Shameless Surrender

by Jaymie Holland

  “No more of this.” Chessie shook her head. “You’ve got things to do, girl.”

  She tossed her purse onto the chair by the front door and shrugged out of her suit jacket. She glanced around the room and saw signs of her roommate of over four years, Greg, everywhere. He was a major slob, but she loved the guy to pieces and somehow managed not to kill him.

  Chessie sighed and tossed her suit jacket next to Greg’s sweatpants.

  If you can’t beat ’em…

  A yowl startled her and she jumped back as Mr. Mittens bolted out from beneath the sweatpants. He came to a stop on the armrest of the couch and gazed at her before licking his paw.

  “Don’t do that.” She shook her finger at her white-pawed black cat. “You and Greg are always scaring the crap out of me.”

  If cats could give unrepentant grins, Mr. Mittens would have.

  “You do it on purpose, just like Greg.” Chessie moved to the cat and rubbed him behind his ears. He leaned into her hand and soft vibrations went through her palm as he purred. “Sure, be nice now.”

  “I wonder if Nick has pets.” She tilted her head to the side. “I would take him for a dog person. Maybe a Scottish Deerhound or a Great Dane.”

  Mr. Mittens arched his back then bolted off the couch’s arm and disappeared behind the drapes.

  “Males.” Chessie rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had to do something to bring her thoughts into focus, and she only knew one way.

  But the room was so small.

  Sighing, she got busy, pushing furniture to the sides and pitching laundry out of the way, until she had created a square of laminate, shiny in places, dusty in others. She watched motes rising in the waning light through the living room windows, and it was all she could do not to get caught up in thoughts of that envelope again—or of Nick.

  Always Nick.

  Forcing him away from her awareness, Chessie went to her room and slipped out of her clothes. She pulled on a sports bra and a yoga cami, as well as yoga pants and her favorite socks that she liked to dance in.

  Her mother had always called The Time of My Life corny and overdone, and she thought ‘dirty dancing’ was not an acceptable form of dance, which Chessie disagreed with. However, Chessie wondered if that was why she’d chosen that piece as her favorite—to rebel against her mother?

  Or simply because she loved the song and loved dancing to it.

  She switched on the Bluetooth speaker and let sound fill the tiny space. She started in jazz first position, closed her eyes and curled down as she fell into the sensual sound of Bill Medley, then curled back up, vertebra after vertebra, to the lovely voice of Jennifer Warnes. It started out slow, teasing the listener, then eased into a beat that sang through her body, raising her spirits, giving her a dancing high.

  Even though she was classically trained, she loved dance in all its many forms. Modern dance allowed her to express herself in different ways, and she could use any dance move she wanted and make it ‘modern’. There were no boundaries.

  She looked at the clock.

  Wow.

  Time had really gotten away from her.

  In a big hurry, she jogged to the bathroom, washed her face and neck with cool water, pulled on one of Greg’s big shirts, rolled up her sleeves, and walked into the small but nice kitchen. It was the one room that managed to stay clean, likely because they had most of their meals delivered, had takeout, or ate at a variety of restaurants.

  It was her turn to make dinner or buy it. Another week ’til payday and she was low on cash, so she’d have to make it.

  Which meant Greg had to do the dishes.

  Chessie opened the freezer, cold air blasting her face. It helped cool the squirming desire she’d felt all day for the man who used to be her boss. Well, it sort of cooled her off. She didn’t think she’d ever get over Nick Tarantino. She’d just have to pretend B.O.B. was Nick.

  Like that’s going to work.

  And dear God. It took me, what, five whole minutes to think of him again? I might be hopeless.

  The freezer and cabinets looked pretty bare, but she found enough ingredients to throw together a macaroni casserole. She wasn’t much of a cook, but fortunately Greg didn’t care because he wasn’t into cooking either. It was a wonder the two of them survived, because their home-cooked meals pretty much sucked.

  Thirty minutes later, dinner was baking. Chessie gripped an oven mitt as she stared at the oven door.

  She hadn’t been able to keep her mind from going back to that damned invitation, over and over and over again.

  Tonight.

  “It could just be a party someone’s throwing,” she mused aloud.

  “Party?” boomed a voice from the kitchen doorway. “Whose party?”

  At the sound of Greg’s voice, Chessie nearly jumped out of her skin. She held the oven mitt tight to her chest and glared at her roommate, who’d come up behind her. “There’s no party. I’ve told you a zillion times not to scare me like that, butthead.”

  Greg gave her an unrepentant grin. “But it’s so much fun—and soooo easy.”

  “Get lost, surfer boy.” Chessie threw the mitt at him and he caught it before it hit him in the chest. She pushed her way past her too-cute-for-his-own-good housemate and slipped into her bedroom.

  Of course, surfer boy followed her, barely knocking as he pushed the door open. “Party. I heard you say it. C’mon, give. Want to have one here? It’s a little place, but plenty enough for a few close folks. You already got the furniture moved, but somebody probably needs to dust and hide my dirty tighty-whities.”

  Chessie pulled her hairclip out and let her long hair tumble over her shoulders. “It’s Friday night. Don’t you have a beach-volleyball-bonfire thing to go to?”

  He hitched his shoulder against the doorframe. “Maaayybe. And maybe not. Depends on this party of yours. So, what’s up?”

  “I told you there’s no party. Now beat it.” She pulled off Greg’s shirt, then realized how skimpy her workout clothes were, in front of Greg. They’d been rooming together for ages and neither of them worried much about modesty in front of the other. As long as they had underwear on, what difference did it make?

  Greg cocked an eyebrow as she handed him his shirt, then skivvied out of her workout togs. “You really should get rid of those granny bras and panties. Get something really hot from Victoria’s Secret or Frederick’s of Hollywood.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Especially if you have somewhere hot and mysterious to go.”

  Chessie gave him a glare as she flung her dance clothes onto the bed. “I don’t have anywhere to go. And as for the pricey underthings, it’s not like anyone’s going to see them but you. And you don’t count.”

  “The only reason you haven’t dated is because you’ve been lusting over one man and you won’t give anyone else a chance.” Greg tossed wavy sun-streaked hair from his eyes and his voice grew softer. “So, was it hard with him leaving today?”

  With a heavy sigh, Chessie braced her hands on her hips. “It’s hard to believe I won’t see him again.”

  “Well, I vote you should call him.” Greg’s expression was serious. “And I bet Bryn, Andi, and Sydney are telling you the exact same thing. Besides, the man can’t be totally blind. You’re caring, sensitive, and, well, you’re pretty. He’d be stupid not to want to spend time with you.”

  She smiled. “You’re just saying it because you want me to spring for dinner.”

  The corner of Greg’s mouth quirked. “Well, there’s that,” he responded with a wink.

  “You’re too late.” She speared her fingers into her hair and rubbed her scalp. “Macaroni casserole is in the oven.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” Greg’s expression went back to serious. “But call him. What can it hurt?”

  “You are conspiring with Andi and Bryn, aren’t you?” Chessie studied her reflection in the vanity. Her bra was heavy-duty, and yes, a minimizer. It held up her large breasts, but it definitely didn’t show t
hem to their full advantage. And she had to admit the cotton panties were a bit on the grandma-ish side. “The three of you probably wrote a script and rehearsed torturing me today.”

  She lifted her boobs long enough to see what they might look like in one of those show-it-all bras. “Actually, I did start to call him, but then I found something on my desk.”

  Chessie didn’t know why she was telling Greg, other than the fact he’d been her roommate since she left college, and her best confidant other than her closest friends during the miserable years in which she had fallen in love with a man who only knew she existed because she worked for him. She and Greg had lots in common, both unattached and no serious prospects in either of their futures. Although Greg played the field, he never stayed with one girl for long.

  They were truly pathetic, and they were okay being pathetic together.

  “Well…what was this thing on your desk?” Keen interest lit Greg’s warm brown eyes. “Was it naughty?”

  “Not exactly. Hold on.” Chessie grabbed her purse out of the living room and returned. She slipped out the envelope and handed it to Greg. She tossed the purse onto her bed.

  A puzzled expression crossed Greg’s features as he opened it, removed the paper, and studied the single gilded word.

  “Tonight,” he said. Then he whistled. “Well, well. My maaan Nick. Thank God he’s not a total idiot.” His gaze shot to hers and he tossed the envelope and paper onto her bureau. “I’ll bet this has something to do with the package.”

  “What?” Chessie stared at him. “There’s a package?”

  “Oh. Right.” Greg tore out of the room. In a few moments, he came back bearing a thick white box, fairly large, which was bound with a gold-colored bow. A single long-stemmed red rose had been tied through the bow.

  He handed the package to her. “Some blond guy in a suit dropped this off this afternoon, before I left to work out.”

  “Blond guy in a suit?” Chessie’s belly flipped from a combination of uncertainty, fear, and excitement as she took the box from him. After she set it on her vanity, she pulled the red rose from the bow and brought it to her nose. She inhaled the sweet scent, drawing it in and letting it seep through her being.

  Greg punched her lightly in the arm. “Well? Open it! Hurry up already.”

  “Shut up.” She set the rose aside. “It could be a bomb, you know.”

  Greg snorted.

  With nervous anticipation, she grasped the package and pulled at the bow until the ribbon fell away. Then she lifted the lid from the box and tossed it aside—and caught her breath.

  Nope. Not a bomb.

  On a bed of sapphire-blue satin was another creamy envelope with her name embossed in gold.

  “Okaaay,” Greg said. “Open that envelope now. Come on, Chessie.”

  She nodded and broke the seal. Her hands steadier, she pulled out the heavy paper. Once again, there was only a single line of text.

  “Seven p.m.,” she read aloud.

  Greg snatched the paper and let out another low whistle. But Chessie was too intent on exploring the remaining contents of the box to pay attention. She withdrew the blue satin and discovered it was a strapless dress, simple yet elegant—although it looked like it would barely cover her breasts and was a little too short, even by her petite standards. Carefully she laid the dress on her bed beside her discarded work clothing, then returned to the box.

  The next thing she found was an evening bag that matched the dress to perfection and a lovely strapless sapphire-blue bra.

  Greg cackled like a schoolgirl, louder with each item she withdrew.

  Thong underwear.

  A garter belt.

  Sheer thigh-high stockings.

  Chessie’s cheeks grew hotter and hotter. “Oh, my God,” she said as brought out the last item, a dainty pair of three-inch heeled sandals. Everything looked perfectly sized, as though the person knew her intimately.

  Or wanted to.

  Like, really, really wanted to.

  “Shit.” Greg tossed the second note on top of the first one. “This guy’s got class, I’ll say that. Class and good taste. You’ll look awesome in all this.”

  Chessie turned her gaze to him. “I’m supposed to dress up fancy and sexy and be ready at seven for—who? Nick? I’m not even sure it’s him.”

  “Honey.” Greg gave her the sideways-eye. “Who else other than me and the girls knows you well enough to buy clothes for you? It’s got to be him. You haven’t dated anybody since you met him.”

  “It could be some psycho stalker.” She just couldn’t let herself think, let herself hope, not even for a second.

  Nick…

  Greg rolled his eyes.

  Chessie frowned at him. “It’s probably your best buds Devon or Jake playing some awful joke on me, or trying to cheer me up. Did you tell them to do this to get my mind off Nick leaving?”

  “Hell, no.” Greg laughed. “I live with you but I don’t know what size clothes you wear. And none of us have enough class enough to send a woman a box of chocolates, much less go through all this trouble. Oh, and nobody died and left me a fortune. This stuff looks seriously expensive.”

  Chessie’s mind kept going back to Nick Tarantino. No way. It’s possible.

  “He wouldn’t do this,” she said. “Would he?”

  “Ding, ding, ding!” Greg went into his best impression of very obnoxious game show host. “Chessie Lane, if you’re talking about your mega-rich ex-boss, you’re Tonight’s. Big. Reeeallllly big. Winner!”

  “Wow.” She shook her head slowly. “I mean, no. He hasn’t given me any reason, ever, to believe he’d do anything like this, or that he has the slightest bit of interest in me. Greg, he only knows I’m alive because I worked for him.”

  “Nick Tarantino has plenty of reasons to do nice things for you because you’re wonderful and you’ve treated him like a king at work. Like I said before, he’d have to be blind not to see what a total package you are. And—” Greg glanced at the clock on her bureau. “You’ve got less than an hour to hop in the shower and be ready in time.”

  Chessie gripped the shoes tighter. “I can’t just jump because someone sends me a couple of notes and a box of clothes.”

  Greg backed out her door and grabbed the door handle. “Time to stop playing it safe and take a chance, roomie mine,” he said as he shut the door behind him.

  She stuck her tongue out and glared at the door.

  “Get in the damned shower!” he yelled, as though he could see her.

  Jeez, I should make Greg spend more time with Andi. They’d probably fall in love if they spent five whole minutes alone.

  Water rained from the showerhead, feeling warm and welcoming. She imagined that maybe it was Nick who had sent the invitation and clothing, but mentally slapped herself upside the head.

  She slid her palms over her curves as she rinsed the body wash from her skin. She shivered with desire, growing damp between her thighs in a way that had nothing to do with the water rolling over her flesh.

  Chapter Four

  Nick glanced at his mobile phone’s screen. Mum. Damn. He’d forgotten to call this past week. He rarely forgot anything, much less calling his parents.

  He greeted Rose Winslow Tarantino and said, “I will come home on holiday soon.”

  A smile lit Mum’s voice. “Yes, you must, love. You should bring that young woman you’ve mentioned. Several times, I believe.”

  True, he had mentioned Chessie more than once with his father when his mother was present, but always in relation to business. Of course, she had seen straight through him.

  He couldn’t say it surprised him. She’d always known when he was naughty or into something he shouldn’t have been as a child. And handling Nick as a teen—the woman should have been given a commendation by the Queen Mother herself.

  Nick shook his head and smiled. “How’s Father?”

  Mum sighed. “At times, he is his usual royal pain in the arse. Others… Le
t us say, I worry about him.”

  Nick couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to his father. “I will book a flight for next weekend.”

  Nick’s gut sank at the thought of his father’s battle. The old man had been fighting off cancer for four years now. Giovanni Tarantino might be eighty-eight years old, but he was mightier than something like cancer. He was larger than life and too tough to leave their family for years yet.

  At least that was what Nick tried to tell himself.

  “He will be fine, Nicky.” Rose spoke soothingly. “We will love you to come home on holiday, love. But don’t worry.”

  He smiled. “I won’t worry if you won’t, Mum.”

  She laughed. “We’re a pair, you and I. Your father and I will be happy to have you home, whatever date you decide to come.”

  “Is he up and about?” Nick asked.

  “He’s sleeping.” His mum lightly admonished him, “It is past his bedtime, you know.”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t know how I can forget the seven-hour time difference.”

  “You’ve become too Americanized,” she teased.

  He smiled. “Next weekend I’ll be there,” he repeated before they said goodbye and he disconnected the call.

  Once he was off the mobile, his mind turned immediately to Chessie.

  Tonight.

  He’d left the envelope with that one word, knowing it would tantalize Chessie and fuel her fantasies. She wouldn’t know for sure who it had come from, but she would wonder. Her mind would be filled with the desire to know. Everything about tonight, from the invitation to the clothing he’d sent her, would keep her mind working overtime.

  She would imagine him removing her dress, and think of how it would feel with him inside her.

  Yes, he would make her crazy for him, and push her that much harder and that much further. She had no idea what he could and would do to send her over the edge with no hope of return.

  Not that she would want to.

  * * * *

  When Chessie finished showering, she dried off with a thick towel and slipped into the blue satin lingerie. Every brush of the sinful material caused her nipples to tighten.