Black Surrender

by Jasmin Quinn

  As he took the driver’s seat and started the car, Isabelle turned to him. “If you ever do that to me again, I’ll stab you in the back while you’re sleeping.”

  Michael smiled, but his words were cold. “You mean you’ll try to stab me in the back.”

  Isabelle visibly trembled and then shifted her body to put more space between them as Michael eased out of the parking space. As soon as the garage door opened, a frenzy of snow wrapped itself around the car chasing it into the storm. The car fishtailed as Michael eased it onto the snow-covered road. He saw Isabelle’s hand steal out and grip the handhold on the door. Michael didn’t blame her. He wanted to take her hand in his, reassure her that she was safe with him, but he didn’t dare take his hands off the steering wheel and besides, he thought she might punch him if he touched her.

  They both white-knuckled it all the way to the downtown core. What should have been an uneventful 10-minute drive to the Rosewood Hotel turned into a 45-minute road trip from hell. Snow limited the visibility, idiots were out walking the streets or building snowmen like it was Christmas eve. The other vehicles fishtailed their way down icy streets, bumping up against power poles or hitting each other. At least the smarter people stayed home.

  When they arrived at the Rosewood Hotel, Michael’s exhaustion was winning. He was used to pushing his limits both physically and mentally, and he lived for the adrenaline high his line of work offered him. But the last few days had taken their toll and he seriously needed a break. Ten hours of sleep would do, he thought as he pulled up to the entrance and put the car in park. He looked over at Isabelle who was pale and still angry, her beautiful lips set in an unyielding pout, her eyes staring blankly forward. She was making things awkward.

  “Isabelle.” He touched her lightly on her arm. “I wouldn’t have choked you to death.”

  She glared at him. “Is that your idea of an apology?”

  Michael thought this over. “Yes, I guess it is. I rarely apologize. I’m not usually sorry.”

  “Because everything is calculated with you, isn’t it?”

  A soft rap at the window saved Michael from having to answer. He was irritated that she so easily saw through him. He opened the window to the valet. “Can you give us a minute, please.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll be right over there. Just let me know when you’re ready.” The young man indicated the valet stand and then retreated.

  Michael closed the window and turned to Isabelle. “How much trouble are you going to be?”

  “Fuck off, Michael.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes at her. Any other woman would be out on her ass on the concrete by now. Since he couldn’t throttle her in front of the valet, he did the next best thing. “Answer my question and get it right.” His voice was hard, dangerous, chilling. Isabelle shivered, and satisfaction slid through Michael. But to her credit, she masked her fear well.

  “None,” Isabelle said, trying for her own version of hard and edgy. “As much as I hate this, I don’t really have a choice. Thanks to you and your stupid associations.”

  “Is that your idea of an apology?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “That’s good, because it was way worse than mine.”

  Isabelle shook her head, clearly frustrated as she reached for the door handle, but Michael stopped her, taking her hand in his and turning her towards him.

  “Remember the plan, Isabelle. We’re the Hamilton’s, a power couple from New York.”

  “I’m not stupid, Michael… Ryan.”

  “Stay in the car until either the valet or I open the door. It’s what wives of power couples do.”

  Isabelle drew a small tremulous breath. Her face betrayed several emotions, annoyance and fear being primary. “I know what wives of power couples do.”

  “Then this should be easy for you.”

  As he opened the car door, the valet was on him in a flash. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

  “No.” He paused looking at the valet’s name tag. “Grant.” He walked around the car to the passenger door, opened it and offered his hand to Isabelle. Her legs came out first, long, strong and exquisite. His exhaustion suddenly took a back seat to lust as he felt a heated tug at his groin, a reminder of his wicked thoughts. He wondered briefly why his desire for this beauty was so strong. He pulled her up and she emerged gracefully from the car. She threw him a warm, wifely smile, not too promising or alluring, but the kind that said, I’m faithfully yours to do with what you wish. Ah, so much in one little smile. Isabelle was a good actress.

  “Thank you, Ryan,” she murmured as she slid her hand out of his grip and stepped to the side to let the men deal with the details. She didn’t look at the valet, didn’t acknowledge him. Feisty, playful Isabelle was hidden. Not for good, Michael hoped.

  Michael turned back to the valet. “Our previous hotel was not up to my wife’s standards; she insisted we come here.”

  “Of course, sir.” Grant walked to the back of the car and scribbled down the licence plate on his notepad. As he motioned to the parking attendant, Michael popped the trunk and picked up the safe. Then he retrieved his briefcase from the back seat. He handed off his keys and turned to Isabelle, offering her his arm, which she took, wrapping her hand loosely around his forearm.

  The Rosewood Georgia Hotel was spectacular, a throwback to the early 1900s, beautifully appointed with every amenity a guest with money could want. Michael had stayed here previously. It was a good place to start and end an evening with a beautiful woman. Not often though, not enough for the hotel staff to get to know him. Not for several months. He ushered Isabelle to a luxurious high back chair.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as she sat down.

  “I’ll get a room.”

  “How long will we be here, Mi… Ryan?” Isabelle bit her lower lip in consternation at her mistake and Michael instantly forgave her as another bolt of lust jarred him to his toes. She should make more mistakes, he thought, if it made her bite her lip in such a tempting, intoxicating fashion.

  It was clear Isabelle picked up on his lustful thoughts as she flushed, which was something he’d thought Isabelle didn’t do. She had a lot of sides, Michael realized. He’d barely scraped the surface. He wondered if that was intentional on her part. The glamour, the sassiness. It was a good disguise, the beautiful shallow woman. It would take a very confident man to make a move. Fortunately, Michael was exactly that. Isabelle dropped her eyes and he forced himself away from those thoughts. There would be time for that later. “Maybe two or three days. Just to make sure I’m not completely compromised. Then we can go to one of my other apartments.”

  Isabelle started to say something, ask something, but then swallowed down the words and nodded.

  Michael acknowledged her restraint with a touch of his hand to her shoulder. “We can talk in our room.” Then he walked to the reception desk.

  It took just a few minutes to procure the room, the front desk staff efficient and professional. Especially for him, a powerful man who exuded money and authority. Who had a stunning wife sitting elegantly in one of their lobby chairs. The front desk manager assured Michael he had the best suite in the hotel and that his staff would be available 24/7 should he or Mrs. Hamilton need anything. Michael asked for a bottle of scotch, two bottles of red wine, some cheese and crackers, a sandwich platter and some fresh fruit be sent up to the room in the next hour. He handed off his safe to them to lock in their vault, then turned to the valet, who had been patiently waiting with the luggage.

  “Drop them in our room,” he said as he slipped him a $20.

  “Would you like me to take your briefcase as well, Mr. Hamilton?” The valet nodded his head towards the case as he tucked the money in his pocket.

  “No, I would not,” Michael replied perfunctorily, then turned from him and strode over to Isabelle, taking the seat next to her. He reached across and took her hand between both of his, running his thumb softly over her palm. Such a simple intimac
y, but effective he noted as Isabelle trembled slightly.

  “Are we booked in?” she asked, not withdrawing her hands from his warm grip.

  “Yes. I just want to give the valet a few minutes to drop off our luggage. Then we’ll go up.” Michael scouted the lobby, looking for possible threats. No one seemed out of place. A family of four and two couples at the reception desk. Four young women chatting up the concierge. A group of two elderly couples sitting together in the lobby chairs, huddled around a map on the table between them, and three men by the elevator, in business suits, chatting quietly.

  “Is there anything you need?” he said to Isabelle his eyes still scanning the room.

  “A drink.” Without hesitation.

  That drew Michael’s attention back to her and he laughed. “Me too. Or maybe three or four.”

  Isabelle threw him a genuine smile and Michael wondered why this made him happy.

  Chapter Four

  Isabelle tried to maintain a calm and relaxed posture, but Michael, sitting next to her, holding her hand between his, running his thumb up and down her palm, was making her crazy. Her stomach was knotting, her heart was racing, and her vagina was throbbing. How could this be? How could she be responding to the caress of a man who only an hour before had her throat in his grip, threatening to squeeze the life out of her. She’d never mistrusted him before tonight. Well, to be honest, she never trusted him either. But she’d dismissed him as a somewhat harmless, sexy, charming, rich playboy. And holy, was she wrong about him. Well, not about the sexy or the charm, or the money.

  But why had she thought him harmless? Well not exactly harmless because she knew he had a dangerous edge to him. But not thought of him as violent until tonight. She was usually a good read of people, especially men. He was like a chameleon though. She watched as he worked the hotel staff, seducing them with his authority and confidence. They all wanted him to like them. They would do anything to please him. All of them, maybe even her. How could she trust someone who was that smooth? And yet, she had no choice. Whoever he was, spy or criminal, his life collided with hers. And now he was her protector. At least for the time being.

  That gave her pause, her mind working at the thought, drifting back to her condo, after the Russian’s were dead. He could have killed her then, but instead, he talked her through the shock, got her packed up and brought her safely here. He was her protector. Her keeper. Unless he wanted something from her. But what did she have that he would want, besides her body? She knew she was alluring, frankly much of it was intentional, but she also knew she wasn’t the only piece of ass in town. Michael didn’t seem like the kind of guy who loved the chase. He didn’t have to. Woman would fall over each other to get to him. So why then?

  That question would have to wait as Isabelle felt at tug at her hand.

  “I think we can go up now,” Michael drew her up with him, not immediately relinquishing her hand as they walked across the lobby to the elevators. Relief flooded her. Finally, she would be secure, away from dead bodies, ferocious snow storms, the exposure of the lobby. She slipped her hand from Michael’s grip as they walked. She’d never liked holding hands in public. She didn’t engage in such romantic foolishness.

  As they approached the bank of elevators, she noted the three businessmen grouped together, chatting. Something familiar about the tall one, but his back was to her. Just nerves, she thought dismissively. Michael pressed the up button on the elevator opposite the huddled men and he and Isabelle turned their backs to them, facing the elevator. They made Michael wary, Isabelle noted as he slid his right hand inside the left-hand side of his jacket where his gun was holstered. The gesture made Isabelle edgy.

  Then she heard his voice. “Hello Isabelle.” Fear flooded her, and she trembled, feeling her legs wobble, thought she might fall. She didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to face the monster that belonged to the voice. But Michael had already turned toward the voice, his hand still tucked beneath his jacket, his face a mask of passivity and curiosity. She turned and faced her enemy, struggling to find her courage, her voice. Michael was with her. Michael would protect her.

  “Jack,” she murmured as she locked eyes with him. “How… unexpected.” He hadn’t changed since she saw him last – three years ago. He was still spectacular – strong moody features, dark shuttered eyes, a hard, athletic body, and an aura that embodied raw unfettered ferocity. His companions had stepped back from him a couple of paces, sliding their hands into their jackets as they noted Michael’s posture. But Jack was dismissive of all three men, his sole focus on Isabelle.

  “It’s been too long, Izzy. Don’t I get a hug?” His gracious smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were deadly serious, treacherous, threatening as they mocked her. They stripped her of her defenses, leaving her feeling naked and vulnerable.

  She struggled to maintain the façade Michael had asked of her. She should give Jack a friendly hug, but the thought of touching him made her skin crawl. And then Michael saved her. He wrapped his arm around her waist possessively and pulled her close to him. “Sorry, my friend, but the only man my wife hugs is me.”

  Jack laughed at Michael, abrupt and fulsome, like Michael had just said something ridiculous. A private joke between him and Isabelle. “I’m sorry. I’m being unforgivingly rude. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Isabelle’s husband.”

  Isabelle’s heart sank. Why did Jack have to do that? Why did he have to humiliate her? Michael loosened his grip on her waist and for a moment she thought he was going to stalk away, but instead, he pushed her behind him, creating a barrier between her and Jack. He took his hand out of his jacket casually but took a small step closer to Jack. The only thing betraying his tension was the slight set to his jaw. Otherwise, he looked unruffled, friendly, almost jocular. “Ah yes, Jack Creed, isn’t it? Isabelle’s ex. She’s talked of you.” He offered his hand to Creed who had no choice but to take it.

  Shock rippled through Isabelle. What the hell was going on? How could Michael possibly know who Jack Creed was? How did he know they were married? Or did he? Isabelle’s head was swimming. This was too tidy, too neat. She’d assumed she was as much a mystery to Michael as he was to her. Maybe he was a federal agent, sent to watch her, but no, that didn’t make sense. Federal agents didn’t shoot people with silencers and threaten to choke women to death in carparks.

  “Not quite the ex yet. I think a divorce needs to happen before it’s official.” Jack’s smile was feral. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am. Isabelle, naughty girl, you haven’t introduced us.”

  Isabelle started to speak, but Michael stopped her with a slight aggressive shift of his hand. “I’m Michael Black.” Isabelle inhaled audibly. So much for their cover. “And this lovely woman belongs to me. It’s irrelevant whether it’s formal or informal.” He pulled her closer to him, making his intentions quite clear. “Although what a fortunate turn of events this is. Isabelle and I were just talking the other day about legalizing our union. In the circles I run in, it’s important to stake a claim on your property. You understand what I mean, don’t you, Mr. Creed?”

  Isabelle was dumbfounded. Stake a claim? His property? Those were words Jack Creed would use, but she didn’t think Michael was anything like Jack Creed. Michael seemed to sense her anger as he tightened his hold on her, a subtle warning to keep her mouth shut.

  Jack Creed nodded at Michael, something akin to admiration in his eyes. “I think we understand each other, Mr. Black. Possession is after all a subtle thing.”

  “Indeed.”

  Jack looked over at his men, then around Michael to Isabelle. “We need to chat, Izzy.”

  Isabelle sensed Michael’s ire growing. “It’s been a fucking long day. I don’t think Isabelle’s up for a reunion with her ex tonight.”

  Jack slipped his hands into his pockets and shrugged indifferently. “I need something from Isabelle.” He flashed a smirk at Isabelle before returning his attention to Michael. “And she w
ants something only I can give her.”

  Michael nodded. “Ah, you’re proposing a trade Mr. Creed.”

  “Perhaps if Isabelle is too tired, you and I can discuss over a drink, Mr. Black.”

  Michael made a show of looking at his watch. “If it can wait, I’d prefer tomorrow evening. I’ve had a somewhat long, eventful day. And I have to say, I’m not completely on my game.” Isabelle tensed. She was going to punch Michael in the nose the first chance she got. How dare he play games with this treacherous man. If he truly knew Jack Creed, he knew how dangerous he was.

  “It can wait. What say we meet in the Lobby Lounge at 8 tomorrow night.” Jack turned to Isabelle. “Will that work for you, Izzy?”

  Correction. She was going to punch both men in the nose. “I suppose it will have to work. It doesn’t give us much time to dine, Michael.”

  “We’ll dine after, Isabelle.”

  “Fine,” Isabelle agreed fully knowing the decision had already been made for her.

  “Tomorrow then.” Jack offered his hand and Michael took it, giving it a solid shake as the elevator door opened to the lobby.

  “Ah, good timing. In you go, Isabelle.” Michael pulled Isabelle into the elevator, pushing her slightly behind him again, then pressed the button for the 6th floor.

  As the door began closing on the elevator, Jack stopped it with his hand. “One last thing, Izzy,” he said. “My men, the ones I sent to your place to fetch you. Will I ever see them again?”

  “What men would that be?” Michael answered for Isabelle as Jack removed his hand and the door banged shut.