, she rode each slashing crest only frantic for more. More was what he wanted to give her, and what he wanted to take. As the blood fired through his veins he drove himself into her, claiming possession in a frenzy of speed and heat. She matched him, beat for wild beat, the long, nurturing fingers digging into his hips.

  They were alone again, but this time the sea was violently churning and the air was flaming hot. Here, at last was the power and the freedom. The speed was reckless, the journey a glorious risk. She felt him shudder, bury his face in her hair as he reached the end. Suzahna locked tight around him, and followed.

  He'd wondered what it would be like for fifteen years. From boy to man he had dreamed about her, imagined her, wanted her. None of his fantasies had come close. She had been like a volcano, smoldering and shuddering, then erupting hot. Now she lay like warm wax beneath him, her body meltingly soft with passions spent. Her hair smelled of sun and sea. He thought he could stay just so for eternity, molded against her with the rain drumming on the roof and the wind blowing the curtains.

  But he wanted to see her.

  When he shifted, she made a small sound of protest and reached out. He said nothing, only kissed her un­til she relaxed again. Her eyes were drifting shut when he turned the lamp beside the bed on low.

  Lord, she was beautiful, with her hair fanned out on the pillows, her skin glowing, her mouth soft and full. She tensed, but he ignored her discomfort as he took a long, silent study of the rest of her.

  “Like I said,” he murmured when his eyes came back to hers. “The Calhoun women are all lookers.”

  She didn't know what she was supposed to say or how she was expected to act. She knew that he had taken her to a new place, an extraordinary place, but she had no idea if he had experienced the same mind-spinning ride. Then he frowned and her stomach twisted. With his eyes narrowed, he traced a finger down her throat, over the swell of her breasts..

  “I should have shaved,” he said abruptly, hating the fact that he'd scraped and reddened her skin. “You could have told me I was hurting you.”

  “I guess I didn't notice.”

  “Sorry.” He touched his lips gently to her throat. Her look of dazed surprise made him feel like an id­iot. When he rolled away, she reached out tentatively for his hand.

  “You didn't hurt me,” she said softly. “It was wonderful.” And she waited, hopeful that he would tell her the same.

  “I've got to let the dog in.” His voice was rough, but he gave her fingers a quick squeeze before he left the room.

  Suzanna heard it now, the whining howls, the scratching at the screen. She told herself it wasn't a rejection. It only meant that he could go from passion to practicality more quickly than she. They had shared something, something vital. She could cling to that. She sat up, more than a little amazed to see the state of the bed. The spread was a heap on the floor, the sheets a tangled knot at the foot. Her clothes—what was left of them—were scattered w
ith his.

  She rose and, uncomfortable naked, tugged on his shirt before she lifted her own. One button out of five remained, hanging by a thread. Laughing, she hugged it to herself. To have been wanted like that. With a little sigh, she bent down to search for her buttons. Maybe now he could be cool and collected, maybe his life hadn't been changed as hers had, but she had been wanted, desperately. She would never forget it.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up to see him standing in the doorway. Obviously walking around buck naked didn't concern him in the least, she thought and felt her steady pulse jerk and dance again. He looked angry. She wished she understood what she had done, or hadn't done, to put that scowl on his face.

  “My blouse,” she said. “I found the buttons.” She gripped them in one hand, the thin cotton in the other. “Do you have a needle and thread?”

  “No.” Didn't she know what she did to him, stand­ing there in nothing but his shirt, her hair tousled, her eyes heavy? Did she want him to get down on his knees and beg?

  “Oh.” She swallowed and tried to smile. “Well, I can fix it at home. If I could just borrow your shirt. I'd better get back.”

  He closed the door behind him. “No,” he said again, and crossed the room to take her.

  The rain stopped at dawn, leaving the air washed clean. Suzanna awoke to the lazy music of water drip­ping from the gutters. Before her mind had adjusted to where she was, her mouth was captured in a hot, hungry kiss. Her body catapulted from sleep to desire in one breathless leap.

  He'd awakened wanting her. That burning need wouldn't ease no matter how much he took, how will­ingly she gave. There were no words, none he knew, that could express what she had come to mean to him. From a boy's fantasy to a man's salvation.

  He could only show her.

  He covered her. He filled her. Watching her face in the watery morning sunlight, he knew he would never be content unless she was with him.

  “You're mine.” He threw the words out like a curse as her body shuddered beneath his. “Say it” His hands fisted on the sheets and he buried his face against her throat “Damn it, Suzanna, say it.”

  She could say nothing but his name as he dragged her over the edge.

  When her hands slid limply from his back, he rolled over, locking her close so that she lay over him. He could be content with her head resting on his heart. He told himself that he'd already pushed her hard and fast enough. But he'd wanted badly to hear the words.

  His hands were fisted in her hair. As if, she thought dizzily, he would yank her back if she tried to move. Her body felt achy and bruised and glorious. She smiled, listening to the rapid thud of his heart and the liquid beauty of morning bird song.

  Her eyes flew open, her head up. He did pull her hair, but more from reflex than intent. “It's mom-ing,” Suzanna said.

  “That usually happens when the sun comes up.”

  “No, I—ouch.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered, and reluctantly released her hair.

  “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Yeah.” He ran his hands up and down her back. He liked the long, smooth feel of it. “You dozed off before I could interest you in another round.”

  Her color fluctuated, but when she tried to scramble up, he held her firmly in place.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “I have to get home. Aunt Coco must be frantic.”

  “She knows where you are.” Because it was easier to keep her in place, he reversed positions again and began to nibble at her throat. Nothing could have pleased him more than feeling the instant quickening of her pulse under his lips. “And in all likelihood, she's got a pretty good idea what you've been up to.”

  Without much hope of dislodging him, she pushed at his shoulder. “I didn't tell her where I was going.”

  “I called her last night when I let Sadie in. Scratch my back, will you? Base of the spine.”

  She obliged automatically, even while her thoughts spun. “You—you told my aunt that I...”

  “I told her you were with me. I figure she could put the rest together. That's good. Thanks.”

  Suzanna let out a long breath. Oh yes, Aunt Coco wouldn't have any trouble adding two and two. And there was absolutely no reason to feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. But she was both. Not only relating to her aunt but to the man whose naked body was spread over hers.

  It had been one thing to face him at night. But the morning...

  He lifted his head to study her. “What's the prob­lem?”

  . “Nothing.” When he lifted a brow she shifted in what passed for a shrug. “It's just that I'm not sure what to do now. I've never done this before.”

  He grinned at her. “How'd you get two kids?”