Terms of Surrender

by Leslie Kelly

  They ground together, the position building her own delight so that she came again, this time long and steady, not a hot flash but a tidal wave of sensation.

  Hearing by her cries, or seeing by her expression that she’d been brought to the very highest peak of pleasure, Danny let go of any last restraints. He drove hard, guttural groans emerging from his mouth as he rode them both toward oblivion. Then, finally, with a deep cry of pure satisfaction, he joined her in it.

  They panted together for a long minute, her, naked, clinging to him, pressed between his hard, still-clothed body and the wall. She didn’t think her legs would support her if she tried to stand. Fortunately, Danny’s massive arms and powerful shoulders seemed fully capable of holding her all day if he wanted to.

  She hoped he wanted to. Because as far as she was concerned, this had just been the let’s-blow-off-some-steam encounter. A long, slow, steamy one was definitely in order.

  They still had promises to keep, after all.

  “Hey, Mari?” he whispered against her hair.

  “Yes?”

  His chest rumbled a little as a laugh rose within him.

  “Hate to tell you this, sweetheart…but you’re going to have to walk out of here without a pair of panties under your skirt again.”

  She laughed as well, remembering how he’d ripped them off her. “You know, ever since meeting you, Lieutenant Commander Wilkes, I’ve discovered I kinda like going commando.”

  9

  Friday 5/27/11, 03:30 p.m.

  www.mad-mari.com/2011/05/27/TGIF

  Sorry my post is late going up today—I’ve been very, uh, busy for the past couple of days.

  Anyway, whoop! It’s Friday, meaning, another week over and less deep in debt.

  I guess that’s a pretty obscure reference. I’m badly paraphrasing an old song my dad used to play when I was a kid. The point is, I’ve finished my first full (well, part-time) week of gainful employment.

  Honestly, I think I did okay. That was despite a few unexpected curveballs. I think I adapted to them pretty well. Actually, I’ve adapted to a lot of things pretty well.

  La-la-la-la-la. (Picture me sticking my fingers in my ears and humming so I don’t have to listen to you all beg me to say WHAT things have you adapted to, Mari?)

  Never you mind ‘bout that.

  So, it’s Friday. Bad Date Day, remember? Usually I’d ask you to spill the details of your worst date in recent memory. But I’m thinking today we might change things up a bit. Let’s be a little more optimistic and upbeat, shall we? How about we share stories of a wonderful date. The most exciting, romantic, memorable date you’ve ever had. Best story (in my judgment) gets autographed copies of BOTH my books.

  Yes, it’s still me, Mari. My giddy, romantic teenage sister has not snuck into my place, taken over my computer and posted this mushy stuff. And I have no doubt I’ll still manage to find something to snark about in the sweet stories that are about to unfold. But hey, give it a shot, why don’t you? We could all use a little romance, right?

  Except for me. I’ve already got my own! (haha—gotcha, didn’t I?!)

  TTYL—

  Mari

  P.S. I have a date tomorrow night myself. I so don’t remember how to do this dating thing!

  Hmm…do people still kiss on the first date?

  :bats lashes:

  DURING THE REGULAR SCHOOL year, or the official upcoming summer term, Danny would have had very little spare time. Between actually teaching, grading, counseling and hands-on interaction with the students, he’d be working a regular nine-to-five schedule.

  Now, though, in the no-man’s-land between semesters, he had lots of unclaimed hours on his hands. Which was a very good thing. Because after that wild, passionate encounter with Mari in the classroom, he had taken the next two days off and they’d gone from steamy encounter to seismic event.

  The two of them had left campus Wednesday afternoon—somehow managing to avoid running into anyone he knew, who might have noticed his rumpled clothing or her well-kissed mouth—and spent the next forty-eight hours sans clothes. They’d pretty much remained in her bed, getting out of it only to call for Chinese takeout, or to move their steamy sexual play into the shower, or, once, very late Thursday night, out onto her balcony.

  They’d probably still be there, if not for the fact that Danny had really needed to go back down to Annapolis Friday afternoon to get some other clothes, and to check his mail. He’d been doing that compulsively, knowing he should be hearing any day about his application to NASA.

  That was something he should probably tell Mari about. With her aversion to him being in the navy, he couldn’t help but think she’d view it as good news. And as crazy as it was to be thinking long-term when they’d only known each other less than a month, he couldn’t deny his thoughts were going in that direction. Every minute he spent with her reinforced his certainty that something pretty special was happening between them. He suspected she felt the same way.

  So, yeah, hearing that he might end up leaving the military, living a pretty normal life in Houston rather than being shipped around the world every other year, might appeal to her. A lot.

  Frankly, though, he didn’t want to talk about it yet. Very few people knew, and he liked it that way, not wanting anyone around him to get their expectations up as high as his were. He had the right stuff, and knew he had a good chance of getting in. But so did a lot of other qualified guys.

  By Saturday evening, after more than twenty-four hours away from her, he was more than anxious to head back up to Baltimore. And the closer he got to her place, the more anxious he became. It would be hard not to walk through her front door, swoop her into his arms and carry her straight to bed. He had become insatiable for the woman.

  But he would refrain. Tonight, he wanted to take Mari on their first official date—her thank-you lunch hadn’t really counted, in his opinion. Mainly because she’d paid.

  This one, dinner at a nice restaurant, was the real deal. And he wanted it to be perfect.

  It seemed kinda crazy—the two of them “dating” after the intensely erotic things they’d been doing to each other for the past couple of days. But it was a good kind of crazy. An important kind of crazy. She needed to know he wanted to be with her, not just to be between her legs.

  But, oh, had that become one of his favorite places on the face of the earth.

  Arriving in the city and parking, he called up from the street, knowing she’d be watching for him so he wouldn’t have to knock on her door. Her nosy neighbor had kept him talking for almost a half hour the day he’d finally left. And if he again had to see her knowing smirk and accompanying eyebrow wag as she reminded him how thin the walls were, he’d lose it. Talk about embarrassing. It was one thing to get some ragging from a buddy, but from a woman who looked like his grandma?

  Well, to be honest, she resembled his grandpa more. Mrs. Faraday wasn’t the most attractive old lady he’d ever met.

  Unfortunately, the woman had the ears of a six-year-old waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. He’d no sooner taken one cautious step down the carpeted hallway before her door creaked open.

  “Oh, you’re back! Can’t get enough, huh?”

  He managed a tight smile. “Hello, Mrs. Faraday.”

  “She’s in there, hon, she just got out of the shower.” She gave him a thumbs-up. “And this time, I heard the hair dryer running. She’s obviously getting dolled up for ya.”

  He grimaced. The woman obviously hadn’t been kidding about those thin walls. He couldn’t imagine how much her ears must have been burning Wednesday night. Christ, Danny’s own throat had been sore from all the groaning. And he couldn’t imagine how Mari’s felt…the woman was a screamer.

  Don’t think about that. Not if he wanted to get past this eagle-eyed old woman with his dignity intact. Because if her vision was as good as her hearing, she’d surely noticed if he tented his trousers.

  “I don’t suppose you’re any go
od with your hands, are you, hon?” she asked. Then came that sly chuckle. “Whoops, let me rephrase that. Do you know anything about how to get the cockadoody cable box to work? I pushed a button on the remote and now can’t get any picture. It cut off right in the middle of Judge Judy!”

  “That’s terrible,” he replied, his tone grave.

  He thought he heard a muffled sound from the other side of Mari’s door. It might have been a low peal of laughter, and he suddenly pictured her, right there listening, not wanting to open up and get sucked into this conversation, too.

  “Let me fix it for you real quick, Mrs. Faraday.”

  That way, hopefully the woman would keep her TV turned up really loud this evening. Meaning tomorrow, he wouldn’t have to hear any comments about how she’d needed ear plugs to get to sleep the night before.

  Ten minutes later, after refusing at least five offers of tea and cookies, or beer and hot dogs, he managed to get out of the woman’s cluttered apartment and head for Mari’s door. He lifted his hand to knock, but it swung open before he had to. She grabbed his hand and pulled him in as fast as possible, giggling as he stumbled right into her and kicked the door shut behind them.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi, yourself.” He took advantage of their proximity and wrapped his arms tightly around her, bending down for a warm kiss hello. She tasted as sweet and welcoming as ever, the taste of her mouth becoming as necessary to him as his own breath.

  “Miss me?” she asked when they finally ended the kiss and drew apart.

  “Would I sound too sappy if I admit I’ve been doodling our initials on pieces of paper since yesterday?”

  She snorted a laugh. “Liar.”

  “I’ve missed you,” he said simply. “Are you ready to go?”

  Nodding, she said, “I just need to grab something,” and picked up a brightly colored gift bag from the nearby kitchen table. “Okay, ready.”

  He eyed the bag. “What’s that?”

  “It’s for you.”

  “Crap, did I forget our anniversary?”

  She chuckled. “Well, come to think of it, we did meet exactly three weeks ago today.”

  He made the sign of an L on his forehead. “What’s the three-week anniversary gift? Paper? Silver?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s rubies,” she said, sounding droll.

  “Okay, we’d better hit a jewelry store while we’re out.”

  She playfully swatted his arm. “I’m kidding. It’s not that kind of present. It’s more of a…well…”

  “What?” A thought occurred to him and his brow shot up. “Wait, is it sexy lingerie? Because if we go out to some fancy restaurant and you hand me a bag containing something sinful that you intend to wear later, you can pretty much count on us not sticking around long enough for coffee and dessert. Or, hell, a main course.”

  “Nope,” she replied, then, her eyes twinkling, added, “Though, maybe one of these days I’ll take my panties off and give them to you in a gift bag.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced you own any.”

  “Well, if you keep ripping them off me, I won’t for long.”

  “Come on, you like the way I rip them off you.”

  She shivered lightly and her lids lowered a little over dreamy eyes. “Mmm. You bet I do.”

  He glanced at his watch, noted the time, thought about the dinner reservation… Nope. Couldn’t swing it. “We’d better get out of here before I dine on you instead of fancy French food.”

  “I like French,” she said, with a tiny, mischievous smile.

  Yeah, so did he. God, just the thought of how her tongue felt in his mouth had him ready to get hard again.

  “Hold that thought,” he told her.

  “Consider it held.”

  He held it, too—the thought of kissing her, tasting her, sampling every bit of her—throughout their drive downtown. Their light, flirty conversation distracted him from those images when they reached the small, romantic restaurant and were seated at a table in a private corner. But they quickly returned when he watched her sip her fruity cocktail, licking the red juice off her lips.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she ordered.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re Edward and I’m Bella and you want to dine on me.”

  He laughed softly, catching the reference. His sister, Jazz, was one of those full-grown women who’d gone Twilight-mad.

  “I do want to dine on you, so you’d better distract me,” he told her, reaching for his water and taking a deep sip.

  She nodded. “I think I can do that,” she said, reaching to retrieve the gift bag she’d placed under the table.

  He’d forgotten all about it, to be honest. “You really shouldn’t have gotten me anything.”

  She put the bag on the table, but kept her hand on it, not pushing it over to him. “This isn’t exactly a gift—it’s more like an explanation.” Her throat quivered as she swallowed, as if she had to work up the nerve to say more.

  Suddenly more interested, Danny leaned forward in his chair, dropping his elbows onto the table. Mari looked almost nervous, and very serious. The sexy, playful mood disappeared and he sensed that whatever she wanted to tell him—or show him—it meant a lot to her.

  “Okay, I’m intrigued.”

  Nodding, she reached for her drink, sipped, then put it down. “Well, now that we’re, uh, doing whatever it is we’re doing, I feel like you should know the truth about me.”

  Hearing the quiver in her voice, he said, “Honey, as long as you don’t tell me you’re married or a transvestite, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  She managed a faint smile. “Neither of those.” Then she pushed the bag toward him. “I am, however, sort of, um…famous.”

  Taken completely by surprise, he ignored the bag, staring into her wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, not movie-star famous. But I, uh…well, you know I just finished getting my doctorate.”

  “What, did you discover the cure for cancer?”

  That got a slight laugh. “Hardly. The thing is, I paid my way through school by writing.”

  That didn’t come as too much of a shock. He’d read her article, and knew she had a gift for words.

  “These are copies of my two published books.”

  “Seriously?” he said, his admiration for her going up even higher. “You’re a published author?”

  She nodded, snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, and nudged the bag closer. As he reached for the tissue at the top, more of that beautiful, kissable lip disappeared. He realized she was not just a little nervous, she was actually worried about this.

  Unable to imagine why, unless she was some infamous pornographer—and, damn, with her sexual prowess, she probably could be—he reached into the bag and retrieved the two oversize paperbacks. His gaze first went to the author’s name. “Mad-Mari?”

  “That’s me.”

  Huh. It fit. He hadn’t seen her angry very often, but a mad Mari was pretty formidable. At the very least, she was pretty damned sarcastic.

  Then he saw the titles. And began to cough into his fist.

  Mari—his sexy, romantic, irresistible Mari—had written books called Why Do Men Suck? and Thanks, But I’ll Just Keep My Vibrator? Was that even possible?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah?” he asked, wondering how she could know, when he, himself, hadn’t decided yet.

  “You’re thinking I’m a man-bashing feminist or something.”

  No, he wasn’t thinking that. He hadn’t been thinking that at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. The first coherent thought that had crossed his mind was that somebody had really broken her heart. Which just pissed him off. “Who was he?”

  “Huh?”

  “The guy who hurt you enough to make you write these books?”

  She shook her head slowly. “There was no guy. Well, no specific guy.”
/>   Meaning there were a bunch of them? He couldn’t deny a twinge of discomfort at that thought. He was no saint, but, damn, he didn’t want to think of Mari having been involved with a whole boatload of men before him.

  “And no,” she said, as if reading his mind, “I was not some tramp who let herself get used by a bunch of guys.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief, then waited for her explanation.

  “The truth is, I dated a normal amount, never considered myself in love and never had my heart broken.”

  He gestured toward the titles. And so she told him the whole story. How she’d started a blog during college. How she’d made kvetching about bad dates a regular feature of that blog. About how it had exploded in popularity, catching the eye of an agent, who’d suggested she try writing a humorous self-help book.

  And that was it. End of story. She’d done it, made a lot of women laugh, achieved some success, made some money. A bona fide success story. And he was incredibly proud of her for it.

  But none of that explained why she’d been nervous about telling him. “That’s fantastic,” he said, meaning it. “And I can’t wait to read them.”

  “They’re meant to be funny,” she reminded him, “not insulting.”

  He knew her well enough to know they were meant to be a little insulting. But hell, her wicked sense of humor was one of the things he liked best about her.

  “I can take it,” he told her. Then, reaching for his drink, pretending he wasn’t keenly interested in hearing the rest of the story, he added, “So what haven’t you told me yet?”

  “Pardon?”

  That was about as guilty an expression as he’d ever seen on her face. “Come on, spill it. I know there’s more. We haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, then gave him the rest of it in one long, rushed explanation. “I still have my blog. I still write as Mad-Mari every day. It’s fun and it’s silly and I have a lot of loyal followers. But you wouldn’t be interested. You’d hate it in fact, so please, I want you to promise me that you won’t visit it.”