by Julia Devlin
Pride and Surrender
Julia Devlin
I want no part of messy emotions, of lust and surrender. But none of that seems to matter to Christos Constantine. No matter how much I resist, no matter how much I fight, he keeps coming after me…and I am powerless.
Juliet Russo’s pride and strength of will have always kept her safe. The armor she has built around herself is impenetrable and no one is allowed to see beneath. She has managed to keep Christos and the attraction that simmers between them at bay for two years, but he’s done taking no for an answer.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Pride and Surrender
ISBN 9781419932458
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Pride and Surrender Copyright © 2010 Julia Devlin
Edited by Mary Moran
Cover art by Darrell King
Electronic book publication December 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Pride and Surrender
Julia Devlin
Dedication
To India Masters, who took me under her wing a long time ago when I was a new, floundering writer.
And to Alvania Scarborough, who always understands my vision even when no one else does.
Thank you both for being the best critique partners and friends a writer could have.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Fever, Peggy Lee: Peggy Lee Associates, LLC LTD
Fortune 5 Hundred: Time Inc Corporation
iPod: Apple Inc. Corporation
Kentucky Derby: Churchill Downs Incorporated Corporation
Mercedes: DaimlerChrysler AG Corporation
Chapter One
“That’s me, a constant disappointment.” My words were laced with sarcasm and just the right amount of bite to annoy him.
“Why are you determined to fight me, Juliet?” All six foot two inches of Christos Constantine loomed over me. Dark hair, brilliant green eyes and unbelievably gorgeous in that hard, intimidating type of way that made women question the point of moral purity.
I hated him.
Even as I thought the words, my heart pounded against my rib cage and desire pulled at me. Damn chemistry. I hated that too. Hated even more that I had it with him of all people.
He’d beaten me again when few men ever did. Even fewer experienced a repeat victory. And every time Christos won he became that much more irresistible.
I didn’t even want to contemplate what that said about me.
“When you know I’ll win?” His rich voice rumbled from his throat and my knees weakened.
Why did I like this? The arrogance? It was as if I were genetically hardwired to respond to everything he said. The more dominant he acted the more I salivated. Like Pavlov’s dog.
He’d first popped onto my radar screen a year and a half ago when he’d shown up on the Chicago scene and stolen the Pennington bid right out from under me. Around forty, power poured off him. He had the kind of commanding presence other people noticed. When Christos was in the room, men stood straighter and women, well, they practically melted into a puddle at his feet.
Once, I’d had the unfortunate experience of being stuck in a reception area with him for over an hour. The sweet, little grandmother receptionist blushed and stammered over him like a schoolgirl.
I might not be immune, but ice queen was second nature.
I put my hands on my hips, standing tall in my white blouse and black pencil skirt. I tapped the toe of my three-inch-high slingbacks. “You might win the business, but you’ll never win me.”
He laughed. The sound traveled through my body like the most intimate of touches. But I stood firm, not giving in to the shudder that wanted to overtake me.
He raised one dark brow. “Who are you trying to convince? You or me?”
His broad shoulders blocked out the ray of sun from the lobby windows as he stepped closer. The urge to retreat had my foot twitching, but I fought the desire. My shoulders squared. He will not win, I thought fiercely as I dug in my heels both figuratively and literally.
He crowded in on me, mere inches away. I held my breath. Afraid to move, to swallow—he’d never gotten this close to me—and my heart pounded. The heat of his body slid over my skin. My lungs burned and I sucked in a fast burst of air, my head swimming at the intoxicating scent of him, spice and man.
Jesus. I wanted no part in this kind of lust. This kind of hunger.
I don’t know how I did it, but I stood my ground even though a desperate desire to flee beat at me.
He could not win, not at this.
His long fingers touched the side of my neck. I jumped, flinching under him.
What could only be pleasure sparked in his gaze.
His palm skimmed over the slender cords as he curled his hand around my neck, his thumb stroking where my pulse thumped wildly. “Mine.”
A gasp escaped from my throat. I shook my head.
“Yes. You know it and I know it.”
“You’re wrong,” I managed in a strangled whisper. I needed to escape, but I didn’t budge. I refused to let him see my fear, my almost unbearable excitement.
And I was excited.
His thumb pressed against the hollow of my neck. Primal need, unlike anything I’d ever experienced pounded through me like a stampede. Slick, wet heat warmed my inner thighs.
God, help me. I was powerless. I’d made a grave error. With him, retreat was always the smarter option.
His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. “How wet are you?” A shift of his hips and his erection nudged my belly. “How hot?”
“Stop it.” The words were stilted with no force behind them. A plea when I wanted a curse.
“No.” He shook his head. “Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re going to lose.” He leaned down and his lips brushed the soft skin at the curve of my neck. I ached to lean in to him. Let him take me. The way I felt right now, I’d do anything to have his mouth on me. Anywhere I could get it.
Thank god I had more pride than I knew what to do with. It had kept me safe more than once, and this was no exception. It was the only thing that stopped me from begging.
His tongued flicked against my pulse, and I couldn’t stop the groan from slipping past my lips. I clenched my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. Forced my lids to remain open when they wanted to drift closed. His teeth scraped my flesh and I jolted, my entire b
ody humming with sensation.
He raised his head to the shell of my ear. “You want me to win, Juliet.”
He was right. I did.
By my own design, no man had ever bested me. Not my ex-husband, not the lovers I’d had since. For thirty-five years my relationships with men had been coolly confident and distant. I had the control. I responded if I wanted to, choose to. But there’d never been any question that it had been my choice. And I never let anyone get too close.
That was for weak women. Not me.
On some primitive level I knew distance wouldn’t be possible with Christos. Under the all-consuming jumble of emotions of lust and fear, was the certain knowledge that he’d change me irrevocably. That when I lost, I’d be stripped of everything.
That alone was worth every ounce of fight I had.
“No.” My tone surprised me with its steadiness.
He raised his head, his green eyes piercing. “Stubborn.”
“I’ll never give in.” Confidence growing as I regained my equilibrium.
Once again his fingers tightened on my throat. The power in his grasp not lost on me. An assertion of his dominance. “I’m patient, and if you insist, we’ll do it the hard way.” His hand fell away, leaving behind the imprint of his touch like a brand.
A cold chill of loss blew through me like the most frigid of Chicago winter winds. All it had taken was one touch.
He stepped back. “Consider yourself warned.”
Chapter Two
I picked up my dirty martini and swiped the glass with my tongue, savoring the salt of the olive brine. My best friend and business partner, Katherine Ames, had just left the corner bar we frequented on Friday evenings to recap our week over well-deserved cocktails.
Normally, I left with her, but I couldn’t bear to go home to my empty townhome yet. I’d end up pacing the floors with all my pent-up energy obsessing about him.
It had been four days since he’d touched me and somehow I’d worked myself up into a kind of sexual heat. The more I thought about him, the more he distracted me. I walked around so turned-on I couldn’t concentrate. Nothing worked. I’d manically given myself orgasm after orgasm in hopes of alleviating the ache between my thighs, but I was never satisfied.
Nothing would satisfy me. Except him.
I took a sip of my drink, the alcohol stinging the back of my throat. When had I turned into this needy, desperate girl?
“Ms. Russo.” That voice made every muscle go rigid.
Our eyes met in the mirror. It felt as if I conjured him out of thin air.
The devil himself couldn’t be more temptation. Tonight he looked irresistible and utterly wicked in all black.
Fingers trembling, I carefully put my glass on the polished mahogany wood. “What are you doing here?” My tone couldn’t have been more bratty.
In the mirror, I watched his lips quirk as though trying to contain the smile hidden there. My eyes widened as he leaned so close I could feel his heat against my back. He placed one hand on the bar, effectively surrounding me, and dropped his lips to the shell of my ear. “I’m here for you.”
Every nerve sizzled and snapped to attention. I squared my shoulders and tried to look bored. One more glance in the mirror told me it wasn’t working. Even from a distance I could see the excited glassiness in my brown eyes.
He shifted away and slid into Katherine’s vacated seat. A pretty twenty-something bartender practically ran over. I picked up my martini glass and took a sip. She looked Christos up and down and gave him one of those hooded sex glances girls seem to think are sexy. “Hey, what can I do for you?” She purred the words, the underlying meaning painfully clear. Anything you want.
I rolled my eyes. This is exactly why he would be impossible to be around. I frowned. Wait, was I harboring some sort of fantasy? I pushed the idea right out of my mind.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” He pointed to my drink.
The bartender gave him a blinding come-fuck-me smile, tossed her mane of blonde hair and scurried away to do his bidding.
Irritation pricked at my skin, but I assured myself it wasn’t jealousy. Only annoyance because girls that age assumed a woman of mine wasn’t a viable threat. I looked at Christos, expecting to see his gaze trained on her tight ass, and found him watching me with an intent expression. The look made me want to squirm, irrationally sure he read my every thought.
I raised a brow. “Taking to stalking, I see.”
He laughed. The low rumble rolled over me, making me ache in places I didn’t want to name. “Don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me.”
I sighed. “Does your ego know no bounds?”
“Why are you so determined to dislike me?” He slid his hand over the bar rail, twisting on the stool to face me, shifting so one foot rested on my chair.
“Do you really want to hear my long, endless list?”
The bartender chose that moment to return, but he didn’t even glance at her. “Start a tab,” he said in a tone that indicated he wasn’t open to conversation.
I, however, watched her lower lip puff out and give me a what-makes-you-so-special once-over before she took her leave. I frowned. It was a good question actually. One I’d asked myself countless times. Why me?
His finger brushed over the bare skin of my forearm. I jerked as if I’d been scorched. “What are you thinking about, Juliet?”
I met his gaze and saw none of his customary arrogance. Instead, he appeared thoughtful, curious. It softened the harsh lines of his strong face and made him look almost human.
“Why me?” The question popped from my lips before I could stop it and I clenched my teeth to keep from cringing.
“Why not you?”
I shrugged. His hand shot to my knees, so fast I about jumped out of my seat. He swiveled my stool until I faced him then shifted his legs so his thighs bracketed my own.
The solid warmth of him made me melt. Liquid heat slid over my skin and I felt wetness line my panties. God, I was pathetic.
“Why not you?” he repeated. One hand retreated to the safety of the bar while his other lightly stroked the fabric of my skirt.
I pushed him away, but he grasped my wrist and held me still. I cocked my head to the side. “It’s the challenge, isn’t it? I’m sure it gets boring with all those women panting to do your bidding. But I’m not some little fuck toy. I’m not going to give in just so you can toss me out with the trash when the fun is over and you get bored.”
“I see.” His free hand picked up the drink and took a sip. His tongue flicked over his lips. “Dirty martini. It suits you.”
“Are you done?” My chest tightened. Panic washed over me. I’d made a tactical error and admitted far too much. There was no excuse for my mistake, other than he’d thrown me. I braced myself and waited for the strike soon to come.
He placed the glass back on the bar, his gaze narrowed. “Do you really think that little of me?”
I blinked, licked my lips. “I don’t think of you at all.”
He leaned closer, hooking his arm along my waist and tugging me close. Far too close. I forced my breathing to remain smooth instead of hitching the way it wanted to. He worked his hand under my black form-fitting sweater, his palm hot against my back. “Don’t lie. And for the record, if I wanted a fuck toy, I wouldn’t pick you.”
“Ha!” I hissed the word. “So you admit it’s about the challenge.”
“Jesus, I only wish.” He planted a hard, fast kiss on my lips. A punishing bruising of his mouth that was over so fast I had to brace my hand against the bar to keep from falling into him. My mouth tingled and already I could feel the craving for more sinking into my bones.
His free hand gripped my neck, holding me still when I would have pulled back. “Why can’t you believe I want you every bit as much as you want me?”
I scoffed, curling my lips into a smirk even though inside I was a quivering mess. All hot melting center and pounding heart. “Please give me a
little credit. You could have any woman you want.”
“And I want you.”
“What is it with you?” I pressed, not willing to give an inch. With him, I couldn’t. He’d turn me into someone I hated. “It’s not enough to strip me of my pride by winning every project we compete for, you have to do this too?”
A muscle in his jaw clenched, and he released me with an abruptness that left me shaken. Sitting back on the stool, his green eyes assessed me as he took a sip of the martini and put it back on the bar. “Do you want to know why you always lose to me, Juliet?”
I had a feeling I didn’t want to hear this, but I couldn’t back down now. I’d look like the coward I was. “Enlighten me.”
He ran his fingers along my jaw. “Because you hold back. You’re so damn busy trying to be this perfect, impenetrable force—so intent on making sure people see past your pretty face to your sharp, biting intelligence—you forget to show passion. And in the end it’s passion that wins.”
My head snapped back as though he’d struck me. He couldn’t possibly know how close his words were to the day my ex-husband walked out of our marriage. To my horror, my throat closed up tight. Not that I cared about the bastard, but because Christos saw my fatal flaw so clearly.
“But it’s hard to be perfect with me, isn’t it? You keep trying. But I see right through you.”
More than anything I wanted to come back with a scathing remark. Something that would cut him to the quick. But I didn’t think I could speak without crying. Me. Who hadn’t shed a tear since I was a teenager.
And that’s why I needed to tuck my tail between my legs and run. It was the safer of the two options. My pride might sting, but in the end, it would hurt much less than a broken heart.
I slid off my stool.
“Running?” he asked casually, as if he didn’t already know.
