Suzanna's Surrender

“I'm not looking at you in any way.”

“The hell you're not. Damn it, your hands are shaking.” Furious, he grabbed them. “Stop it,” he demanded. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“It has nothing to do with you.” She yanked her hands away, hating the fact that she couldn't stop them from trembling. “Why should you think that anything I feel, any way I look depends on you? I have my own life, my own feelings. I'm not some weak, terrified woman who falls apart because a man raises his voice. Do you really think I'm afraid of you? Do you really think you could hurt me after –”

She broke off, appalled. She'd been shouting, and the furious tears were still burning her eyes. Her stomach was clenched so tight she could hardly breathe. Sadie had retreated to a corner and sat quivering. Holt stood a foot away, staring at her, eyes narrowed in speculation.

“I have to go,” she managed, and bolted for the door. His hand slapped the wood and held it shut. “Let me go.” When her voice broke, she bit down on her lip. She struggled with the door then whirled on him, eyes blazing. “I said let me go.”

“Go ahead,” he said with surprising calm, “take a punch at me. But you're not going anywhere while you're churned up like this.”

“If I'm churned up, it's my own business. I told you, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Okay, so you're not going to hit me. Let's try another release valve.” He put his hands firmly on either side of her face and covered her mouth with his.

It wasn't a kiss meant to soothe or comfort. It did neither. This was raw and turbulent emotion and matched her own feelings completely.

Her arms were caught between them, her hands still fisted. Her body trembled; her skin heated. At the first flicker of response, he dived into the rough, desperate kiss until he was certain the only thing she was thinking about was him.

Then he took a moment longer, to please himself. She was a volcano waiting to erupt, a storm ready to blow. Her pent – up passion packed a punch more stunning than her fist could have. He intended to be around for the explosion, but he could wait.

When he released her, she leaned back against the door, her eyes closed, breath hitching. Watching her, he realized he'd never seen anyone fight so hard for control.

“Sit down.” She shook her head. “All right, stand.” With a dismissive shrug, he moved away to light a cigarette. “Either way you're going to tell me what set you off.”

“I don't want to talk to you.”

He sat on the arm of a chair and blew out a stream of smoke. “Lots of people haven't wanted to talk to me. But I usually find out what I want to know.”

She opened her eyes. They were dry now, which relieved him considerably. “Is this an interrogation?”

With another shrug, he brought the cigarette to his lips again. It wouldn't do her any good if he caved in and offered,soft words. He wasn't even sure he had them. “It can be.”

She thought about pulling the door open and leaving. But he would only stop her. She'd learned the hard way that there were some battles a woman couldn't win.

“It isn't worth it,” she said wearily. “I shouldn't have come while I was upset, but I thought I got myself under control.”

“Upset about what?”

“It isn't important.”

“Then it shouldn't be a problem to tell me.”

“Bax called. My ex – husband.” To comfort herself she began to roam the room.

Holt studied the tip of his cigarette, reminding himself that jealousy was out of place. “Looks like he can still stir you up.”

“One phone call. One, and I'm back under his thumb.” There was a bitterness in her voice he hadn't expected from her. He said nothing. “There's nothing I can do. Nothing. He's going to take the children for two weeks. I can't stop him.”

Holt let out an impatient breath. “For God's sake is that what all this hysteria's about? So the kids go off with Daddy for a couple of weeks.” Disgusted, he crushed out his cigarette. And to think he'd been worried about her. “Save the vindictive – wife routine, babe. He's got a right.”

“Oh yes, he's got the right.” Her voice shook with an emotion so deep that Holt's head snapped up again. “Because it says so on a piece of paper. And he was there when they were conceived, so that makes him their father. Of course, that doesn't mean he has to love them, or worry about them or struggle to raise them without malice. It doesn't mean he has to remember Christmas or birthdays. It's just as Bax told me on the phone. There's nothing in the custody agreement that obligates him to send birthday cards. But it does obligate me to turn the children over to him when he has the whim.”

There were tears threatening again, but she refused them. Tears in front of a man never brought anything but humiliation. “Do you think this is about me? He can't hurt me anymore. But my children don't deserve to be used so that he can try to pay me back for being so much less than he wanted.”

Holt felt something hot and lethal spread in his gut. “He did a good job on you, didn't he?”