Dare to Surrender Read online

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Erica put her hands on her hips. “Joy is my best friend. That’s what friends do; they look out for each other.”

  “Uh-huh.” He tossed some chopped fresh sage into the pan.

  She held her breath, counted to ten, but in the end she couldn’t stop herself. “What do you mean, uh-huh?”

  He didn’t glance up. “I mean uh-huh.”

  Why was she even talking to him? “What the heck do you mean, Prescott?”

  “I guess I just don’t understand why a beautiful girl such as yourself spends all her time either here or with her best friend or worrying about her best friend. Surely you have other things to occupy your time? A boyfriend? A cat? A body part to pierce?”

  Blood beginning to boil, she stepped forward. “Listen, unlike you, I’m here because I want a good job. Not all of us have a fancy degree and can afford to take months off at a time to go to cooking school simply for fun.” Erica yanked on her white apron ties, making it tighter, but despite how irritating he was, she couldn’t help the little thrill that shot through her at his words. He’d called her beautiful.

  Yeah, right. He was just being a sarcastic jerkwad.

  “I need a good job after I finish school.”

  “And you’ll get one. You’re one of the best students here. Not as good as me, of course. But a close second.” His grin softened the words into a joke.

  But Erica wasn’t laughing. “Blaine. Why are you always giving me such a hard time?”

  He stared at her, seeming to think about the question, and each second that passed had her pulse racing faster and faster. Finally he said, “I don’t know. You’re just so uptight. I can’t help myself.”

  A loud guffaw erupted from her throat. “I’m uptight? Me? You’re the one with the frat-boy haircut, the perfectly pressed trousers, and the uppity speech pattern.”

  “So? I could be covered in tattoos and have hidden piercings for all you know.”

  “Right. I bet this preppy look is just a ruse for your hidden wild nature. I bet you even leave the Beamer at home and take public transportation sometimes!”

  He just shrugged. “Actually, I have a Ducati motorcycle. Whatever. Let’s just hurry up and finish. Your being overly distracted with your girlfriend is what’s keeping us here so late.”

  Erica ignored the truth of the accusation. “I like things to be perfect; that’s the reason I keep starting over. Deal with it.”

  “I am dealing with it. That’s why I’m still here in the student kitchen when I should be tucked under my goose-down comforter.”

  “You’re really irritating, ya know that?”

  “So are you.”

  But he was staring at her, his striking, mocha-colored eyes holding Erica’s gaze until she shifted, her black comfort shoes squishing on the rubber floor. Stop looking at me like that!

  Taking a deep, deep breath, she straightened her apron. Again. It had to be the straightest apron in history. She wasn’t going to stop calling Joy until she heard for herself that her friend was okay, but she’d let it rest until they finished in the kitchen and cleaned up. She didn’t want to hear any more bitching from Blaine.

  “You should add some brandy to that pan,” Erica said, just to annoy her partner.

  “Oh, shit!” Joy tossed Ash’s watch back onto the nightstand. “I have to go!”

  A sleeping Ash had bolted upright at her exclamation and was now looking at her with eyes that shouldn’t be so awake and alert so fast. “What’s wrong?”

  Joy went to slide out of bed but realized she was naked. “Where did my clothes go?”

  “I took them off when you were sleeping.”

  “You what…?”

  “Took them off while you were sleeping,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a person of limited intelligence.

  “Great. So you saw me naked.”

  “Um, yeah. Don’t you remember last night?”

  “Well, I was awake then! Anyway, where are they?”

  “What?” he asked, looking very confused.

  “My clothes!” No way was she prancing around in front of Ash in the buff, not with the morning sun glaring through the window, ready and able to showcase each minor imperfection of her body. She pulled off the comforter and wrapped it around her before scooting off the bed.

  “Where did you put them?” she said, scanning the floor; that was usually where all Joy’s possessions ended up. “Damn, my grandmother’s going to kill me.” She pictured her wrinkled dress and knew she was going to have to run home and change so she didn’t show up at her grandmother’s house in a soiled and crumpled garment.

  Ash ran a hand over his hair. “It’s only nine. Where do you have to be so early on a Sunday? Church?”

  “Worse. Every Sunday I go to brunch at my grandmother’s house on the peninsula. If I don’t show up at ten on the dot, she gets… upset.” And mean, but Joy kept that part to herself. “Now, where are my clothes?”

  Ash got out of bed, clearly having none of the self-conscious issues Joy possessed. Why did men always seem to feel comfortable buck-naked? He strolled over to Joy, gave her a kiss on the head, and headed to the bathroom. “They’re in the closet. I washed them.”

  Joy stared after him, her heart pounding. In the dim light of the previous night, she hadn’t noticed the scars on Ash’s body. About six inches of skin on his right shoulder looked mottled and uneven, as if he’d been burned. What had happened to him? Then she recalled the way he’d teased her the other night about her slamming into him, and she wondered how much he’d been kidding.

  Some instinct told her it wasn’t the time to ask. Despite his sexual advances, she realized Ash rarely talked about himself, and she knew she’d have to tread gently if she wanted to know more about him.

  With a start, she realized she did. Badly.

  Clothes. That’s what she needed now. Nearly tripping on the edge of the comforter, Joy padded to the closet. When she opened the door, she nearly dropped the bedcovering altogether because Ash hadn’t been joking. Her dress hung, smartly washed and pressed, next to one of Ash’s shirts. Her bra and panties were draped neatly over the same hanger.

  “Oh my God, when did you do this?” she shouted over her shoulder.

  “Last night, while you were sleeping. I had some work to do, anyway.” She jumped; he was suddenly standing right behind her. He pressed his body against her back, and she felt his erection through the thick comforter. “You’re so cute when you’re all frazzled, Joy.”

  “I’m always frazzled.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned back against him as he kissed her neck. “I have to go… ,” she said.

  “Mmm. You can. Just give me one kiss first.”

  She slanted her head back against his shoulder, and just when his lips almost touched hers, she jerked away. “No! Really, you don’t understand. I can’t be late!” If she started kissing Ash, she’d be unable to stop. Then she’d be really late, and her grandmother would blow a gasket. That was never a pretty sight.

  “Fine. Okay.” Grinning, he stepped back.

  “Thank you for washing this dress. I think I can go straight from here now. Would you do me a huge favor and bring up my bag?”

  Still naked, he trotted off, and she couldn’t help but pause to admire his firm, naked ass. A wave of desire washed over her, but it was quickly quenched by the fear of being late for her grandmother’s brunch.

  When he returned, she took her bag and her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, Ash’s master bath was big, modern, and elegant. A huge, square, Zen-looking bathtub took up one side of the room, and on a long walnut counter there were side-by-side white-porcelain-vessel sinks. Lush towels were folded neatly in an open cabinet, and Joy would have given anything to spend the morning pampering herself in the spa-like room.

  Instead she quickly rinsed off and put on her bra and panties. Then she turned over her bag and du
mped the contents onto Ash Hunter’s floor. Smiling, she picked up a linty toothbrush and a free sample of moisturizer. And this is why I love my purse, she thought, and was suddenly glad she wasn’t the kind of girl who went out at night with only a tiny clutch. If any of those women at the museum fund-raiser had gone home for a one-night stand, they would have been woefully ill-prepared for a brunch date the next morning.

  The minute Joy pulled onto the long, tree-lined road leading to her grandmother’s house, her palms started to sweat. Even though she was wearing the brown dress from the night before, the cut made it suitable for daytime, and on her feet were the tan flats she always wore. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail she hoped would stay put and had applied a little bit of makeup—not too much. She’d even put on some lipstick when she’d found her favorite shade after she’d gone through the contents of her purse. It had rolled behind the toilet (an area, she noted, that had been spotless), but she’d retrieved the tube and now a neutral shade of peach coated her lips.

  Grandmother shouldn’t have much to pick on.

  Now if only Joy could stop thinking about the mind-blowing good-bye kiss Ash had given her just before she left. She could have stayed in his doorway all day, simply kissing him. As she pulled into the gravel driveway and slowly rolled her 1975 Mercedes to a stop, her toes curled as she remembered the way he tasted, the way he’d held her shoulders tightly as he’d slowly licked his way around her mouth.

  Heaven.

  But she pushed the lovely memory aside as she paused to prepare herself for brunch. Calling her grandmother’s residence a house was a slight understatement. It was more like a mansion, and in Atherton, California, a place like this was worth many millions of dollars. Her grandmother owned one of the most expensive pieces of property in the Bay Area.

  Built like an English manor, the exterior of the Tudor-style house was covered in ivy, and several huge oak trees dotted the property. Joy had parked in the back, and as she looked around the separate garage area, she tried not to be disappointed.

  She had hoped to find at least one of her brothers’ cars parked there, but no such luck. With a deep breath, she opened the door and went inside the house, using the kitchen entrance.

  “Hi, Grandma.” Joy found her grandmother setting bread on the dining table.

  “Good morning, Joy,” she said, not very surreptitiously glancing at her watch.

  It seemed every week she visited her grandmother, the elderly woman became smaller and smaller. As she approached Joy, her back was stooped in her white sweater and her navy slacks seemed loose. When Joy hugged her, she felt the bones of her grandmother’s shoulders.

  “What can I do to help?” Joy shrugged off her jacket and purse and dropped them onto a side chair.

  “It’s all done, dear.” She gave Joy the weekly once-over and shook her head. “A girl with your figure shouldn’t wear that fabric, Joy. It does nothing to hide that tummy.” She touched her own trim waist. “I always had the opposite problem. I was so skinny I couldn’t find anything to fit properly.”

  Joy never had that particular problem. Instead she could never find pants that accommodated her curvy hips. “Yes,” she said. “That must have been very hard for you.”

  Grandmother’s face was tight as she picked up Joy’s discarded items and disappeared through the kitchen door. Joy glared after her, wondering what Ash thought of her midsection, and immediately pictured the superthin model in the photo hanging over his sofa.

  She should probably start another diet, but instead she suddenly wanted to eat everything on the table. For some reason, she always ate until she felt sick every Sunday morning she spent in Atherton.

  Grandmother came back a few seconds later carrying a plate of smoked salmon and placed it on the table.

  “I could have gotten that, Grandma! Why don’t you sit down?” And why are you so freakin’ stubborn?

  “Tell me how your week was, Joy.” Grandmother took a seat at the head of the oversized dining table and placed a linen napkin on her lap.

  Well, I think I’m getting fired from yet another job, I committed a felony, and I let a playboy artist tie me to a wall and fuck me last night.

  She helped herself to a bagel, slathered it with cream cheese, and took a big bite. “You know, Grandma. The usual.”

  Grandmother eyed the bagel with a frown.

  Joy slowly put the bagel on her plate. “Why do you always put them out if you don’t want me to eat them?”

  “David said he might come to brunch.”

  Of course, it was okay for one of her brothers to eat as much as they wanted, but not Joy. She laughed harshly. “David always says that, and David never shows up.” None of her brothers ever showed up.

  Which was why Joy always did.

  “He’s a busy man. A wife, two kids, and he just was made partner in the firm.”

  Joy scooped up a large piece of frittata and slid it onto her plate. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yes, it is.” Grandma daintily ate the tiniest piece of smoked salmon. “David made partner in his law firm, Samuel just got the job at Stanford as their newest heart surgeon, and another one of Campbell’s companies has gone public. All the boys are doing so well.” The words hung heavy in the air, suffocating Joy with insinuation.

  “That’s just great.” She forked in some more frittata. “Good for them.”

  “You must get your appetite from your father. Your mother was always a dainty eater. Like me.”

  Joy’s mouth was full, so she couldn’t answer verbally. Instead she nodded her assent. Plus, Joy knew where this conversation was headed, and there was no point in arguing. Since Grandmother hit her mid-eighties, she tended to repeat herself, and it was the same story every week.

  “It was just awful when your parents died in that plane crash. I told them to never fly private in Spain!” Her blue eyes went watery, and Joy never knew if the tears were real or good acting on her grandmother’s part. “It’s a horrible thing to lose your daughter, Joy. A horrible thing.”

  Joy thought it had been pretty horrible to lose her parents, too, but she refrained from saying so.

  “You were sixteen, and the boys had just gone off to college. I was so proud of the way they handled everything. So proud.” She looked at Joy, who was helping herself to another piece of frittata. “Well, an art history degree is great, too.”

  “The PhD program at Stanford was pretty difficult, Grandma,” Joy couldn’t help but say.

  “Oh, I’m sure. And living in Paris, and traveling, looking at art all day long. Studying.” She said the last part with a chuckle. “I can imagine it was just lovely. Girls your age have so many options, don’t they? Why, when I was twenty-nine, I already had three children to raise.”

  And Joy didn’t. No children, no husband, and a career that seemed frivolous to the rest of her family.

  But she had learned long ago not to argue or defend herself. Nearly fourteen years of experience had taught her it wouldn’t do any good. The fact was, Grandmother had taken Joy in when she was a teenager. It was Grandmother who’d come to her high school graduation, who never forgot her birthday, who always made sure she had what she needed. Besides her brothers, the older woman was the only family Joy had. Despite her faults, she loved her grandmother.

  “Do we have any champagne?” Joy asked, pushing out of her chair.

  “Why, yes. But are you sure you want the extra calories, dear?”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Joy said with a sweet smile. “I’m really, really sure.”

  Chapter Six

  After Joy left, Ash stood in his bathroom, gazing sightlessly around him. For the first time in months, he wanted to take photographs, and he wasn’t sure if it was his mind’s way of rebelling against a job he said he’d never do again, or because of Joy and his desire to see her on film. He wanted to see her through his lens. He wanted to capture the mischievousness that sparkled in her hazel eyes.

  And part of him just wante
d to capture her.

  He wanted to see her bound. Last night was a crude tease for him; he needed to explore her body, to decorate her form with rope until she was completely his. Just the thought made him hard. With his models, he rarely became aroused. They were simply objects to help him carry out his vision.

  Joy was different, in every way. She was so open; he thought he could tell her anything and she wouldn’t judge him. Somehow, he trusted her completely, and in his experience, that was a quality that couldn’t be taken lightly.

  He twisted the hair tie he’d found on his bathroom floor and smiled. He sniffed it, and it smelled like Joy, like vanilla. His cock twitched. Already, he wanted to see her again.

  And he wanted to photograph her. Maybe even do another sculpture; maybe he’d do one just for her. A gift.

  Pushing the thoughts aside, he went downstairs to his computer. He couldn’t think like that. Hell, maybe he wasn’t thinking at all; as Joy slept, he’d been up all night researching navigation routes for a transport that was scheduled in a few hours.

  He’d committed to be part of a team, and even if he was doing it from home, he had to put the job first. This was partially why he’d stopped doing art in the first place. He couldn’t afford to be frivolous. He needed a steady income, and no matter how much money he had in the bank, it wasn’t ever enough. He never felt confident that his mom and sister would be secure if something happened to him.

  And yet Romero had called it. Ash couldn’t deny the antsy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that feeling, knew it would grow and grow until he was bouncing off the walls. The need to go. To flee.

  But he couldn’t just pick up and go, not anymore.

  He was going to deposit every paycheck from this job directly into his mother’s account. His sister’s wheelchair was nearly two years old. She could use a new one—and the things weren’t cheap. He had responsibilities. He couldn’t be distracted by Joy, by art, or by anything else.

  That afternoon, Joy was recovering from brunch with Grandmother by reading the latest Art News when the doorbell rang. She went to the call box and pushed a button. “Yes?”