Surrender

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I stared up at him through the mirror. “You scared me.”

  “I’m stealthy.” He crossed his arms. He was wearing a loose gray tank top and his jeans still, but his shoes were off, and he looked even sexier with his messy hair, standing in my bathroom barefoot. “Bath’s ready.”

  When had he even turned it off?

  “Th-thanks.” I grabbed the doorknob, but he was on the wrong side; he was in the bathroom with me, and he wasn’t budging. “Drew?”

  “Hmm?” His grin widened.

  “Did you need something else?”

  “Nope, I’m good.” As casual as hell, he walked over to the side of the bathtub, grabbed some salts and a bath bomb, and started making my bath like he’d done it a million times.

  And then he pulled out a lighter from his back pocket and lit the candles I rarely used for anything but decoration around the tub.

  It was like a private retreat just for me.

  He got up and lowered the lights, and then his hands were on my shoulders, sliding down the silk until it was halfway down my arms. “I’m not going to close my eyes.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Who says you have to say anything? I just wanted you to know. In a lot of things, I can be a gentleman, but when it comes to watching you walk toward that bath and sink deep—” He hissed out a curse. “—yeah, I’m going to have to be completely honest. Even if I said I’d close my eyes, I would peek.”

  I immediately relaxed. “I like your honesty.”

  “Let me help. He continued slithering the bathrobe down to my waist, and then he pulled the sash. The robe fell in a pool of silk at my feet.

  His hands moved to my bare skin. His calluses from playing guitar were rough against my hips. I wanted more. I wanted to beg him to just hold me like that, to kiss down my back and make promises both of us knew he couldn’t keep.

  “Ask me,” he whispered. “Ask me for something selfish.”

  My heart pounded in my chest as I stared straight ahead at the bath. What if I had nothing to lose? What if my heart wasn’t in danger? What if this wouldn’t end badly? What if this was just one week, and I could ask for anything I wanted in the world?

  What would I ask for?

  I took a step toward the bath and then looked over my shoulder. His eyes were blazing as he watched me; I could feel the need pulsing off him like it was my own.

  Without thinking twice about it, I asked, “Do you want to join me?”

  Apparently, I’d stunned him into complete silence. He stared first at me then the bath then back at me. “Is that your selfish request?”

  “No, my selfish request was for you to touch me, but I figured that could get out of hand really fast…”

  “Literally.” His chuckle was dark, delicious as it wrapped itself around me. “It’s like you know me so well.”

  “I’m starting to.” I didn’t wait for more of his response. I just turned back toward the bath and quickly got in then sank all the way down to my neck.

  “Why does this feel like you’re doing me a favor?” Drew asked as he peeled his tank over his head and tossed it to the ground.

  The man was a god.

  Every thickly chorded muscle seemed so tight that I wondered if he even knew how to take deep breaths.

  His tatted hands moved to the front of his jeans.

  I’d never seen a guy strip before— My ex had always wanted sex to be quick, which I later found out was because he was cheating, and our sex life was basically nonexistent after the third time I got pregnant.

  —until that night.

  I licked my lips as Drew slowly inched his jeans down.

  No boxers.

  No briefs.

  He sprang free but ignored his obvious erection as he stepped out of his pants and then walked toward me.

  His two necklaces swung with each step.

  How he managed to look so masculine and sexy wearing more jewelry than I was impossible to understand.

  If I focused on the necklaces, I wouldn’t look at his cock. I wouldn’t be tempted to stare, and I wouldn’t embarrass myself by asking if I could stare more or even touch it.

  He was beautiful.

  Hard, smooth, olive skin that made me feel like I was boiling beneath the hot water.

  “You’re going to have to move over so I can fit,” he whispered.

  And, of course, I had to look down at his arousal again and stare.

  “Not that,” he teased. “That I know will fit.”

  “Drew—”

  “It’s just a bath, Bronte.”

  No, it wasn’t.

  He knew it.

  I knew it.

  This was the start of something.

  A line had been drawn in the sand.

  And I’d invited him to cross it.

  No regrets.

  Even as he sank down and gently pulled me to his chest. Even as he ran his fingers down my back then mimicked the same motion with soap in his hands, and even when he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my head.

  I knew.

  The line hadn’t just been crossed.

  It had disappeared completely.

  And never had my heart felt freer.

  Or more afraid.

  CHAPTER 9

  Andrew

  I finally understood the true meaning of torture, and it was right in front of me. It wasn’t even Bronte. It was the damn water. With each breath, each movement, it lapped across her breasts.

  It didn’t help that we had three high school girls in the other room, whose giggles I could still hear while that water kept licking and kissing Bronte’s smooth fair skin… tempting me, teasing me, making me question right from wrong.

  “Tell me something bad.” I danced my fingertips down her arm. I wanted nothing more than to hold her firm against my body, trap her there, feel the heat between us explode into such fiery need that we both gave in.

  To everything.

  Instead, I, Drew Amhurst, was making conversation.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  My body told me to act.

  My head told my body it was a stellar idea even though my dick had been onboard days ago.

  But my stupid heart, the one that fought between dark and light, wrong and right, said, wait.

  Just wait.

  I hated that word, wait.

  “Something bad?” She shifted enough that the water lapped around us again, giving me a brief glimpse of rosy nipples.

  I hated that all my brain could conjure up was the word touch. I had no poetry, nothing, just touch, want, lick. Mine.

  All the things I wasn’t supposed to be doing as I tried to politely engage in conversation that would not end up in any sort of sexual position.

  Shit.

  Maybe it was good for me, this waiting business. Maybe I’d just lie to myself and say it was for the best since it was only a week, but even as I thought it, I knew it was so much more — that it would be so much more because, above all else, I was a fantastic liar.

  I lied to myself that I didn’t need anyone.

  I lied to myself that I was happy.

  And I lied to myself that I wouldn’t get attached.

  I said that lie when I was already on my way to confessing extreme like toward someone who probably tolerated me at best.

  “Yeah,” I said the word emerging from my throat gruffer than I’d expected.

  “Well…” Bronte turned and looked up at me.

  The steam from the hot water had her hair curling around the nape where it was damp. I wanted to tug on it, to taste it, to wrap it around my fingers, take it hostage.

  “When I was in high school, I had this teacher who always seemed to pick on me, and he always did it in front of the class, even though I had really great grades. Anyway, he was super anal about his desk, so every day for a year, I would slowly move things around. He cracked on the last day when his coffee cup was in the wrong spot.”

  I l
aughed. “That’s funny and deserved, not bad.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t finished,” she teased. “He was always falling asleep at his desk. He wasn’t the best teacher, and he was a hard sleeper. We decided to wrap him up in Saran Wrap then send him sailing down the hall with his coffee cup taped to his hand. The sign across his chest said ‘Will strip for coffee.’”

  I winced and then erupted in laughter. “Please tell me he had all his clothes on.”

  “Of course.” She laughed. “But he was single, and the principal had a huge crush on him, so she thought he was doing it as a prank, and the rest of my class only encouraged that notion when they started throwing rose petals as if he’d used us to set her up. She sat right on his lap, planted the biggest kiss on his mouth, and cried.”

  “Noooo,” I said, laughing. “That’s so mean! The poor guy!”

  “Hey!” She poked me in the chest. “They got married a year later.”

  “That’s a happy story, not a bad story,” I pointed out.

  “True.” She lay against my chest, her cheek hot, pressed to my skin. I started playing with her hands as they intertwined with mine. “But the whole point was revenge, and I got it. They had triplets a year after that. He’s bald now by the way, not that kids are a curse, total blessing—”

  “Poor guy’s probably still stressed. Tell me they were at least—”

  “Girls.” She sighed happily. “All three of them.”

  More laughter bubbled up. “Yeah, okay, so it has a happy, albeit stressful ending?”

  “Pretty much.” She chuckled and then shifted, her fingers accidentally grazing my cock.

  My body jerked.

  “Sorry.” Her cheeks flamed bright pink.

  I frowned. “I’m not, so don’t apologize.”

  She gulped and then looked down. “I wasn’t thinking…”

  “Good.” I gripped her by the hips, then picked her up and straddled her legs over my body. “I don’t want you to think— Even though this totally sounds like a line, you know you’re safe with me. Your rules. I won’t do anything you don’t ask for.”

  She chewed her lower lip, making me jealous as hell. “What if I don’t know what to ask for?”

  “Then we play a guessing game of hot or cold.”

  “Ha.” She sobered. “Oh, you’re serious?”

  “Try me.”

  “But—”

  I grabbed her hand and pressed it to my chest. “Hmm… cold.” I lowered her hand under the water. “Getting warmer…”

  She jerked her hand away. “I think I know how it works.”

  “Then play with me,” I challenged in a hushed whisper. The darker parts of my soul awakened a bit in that moment. I’d always been that guy — the one who made people cross the line, the one who justified it and gave them reasons it was okay to sin because I was there sinning right next to them.

  But this time? It was more savior than sinner; at least that was what I told myself as she stared me down.

  I loved the way her green eyes widened and then almost threatened to swallow the room whole with their intensity. She reached for my hand and then brought it to her lips, not what I’d expected. They were petal-soft, my mouth would know, as she kissed each fingertip, taking time to savor me in a way I’d never experienced.

  I tried not to shake, but my body had other ideas.

  What was happening?

  What was this surreal feeling as she slowly seduced me with her tiny innocent mouth?

  Throat dry, I swallowed as she took that same hand and pressed my palm against her chest, her eyes asking what her mouth couldn’t.

  I slowly lowered my hand, my fingertips grazing her breast.

  She let out a tiny gasp at the contact; it was so light, so brief, but it didn’t matter. I felt that touch everywhere as I slowly rubbed my fingertips across her smooth skin. I rolled a nipple between my fingertips; her sharp inhale giving me all the encouragement I needed as I moved my hand and cupped her face, pulling her in for a kiss.

  Her mouth opened for me as she twined her arms around my neck and pulled me flush against her.

  “Hot,” I teased between kisses. “So hot.”

  “Scalding,” she agreed.

  “Dying,” I rasped as I dug my hands into her hair. My cock strained against her stomach, greedily searching for any sort of relief.

  She moaned and started rocking against me. The water swirled around us, building just like the intensity between us continued to spiral out of control.

  “Mom?” A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Mom, can I come in?”

  She jerked away so fast from me that water kicked up over the edge of the bath. Bronte touched her lips and paled like she was horrified that we’d just kissed in her bathtub.

  I’d felt a lot of things in my life.

  Shame was one I knew quite well.

  And her expression mirrored it perfectly.

  It wasn’t just that she was kissing me.

  She was embarrassed she’d given in.

  And maybe even a little bit ashamed that the person she’d given in to — was me.

  I steeled my expression then looked away. I couldn’t even find a smile to flash at her in the moment. Because I wanted this — I wanted her — and I hated that she viewed me as a mistake when I saw her as a reward.

  “Just a minute, honey.” Bronte quickly got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around herself, and left the bathroom.

  Left me.

  Alone, in an empty tub.

  Couldn’t say it had ever happened to me before, a woman just walking away after I teased her breasts, kissed her mouth.

  I waited in the tub, drumming my fingertips against the tile until finally, it was bordering on embarrassing with how cold the water was getting.

  I grabbed a towel, dried off, put my clothes back on, and managed to empty the tub all within a few minutes.

  When I cracked the door open, it was to see Amelia lying in bed with her mom, both of them sleeping.

  And the lonely rockstar in the tepid bathwater? Completely forgotten.

  Anger warred with rejection, and then a blanket of sadness decided to wrap itself around my throat as I tiptoed past the bed where they lay intertwined.

  Where they physically showed me, there was no place for someone like myself, no room.

  I tried to conjure up my walls, the familiar anger, but all I felt was left behind, abandoned, and I hated that feeling because it was the one I’d been running from my entire existence.

  Bronte’s heart had been carved out by her three children, leaving no room to stretch for a guy she didn’t know, didn’t trust.

  Feeling like an idiot, I reached for the sliding glass door and opened it.

  “Sorry,” Bronte whispered. “She wasn’t feeling good, and I didn’t want it to look suspicious,” She was suddenly behind me, wrapping an arm around my stomach.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Amelia was completely out and turned the other direction, the comforter over her head.

  “It’s fine,” I said, holding a polite tone.

  “You’re upset.” Bronte slowly turned me to face her. “I panicked, all right? She’s not ready to see me with anyone yet—”

  “Did you ask her?” I crossed my arms and pulled away.

  “What?”

  “Did you ask her if she’s ready for you to date?”

  She frowned. “Well, no, but I’m her mom. I don’t need to.”

  I nodded. “Right, why don’t you come over tomorrow when you’re ready to stop using your fully grown children as crutches.”

  Her hand went flying across my face so fast that I didn’t have time to block it. And that sting… I felt it heavy in my soul, face be damned.

  “How dare you!” she hissed.

  “Me?” I stood chest to chest with her. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one that hasn’t taken a chance in over fourteen years, and now that you have a person fully willing to give you everything, you use Amelia as a
shield.”

  “She could be sick again!” Bronte shoved me.

  “You’re right.” I hung my head. “She could be sick, you could be sick, the world could end tomorrow — and I get that I’ve only known her a little while, but she’s the bravest girl I’ve ever met. So tomorrow, when you’re done running, ask her. Ask her how she feels about us. I can guarantee you, she’s happy.”

  “How would you know that?” She shot me a death glare.

  “Because…” I was suddenly exhausted. “…I did what you didn’t.”

  She frowned.

  I continued talking. “I asked her. I asked your daughter before I acted.”

  Bronte’s face was pale, her eyes wide with shock.

  I turned around and left, pulling the glass door closed.

  Good, let her be shocked.

  Did she really think I’d ask Braden and not Amelia? Hell, I would have asked Sarah too if she wasn’t away at school.

  I wasn’t sure if I was insulted, hurt, angry, or all of the above. Was it fair that she was freaked out? Absolutely.

  I just wanted, for the first time in my life, to be the guy others leaned on, not the one they ran from.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bronte

  I didn’t sleep at all once Drew left. In fact, I found myself just staring out at the glass door as if he was going to come back when I knew it was stupid. Because what was he going to do? Watch me sleep?

  Amelia woke up pretty early and said she felt good enough for a run, and that she might have just had some bad chicken the night before.

  She didn’t look pale anymore, and everything about her revealed youth and excitement over another day. I had to ask myself if I even thought about the days I’d been given, or did I just go right into task-mode, mom-mode, crossing off a list of things that needed to get done before making the perfect dinner.

  I frowned and hurried to get ready, unsure if Drew still wanted to even see me after last night.

  Embarrassment washed over me as I thought about his kisses, about our heated moments in the bathtub where, for a few brief seconds, I felt like the type of woman he could be with — wanted to be with — not the terrified version of myself who hid under a shell of labels like mom, wife, etcetera.