Suzanna's Surrender

Perhaps if she'd been wiser or more experienced, she would have gauged his mood before he touched her. There was no mistaking it now, not when his fingers had closed over her with taut possession, not when his needs, and his intention of satisfying them, were so clear in those deep gray eyes.

She wished she could have been so certain of her own mood and her own needs.

“Holt, I told you I needed time.”

“Time's up,” he said simply, with an underlying edge that had her pulse jerking.

“This isn't something I intend to take casually.”

Heat flashed into his eyes. From miles away came the violent rumble of thunder. “There's nothing casual about it. We both know that.”

She did know it, and the knowledge was terrifying. “I think –” He swore and swept her into his arms. “You think too much.”

The moment the shock wore off she began to struggle. By then he had already carried her onto the back porch. “Holt. I won't be pressured.” The screen door slammed behind them. Didn't he know she was afraid? That she was so afraid if she took this step he would find her dull, shrug her off and leave her shattered? “I'm not going to be rushed into this.”

“If you had your way, it would take another fifteen years.” He kicked open the door to the bedroom then dropped her onto the bed. It wasn't what he had planned, but he was too knotted up with terror and longings to struggle with soft words.

She was off the bed in a shot to stand beside it, slim and straight as an arrow. The lowering light, already gathering gloom, crept through the window at her back. “If you think you can cart me in here and throw me on the bed –”

“That's exactly what I've done.” His eyes stayed hard on hers as he pulled his shirt over his head, “I'm tired of waiting, Suzanna, and I'm damn tired of wanting you. We're going to do this my way.”

It had been like this for her before, she thought as her heart sank to her stomach like a stone. Only then it had been Bax, ordering her into bed, peeling off his clothes before he climbed on top of her to take his marital rights, quick and hard and without affection. And after, there would come his derision and disgust for her.

“Your way's hardly new,” she said tightly. “And it doesn't interest me. I'm not obligated to go to bed with you, Holt. To let you demand and take and tell me I'm not good enough to satisfy. I'm not going to be used again, by anyone.”

He caught her arms before she could storm from the room, dragged her struggling and swearing against him to crush his heated mouth to hers. The force of it sent her reeling. She would have stumbled away if his arms hadn't banded her so tightly.

Over the fear and the anger her own needs swelled. She wanted to scream at him for pulling them from her, for leaving her raw and naked and defenseless. But she could only hold on.

He yanked her away, arm's length, his breath already ragged and shallow. Her eyes were dark as midnight and held as many secrets. He would uncover them, that he promised himself. One by one he would learn them all. And tonight, he would begin.

“No one is going to be used here, and I'm only going to take what you give.” His tensed fingers flexed on her arms. “Look at me, Suzanna. Look at me and tell me you don't want me, and I'll let you go.”

Her lips parted on a shaky breath. She loved him, and she was no longer a girl who could hold love to herself like a comforting pillow in the night. If she was not as strong as she hoped and able to hold her heart and body separate, then she had no choice but to unite them. If that heart was broken, she would survive.

Hadn't she promised them both there would be no regrets?

She lifted a hand to his gently though she expected no gentleness in return. The choice was one she made freely.

“I can't tell you I don't want you. There's no need to wait any longer.”

Chapter Eight

If his nerves hadn't been so tangled, if the need hadn't been so acute, he might have been able to show her tenderness. If his blood hadn't been so hot, desire so greedy, he would have tried to give her some romance. But he was certain if he didn't possess now, possess quickly, he would shatter into hundreds of jagged shards of desperation.

So his mouth was fevered with impatience, his hands rough with urgency. At the first potent taste he understood she was already his. But it wasn't enough. Maybe it could never be enough.

She didn't tremble or hesitate. The vulnerability was cloaked inside a generosity that urged him to take his fill. As her hands roamed restlessly over his back he felt only her hunger, and none of her doubt.

He pushed the cap from her hair, then yanked the band from it so that his hands could take fistfuls of honey – colored silk. And the hands that gripped were unsteady, even as his mouth ruthlessly devoured hers.