Dare to Surrender Page 23

  “Maybe… but the thing is, Ash hasn’t done anything that would make me doubt him.”

  “Yet.”

  Everyone turned to Erica. She shrugged. “I’m just saying he hasn’t done anything yet. But come on. He’s known as this big erotic artist; it’s what he lives for. Do you think a guy like that could be happy with a ‘normal’ life?”

  “Hey,” Joy said. “I can be freaky!” In fact, her friends would probably be shocked if they knew how freaky she actually could be.

  “I’m sure you can, honey,” Scott said with a grin that implied he didn’t believe it for a minute.

  “The thing is…” Joy swirled her straw in the icy remains of her drink. She was almost afraid to admit it, but alcohol had loosened her tongue. “The reason Ruby broke up with him was because he cheated on her.”

  Erica raised her glass. “Men suck.”

  “Even though,” Joy went on, “he never admitted that he had been unfaithful.”

  Kate snorted.

  “I don’t know…” Her gaze drifted through the crowd and through the front window. The bar was located on a small side street in North Beach. The street twisted up a steep hill, and Joy’s eyes were drawn by a movement just near the edge of her view. It was a person dressed in black baggy pants and a black hoodie. He had a backpack. He placed it on the ground and, after he’d looked around a moment, pulled something out of the pack.

  Something that looked like a can.

  She froze. Could it be her phantom artist? But it didn’t make sense. This was a more public street than he usually tagged. If it was him, he was getting braver, bolder. And as she watched him outline what could only be Picasso’s Blue Guitar, she whipped her head to Scott. “Move!”

  “What?”

  She gave him a hard nudge. “I said, move, you big lug! Let me out!”

  Looking at her as if she was crazy, he scooted over and let her out of the booth. As she pressed through the crowd, she noticed the bartender eyeing the stranger in the hoodie.

  Joy burst through the door and was immediately hit by damp, chilly San Francisco air. She also smelled the mouthwatering aroma of garlic; this neighborhood was known for its amazing Italian restaurants. But Joy ignored her suddenly growling stomach, instead walking slowly toward the figure with the spray-paint can.

  He looked over his shoulder, and when he saw her, he jumped back and looked ready to run.

  “Wait!” Joy said, trotting toward him. “You know me!”

  He paused, and she saw he was young, pale, and very suspicious.

  Joy stopped about five feet from him. “I mean, you don’t know me know me, but have you gotten my cards?”

  She saw his interest pique. “You’re the one?”

  “Why haven’t you called?”

  “How do I know you’re not a cop?”

  “I’m not.”

  He took his time looking her over. Apparently her image reassured him—Joy wasn’t sure if that was good or bad—because he relaxed slightly. “Okay. You’re not a cop. So what do you want?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ben.”

  She didn’t believe him, but she let it go. “Well, I think your work is amazing, Ben. Would you be interested in meeting with me at the gallery? I want to discuss representation.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I think you have major potential.” He looked dubious.

  “Seriously. How do you think Keith Haring got started?” she asked, meaning the famous artist who did the colorful dancing figures. He’d started out as a graffiti artist in New York, and by the time he died, he was a household name.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  “Let me give you another card.” She began digging in her bag.

  It was then that the police cruiser pulled up.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Not a cop, huh?” Ben said, his voice full of anger.

  “I’m not—”

  “Shit!” he said, shaking his head as the cruiser stopped in front of them, blue-and-red lights flashing in the night.

  “I swear, I didn’t call them.”

  “Right.”

  Both doors of the cruiser opened, and two men in uniforms emerged. The passenger-side cop was compact with short brown hair; the driver was Asian and looked like he could punch through a door with one of his beefy arms. Joy’s palms dampened when she caught sight of the weapons on their belts. Just looking at their guns brought up feelings from when she’d been robbed.

  “Identification,” the linebacker said.

  Ben pulled a ragged-looking ID card out of his back pocket. “I wasn’t doing anything,” he mumbled.

  “That’s right,” Joy said, the margaritas she’d consumed making her bold. “We were just standing here, minding our own business.”

  The blond cop turned to Ben and pointed toward his backpack. “I want to look in that bag.”

  “What?” Joy asked. “Why?” She figured if she argued with the cops a bit, Ben would believe she was the good guy. Plus, she didn’t think Ben should be punished for gifting the city with his wonderful pieces.

  “Excuse us, miss. We have reason to believe this person is in possession of graffiti materials, which is a misdemeanor.”

  She drew herself up. “Are you calling art a crime?”

  “No, the city of San Francisco calls defacing public property a crime.”

  She glanced at his nametag. “I’m sorry, Officer Quan, but I certainly don’t think anyone would consider beautiful murals that add beauty to our city a crime.”

  “Lady, I’d advise you to stay out of this.”

  By now, several people had come out of the bar and were happily regarding the free entertainment. Erica was just shaking her head, Scott was smiling, and Kate was making a signal across her mouth indicating Joy should shut up.

  But Joy didn’t feel like backing down. She felt like sticking up for Ben’s rights as an artist. And she was tipsy.

  Blond cop picked up Ben’s backpack.

  “Wait!” she said, stepping forward.

  “Miss, if you don’t move aside, I’ll book you for obstructing and delaying a peace officer’s duties.”

  “It’s your duty to censor people?” She sensed Ben shrinking away from her, as if he wanted it known they weren’t together. But Joy couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Do you really believe art should be illegal?” She sighed. “So, so sad.”

  Quan frowned. “I’m not kidding, lady. If you say one more thing to me, I’m going to arrest you.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Everyone turned to see a tall man walking toward them, his expression grim.

  Shit. What’s Ash doing here?

  “I apologize, Officer. My girlfriend is just a bit passionate and forgets herself sometimes.”

  “She’s lucky I didn’t throw her in a cell.”

  Ash had his hand on her shoulder now, his grip firm and unyielding. “Thank you for that, sir. I’ll take her back inside now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ash Hunter?” Ben was moving toward Ash, his eyes wide. “The artist?”

  “Yeah,” Ash said.

  “Man, I love your work. I’m a huge fan.”

  “Oh.” Ash shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “If you don’t mind?” This from the brown-haired cop. “I need to have a talk with our little friend here.”

  “You’re not going to arrest him, are you?”

  “Not tonight. But I’m taking the graffiti materials and giving him a hard warning.”

  “Oh, thank you, officers!” Joy said over her shoulder as Ash dragged her back to the lounge.

  “Joy,” he said in a low voice, “when are you going to learn?”

  “When are you going to stop hauling me around and telling me what to do?”

  He stopped suddenly and turned to face her. “When you start using
your head. So. I guess never!”

  She sucked in a breath. “I can take care of myself, Ash!”

  “You were just nearly arrested back there. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be handcuffed, sitting in the back of a police car.”

  “And it would be fine with me, because I would be there because I was standing up for what I believe in.”

  They were standing in front of the lounge, and Joy felt her friends’ eyes on them, watching and listening. She didn’t care.

  “Tell me, Joy. How would you make bail? You don’t have any money, remember?”

  She lifted her chin. “I wouldn’t.”

  “You would stay in jail.” It was a question, but he made it into a statement.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever been in jail, Joy?”

  “No.”

  He leaned in closer, until they were nearly nose to nose. “Well, you wouldn’t like it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know I sure as hell wouldn’t like you in a cell!” he said, and she felt his breath on her face.

  “Why do you care what happens to me?”

  “I just do!” he shouted.

  They stared at each other, panting. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and her pulse raced. Ash looked furious at her; his cheeks were flushed with what she assumed was anger.

  And yet, something pulsed between them. Something electric and exciting and active.

  He finally seemed to realize they’d become a bit of a performance, so he yanked her hand and dragged her into the lounge. “Where’s your giant bag?”

  “It’s over in the back booth. Why?” she said, trotting behind him.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Ignoring her, he led her to the place where her friends had abandoned her purse and jacket in the deserted booth. Traitors, Joy thought as Ash picked up her things. He slung the bag over his shoulder and carried her jacket as he led her through a door at the back of the bar. Soon they were in a back alley behind the building.

  On one side of the alley was a building, and on the other side wooden trees and fencing lined the uneven pavement. Ash led her about fifty yards away from the bar and then made a quick turn and pulled her into a little alcove, above which a big maple tree blocked the sky.

  He pushed her against the fence. She watched him begin to pace, looking a bit ridiculous, because he still carried her purse and coat.

  He froze. “Are you laughing?”

  “No.” She put a hand to her mouth but giggled anyway.

  He just stared at her, and even in the dim light, she saw a vein pulsing in his neck. Interesting. She’d never noticed that before.

  “You’re not going to be laughing in a minute, woman.”

  And just like that, a shot of lust darted through her. “Why do you say that?” she asked, trying to sound coy.

  “Because you’re going to be too busy begging me to fuck you.”

  His crude words made her breasts tingle. “In a minute? Just one minute?” she taunted.

  “Yup.” He dropped her bag and coat on the ground, where the items landed in a pile of fallen leaves. Then he came at her.

  He took her arms and spread them wide and high. “Hold on to the fence and don’t let go.”

  If she stretched, she could just grip the top of the fence. “When does your minute start?”

  “Now.” Dropping to his knees in front of her, he lifted her skirt and yanked down her panties until they fell to her ankles, and he tossed them aside. And then his mouth was on her flesh, sucking her clit right over his teeth. She gasped, suddenly glad to be hanging on to the fence; she thought her legs might buckle.

  “Yes… ,” she said as he thrust two fingers into her pussy. Already, she was so wet he slid in easily, deep and hard, in and out.

  He ignored her, instead sliding his hand around in her wetness, coating himself before he plunged into her again. She cried out as her body started to tremble. “Yes… unh…”

  He was working her clit hard now, using his tongue to flick at the engorged flesh until she nearly begged, but instead she bit her lip and thrashed her head against the fence.

  Was he going to do it? Make her come in a minute? Not that she had any idea of time; all she knew was that he knew exactly what her clit needed; he knew just how to use two fingers to make her insides clench—and then she felt his pinkie finger, slick from her juices, sliding against her ass. He didn’t ask; he slid it in, using his hand to fuck both her holes, fast and deep and beautiful.

  She came against his face, her body sagging as she clutched at the fence so hard she felt the wood splinter under her palms.

  When she finally floated down to reality, he slid his hand out of her pussy. He stood, straightened her dress, and slanted her a grin. Then he said, “Let that be a lesson to you, miss. Don’t fight those in authority; they always win.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Do you think Joy’s okay?”

  Erica looked up from her beer to find Kate stumbling into the booth. It was late, nearly midnight, but they were still at Mario’s. Scott and Kate were on the train to hangover town, but Erica had been nursing the same drink for nearly an hour.

  Slowly, Erica nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  “So we finally got a glimpse of Ash Hunter. I gotta say he’s fucking hot.”

  Erica shrugged. “All that matters to me is that he treats her well.”

  Kate picked up a half-empty glass and gave it a sniff. “After what I saw tonight, I’d say he’s perfect for her.”

  She hated to admit it, but Erica was inclined to agree. The energy between them was obvious, and the way he looked at Joy, like he’d do anything for her, was definitely a good thing. He seemed perfectly able to care for Joy, and more important, he seemed to want to.

  Erica wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. All this time she’d been the one to look out for Joy, to help her get out of the messes in which she inevitably seemed to find herself. It felt strange to know that if things continued with Ash and Joy, he’d be that person from now on.

  A few weeks ago, she would have been freaking out if Joy disappeared after an argument in the street with some guy Erica didn’t know. But somehow she knew that wasn’t necessary, not with Ash.

  See, she could let go of Joy. Blaine had no idea what he was talking about.

  The thought of him made Erica’s teeth clench. He’d called and texted her several times that day, but she refused to acknowledge him. She’d known this was going to happen, so why had she let herself fall for him? She was just a diversion, something fun to do before he settled into his predictable upper-class life. Her, the culinary program. It was all fun and games to him. And she’d nearly let herself get caught up in it.

  No, this was for the best. Her phone rang again, and she glanced at the display. It was him again. She ignored it. Yes, it was a darn good thing she’d seen the real Blaine while she still had time to get out.

  “I have something for you.”

  They were sitting in Ash’s truck, parked in her grandmother’s driveway. When she told him she needed to go to Atherton to pick up her car, he’d insisted on driving her there, so she’d invited him to dinner. She really had no choice, as her grandmother was cooking her annual birthday dinner, and now they were staring at the house. It seemed to loom above them.

  A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She hadn’t been able to get a moment alone with Ash’s collection, and now it was Saturday. Her thirtieth birthday. She was entering this phase of her life as she’d entered every other one. A mess.

  For some reason, she hadn’t been able to actually go inside yet. She just wasn’t in the mood to suffer her grandmother’s passive-aggressive insults today. Not that she ever was, but with all the stuff that had been going on lately, she was in even less of a mood for the abuse than normal.

  Now she turned to Ash, who was pulling something out of his pocket, a small gift box.

 
“Just driving me here is enough of a birthday present.” But, of course, a little feminine thrill shot through her at the thought of Ash giving her something.

  He actually looked sheepish. “Here. It’s nothing fancy….”

  She slowly opened the box and pulled out the item inside. It was a dainty silver chain on which a marble pendant hung. It had been carved into the shape of a delicate sparrow. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she looked up and met his gaze. “You made this for me?”

  He nodded. “The swallow is a traditional Navy symbol for trust.”

  “Thank you.” Her throat was tight for some strange reason; it was just a little gift, after all! Still, she couldn’t believe Ash had made something just for her, that he’d cared that much. And the tiny sculpture was beautiful, its miniature details delicate and smooth. Turning, she pulled her hair aside.

  “Would you put it on for me?”

  He took the necklace, and she felt his fingers at the back of her neck. Her skin pebbled at the soft, warm feel of his hands on her skin. After he’d fastened the necklace, he leaned forward and placed a kiss next to her ear. But her throat was tight. He’d given her a token of trust.

  Finally she turned back to him. “It means so much that you thought of me and made me something so beautiful and unique. Thank you for this, Ash.”

  He glanced away and then back at her. “Yeah. No problem. I guess we should go in.”

  “I guess we should.” But she didn’t want to. She wanted to get away, from her grandmother, from her guilty feelings. But she let Ash lead her out of the truck.

  Her pulse quickened as they neared the door. She had no idea how her grandmother was going to behave in front of Ash. She’d never introduced her to a man before and had certainly never brought one to her house for dinner.

  Joy led them into the kitchen, where she found her grandmother chopping vegetables, presumably for a salad.

  “Hello, dear,” Grandmother said, and came to give Joy a tight hug.

  “Hi, Grandma. This is Ash Hunter. Ash, my grandmother, Miriam.”

  Grandmother gave Ash’s form a quick scan, and Joy saw her mouth tighten. Ash wore his standard uniform of a leather jacket, T-shirt, faded jeans, and boots. Joy knew her grandmother believed men should “dress for dinner,” but there was no way Joy was making Ash dress differently. And Grandmother definitely wouldn’t approve of Ash’s two-day beard or his longish hair. Oh well.