Dare to Surrender Page 6

  “Joy! Where the heck have you been?” Erica’s voice asked in a high, shrill tone.

  “Hang on.” She buzzed her in, and a minute later, Erica was stomping through the door, her red peep-toe pumps clicking on the hardwood floor.

  “I’ve been worried sick, Joy!” But despite her harsh tone, she grabbed Joy in a tight bear hug.

  After Erica released her, Joy removed a pile of art books from a kitchen chair and plopped down. Her entire body slumped with weariness, and suddenly the thought of a long, hot bath sounded like heaven.

  That would have to wait. “Why were you so worried about me? You know I see my grandmother every Sunday.”

  Her friend crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’ve been calling you since last night!”

  “Oh, crap. I think my phone battery died sometime yesterday.”

  Erica just stared at her for a minute before lifting a basket of fruit off another chair and sitting across from Joy. “Listen, next time you go to some guy’s house and disappear, do me a favor and keep your phone on, will you?”

  Guilt flooded her. “I’m sorry, Erica. I wasn’t thinking about that, I guess. I wasn’t planning on spending the night.”

  Erica leaned across the table, her eyes wide. “You spent the night? Details! Now!”

  An unwanted hot flush crept over Joy’s skin as she remembered waking up in Ash’s arms. “Yeah.”

  “Did you…” Erica made a circle with one hand and moved her other index finger in an in-and-out motion.

  “Um, yes. We did.” Joy arranged a stack of bills on the table. For some reason, she wasn’t ready to talk about the details of her experience with Ash, not yet. She was still relishing the new feelings of being bound by him, still processing the whole thing in her head. It was like a little treat just for her, and she wanted to savor the feelings.

  It was a first. She’d met Erica over ten years ago. Unlike most college students who preferred partying on weekends, Joy had spent her Friday nights going to the small but trendy café in Palo Alto for their amazing crème brûlée. Joy normally confided everything to Erica, including her feelings of animosity toward her grandmother. And including details of her sex life.

  Joy always thought it strange that, despite her beauty, Erica never seemed interested in any of the many men who courted her. The girl had a wall around her heart two feet deep.

  Now Erica’s gaze sparkled. “Are you going to see him again?”

  “I have no idea. I had to leave in a hurry this morning to get to my grandmother’s in Atherton. He didn’t mention it, and neither did I.” She shook her head at herself, wondering if that phenomenal kiss had been a long kiss good-bye. “But I never did get around to discussing business with him.”

  “You were there all night, and you never discussed the gallery?” Erica asked incredulously. “What were you doing?” She held up her hand, palm out. “Wait. I don’t want to know.”

  Silence stretched on for a few minutes before Erica spoke. “I don’t want you to get hurt again, Joy.”

  Joy blinked. “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s just that you always go for these guys who are players, like Cartwright.”

  “You haven’t even met Ash. He’s nothing like Cartwright.” And yet she’d thought the same thing when she met him.

  Now, just the thought of the dashing Englishman sent a rancid churn through her stomach. He truly was an entirely different breed from Ash; she knew it in her heart. Everything about Ash was open, honest. Even though she sometimes caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes, she trusted him to at least tell her the truth.

  And she’d stolen from him.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Erica, I appreciate your concern, I really do, and I’m sorry I made you worry. But I’ve had a long couple of days, and I just want to take a bath and have a glass of wine.”

  Erica’s eyes went soft. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you. I just worry, you know? You’re my best friend. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Standing, Joy went to her friend and gave her a tight hug. “I know you do. That’s why I love you.”

  Erica squeezed her before breaking away. “Go take your bath. I’ll run to the market and get something to make us for dinner. How does coq au vin and roasted potatoes sound?”

  Joy beamed. “That would be divine. Thanks, Erica. You’re the best.”

  After Erica had left, Joy took what remained of her glass of wine, cleared some room on the sofa, and plopped down. Her hair was still wet. She’d waited to take her bath until after Erica had gone, and now that she was alone, her thoughts drifted to Ash. The knowledge that she’d stolen from him went from a niggling doubt at the back of her mind to full-on, raging guilt. She had to tell him. Now that she knew him so intimately, she realized she couldn’t live with this between them. Even if she never saw him again, it was eating her up inside.

  Tomorrow; she’d tell him tomorrow.

  She sat there a second longer, staring into space, before she realized she couldn’t wait even one more day. “Shit,” she muttered, picking up the cell phone off the coffee table. Fully charged now, she had no excuse not to call him.

  She had to call Ruby to get his home number, which fortunately her friend gave her without asking any questions. Then, with trembling fingers, she dialed Ash’s number.

  He picked up after two rings.

  “Ash, it’s Joy.”

  “Joy,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was happy or not to hear from her. “How was brunch at Grandma’s?”

  “Fine. Listen, I need you—I mean, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Like, now.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “N-no, that’s not necessary.” She really did not want to have this conversation in person.

  “See you in twenty minutes.” And then he hung up.

  “Damn,” she said, and downed the rest of her wine. Not only did she prefer to tell Ash she was a thief over the phone, but she was also in her grungiest sweatpants and tank top, she hadn’t gotten around to blow-drying her hair, and she wore no makeup.

  Looking around, she wasn’t sure what was worse, the appallingly unkempt state of her apartment or her own appearance. It was a close call. She bit her lip; her place was even messier than it usually was.

  She loved her Victorian apartment, and she wished she was naturally more organized, but it just wasn’t in her nature. Her living room was set up comfortably, with an overstuffed sofa and two well-loved chairs arranged around a coffee table. But one chair was filled with a basket of yarn, knitting needles, and a book titled Stitch and Bitch. She really needed to finish that scarf one day….

  The sofa was where she lived, so it was strewn with blankets, pillows, and books. And some slippers. She had a fireplace, but she used it mainly for storing magazines.

  Shit. The neat-freak Ash was going to shit a brick when he saw this mess.

  Still, she was a girl, so vanity won.

  She dashed to the bathroom to at least comb her still-damp hair and put on a bit of makeup. She’d barely gotten on the tiniest bit of lip gloss when the call bell rang. She didn’t even have to look at the clock to know twenty minutes exactly had passed since he’d hung up.

  Slowly, she approached her front door as if it were a guillotine. Crap, she really did not want to have this discussion. But she buzzed him in, and seconds later he was coming through the door, carrying a square black bag.

  Pausing, he seemed to take in the state of her apartment in silent shock. But he just shook his head and brushed a lock of blond hair behind one ear. Everything in her went hot and alive. Being in the same room with him was enough to shoot up her heart rate, to make her want to throw herself into his arms.

  A moment’s pause and then he was coming at her, focused on her lips. She welcomed him, let him back her against the door as he pushed his way inside her mouth, as he kissed her until she couldn’t think about anything except his body solid against hers,
his rock-hard erection pressing against her pelvis.

  He picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around him, knowing she shouldn’t be allowing this to happen but unable to stop it. He put her down in front of the kitchen table and yanked off her shirt, her bra. She tried to cover herself, but he pushed her hands aside, cupping one breast as he bent to lick around her other nipple, teasing her until she leaned back against the table. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, across his teeth, biting and licking and sucking until she moaned aloud.

  “Spread for me, Joy.”

  She felt his other hand moving to cup her between her legs, his hand warm through the fabric of her sweats. His palm pressed against her clit as his long fingers reached to firmly grasp her until she was rubbing against his hand, getting wet for him. Ready.

  “Turn around.”

  Slowly, she turned to face the kitchen table. With a sweep of his arm, he flung the piles of books and papers onto the floor. She felt his hand on her upper back, urging her body to rest against the warm wood. Wasn’t she supposed to be talking to him about something? Oh, right, her latest hobby, thievery.

  But then he was tugging her sweats and panties down her legs, and she kicked them off. She was naked, bent over, exposed.

  Sex now. Talk later.

  His hands were on her, rubbing her shoulders, her arms, her back; such calming hands. She felt his long fingers on her ass, his hand warm as he ran his palm over the curve of her body, from her lower back to the fleshy part at the bottom.

  “You have a beautiful ass, Joy.”

  Normally she’d protest the compliment, but now she was so far gone she just smiled.

  Then she felt a light slap on her bottom; he’d spanked her. She paused for a second, but when he massaged the area he’d just spanked, she sighed, comforted.

  “Did you like that, Joy?”

  “Yes. Do it again.” She couldn’t help but think of Cart-wright. With him she’d been passive, timid even. Now, a pleasurable tingle surged through her, making her brave enough to ask for what she wanted.

  He slapped her harder, and the sting, surprisingly, melted her even more. She seemed to sink into the kitchen table, and when he took her arms and stretched them to the side, she held on to the edges, bracing herself.

  Again he slapped her, and she felt her pussy go a little wetter, loving the way the pain quickly turned into delicious pleasure. She closed her eyes, let him spank her again and again, loving the sound of his palm slapping her skin. Each time his hand struck her, she clenched her fists around the table and inhaled sharply. It hurt. She loved it.

  “Ash… it feels so…”

  “Good?”

  “Yes.” Her pussy was dripping, throbbing. Need rushed through her veins, filling her everywhere.

  Slap, slap, slap… every smack was a bit harder than the last, and she was squirming, lost in sensation.

  “Do you want to be fucked now?”

  “Yes. I need to be fucked now. By you.”

  “Spread your legs wide for me, Joy. I want to see you. I want to see how wet you are.”

  Her legs trembled as she moved her legs as far apart as she could.

  He leaned across her back, and she felt his breath near her ear. “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you, Joy? You deserved that spanking.”

  You have no idea, she thought, picturing the stolen sculpture.

  He took her hair in his hand, twisting it firmly in his fist and pulling until her head lifted off the table, and she gasped.

  Her hair still tight in his hand, he stepped behind her, between her legs. She wasn’t aware of when he’d taken off his pants, but he was naked, his legs strong and solid between her own. His cock hard as he slid it into the crack of her ass and lower, using the juice from her pussy to coat his erection, already sheathed in a condom.

  “Goddamn, Joy. You’re so wet. So gorgeous.”

  “Mmm,” was all she could manage, nearly coming from the feel of him, and he hadn’t even entered her yet.

  Then he yanked her hair one sharp time and thrust into her. Her head thrown back, she cried out.

  “That’s right, let me have you, baby. You want it rough and hard, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth, trying not to come, not yet.

  But he was fucking her, fast and deep and steady. She’d never felt like this before, like she could scream as loud as she wanted, ask for whatever she wanted. Behave as naughty as she wanted to.

  “Harder, Ash. Fuck me harder. Pull my hair.”

  His fist tightened and with his other hand he reached around her body to cup her pussy from the front. He fingered her clit, grinding into her until arousal overwhelmed her. She climaxed, one long scream ripping from deep in her throat.

  Releasing her hair, he gripped her hips as he stilled and she felt him ejaculating into her body, his cock pulsing steadily as his grip clasped her hips, holding her still.

  She waited for the same embarrassment to attack her as it had the last time they’d had sex, but somehow the spanking had numbed her to those feelings; maybe the endorphins, those morphine-like hormones, muted more than the pain; maybe they dulled her brain as well. She knew she should get up, should cover herself, but she was too comfortable where she was.

  “Don’t move.” He pulled out of her, and she heard him disposing of the condom and rummaging around.

  “I can’t move. My legs feel like jelly.” She closed her eyes and waited for her limbs to regain some sort of strength.

  Click.

  A bright light caused her eyes to pop open. “What was that?”

  “I said, don’t move.”

  Ash had a camera in his hand and was circling her, snapping quickly, repeatedly.

  “Stop,” she said, trying to push up, but he was there, stopping her.

  “Do what I say.”

  His tone left no room for argument, and she admitted a part of her liked the fact that he wanted to photograph her. So she kept still, closing her eyes and listening to the rhythmic click of the shutter.

  She was half asleep when he finally stopped. With a gentle hand, he tugged her to her feet and, like last night, carried her to bed.

  “Holy shit,” he said when they got to her room.

  “What?”

  “Um. By any chance have you been burglarized today?”

  She looked around at the unmade bed, the half-open dresser drawers with clothes spilling out of them, the piles of books scattered on every surface.

  “I was going to clean up today, but…”

  He tossed aside a pile of clean clothes she’d been meaning to fold for more than a week and placed her on the bed. Imagining his spotless house, she asked, “Does it totally turn you off?”

  After a few seconds, he shook his head. “No. Normally it would, but with you…” He blinked. “Nothing seems to turn me off with you. It’s the exact opposite, in fact.”

  “Don’t look so shocked,” she said, pulling a blanket over her naked body.

  He smiled. “So, was there something you wanted to talk with me about?”

  Her stomach turned with nerves. She wanted—needed— to tell him. But she was fuzzy-headed and so very satisfied. Would one more day really make a difference?

  “It can wait until tomorrow,” she said, feeling too good and pushing away the guilt.

  Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. “Then would it be okay if I went home and developed the shots I took? I won’t rest until I get that film into the darkroom.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I need… to see what I captured.”

  What had he captured? She couldn’t help but wonder. Every time she was with him, she seemed to give him a little more, seemed to feel him a little more. And she couldn’t help but think he was capturing more than her image on film. Suddenly it wasn’t her naked picture she was worried about him taking. It was her heart.

  She nodded. “Fine. But tomorrow. We have to talk tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Come by after you get off
work.” He kissed her once again. “Have a good sleep.”

  But later, when she was alone in her room, alone in her head, her thoughts began spinning out of control, her heart pounding too hard to let her sleep. A wave of nausea rushed over her.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Chapter Seven

  For the first time in her job history, Joy arrived at work early. Two hours early, in fact. But it wasn’t her buried overachiever that had driven her to work at the crack of dawn; it was guilt.

  All night she’d been tossing and turning, the thought of the sculpture haunting her, shame eating at her like a gangrenous disease. She wasn’t going to show it to her boss; she was going to return it and hope Ash didn’t kill her.

  If she hurried, she could get the sculpture, return it to Ash, and, providing he let her live, be back in time to start her day.

  After she’d flipped on the lights, she marched straight to her desk and yanked open the bottom file-cabinet drawer.

  And her heart stopped.

  It wasn’t there.

  “What the hell?” she muttered, pulling open all her drawers and pawing through the disorganized contents. “Where the fuck are you?” she asked, her voice echoing in the empty gallery. “Where the fuck are you?”

  The statue didn’t answer, appear, or in any way make itself known.

  Joy searched the reception area, the storage room, and her own desk five more times and was still looking when Andrew appeared just before ten o’clock.

  “Wow. Are pigs flying?”

  “What?” she demanded, looking up from the garbage can she was currently picking through.

  “You’re here before me. It’s some kind of miracle.”

  Desperate, Joy blurted out, “Andrew, have you seen a marble sculpture, about this high?” She measured about twelve inches between her hands.

  Andrew dropped his messenger bag into the reception desk. “Yeah.”

  “What? You have? Tell me where it is!”

  “A really sexy piece, right?”

  Joy stood and stalked across the room. “Where is it?” she demanded, unable to keep the shrill tone out of her voice.