Dare to Surrender Page 17

  She pushed away the shot of sadness that darted through her when she thought of her mother. The woman had worked three jobs to keep her and her two siblings fed and clothed. They’d lived in a tiny house on the way, way wrong side of the tracks. Due to some ridiculous zoning map, she’d been forced to attend a school whose main population thought a Mercedes was an appropriate sixteenth-birthday present.

  Erica’s mom had died when she was seventeen. Her brother and sister had been sent into foster families, but Erica was too close to eighteen for the system to fight her on it, so she’d gone to work waiting tables at a local Denny’s. And she’d been a waitress ever since.

  But not for much longer.

  Mom would be proud.

  But what would she think of Erica dating a preppy like Blaine? After being treated as second-class citizens, Erica’s family held a certain disdain for the upper class. And yet she couldn’t get the egotistical chef-to-be out of her head. Even now, the memory of his touch made Erica’s bones thrum with unexpected lust. She so did not want to be attracted to the saucy, smug, chef-to-be.

  But she was.

  How had that happened? She had a long history of not getting along with the wealthy. As the only poor kid in an upper-class school, she knew all about the way lower-class people were treated. And if being shoved into lockers, having her clothes hidden during gym, and being the last one picked during any sports activity wasn’t enough to convince her, well, five years of serving stuck-up students surely did: People with money were a different species, one she really didn’t want anything to do with.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Ash returned home later that night, cold and wet and tired, he went straight for the liquor cabinet. His hands shook as he poured a healthy dose of scotch into a glass and gulped half of it down. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, like he couldn’t breathe.

  It was more than obvious his sister needed a nurse. His mother still refused to admit it, but after seeing her today, Ash knew, without a doubt, that he had no choice. Her overalls had been hanging off her too-skinny frame, and her hair looked as if it hadn’t been cut in months. This from a woman who used to dress impeccably each day for the love of her live, the administration of her landscaping business.

  Now she was running herself ragged, looking older every day. Ash had to step in and do something.

  His mother could no longer be the sole caregiver for his sister. Ash was going to have to hire full-time care for Violet. But his mom was proud, always needing to prove she could do everything herself. This was going to take some doing.

  Guilt was burning a hole in his gut, and he tried to drown it with the rest of the scotch.

  “Take care of your mom and your sister,” his dad had said when the cancer was really bad. At thirteen, Ash already knew what that meant: He had to take his father’s place. And what had he done? Run away at the first chance.

  And fuck if he wasn’t itching to do it again. He refilled his glass, went to his computer, and booted up.

  When Juan had said there wouldn’t be any fieldwork, Ash really hadn’t believed him. There was always fieldwork, and it was only a matter of time before the e-mail landed in his in-box. That time had come earlier that morning.

  Opening up his e-mail program, he stared at the message, rereading it for the umpteenth time. The familiar buzz of excitement started quietly but was beginning to build, thrumming through him, and he tattooed a steady beat with the toe of his boot, the sound a rhythmic clicking on the hardwood.

  Ash was tempted. So goddamn tempted.

  The team wanted him there, in Iraq. The pussy tech guy they’d hired to switch servers had turned out to be unable to tolerate the communal living conditions and extreme heat. His job as a computer technician was easy—all he needed to do was make sure the servers over in Iraq worked properly. But even the easy job and generous paycheck didn’t keep him there. He’d hightailed it back to the States after only a few weeks. Now the guys were stuck with no on-site tech support, which was an element crucial to their operations.

  Problem was, if Ash left for the field, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon, because that antsy feeling was back, stronger than ever, and he wanted to run.

  No, you don’t run, he told himself.

  You escape.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the thoughts spinning through his head, no matter how wrong they were. In a way, hiring full-time care would release him, and he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that craved that freedom.

  Really, the only thing stopping him at this point was Joy. Joy and her show. He couldn’t do anything for two more weeks, at least not until the show was over.

  Joy. He didn’t know what to think about his feelings for her. At the thought of the beautiful woman, of her messy red hair, luscious breasts, and engaging smile, he felt something funny in his gut. And he felt something familiar in his balls, a throbbing lust.

  If he left, he’d be leaving her. That had never mattered before; women had never factored into his decisions regarding what he did or where he went. Family and then his job, that was all that mattered. And, for a while, his art.

  He looked around his loft. The space was filled with photographs of Joy. He’d been matting them all himself, getting the images ready for the upcoming show. With a start, he realized he’d been so obsessed with the photography, he hadn’t actually spoken with his muse in a couple of days. He ran a hand through his hair. This was part of the reason he’d ceased taking pictures. He became so engrossed, so obsessed with getting his vision just perfect, he sometimes dropped out of the world altogether. And he couldn’t afford to do that, not with the responsibilities he’d committed himself to.

  Responsibilities he could replace with a nurse and a plane ticket.

  But what about Joy?

  Now, suddenly, he needed to see her, or at least to hear her voice. Something about her grounded him, calmed him. Snatching the cell off the desk, he dialed her number. It went straight to voice mail; she’d probably let the battery die again. He shook his head. That girl needed a caretaker, too, and Ash needed another responsibility like he needed a hole in the head.

  Still staring at the phone, he jumped when it began vibrating in his hand. He didn’t recognize the number, and he answered cautiously.

  “Ash?”

  “Joy? Where are you calling from?”

  “A nice man’s cell phone.”

  Ash’s heart seemed to freeze. “What? And what’s all that noise?”

  “I’m in—hang on—what’s your name again?”

  Ash heard a deep voice answer, “Dan.”

  “I’m in a very nice man named Dan’s car, and I was wondering if you could come help me.”

  Ash was already out of his chair and slipping his leather jacket onto his shoulders. “Wait. Joy, where are you? What’s happened?”

  “I got a flat tire coming home from Atherton.”

  “Where are you? Exactly?”

  “Um… remember that place,” she started to whisper, “you and I stopped that time?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m near there, on the side of the road. My tire blew, and I realized my cell is dead. I don’t know what I would have done if Dan hadn’t stopped and let me use his phone.”

  Ash clenched his fist around his keys.

  “The auto club said it would be hours before they could get here, and I didn’t want to wait alone. Since my phone’s dead, I don’t know anyone’s numbers by heart. I found yours on a piece of paper in my purse. But if you’re busy…”

  “No! Joy, get back in the car. Your car. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He said, slamming his apartment door behind him and locking it. “Get back in your car and lock your doors. Wait for me. I’ll be right there.”

  Ash’s truck skidded to a stop behind Joy’s car twenty minutes later. Wow. That was some kind of
record. He must have driven the thirty miles from San Francisco like a bat out of hell.

  A second later he was at her window, raindrops hammering down on him, drenching his hair. She rolled the window down. “Hi.”

  “Are you all right?” He looked inside the car, seemed to assess her appearance in one sweeping glance.

  “Yes. It’s just a flat tire. Now get in; you’re soaked.”

  He ran around the front of her car and got in on the passenger side. But first he needed to move the plastic jack-o’-lantern full of Halloween candy, leftovers from Joy’s favorite holiday. “Want one?” she asked, holding up a tiny Mars bar.

  “No!” Turning to the side, he faced her, rain falling off his strong jaw in big drops. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, brushing a bead of water away from his eye. “It’s just a flat tire.”

  “Don’t you have a car charger for your cell phone?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “But I don’t have it with me.”

  “And that would be because…?”

  “I lost it… I could have sworn it was in here somewhere,” she said, looking around the car as if the charger would just appear.

  He ran a hand over his wet hair, and she thought she saw his jaw ticking. “You really do need a handler,” he muttered.

  “I do not! I can’t help it if my grandmother made me come help her move her precious plants off the patio before they blew over.”

  “Your grandmother made you drive in this weather?”

  “She didn’t make me. Grandmother asked me to.” And made me feel guilty, like always. Joy lifted her chin. “I was happy to go.”

  His gaze drifted to her hair, which she knew was a mess, and he plucked a sodden rose petal out of the damp strands. He brought it to his nose and took a deep whiff. “I knew I smelled roses when I got in the car.”

  She self-consciously tried to smooth down her unruly locks.

  Ash reached out and stopped her. “So your grandmother needed you and you went to her.”

  She nodded, loving the heat from his palm on her hand.

  “I admit I understand what that feels like. To feel responsible for someone.” And she swore she saw a flicker of admiration in his green eyes. “But promise me you won’t do anything like this again without calling me first.”

  “It’s just rain.”

  “Joy… ,” he said warningly.

  She smiled. “You mean call you before I get a flat tire? It’s not like I could have predicted it.” Well, not really. She refrained from adding that she knew the tires needed to be rotated.

  “Well, I better get to work,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He moved his hand toward the door handle. “Changing your tire.”

  “No! It’s pouring rain, Ash. Just take me home and I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

  “Why? I can have it changed in ten minutes.”

  “Seriously?” Joy had never changed a tire in her life, and to her the task seemed about as easy as brain surgery. “Still… I don’t want you to get wet. Er, wetter.”

  He ignored her. “Is your jack and spare in the trunk?”

  “Um… ,” she said, biting her lip.

  “You don’t know.” It wasn’t a question.

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  He shook his head, too, but in a different kind of way. A way Joy had seen many times in her life and it meant, Seriously?

  “Flashlight?” he asked.

  “Hang on.” She dug through her purse; she was sure she had a mini flashlight in there somewhere… “Aha!” She pulled a black item out of her bag.

  “You actually had a flashlight in there?” he said disbelievingly.

  “No, but I found my cell phone charger!” She plugged it in.

  “I… you… Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

  Silently, she watched him exit the car, and then she saw the beam of a flashlight before she heard him open her trunk. He must have had one in his truck. Of course he did—the man was a freakin’ Boy Scout.

  He returned minutes later, drenched, and slid back into the passenger side. That nerve in his jaw was jumping as he silently pulled a miniature Snicker’s bar out of the jack-o’-lantern. Then he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. The entire time he chewed, he stared straight ahead, gazing through the windshield, although it was raining too hard to actually see anything.

  After he swallowed, he turned to her. He looked so serious she backed away a few inches.

  “Joy. Your tires are totally bald.”

  “Really?” she said, trying to look innocent.

  “Yes.” He seemed to be controlling his temper.

  She gave a weak chuckle. “Is that really such a big deal?”

  “Yes!” he said, and it was the loudest she’d ever heard his voice. “Yes,” he repeated, his voice purposefully calm, as if he was trying to contain himself. “It’s a fucking big deal when it’s pouring rain, the roads are slick, and you’re driving seventy miles an hour on the freeway!” By the time he finished the sentence, his voice was loud again.

  “Sixty-five,” she squeaked. “That’s the speed limit.”

  “Furthermore, even if you weren’t driving a deathmobile—”

  “Hey! Don’t call Bessie names,” she said, patting the dashboard.

  He ignored her interruption. “—you’d be screwed anyway because you don’t even have a spare tire or a jack in your car!”

  “Well, why would I? It’s not like I’d know what to do with them.”

  “Woman,” Ash said.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Come here.” His voice was flat.

  A tiny shiver went through her. “Are you going to spank me again?”

  “No.” He began rummaging around in her car, twisting to lean over the seat and paw through the disorder in the back. “I knew there’d be something in this damn mess that I could use.” He sat back down and ran one of her silk scarves over his palms. It was a colorful silk Hermes, a present from her grandmother. But the pattern had always been a bit stuffy for her, so Joy kept it in the car so she could put it on at the last minute when she visited Atherton.

  “Come here.”

  Not exactly sure why, her body responded with a little pulse in her sex. She scooted closer.

  “Lean forward.”

  She did, and he briskly pulled her hands behind her back. “What are you doing?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, his voice rough. “I just want to tie you up. I have to tie you up.”

  She felt the silk wrap neatly around her wrists, secure and tight. Then he thrust her back onto the seat, and she sat there, staring at him, her shoulders jutting forward due to the position of her wrists.

  “W-what are you going to do?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” Joy stared up at him through the passenger door he held open. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but it still pattered down upon Ash’s wet head. “I’m still tied up.”

  “I know that.” He shrugged off his jacket and held it just outside the car, like a canopy. “I’m driving you home, and in the morning, if the auto club hasn’t shown up, I’ll call my garage and have them come tow the car.”

  “But—”

  “No.” He dipped his head, and when he looked back up, she saw that the wicked man seemed to be biting back a smile. “You’re following my orders, Joy. Your hands are tied, so to speak.”

  “You asshole.”

  “Ah, I love it when you use special endearments for me. Now, come on.”

  Scooting across the seat, she glared at him. Her dress rode up her thighs as she swung her legs out of the car, a fact Ash obviously didn’t miss judging by the way he stared at her revealed skin and gave a low whistle.

  He took hold of her arm and helped her to her feet. “My purse,” she said.


  He reached inside and grabbed her big gray bag. Shit! The stolen sculpture was in there, and she prayed he didn’t notice it. She had an appointment with the curator at ten, and she figured by lunchtime her little snafu would be taken care of.

  Now, when he was annoyed and she was tied up, was soooo not the time for him to discover what she’d done.

  “What the hell do you have in here?” he asked, holding her purse out. “It weighs a ton.”

  “You know… things. Female things.” She tipped her head forward. “Lots of them.”

  At that he seemed to lose interest in the contents of her bag. “Come on,” he said.

  “Wait!”

  He just stared at her.

  “My cell phone.”

  She could have sworn he growled, but he just unplugged her phone and charger, dropped it into her bag, and then led her to his truck. He opened the door and placed her bag on the floorboard. Then he picked her up and sat her on the seat as if she weighed the same as her purse.

  “Buckle up.”

  She just glared at him.

  “Oh, right.” Grinning evilly, he pulled on the seat belt and leaned across her lap, facing her. He pressed his warm, damp chest to hers as he slid the end into the fastener. Then he leaned in close but didn’t kiss her. She watched, she waited; he was so near she could feel his heat, smell his damp skin.

  Then he was gone and the door slammed shut. He hadn’t turned off his headlights, and now she watched him as he ran around the front of the truck, the bright beams illuminating his long, strong form. She couldn’t help but stare. His damp T-shirt clung to his chest, sticking to every ridge of muscle, and his longish blond hair hung in damp strands down to his strong jaw. His eyes seemed to glow as green as one of Monet’s water lily petals.

  And she was his prisoner.

  A shudder of arousal washed over her, and she realized she liked it. She wondered why trusting him enough to give him this control over her turned her on. But it did. A lot. She leaned back in the seat and prepared to enjoy the ride.