The Ultimate Surrender

by Penny Jordan

  Immediately Polly shook her head.

  ‘I’m flattered,’ she told him honestly, ‘but…’

  But what?

  But she loved Marcus, had loved him for over fourteen years, would always love him, even though she knew that her feelings, her love, would never be returned.

  ‘But what?’ Phil prompted her.

  ‘But…I’m older than you, Phil; I’ve got a grown-up daughter and…’

  The sound he made stopped her.

  ‘Older than me? By what, four or so years?’

  ‘According to Marcus—’ Polly began.

  ‘Marcus?’ Phil had started to frown. ‘What’s this got to do with him?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just…’ Polly stopped. ‘I like you, Phil,’ she told him honestly. ‘But I’m just not in the market for…for anything other than friendship.’

  ‘Markets can change,’ Phil told her meaningfully. ‘And I wouldn’t have got where I have today if I didn’t know how to be a good salesman. You have been warned! Would you like a drink in the bar first or would you prefer to go straight into dinner?’ he asked her.

  ‘A drink first, I think,’ Polly responded. ‘After all, you did say that you wanted my opinion on the hotel.’

  ‘Mmm…I did, didn’t I?’ Phil agreed.

  Just over an hour later, when the waiter had brought the main course of their meal, Polly acknowledged to Phil that she was impressed with the hotel.

  Its decor was a trifle modern and minimalistic for her taste but, judging by the number of sharply suited businessmen and women filling the bar and now the restaurant, it was obviously a very popular place.

  The restaurant had been well planned, to allow those who wished to be seen to be seen and those who didn’t to enjoy a little privacy. It was clearly a very ‘in’ place to dine, and she had already recognised several media celebrities. ‘What I have in mind is to offer the business guest the option to bring his or her partner with them—all the rooms here are doubles, and the only difference between our rate for their single occupancy or their double is the additional cost of the inclusive room service breakfast.’

  ‘The extras could include such things as seats for the top shows, special guided tours of galleries, buying trips for art works and antiques, with the advice of an expert, the services of personal shoppers, along with the provision of chauffeurs and minders if required.’

  ‘Mmm, sounds impressive,’ Polly told him.

  ‘It will be,’ Phil replied unabashed.

  ‘Very impressive and very expensive,’ Polly reinforced ruefully.

  ‘There’s a lot of money out there,’ Phil pointed out, then suddenly frowned as he muttered, ‘What the hell are they doing here?’

  Automatically Polly turned her head to see who had caused him to look so grimly displeased, her whole body tensing as there, not three tables away from them, Marcus and Suzi were being seated by the head waiter.

  As yet they hadn’t seen them, and as the waiter handed them their menus and left Polly’s stomach dropped on seeing Suzi leaning across the table to cover Marcus’s hand with her own.

  ‘Very cosy,’ she heard Phil snapping acerbically.

  ‘You obviously didn’t realise they would be dining here too,’ Polly offered, trying to muster a casual lack of concern she didn’t feel. Suzi looked so intimately at ease with Marcus. Briony would be pleased.

  Polly discovered that she had suddenly lost her appetite.

  ‘I didn’t realise—’ Phil began sharply, and then stopped. ‘I have a suite here.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘As my assistant, Suzi knows she is free to use the empty bedroom—I’m using this place as a base whilst the deal goes through so it makes sense to be here on hand to iron out the inevitable last-minute snags, but if Suzi thinks…’ He stopped again and then frowned as he saw the way Polly was pushing her food around her plate.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked her in concern. ‘If you’d prefer something else…’ As he started to look round for a waiter, Polly shook her head.

  ‘No. No, it’s…it’s fine. I’m just not very hungry.’ She gave him a smile and then bit her lip in vexation as he obviously guessed what the real cause of her loss of appetite was and commented brusquely, ‘Yes, I know what you mean. Look, we can always eat in my suite if you’d prefer, or go somewhere else.’

  ‘No. No…there’s no need for that,’ she assured him quickly.

  ‘Hell,’ she heard him curse. ‘They’ve seen us.’ And then he was pushing back his chair and getting up. As Polly turned her head she could see Suzi advancing towards them.

  ‘Phil…and Mrs Fraser.’ She gave Polly a thin smile whilst Polly acknowledged her greeting with cool politeness. There was no mistaking the challenging way the other woman had said her name. That Mrs Fraser was quite plainly intended to put Polly where Suzi obviously thought she belonged—in a much older generation.

  ‘When you told me you had a business meeting this evening I didn’t realise it was with Mrs Fraser,’ Suzi told Phil. She was standing between them, her back very firmly towards Polly. The dress she was wearing was long, sheer and cut so low at the back it was immediately obvious that it would be impossible for her to wear any underwear beneath it.

  As Polly recoiled a little at that knowledge she chided herself for being absurdly old-fashioned. If a modern woman chose not to wear underwear then was that really so very shocking? Perhaps not, Polly acknowledged, but in her book Suzi’s deliberate advertisement of it by the way she leaned her weight first on one leg and then the other so that every male within eyesight was watching her with various degrees of discretion—or in some cases an open lack of it—was in Polly’s book certainly a little ill-bred.

  ‘When you said you were seeing a friend I had no idea you meant Mr Fraser,’ Phil was retaliating, with a venom in his voice that made Polly look at them both a little uncomfortably—a working relationship?

  ‘My friends are my own concern,’ Suzi told Phil sharply, adding outrageously, at least in Polly’s opinion, ‘But your business associates should, since I am your assistant, be mine.’

  Swinging round on her heel, she gave Polly a hard, assessing look before telling her sweetly, ‘I don’t know about you, Mrs Fraser, but I always feel rather sorry for older women who make the mistake of falling for younger men. They make themselves look so ridiculous, don’t you think?’

  ‘Human beings can make themselves look ridiculous in a wide variety of ways and for a wide variety of reasons,’ Polly countered quietly. ‘Perhaps I’m old-fashioned but it’s always been my credo to judge others as compassionately as I would like to have them judge me.’ And then, ignoring Suzi, she leaned across the table and told Phil calmly, ‘From what I’ve seen of the hotel, Phil, I’m sure it will make an excellent addition to your existing business, but now, if you’ll excuse me, I am feeling rather tired and I think it’s time I left.’

  Before he could say anything she stood up and started to walk swiftly towards the exit.

  Inside she was shaking with a mixture of pain and anger. How dared Suzi speak so insultingly to her? How dared she and Marcus flaunt their relationship whilst implying that she had no right to enjoy a similar degree of intimacy with Phil if she chose to do so? And, most of all, how dared fate hurt her in the way that it was doing? She could feel the sharp, searing, burning pain of her jealousy as though it were a living clawing incubus inside her.

  Tonight, Marcus would be holding Suzi, kissing her, touching her, whilst she…

  ‘Polly.’

  She froze as she felt the male hand grasping her arm and then relaxed as she realised it belonged to Phil. She had been so absorbed in her feelings that for a moment she’d actually thought that Marcus had come after her.

  ‘You can’t leave…not like this. I don’t know what on earth Suzi thought she was doing, speaking to you like that.’

  ‘Plainly she shares Mr Fraser’s belief that I’m an old has-been, a woman of a certain age, so desperate for a man that…
’

  To Polly’s consternation she discovered that she was perilously close to tears.

  ‘You’re no such thing,’ she could hear Phil reassuring her, his voice thickening as he protested, ‘Oh, my God, Polly, please don’t cry…If you do…Have you any idea how much I want to take you to bed right now?’

  ‘What for?’ she challenged him frantically. ‘So that you can count my wrinkles?’

  ‘Polly,’ she heard him groaning. ‘Look,’ he told her, ‘let’s go up to the suite. I’ll order us a room-service meal and…’

  Polly closed her eyes, ashamed of how very, very much she was tempted to accept. She knew, of course, that what Phil had in mind, what was really on the menu, was not a meal but a night of passion, and she was very tempted to take him up on it. Not because she wanted him, not even because she felt she wanted sex; no, the reason she was so dangerously inclined to accept was seated in the restaurant—all six-foot-odd of far too handsome, hunky masculinity for his own good. And certainly for hers.

  Marcus…That was why she was even considering accepting what Phil was offering her…Marcus…Oh, how she wanted, ached to prove him wrong, to show him that even if he did not want her, even if he did not believe she was attractive, desirable…loveable…another man quite obviously did. But then common sense and reality came to her rescue.

  Over the years there had been numerous opportunities for her to accept the kind of offer Phil was making her right now, but she had never once felt remotely tempted. No matter how hurt she was feeling now, how angry Marcus had made her, she was going to remain true to her own beliefs and her own moral code, which meant not having sex with a man she didn’t love.

  Putting her hand on Phil’s arm, Polly looked into his eyes and told him gently, ‘No, Phil. It’s very kind of you to offer, but…’ Against her will her glance was drawn back to the restaurant. She could see Marcus from where she was standing. He was sitting with his back to her, engrossed in his conversation with Suzi. Giving a faint sigh, Polly looked away.

  ‘I can see why you’re so enthusiastic about this hotel,’ she told Phil warmly.

  ‘When the deal goes through I shall be spending several months here in London—if you should change your mind…’

  ‘About dinner?’ Polly teased him, her mouth curving into a deep smile.

  ‘About anything,’ Phil responded firmly.

  A little regretfully she shook her head.

  ‘I shan’t change my mind,’ she told him. ‘The maître d’ will be concerned that you didn’t finish your meal.’

  ‘Like you, I’ve lost my appetite,’ Phil said, adding with a shrug, ‘I can always have something sent up to the suite later. I’ve got some work to do up there. I’ll see you into a taxi first, though.’

  A little to Polly’s irritation, when she returned to her own hotel she had the same problem getting into her room that she had had before. The girl on Reception—a different girl this time—summoned the porter to let her in with his pass key, explaining vaguely to Polly, ‘It does sometimes happen with these key cards. I’m very sorry.’

  It wasn’t quite ten o’clock, but Polly felt so drained that all she wanted to do was to go to bed.

  Stripping off her clothes, she hung her new dress carefully in the closet before relocking it, and then frowned as she realised that the other key had been removed from the other half of the wardrobe. Not that it mattered; she would not be needing to use it. Still, she was sure it had been there earlier. The maid must have removed it by accident when she had come in with the clean towels. Polly guessed.

  Only when she went into the bathroom a few minutes later she was disconcerted to find that a couple of the towels had been used and left to air on the heated towel rail.

  How odd! They weren’t the towels she had used, and nor were they hung on the rail the way she would have hung them. Perhaps the maid hadn’t replaced them after all…She had turned down the bed, though—both sides of it, Polly noticed in amusement.

  No doubt that was something she did automatically for all double rooms, even when they were only being used for a single occupancy.

  A nice long soak in a hot bath and then she intended to go to bed. She had brought a book with her so she could read for a while if she wanted to.

  Turning on the bath taps, Polly determinedly refused to allow herself to dwell on what Marcus would be doing now.

  They would probably have finished their meal. Perhaps they would retire to the bar afterwards, or maybe they would go straight to Marcus’s room.

  There were some things, some pains that not even the warmest, most deliciously scented water could ease, Polly acknowledged despairingly.

  It was only when she had stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in one of the courtesy bathrobes the hotel provided that she opened her overnight bag and realised that she had forgotten to bring a nightdress with her.

  Not that it mattered!

  One of the herbal sleeping tablets she always took with her when she was away from home would soon help her get off to sleep. Padding naked over to the bed, she slid into it and reached out to switch off the lights.

  Twenty minutes later she was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘EXCUSE me a moment.’ Marcus apologised tersely to Suzi, getting up from the table and striding out into the hotel foyer hard on the heels of Polly and Phil, coming to an abrupt halt when he realised that there was no sign of either of them. He had guessed right from the moment he had rung Fraser House asking to speak with Polly, only to be told that she was in London ‘on business’, just what her business was likely to be and with whom…And it gave him a certain sense of bitter satisfaction to know how shocked she had been to see him.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  Marcus frowned as the receptionist smiled politely at him.

  ‘Yes. Mr Bernstein and…’

  ‘Oh, Mr Bernstein has just gone up to his suite. He gave instructions that he isn’t to be disturbed, I’m afraid.’

  Grimly Marcus looked towards the lift. The temptation to go up to Phil Bernstein’s suite and physically compel Polly to leave with him was so strong that he had to ball his hands into fists to stop himself from giving in to it. Couldn’t she see what she was doing? Bernstein might be all flattering attention now, but Suzi had told him about her employer’s penchant for brief affairs. It had been providential that Suzi had already invited him to have dinner with her, and although initially he had declined her invitation she had been more than happy to have him change his mind. What he hadn’t been prepared for, though, was that Polly actually intended to spend the night with Phil Bernstein. He ached to go after her, to physically separate her from Phil Bernstein if necessary, but he knew that he couldn’t—that he didn’t have that right.

  ‘Marcus…’

  Marcus tensed as Suzi herself came hurrying out of the restaurant in search of him.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he responded. ‘I was just hoping to catch Polly. There was something I wanted to say to her.’

  ‘Yes, I should imagine there is,’ Suzi agreed, raising her eyebrows as she criticised contemptuously, ‘She really is making a fool of herself. She can’t possibly imagine that Phil is really attracted to her, surely? I mean, he can have his pick of much more glamorous and younger women…’ she continued disparagingly. Then saw the way Marcus was frowning at her.

  ‘But of course you’re bound to feel you have to defend her. She is, after all, a member of your family.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘I suppose I should really feel sorry for her. She’s going to come down to earth with a very nasty bump when Phil drops her. Still, we mustn’t let them spoil our night, must we?’ she asked him. She reached out invitingly towards him as she told him, ‘I can’t offer to take you up to my room. It wouldn’t be…politic…but we could go back to your hotel…’

  ‘No, I don’t think that would be a very good idea,’ Marcus replied wryly, shaking his head.


  The last thing he wanted to do was to go to bed with Suzi when all he could think about was Polly. And Suzi didn’t want him anyway; she just wanted a man—any man. Oh, God Polly: What was she doing? Was she all right?

  Before Suzi could voice the protests he could see she wanted to make, he released himself from her hold and stepped away, telling her shortly, ‘I’d better go. I’ve got an early start in the morning. I’m flying to China on business.’

  His company was engaged in very delicate negotiations with the Chinese about certain explorative mining work, and the last thing he really needed right now was the kind of intensely personal anxiety he was experiencing.

  Heading for the exit, he stepped outside into the cool night air whilst the doorman summoned him a taxi. Once in it, he gave the driver the address of the small hotel he had booked himself into. Quiet and well run, it was part of the same informal group of very select small hotels of which Fraser House was also a member and lay on the other side of London.

  Fifteen minutes later he emerged from his taxi to head for the hotel’s foyer, where the receptionist was in conversation with another guest. Checking that he had his key card, Marcus headed for the lift. His room was on the third floor, one of a small group of six rooms that overlooked the street.

  Sliding the key card into the lock, he waited until the light turned green and then went in.

  The first thing that struck him was her perfume, so familiar to him that initially he felt he must simply be imagining it, but then, in the dim glow from the entrance light he had switched on as he’d entered the room, he could see her shape beneath the bedclothes and the soft tangle of her hair.

  She slept curled up like a child, not quite but almost hugging her pillow. His heart started to beat very fast and then very slowly. What on earth was Polly doing in his room…in his bed?

  Frowning, he backed towards the bedroom door and walked back out into the hallway, letting the door close quietly behind him.

  Downstairs in the foyer the receptionist tried to be helpful.