Surrender to Me

by Donna Hill

  He moved slowly and deliberately toward her the way a panther moves in on his prey. Instinct told her to flee but she couldn’t move.

  Rafe stepped into her space, cupped her cheek in his palm then lowered his mouth to hers. The air ceased to move, even as currents of electrifying jolts zipped through her veins.

  He moved his mouth over hers until her lips parted and his tongue teased hers. Her head spun.

  Rafe stepped back but he didn’t remove his hand from her cheek. “I’ll wait here,” was all he said.

  It took a moment for Avery to process what happened following his casual comment.

  “Be right back,” she said just above a whisper. She hurried off toward her bedroom and for an instant was terrified that he might follow her. Then what? She muttered a curse and pushed open her bedroom door.

  Avery paused for a moment in front of her mirror. Her copper complexion was heightened by a telltale tinge of red undertone. She raised her hand to the cheek that Rafe held. It was hot as if she’d sat too long near a flame or out in the sun. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. Just a hint of his taste, only enough to tease. Drawing in a long breath, she took her purse from on top of the dresser and her multicolor open-front caftan from the hanger. It was longer in the back and shorter in the front with hot splashes of teal that matched her dress. She slid her arms through the wide sleeves and went back to meet her date, her regalness flowing and floating around her.

  Rafe glanced up from examining a small African sculpture on the coffee table. His eyes caught the light and that slow smile illuminated the space around him.

  “Gorgeous.” He crossed the room to where she stood framed in the archway.

  Avery thought he was going to kiss her again. She was prepared this time but also disappointed when instead he took her hand.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes, I believe I am.” She pushed conviction that she did not feel into her voice.

  He held on to her hand as they walked to the front door, opened it for her then took the keys from her hand and locked up behind them.

  With the barest of pressure from the tips of his fingers at the lowest part of her back, he guided her to the passenger side of the Mercedes-Benz coupe.

  Every move he made was sensual, sexually charged, yet it was as natural to him as breathing.

  Avery slid into the plush leather seat and focused on settling her racing heart. Her body thrummed like a plucked tuning fork and Rafe Lawson knew exactly how to play it.

  He got in next to her, turned the key in the ignition and the seat belts locked in place.

  Rafe gave her a quick look. “All set?”

  “Yep.” She linked her fingers together on her lap.

  “Music?”

  “Sure.”

  He pressed a button on the console and the space filled with a jazz instrumental by an artist she could not name but totally enjoyed.

  “So...how did your Secret Servicing go today? Catch any bad guys?”

  Avery bit back a smile. How he managed to take a job title and make it sound trashy and sexy at the same time tickled her.

  “My Secret Servicing was just fine, thank you very much. The usual high-drama excitement of standing around looking threatening without appearing to be there at all.”

  “That’s a skill, I’m sure,” he said over low rumbles of laughter.

  She snatched a look at him and saw the crinkle of merriment around his dark eyes. She shook her head, bemused and pleasantly relaxed. The knot that her body had been in unraveled. Her racing heart slowed to its normal rhythm. She felt good. Rafe simply had a knack for smoothing all the edges without appearing to try.

  “What about you?”

  He lifted his chin and tilted his head to the side. “Hmm, you mean after I spent all day thinking of tonight?”

  Avery smiled. “Okay, yeah, after that.”

  “Took care of a few business calls, worked on some music, spent a couple of hours in the gym, made reservations, took a long, hot shower...and here I am.” He lifted his hands for a moment from the steering wheel, turned to her and winked.

  For a hot second she imagined him all wet and naked. She swallowed and had to briefly look away.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been to DC for a night out. Where do you usually go?”

  Avery drew in a short breath. “Hmm, I wish I could tell you. It’s been a while.”

  “Why? Job?”

  “Mostly.”

  “So...if it’s not all the fault of the job...”

  Avery lowered her gaze. “It’s not that I don’t go out...ever...just that it’s few and far between. My choice,” she quickly added. “You, on the other hand,” she said, eager to turn the light off on her, “are a regular club goer.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read, darlin’.” He gave her a quick look.

  “I always try to see beyond the obvious.”

  “Is that right? And what do you see?”

  Her heart thumped. “I’m still looking,” she said softly.

  Rafe pulled to the curb and parked. He angled his body toward her. “Then I’m gonna have to make sure you find what you’re looking for. Won’t I?” That slow grin eased across his mouth. He opened his door and got out.

  Avery bit down on her bottom lip. Lawd, help me.

  Chapter 7

  Le Galleria, known for its upscale clientele, clearly lived up to its reputation. There was an air of subdued classiness, from the décor, plush secluded seating and mood lighting to the rippling murmurs of the DC elite.

  Rafe held lightly on to Avery’s waist as he led her toward the hostess podium.

  “Reservation?” the young woman asked.

  “Two for Lawson.”

  Her brows rose a fraction and the practiced smile went on full display. “Yes, Mr. Lawson. Mr. Benoit wanted to be informed when you arrived. Please wait one moment while I call for him.”

  Rafe turned to Avery and gave a nonchalant shrug at her inquiring expression. He stepped closer to her so that her hip brushed against his thigh.

  “What’s that about?” she mouthed.

  “Nothing, darlin’. Mr. Benoit and I spoke earlier and he wanted to say hello when we got here is all.”

  Avery studied him for a moment and caught the glint of mirth in his eyes and knew there was more to the story, but she wouldn’t press.

  “Mr. Lawson.” A man about five foot five with snow-white hair and the demeanor and bearing of an aristocrat hurried up to them and stopped in front of Rafe. He extended his pale, well-manicured hand. “So very glad that you could make it.” He turned cool gray eyes on Avery, clasped her hand and dry-kissed her knuckles. “Madam, welcome to Le Galleria.”

  Avery did all she could to keep from giggling. She smiled politely instead.

  “Please come this way. Your table is ready.”

  Rafe once again slid his arm around Avery’s waist as they fell in step behind Mr. Benoit.

  They were escorted to the rear of the restaurant to a private seating area where a waiter and the chef were already in place.

  “This is our head chef, Chef Fontaine. He will personally prepare your meal.”

  “Welcome to Le Galleria. Whatever you wish for tonight will be my pleasure to prepare,” Chef Fontaine said with a flourish.

  Rafe nodded in acknowledgment.

  “And this is Spencer. He will be your server tonight,” Mr. Benoit intoned.

  Spencer gave a slight bow before pulling out the chair for Avery.

  “Thank you,” she said, glancing up and over her shoulder.

  “Your drinks tonight are on the house,” Mr. Benoit added. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Rafe nodded and sat down as Benoit spun away followed by Chef
Fontaine.

  Spencer placed drink menus in front of them. “Do you need a few moments?”

  “I know what I’m having.” He glanced across at Avery through lowered lids. “What about you, darlin’?”

  “I know what I’m having, as well,” she tossed back, well aware of the double entendre, and tingled inside when Rafe’s gaze fell on her in full effect.

  The corner of his mouth lifted just a bit. “Ladies first.”

  Avery ran her tongue lightly across her lips. “Apple martini.”

  “For you, sir?”

  “Bourbon on the rocks.”

  Spencer filled both of their glasses with sparkling water from the carafe before he eased away. “Would you care for appetizers while you decide on your meal?”

  “Oysters Rockefeller for starters,” Rafe said.

  “Right away.”

  Rafe turned his full attention on Avery. “Do you like oysters? I should have asked.”

  Avery smiled. “Love them.”

  He raised his glass of sparkling water. “To an evening of new beginnings and a meeting of the minds.”

  She tapped her glass against his.

  “Hope you don’t mind all the extra attention.” He sipped his water.

  She smiled coyly. “On-the-job hazard. I watch from a discreet distance. Although on those rare occasions when I’d be out to dinner with my father, lobbyists would fall all over themselves to get my father’s attention.”

  “The story of my life.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the white linen-covered table.

  “Does it bother you that much?”

  “What? The attention?”

  “Carrying around the Lawson name.”

  Rafe tugged in a long breath. “And there you have the reason.”

  Avery tilted her head slightly to the side. “I know the feeling or should I say don’t know the feeling.” She focused on her glass of water.

  “Meaning?”

  She was thoughtful for a moment then looked him in the eye. “My father is fueled by the adulation and the power that comes with his position. It’s all that ever seemed to matter to him.”

  Rafe caught the barest hitch in her voice and the way her eyes dimmed. “And you wanted his attention.”

  Her brows flicked. “Yes, I did.”

  Spencer returned with their drinks and appetizer. “Are you ready to order?” He looked from one to the other.

  Rafe flipped open his menu. Avery did the same.

  “I’ll have the steak medium well and the house salad,” Avery said.

  “Make that two. Please.”

  “Right away,” Spencer said.

  Rafe turned his attention to Avery. He wrapped his long fingers around his glass. “Sisters or brothers?”

  “No. Only child. I guess I have that syndrome.”

  Rafe chuckled. “Sounds serious.”

  Avery took a sip of her drink and hummed in approval. “It was hard. Being the only child I wanted my parent’s attention.”

  “Your father was busy politicking. What about your mother?”

  “My mother passed away when I was fifteen.”

  “I’m sorry.” He paused. “Mine did, as well.”

  “Sorry. At least you had your siblings.”

  “That I did.” He chuckled. “There was always something going on at the Lawson house. Especially with my twin sisters, Desiree and Dominique.”

  “I always wished I had siblings.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” he teased. “Justin is the youngest so most of the time growing up, he wasn’t involved in the craziness. Lee Ann is the oldest girl. She’s married to a congressman and they’re expecting twins.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah, that’s what we all said. Desi and Dom are married. Never thought we’d see Dominique settle down.” He chuckled. “And Justin is working in law, much to the delight of my father.”

  “Holidays must have been great.”

  “Hmm, they usually start out that way.”

  “And then...”

  “I might have one drink too many and say what I really feel,” he said offhandedly, looked away then returned his attention to Avery.

  “Does that happen often?” she hedged.

  He shrugged slightly. “Only where my father is concerned. I make it a point to keep my distance and I think he prefers it that way.”

  “Why do you feel like that? You’re his oldest son, the heir, for lack of a better word. I would think there would be a natural bond.”

  Rafe tossed back the rest of his drink and set the tumbler down on the table. “Darlin’, tonight is for new beginnings.” He reached across the table and stroked her knuckles with the tip of his finger. “You good with that?”

  Avery swallowed even as her heart leaped and banged in her chest. “Sure,” she finally managed and realized in that moment the charisma of Rafe Lawson. He could be steadfast and charming all at once, making it, if not easy, necessary for you to agree with him.

  “So...you were telling me earlier how you wound up in the Secret Service.” He took up an oyster.

  “Hmm, it was a combination of things, I suppose. I came from a household that was fueled by rules and discipline and regulations. I’m sure my father’s line of work had a lot to do with that. Funny, you would think that a man who spouts democracy would run his home the same way.”

  “That wasn’t the case.”

  “Not at all. My father...expected excellence in every aspect of my life. I was forever trying to prove myself to him—to rise to the occasion. All of that rigidity and discipline shaped me, I suppose.”

  “I would think you would have had enough of that, so how—no, why did you decide on the Secret Service? It’s not a typical profession.”

  “For a woman?” she challenged.

  “For anyone.”

  Avery brought the glass to her lips, hesitated, then took a sip. She slowly lowered the glass and set it down. “I can’t say it was only the way I was raised.” She glanced away for a moment. “I remember I was in high school and the nuns showed us a documentary on Kennedy.”

  “Nuns?” Rafe smirked.

  “That’s a whole other conversation. Anyway, I was fascinated by the response and the reaction of the Secret Service after the shooting. Instead of turning away from it, I wanted to be in a profession that required focus and discipline—things that I was used to. But I knew I didn’t want to be a police officer. Much later, I was introduced to former Director Paulsen at a dinner. She was the first woman to hold the position. I was so impressed with her and her accomplishments that I knew I wanted to follow in her footsteps. She became my mentor and convinced me that, with my background and the fact that I am multi-lingual and have been entrenched in the surreal world of Washington politics, the Secret Service would be a perfect fit.”

  “Was your father satisfied?”

  Avery lowered her gaze. “I’m sure he will be once I become director.” She sputtered a laugh. “That will last for a while and then he will expect more.”

  “Sounds like you got yourself on a merry-go-round, darlin’.” He drew circles on the table with his finger. “Round and round with no finish line. One thing I figured out a long time ago is the only person you can truly satisfy is yourself. If you spend all that energy trying to please someone else, fulfill their dreams...” He shook his head. “You’ll make yourself crazy.”

  She expelled a breath. “Maybe.”

  Rafe studied the tightness that formed at the corner of her eyes and the way she pushed her food around on the plate. He’d stepped into one of those personal minefields and he had no intention of blowing this night up before it got started. “I speak two.”

  She glanced up from her pl
ate. “Two?”

  “Languages. English and Louisiana patois.”

  Avery laughed. “Good one.” She pointed her fork at him. “I have to admit that patois is a beast to master. I’ve listened to friends from Louisiana or the Caribbean talk and when they get going I can’t understand a damn thing they say.”

  Rafe tossed his head back and laughed. “You’ve got to get used to the rhythm is all. It’s like music—different tempos, notes, highs and lows.”

  “Right.” She shook her head. “That’s the musician talking for sure.”

  He leaned forward. His eyes moved slowly over her face. “Life is all about rhythm, finding the beat that suits you and goin’ with it. Once you figure it out the world looks a whole lot better.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  “It can be, if you let it.”

  The deep ripple of his voice moved through her like the notes he spoke of, slow and measured, easing into unseen places. Her stomach fluttered and a wave of warmth flowed through her. The urge to touch him suddenly overwhelmed her. She reached for one of the oysters but he beat her to it. He lifted it between his fingers and brought it to her mouth. She sucked the delicacy from the shell and a slow, sexy smile formed on Rafe’s face.

  Avery knew this was the beginning of a memorable night for her.

  Chapter 8

  Throughout dinner they laughed and talked about everything from childhood memories to the state of the economy and the current president. They discovered that they both loved old movies and had traveled to many of the same places. Avery shared war stories of traveling with dignitaries, and Rafe added his own surreal memories of what it was like to sit across the dinner table from people he’d seen on television or who were written about in newspapers.

  By the time they finished their three-hour dinner, Avery felt as if she’d been waiting for most of her life for him and the very idea frightened her.

  “Someplace for a nightcap?” Rafe asked as they walked to his car.

  Avery glanced up at him. “I’d like that.”

  Rafe took her hand. “Let’s walk. Nice night.”

  Avery wrapped her fingers around his hand and allowed the electric warmth of his touch to sizzle right up to her lashes that fluttered for the briefest moment. Her heart leaped as she fell easily in step with him.