Nameless Surrender

by Kristin Daniels

  She met his stare and the power of it nearly knocked him out. This was her, his mystery woman, the reason behind his perpetual hard-on.

  Speaking of which....

  Damn. Down, boy.

  She shot him a sideways look. “I think I can handle you, Captain."

  "Dean.” Say it. Say my name. He did his damnedest to convey that message without words, a concept she should understand without any trouble.

  She tilted her head ever so slightly and studied him for a moment. “All right,” she said in a low and sexy voice. “Dean."

  Oh, yeah.

  After months of restraint—in more ways than one—on his part, not to mention weeks of fantasies, she had finally said his name. Granted, not in the way he'd imagined, but the sound as it broke free from her lips hit him hard. The fire no longer raged in his shoulder. Now all his nerve endings blazed in a grip around his heart.

  He let out a long, haggard breath.

  "Are you okay? Any dizziness? Nausea?” She stepped even closer. “You're a little flushed."

  She brushed his forehead with the inside of her wrist. The simple touch made his blood charge through his veins.

  "Hmm. You don't seem feverish. Are you hot?"

  He stifled a laugh. “Hot” didn't begin to cover it. He burned just from her nearness. “I'm fine. Although I won't complain too much if you happen to offer a little T.L.C., Doc."

  Smiling, she lifted the gauze pad from his shoulder and prodded the area around his wound. “Oh, big strong man needs a little tender, loving care.” She stilled, closed her eyes, lowered her head, and rested a warm hand on his bicep. “Nice, Zoe. Could you be more insensitive?"

  The zing from the firm grip went straight to his cock.

  A pink hue rose from under her lab coat, up her neck and settled in her cheeks. She opened her eyes and pinned him. “I'm very sorry, Captain. That comment was completely unprofessional. I don't usually let my internal thoughts fly like that.” With a sexy lift at the edge of her mouth, she lowered her eyelids along with her voice. “You seem to have some kind of effect on my subconscious."

  He nearly came undone. Then his mind sparked with sudden insight. Their bodies were so in tune with each other's that instinct naturally took over. She knew him in her soul and had reacted without a second of forethought. The idea made his heart pound, but he held back and forced coolness to his demeanor.

  "No problem, Doc. Tease me all you want. I can take it.” He smiled and suppressed the impulse to pull her into his arms, flip her under him and fuck her blind right there.

  Her smile blossomed. “Good to know.” She shook her head and laughed—the sound of an angel.

  Truly, Lady Luck had him in her sights. For as shitty as the night had been, circumstances had taken a definite turn for the better. Way, way better.

  She pulled a tray of instruments closer, selected the syringe and popped the top off the needle. “This might sting a little,” she said with a wink, “but I'm sure you can handle it.” She injected lidocaine into his shoulder in several spots around the open wound.

  He never felt a thing. He just stared at her, and caught himself doing so when she did a double-take. He knew the look came across hungry—predatory even—yet she never flinched.

  She recapped the syringe and set it back on the tray with fluid movements. For some reason, he found the way she acted in her natural element sexy as hell.

  "We'll let that numb up a bit.” She ripped off the gloves and sucked in a shaky breath. He wanted to grin. She had to feel it, too.

  She grabbed his chart and keyed information into the computer next to the gurney. “It says here you're commander of a S.W.A.T. team. How'd this particular incident happen?"

  He studied her profile and his entire body hummed. “Bar fight. The owner is a friend of mine and he needed a hand. Alcohol and firearms should never mix. When they do, something like this is often the end result."

  She nodded and returned to her calm professionalism. “We see it all too frequently here as well."

  "I can imagine, just from knowing what goes on in the streets.” He shifted. “But tonight I was off duty. Just a regular guy out to have a good time."

  She typed away, but still flashed him heated little glances. “Oh? And where were you for this good time?"

  Ah, here we go. “The Haze Bar."

  Her fingers stopped dead on the keyboard. She swallowed. Hard. “Haze?"

  "Yeah. Over on Dempster. Have you been there?"

  Her cheeks pinked as she turned to grab a fresh pair of gloves. She snapped them on and completely avoided eye contact. “Once."

  He didn't like the idea of making her uncomfortable, but the devil in him pushed a little further. “Once, huh? It's a nice place. The atmosphere is nothing like what the name implies.” He intentionally lowered his voice. “Unless a good haze is what you're looking for."

  The pulse in that sexy little spot on her neck thumped a samba rhythm under her creamy skin. He'd give anything to press his lips to her skin, to feel that little thump against his tongue.

  "I ... I suppose. I really didn't see too much of the place. I was, um, supposed to meet a, that is, a friend invited me. But right after I arrived, I got called in to work and had to leave."

  Her eyes darkened and the familiar scent of her arousal acted as an igniter for his own lust. God, if a short evasive conversation about their near miss tonight turned her on this much....

  It made him angry all over again that she got called away, but at the same time it fueled his determination to see the plan through. “We could rectify that. Have a drink there with me, instead of whoever you were supposed to meet."

  Her gaze flew to his. The gold specks in her dark eyes captivated him. “Thank you, but I can't."

  He chuckled, continued to play it cool while warning bells blared in his head. “Well, I didn't mean tonight. Considering my circumstances—"

  She shook her head and averted her eyes. “No. I meant I can't—ever.

  What the fuck? Had he read her wrong this entire time? Didn't she feel it, too? The pull? The attraction?

  "Why not?"

  She grasped the forceps and clasped the tiny needle with suddenly shaky fingers. An odd tug pulled when the needle pierced his skin, similar to the tug that warred against his now tentative control. She tied off a perfect stitch, then another.

  Her voice rose barely above a whisper. “I can't. I never date patients, Captain Lucas."

  He leaned in closer and inhaled her sweet fragrance. Her pheromones attacked his senses and made his cock pound in time with his heart. He licked his suddenly dry lips and hit on the fact she'd reverted to using his title instead of his name. “That doesn't matter, Doc. In ten minutes, I won't be your patient any more."

  "Technicality, Captain.” She winked once again. “I'm all done here.” She tossed the spent needle on the tray. “The nurse will be in to dress this and give you a script for antibiotics along with your discharge papers."

  The urgency to get out of the room flowed from her in waves. What the hell? Why in God's name was she running?

  Cee's words from last week sprang to his mind. I wouldn't push her. If you do, you might just end up pushing her so far she won't come back.

  "Great to meet you, Captain. If you need anything else, you can let one of the nurses know."

  And with that, she ripped back the curtain and hurried away. She left him on the gurney, hard as a rock, pissed off and confused as hell.

  * * * *

  Oh, dear God.

  Zoe practically ran to the on-call sleeping room, praying no one was in there. She zipped inside the empty—thank you!—room and slammed the door behind her. Turning, she flipped the lock and rested her forehead against the door.

  What was wrong with her? When had she become some sort of wanton woman? A man looks at her and she becomes a shameless flirt, he licks his lips and she fantasizes that it's her tongue on his mouth.

  But in all honesty, her last pati
ent hadn't been just any man. He had a way about him, an almost certain familiarity. And the way he talked to her, hell, not to mention his fiery gazes, or that gorgeous rock-hard chest....

  A few more words or stares and she might've chucked it all. Screw her resolve, to hell with her vow of no more relationships. A man like that could make her forget her own name, let alone past heartaches.

  Yeah, a man like that.

  Her body purred at the thought of him. Christ, she ached. She'd been in a heightened state of sexual awareness all night long, and he only added to that. A hundred times over. Her pussy throbbed and her tight nipples rasped against the silkiness of her blouse. The sensitivity sent a tingly pleasure straight through her.

  She took a moment to control her breaths, but it did no good. Visions of the delectable Captain Dean Lucas flooded her mind. Damn, he pushed every one of her buttons. Somehow he knew exactly what to say to get her hot.

  The Haze Bar?

  Could he be...?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. No. In the short time she'd been there, she'd inspected every man in sight. He hadn't been one of them. She definitely would have remembered him.

  She shivered at the reason she'd been in the bar in the first place. Then a sultry heat took over, her body's lustful reaction to what her mysterious partner-in-sin had planned for her tonight.

  Both strong, powerful men crowded into her thoughts now. They blurred into one in her mind and kept her in a terrible state of want. Her vagina clenched and she regretted removing the bullet when she'd come on duty. With nothing inside her, the emptiness bordered on painful. She needed to be filled, to be fucked.

  Alone, in a dark room. What more could she ask for? She lifted her lab coat and the short skirt and pushed two fingers deep inside her drenched pussy. The muscles inside her clamped down, nerve endings sprang to life. She thrust in and out as the middle finger of her other hand found the hard button of her clit.

  Oh, God, just a little more. So close. Tremors in her legs came quick, and she locked her knees so she wouldn't collapse. As she worked her fingers faster, her breaths rasped against the cold wood of the door.

  She bit her lower lip and moaned as quietly as she could. Her mind filled with an image of the sensual Captain. He stood in the corner of the room, feet spaced wide, arms crossed over his chest, eyes deep and mystical as he watched her get off. Then another interrupted, this one of her wearing blindfold, the rock-hard naked body of her partner towering over her from behind to take over the job.

  Her orgasm came quickly, filled with powerful sensations that converged all at once. She opened her mouth on a silent scream, absorbed the release, and prayed for it to ease her sudden insatiable ache. The contractions milked her fingers. She pulled them from her body to cup herself and pressed her hand against the pulsations.

  For a few moments, she stood there and panted against the door. The desire—the want—barely dissipated. The climax only took off the immediate edge. She desperately needed the club. The bindings, the ropes, the mask. And him. She needed him. Bad.

  Zoe adjusted her clothes, opened the door and slunk into the bathroom. She cleaned up, set herself to rights and sauntered nonchalantly as she could back to the nurse's station.

  Maxwell Grant chatting up a nurse when she got there froze her still semi-heated blood. Crap. Why, tonight of all nights, did he have to show up here? She stepped up next to him, which stopped his flirtation mid-stride.

  "Zoe, there you are. I nearly asked this sweet nurse here to send out a search party. Where have you been?"

  She pulled out a patient folder and avoided eye contact. “I'm working, Daddy. Why are you here so late?” Then guilt-ridden panic flared and she turned to him. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?"

  "No, no, I'm fine. Stephen told me you couldn't have dinner with us tonight. I tried your cell, but you didn't answer. I thought I'd swing by on my way home to see if you were here."

  She turned to Susan, the nurse on duty, who must have read her pleading expression. Within seconds, she'd gathered her files and left father and daughter alone at the desk.

  "It's late,” Zoe said. “You should be home in bed instead out looking for me."

  He huffed. “I may be dying, my dear, but I'm not yet dead. So long as this tumor in my brain will allow, I'm going to live my life as normally as I can. You should know that better than anyone.” He stuffed his hands in his dress pant pockets and looked down on her as if she were ten again. “Don't bury me now, little Zoe."

  Little Zoe. The nickname used to grate on every one of her nerves, but she never told him so. When she was a young child, that was the only term of endearment he'd ever given her. She soon became accustomed to the name and long ago stopped caring that she'd outgrown it.

  "How'd dinner go?” The moment she spoke, she regretted the question.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Stephen is a professional, Zoe. He knows how to meet his obligations. He wined and dined Tom Frazier to perfection. Might've been easier to do had you been there, but we signed him nonetheless."

  And there it was, one of those little digs that she'd become so adept at ignoring. She turned her head and sighed. Maybe at some point he'd realize comments like that no longer impacted her the way they once did.

  He'd continue to try, though, she knew. If one word could be attached to her father, it'd have to be relentless. He constantly attempted to get her to do what he believed to be the right thing, to look at the bigger picture.

  And according to him, staying married to Stephen Crane would be one of those right things. Only she had decided to toss it all out the window over what he considered to be a little misunderstanding.

  Lord, if he only knew.

  "I'm not his wife anymore, Daddy. I'm not going to a business dinner to put on a show so you can snag a potential client."

  Her father bristled. “It was only one dinner, Zoe. He's done everything he can to make up for his indiscretions. Why do you have to be so difficult? Your mother would never have let such a minor mistake ruin our marriage. You should try and be a bit more forgiving."

  Wow, two attempts at zings in one night. He's on a roll.

  The mention of her mother always made her cringe. He never brought her up unless he needed to directly compare her behavior to how Zoe had screwed something up. In her father's eyes, her mother had been perfect in every way, so very far from Zoe herself. She died in a car accident the year Zoe turned nine and had been ensconced high on a pedestal ever since.

  "I'm not taking him back. What he did was a deal-breaker, Daddy.” She lifted her hand. “I don't want to discuss this right now. It's over, done with. Just let it go."

  "I can't let it go, child. This divorce has hit Stephen hard. You need to let him explain—"

  "He has explained. Over and over. He was unfaithful, Daddy. That's something I can't ignore. I don't love him anymore. And he certainly can't love me—"

  He harrumphed. “Love's overrated. Compatibility is what's important."

  She stood in shock. How could he say such a thing? He'd loved her mother more than anyone, more than anything.

  Zoe sighed, frustrated. “I understand that Stephen is like the son you never had, but please, try to look at things from my perspective."

  He removed his hands from his pockets and gripped her shoulders. “Oh, Zoe, all I'm trying to do is help you. We both know I won't be around much longer. I need to know you're taken care of. Stephen can provide for you, give you everything you could ever want."

  Zoe studied him for a moment. He suddenly looked older, and her heart ached. She shook her head. “No, Daddy. He can't."

  She saw, looking over her father's shoulder, Captain Lucas exiting the exam room. He stared her down from thirty feet away, but the distance did nothing to stop the earlier tingles. They returned, and in full force.

  Her father frowned, released her and followed her glance. “Who is that?” The tone of his voice snapped at her.

  She took in her fa
ther's profile. His cheeks flushed an angry red that spread into the white of his hair at the temples. His bushy eyebrows drew together in distinguished wrinkles at the bridge of his nose.

  "He's a patient, Daddy. Commander of the S.W.A.T. team. A bullet grazed his shoulder tonight and I stitched him up."

  Dean looked from her to her father and back. The nurse handed him some papers, and he took them without breaking eye contact.

  Awareness flooded her, and she couldn't help herself. She smiled.

  His eyes softened and he returned the gesture, along with a quick wink before he turned and pushed his way through the double doors of the ER.

  When her father turned back, she made a conscious effort not to shrink from at the accusation his dark eyes held. “What's that all about?"

  She could tell what ran through his thoughts, that Dean had suddenly become direct competition against Stephen. Little did he know that if she ever decided to go down the path of a relationship again, there'd be no contest. Stephen would lose before he ever got started.

  "Nothing, Daddy. Go home. Get some rest."

  He stood there for a moment before placing the required kiss to her forehead. “Think about what I said, little Zoe. You need to take Stephen back. It will be for the best."

  He moved straight past her, didn't even wait to see what her reaction to such a statement might be, and strode to the elevators through the interior exit at the opposite end of the corridor.

  She stood in the middle of the hallway, caught between the two doors, the two men, and all they represented. One could possibly lead her to everything she wanted for her new self, her new outlook. But the other? The other she needed to steer clear of. She refused to get sucked back into her old guilt and duty-filled life.

  This was her chance. No way would she miss out on taking it.

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  Nameless Surrender: Chapter 6

  Twenty-four hours had passed since Dean forced himself to leave Zoe with the angry gray-haired man in the ER. Rampant frustration still coursed through him as he strode down the hallway toward his room at Entice. He had no idea who the man was or what kind of relationship he had with her, but Dean sensed the older man caused her a great deal of sorrow. The melancholy smile she'd given him last night nearly ripped the heart from his chest. Dealing with hard-ass pricks like that on a day-in, day-out basis could make anyone want to find a way to forget and let loose. Damn, no wonder she wanted to give up control.