Seduced - Book Three - Surrender Series

by Anne, Melody

  In her excitement, she reached out and grabbed his arm, her fingers searing his skin. Since she was the first to touch, would it be breaking the rules if he hauled her onto his lap and finally took her lips? Yes, dammit. He knew it would.

  He gritted his teeth; he didn’t dare move, for fear that she would pull away.

  “Listen to this:

  My dearest Saphronia, the nights grow ever darker and colder without you near me. I miss the feel of your fingers in my hand, the soft tilt of your lips when you smile, the sparkle in your eyes when you laugh. There are times I think our God might never call an end to this terrible war, and I’ll never find comfort in your presence again. My life as a soldier is grim, but I am saved from despair by thinking of those few days of felicity with you. The thought of kissing your sweet lips one more time keeps me going. The only thing that gets me through these long nights is the knowledge that you are waiting for me. Just know that if anything ever happens to me, you were loved to my last, dying breath. You are my light, my world. They can say you are the enemy, because you live in the Rebel South, but I will never believe it. And though I cannot regret a war waged against slavery, I am cut to the quick that you and I must be so cruelly kept asunder.

  Self-slaughter has been treated as a horror and a shame by the church and by many who follow our Lord’s tenets. And yet I witness it more and more, and with more understanding. Today, a young man in our company, a child of seventeen, took his own life after looking upon a man he’d just killed, a Confederate soldier of similar age and aspect to his. My God! The body before him, the life taken by his hand, was his cousin, with whom he had engaged in the delights of boyish play only two years before. I am consumed by horror at the thought that such could happen to me. What if my weapon were to send one of your loved ones to the grave? How could I endure?

  My love for you has no end. Please, know this and never doubt.

  Yours always,

  William

  “That is the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever read,” Ari said as a tear fell down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away before it managed to reach the pages of the journal — before realizing that the pages were protected against her tears. Then her fingers stroked the page where an obvious teardrop from long ago had fallen and smudged the word love. It was so fitting.

  “That is sad,” Rafe said softly, not knowing what else to say. He wasn’t a cold man, but it was hard to feel heartbreak over a couple of people who were long gone.

  “I have to know what happened. Did they make it back into each other’s arms? Do you know?” she demanded.

  “I can’t tell you that. It would ruin the story for you,” he said, not wanting her to lose interest in reading the journal. It was the only thing he had right now that would keep her coming back to his home.

  “Yes, you are right, of course. I’m just so afraid of what is going to happen. I’ve never been patient when watching a movie or reading a book, especially if I can’t guarantee there’s a happy ending. This was your father’s family, right?”

  “Yes. My mother is from Italy,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, of course. I forgot that, probably because your father, though an American, also has an Italian name. I just — what if she was pregnant and he never made it back to her? What if he never saw his child?”

  “All romances have their share of ups and downs, Ari. If the battle was too easy, then how could we appreciate what we have?” he asked. He wanted so badly to hold her, to rekindle their romance.

  For several heart-stopping moments, Ari looked at him, then she glanced back down at the journal, and soon she was lost again in the story of William and Saphronia. Her hand was still gripping his arm as if it were so insignificant, she didn’t even notice. He sure as hell noticed.

  Rafe didn’t move until her hand drifted away as she turned another page; yes, her attention was once again diverted and he was bested again by the journal. He’d wanted to get her to his home, but he had hoped to have seduced her by now.

  That most likely wasn’t going to happen this time around. Looking at the clock, he noted that it was nearing midnight. There was no way she could drive home, not with the amount of wine she’d drunk. He could have Mario drive her, deliver her car for her, but he didn’t want her to leave. Having her in his home again, though torturous in some ways, also grounded him.

  To his complete and utter astonishment, he discovered that even though his body was on fire, he didn’t care. He was satisfied with sitting in the same room with her. Yes, he wanted her like nothing he’d ever wanted before, but just being with her eased the ache that had been with him for the past two years.

  She completed him in a way that was beyond his capability of imagining. Leaning back, he lost all interest in work as he watched her move through the pages. The expressions on her face were a sight to behold, and he could almost read the story through her eyes alone.

  It was obvious when a more lighthearted letter appeared, or when something tragic happened. Her chest would rise and her breath hitched as she carefully turned the pages of the journal to see what was happening next.

  Ari was a romantic. Why hadn’t he realized this before? If he wanted to win her, he had to treat her the way a woman should be treated, spoil her with priceless gifts or, better, with gifts that cost little but meant much, bring her flowers, take her to historical places. He needed to know her beyond the bedroom.

  He’d thought he had known Ari, thought he’d known what she wanted, but he hadn’t known her at all. He hadn’t taken the time to learn what would truly make her happy, hadn’t tried hard enough to win her. He would now.

  He watched as her eyes closed, her fingers still holding on to the journal. Within a few moments, her breathing deepened and she was asleep, her body leaning toward the protection of his.

  Rafe sighed in happiness as she floated into his arms; with his hand holding her shoulder, she murmured in her sleep, and then her head drifted to his chest. He spent the next several moments running his fingers through the silken strands of her hair as he leaned down and inhaled her floral scent.

  “I can’t set you free, Ari. I just can’t,” he said in apology; he reached beneath her and gently lifted her into his arms.

  Should he let her go?

  Yes, most likely. He was broken in so many ways. He’d mistreated her, broken her heart, and shattered her innocence. A better man would let her live her life free of him.

  He couldn’t be that better man.

  Rafe slowly moved through his house and into the master bedroom, where his massive bed didn’t even dominate the room.

  There was so much space in his home, and he had been living there alone for so long. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case for too much longer. With luck and extreme effort on his part, Ari would soon share every night with him, and the days, too.

  Laying her down on his bed, he looked at the sight she made, her golden hair spread out on his pillow, her mouth turned up in a slight smile.

  Being careful not to wake her, he undid her pants and slid them from her slender legs. Because he hadn’t had enough torture, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, just a brief touch, a chaste kiss.

  “Rafe…” she sighed, but didn’t wake.

  Yes, they would make it through. Even in her dreams, she called for him. He wondered what she was dreaming at that moment. Most likely she was somewhere in the South while waiting for her hero to find her. Rafe could picture himself as that man.

  Wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed with her, it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to cover her up and then turn away.

  “You’re in this for the long haul, Rafe, the long haul. If you blow this now, she will run away scared and another couple of years may pass.” As much pain as it caused him, he turned off the lights and left the room. There wouldn’t be much sleep for him that night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rachel

  As Rachel arrived at the hotel, she realized she d
idn’t have a last name for Ian or any way to let the maître d’ know the person she was looking for. Stepping from the taxi, she was less than a second away from turning back and forgetting the entire evening.

  It was foolish, after all. What would her parents say? What would Rafe say! Her parents, she could handle; her big brother, not so much. He’d come unglued if he knew what she was planning to do. She and Lia would never be adults in Rafe’s eyes. They’d continue to be pigtailed little girls whom no man was allowed to touch — not as long as that man wanted to live.

  Hypocrite!

  “Good evening, Ms. Rachel. If you will follow me, I’ll show you where your date is waiting.”

  Rachel jumped, her hand still on the door of the cab. Turning around, she spotted a very large man who looked more suited to guard the president than escort women to a one-night stand. Well, hopefully a one-week stand.

  When she looked up at him, the man didn’t show a single expression on his face. Was she a fool to follow through on this? No. She didn’t think so. What could happen in a nice hotel where people could see her enter? OK, so maybe she was as naïve as Rafe thought she was.

  The thought caused her shoulders to stiffen in defiance. It was her life, and if she wanted to be a fool, that was her choice. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, and soon she’d be working, earning her own way in the world without the help of her parents or her big brother.

  “Thank you,” she replied after the silence had stretched on for an awkward amount of time. Her nerves fluttered in her stomach as she walked by the giant man’s side through the elegant lobby of the Mandarin Oriental.

  It didn’t take long to reach the bank of elevators, and soon she was riding to the top floor. She’d expected that they’d eat in the dining room, but wasn’t this better? If she wanted to act like a woman of the world, she certainly needed to arrive at his room eventually.

  The thought entered her mind that she should be offended he was presuming so much, but she brushed it away. It was time she took her own pleasure into her hands, and that meant a night with the very sexy man who’d “rescued” her from the sea.

  “Right this way.”

  They stepped up to a door, where the man inserted a key card, then held the door open for her. Walking through the entrance, she was well pleased by the elegant foyer. She didn’t notice the door closing behind her with a soft click, locking her securely inside.

  Approaching the spectacular floor-to-ceiling windows, she smiled at the splendid view of the Biscayne Bay and Miami’s impressive skyline. Not far out was the deceptively peaceful Atlantic Ocean. She knew how violent those seas could become, but at the moment, everything was quiet and…romantic, as if Ian had commanded the perfect setting.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  For the second time in a short span, Rachel jumped as a man’s voice startled her from her thoughts. Turning slowly, her heart picked up speed at the sight of Ian standing before her in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks.

  She couldn’t decide whether the man was better looking with or without clothes on. No. His chest dripping with water in the hot sun was certainly a sight she wouldn’t mind seeing more of. However, he looked quite debonair in his evening clothes.

  “Of course I came. I couldn’t resist a dinner here. I’ve heard they have a wonderful wine selection,” she said, surprised by her smooth tone of voice. Her nerves weren’t showing at all though she was shaking like a fall leaf on the inside.

  “I have a table on the balcony. You’ll like the view.” He offered his arm, and Rachel accepted it, allowing him to lead her to the open French doors.

  A native of the West Coast, she doubted she could ever adapt to the humidity of Florida, but it was more bearable in the evening. A slight breeze was blowing in off the bay, making the balcony the perfect place to dine.

  Her tall, dark stranger was quite adept at seduction. A beautifully presented table was before her with a bottle of wine chilling and candles emitting a soft glow. When he held out her chair, she sat and watched his sure moves as he rounded the table.

  As they sat down, he gazed at her with his dark eyes, and her nerves left her. She wanted this man too much to let them get the best of her. Maybe she’d come to regret her impulsive act, but it wouldn’t be tonight — that was certain.

  A man quietly approached and set down a plate for each of them before retreating. Rachel was glad to have a waiter there. One more witness to her presence couldn’t hurt. At least Ian wouldn’t be able to murder her without some serious questions being asked.

  The thought made her smile. If she’d truly been afraid of being hacked to pieces and fed to the sharks, she never would have set foot inside the hotel. No. She was just used to her parents’ fears. She wouldn’t allow any of that to ruin her night.

  Their first course of Aleppo Stained Swordfish was accompanied by a beautiful French Chardonnay. The man certainly had good taste in food, and she took a bite of the fish, relishing the flavors dancing on her tongue.

  “Where are you from, Rachel?”

  “I thought we agreed to be strangers,” she replied, not sure whether she wanted them to know much about each other. If she got to know this man, there was a chance of getting attached, and that wasn’t in her game plan.

  “Ah, keep the mystery alive,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes. It’s not every day I get rescued from certain death. I have created my own version of who you are.”

  He looked at her for a stunned moment before bursting into laughter. “You are quite the treat, my lady.”

  “As are you.”

  “What would you think about this? We could play a game — make guesses about each other’s lives.”

  Rachel considered his proposal, looking for anything that would end up biting her in the behind. She didn’t see how it could.

  “I think certain games can be quite fun,” she responded with a wink. Rachel was shocked with herself at her boldness. She could almost picture Lia in the corner with her mouth gaping open. Rachel had never been a wallflower, but she’d also never been so forward with a man, either.

  Watching as Ian’s eyes flared with delight, she couldn’t help but to glow inside. He wanted her, and it was great for her ego.

  As they moved on to their next course of D’Artagnan NY Striploin, with green and white asparagus, pickled mushroom, short rib ragout and béarnaise sauce, and served with a cabernet sauvignon, she looked into his eyes as she tried to guess his story.

  “With your slight accent, you are obviously not a native Floridian. The golden complexion of your skin possibly makes you Italian, my mother’s home country. You are obviously educated, confident, and used to getting your own way…” she began.

  His eyebrows rose, as if surprised by her perception. She would have to be a bit careful, she told herself. A ditzy college student wouldn’t know quite so much. Plus, she’d given a little too much information about herself by telling him where her mother was from.

  “Please go on. You have my curiosity piqued as to who you think I am,” he said as he took a bite of the succulent steak and waited.

  “Well, you are staying on the top floor of a nice hotel, having a fairly pricey dinner catered, and your clothes are hand-tailored, or bespoke, so you aren’t poor by any means. I say you are an international banker who travels to different countries, fattening your wallet and rescuing damsels in distress before seducing them — and then jetting away.”

  Her words could have sounded harsh if not for the laughter in her tone. Ian gazed at her with deep, assessing eyes for a moment before leaning back and picking up his glass of wine.

  The waiter cleared their plates before coming back a few moments later with a glass of Château D’Yquem Sauternes. As Rachel took a sip, she knew she was drinking only the best. He was pulling out all the stops.

  Their dessert of Pistachio and Lavender Honey Panna Cotta was placed before her, and she didn’t hesitate to take a bite. There were no
complaints from her about the delicious meal.

  “Sadly, you are wrong, so I have to admit nothing of my true identity,” he said as he began eating his dessert.

  “Ah, well, my next guess is that you’re a top-secret superhero commissioned by the government to rescue damsels and fight crime.”

  “I’m afraid that you have caught me. They call me Aquahero, and I fight crime only along the oceanfront, my true nemesis being the Great White Shark.”

  Oh, Rachel liked him — liked him a bit too much for someone she intended only to sleep with and then never see again. There would be no exchanging of phone numbers. She had plans, and they didn’t include Mr. Sexy and his dark-as-night eyes.

  “It’s my turn. You are obviously educated and well-traveled. You know fine wine and good food. Confidence oozes from you, and I would wager that you’re very used to getting your way. Yet as much as you want me to believe you’re a woman of the world, I see a hint of vulnerability beneath your impressive act. That leads me to believe that you’re from a good family, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a coming-out season. Since you’ve already told me your mother is from Italy, you most likely spend a lot of time doing international travel… I say you are a shipping heiress who flits from country to country trying to win new customers.”

  Rachel was impressed even more. He was doing very well, though she didn’t appreciate his vulnerability comment. She wasn’t a weak little girl who needed protecting. And she was sick of people thinking she was such an innocent, the Palazzo daughter who would never do wrong. She’d always been aware of what people thought and had been careful to maintain a good reputation. But sometimes a girl just needed to be a little bit bad to have a whole lot of fun.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  She’d forgotten that the waiter was even there, but as he brought a bottle of rare Rémy Martin cognac to the table and poured some into two snifters, she looked up, impressed by the man’s professionalism. How hard it must be for him not to laugh at their ridiculous conversation.