Black Surrender

by Jasmin Quinn

  Her thoughts strayed back to Michael. Back to his bedroom as he was changing, to his chiselled chest, his carved biceps, his hard abs. She felt herself tingling and a warm wetness settled in her vagina. She wondered what he was wearing under the blankets. Wondered if he was naked. Heat coursed through her, settling low in her belly and she almost moaned out loud. But she swallowed it down, thought maybe a little self-play would settle her down and help her sleep. But she couldn’t bring herself to touch her pussy, not while she had this incredibly sexy man right next to her. She was afraid he’d wake up and then afraid he wouldn’t. She needed to stop thinking. She just needed to shut her eyes and sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Isabelle opened her eyes slowly. Warm light was filtering through the gauzy curtain panel, so she knew she’d slept late. The sun had to fight its way through Vancouver’s downtown core, stealing through the high rises before it could wipe the chill off the day. And today, of course, would be chilly. The good news though, was that the sun was shining. The storm was over. At least this one was.

  She couldn’t remember when she fell asleep, but once she was asleep, she stayed that way. Yesterday was gruelling, but she felt restored. She turned on her back and stretched, looking over to Michael’s side of the bed. She already knew it was empty. Maybe she was becoming attuned to his presence. She hoped he wasn’t permanently gone. But that was just a silly notion, she knew he wasn’t.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy that rescued damsels in distress, but she thought maybe she was a little bit more than just a mere damsel in his eyes. She smelled the delicious aroma of fresh coffee. What a difference a decent night’s sleep made. She hoped Michael felt as refreshed as she did. Hoped they could be civilized this morning. Or maybe not, she grinned as she felt the familiar heat in her belly that thoughts of Michael seem to conjure.

  She slipped out of the bed and into one of the soft, fluffy white bathrobes courtesy of the hotel. As she walked into the living room, her breath caught in her throat. Michael was standing by the window, staring out, a little moodily, quietly talking into his cell phone. The sun stroked his strong bare chest and squeezed the muscles in his shoulders as he held his coffee cup to his sensuous lips. His dark chest hair glistened as the sun’s rays followed it down his belly where it disappeared into a promise, as loose pajama bottoms hung low on his hips, fabric pooling on his sexy bare feet. He took a sip of coffee from the cup he was holding and his bicep swelled. Isabelle caught her breath. If she were a guy she’d be hard as a rock… but really, who would want to be a guy when there was such a gorgeous heterosexual male standing right in front of her with all his body parts intact?

  He hung up the phone and turned towards her, his eyes brushing over her, lingering on what she thought would be her crazy morning hair. She wondered when he sensed her presence. The minute she walked into the room? Probably. She was coming to realize that little got past Michael, little slipped by his defences. She hoped she might be an exception. With that thought nudging her, she vowed to be nice to him today. No bitchiness, no sass.

  “Good morning, Isabelle,” he murmured a little formally.

  “Good morning, Michael.” She waited for him to tell her about the phone call, but he made no reference to it. Just strolled to a side table and placed the phone on it.

  She felt awkward and covered her nervousness by walking over to the dining table and pouring coffee from a silver-plated pot into a china mug. “Have you been up long?” She eyed the spread of breakfast options before her: a small plate of muffins, bagels and croissants; some scrambled eggs and fried potatoes in a warmer; and sliced fresh fruit, yogurt, and granola.

  “Not long.” He shifted to the love seat and sat down in the same place he’d been sitting last night. “Did you sleep well?”

  Isabelle nodded as she added a dab of cream to her coffee, stirred, then took a sip. She groaned in pleasure as her taste buds woke up and hugged her. “How did you sleep, Michael?”

  “Like the dead. Which is why I think we should change hotels.”

  Isabelle sat down on the couch, close to Michael. “Why?”

  “It’s not safe here.” His forehead creased. “I needed the sleep last night, but given the current situation, we’re just too vulnerable here. It would be a sad day if I got shot while sleeping. I fully expect to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  Isabelle shivered involuntary before tossing Michael a churlish scowl. “I’m not completely helpless, Michael. I might’ve been able to keep us safe while you slumbered.” So much for her vow.

  “I’m coming to realize that. Maybe you should tell me more about your skill sets. I have a lot of questions for you.”

  “I have a few of my own, Michael. After breakfast?”

  “No, during breakfast. We’re meeting your husband for drinks tonight and I don’t want to be surprised by anything.”

  Isabelle pursed her lips but swallowed down the ‘fuck you’ that tried to escape. Instead she said, “Fine. Let’s get the unpleasantries out of the way early. That way we have the rest of the day to enjoy.”

  “Really,” Michael’s eyes darkened. “And how do you propose we entertain ourselves for the rest of the day.”

  “Well, I for one need a manicure.” Isabelle held her hand out in front of her, eyeing the broken nail with loathing.

  “Isabelle, come on,” Michael chided her. “You can’t be serious.”

  Isabelle threw Michael a steady look before placing her coffee cup on the table in front of her and standing up. “Michael, I’m rarely not serious.” She made her way to the breakfast spread and filled a small bowl with yogurt and granola, which she placed on a larger plate. She added some scrambled eggs, a scoop of potatoes and some fresh fruit.

  She felt Michael’s proprietary hand on the small of her back as he leaned across her to pick up a plate of his own. She thrilled at his touch, at the fact that no one was there to witness it, no reason for doing it other than he wanted to. Her nipples hardened under the bathrobe. I’m deadly serious, you sexy, sexy man. I need those nails to run down your back while you’re deep inside of me. She smiled up into his face then slipped out of his grasp, picked up a napkin and some silverware and made her way back to the couch.

  He returned to his seat with his breakfast plate but set it on the table and watched Isabelle as she took a small spoonful of yogurt.

  “Isabelle, tell me about yourself.” He took a small sip of his coffee as his eyes lingered on her face, like he was trying to memorize her.

  “If you’ll tell me about you.”

  Annoyance flickered in Michael’s eyes. “We’re not here because of me. Given that you are married to one of the deadliest bastards I know –.”

  “Next to you,” Isabelle interjected.

  Michael ignored her. “… and that he wants something from you, I think it would be helpful if we speculated on that. And given that I am supposed to be your future husband, I should know at least as much as about you as your future ex-husband knows.”

  “I want to know you, Michael,” Isabelle insisted, stubbornly.

  “Why?” Michael placed his coffee on the table and picked up his food, taking a bite of a buttered bagel.

  “Why not?”

  “Fuck – what the hell do you want to know about me?”

  “I want to know why you’re so good at killing. Who you work for? Why you thought the Russian’s were after you?”

  “I barely know you, Isabelle. Why should I trust you with such dangerous information?”

  “Because you’re asking me to trust you. I’d like that trust to be mutual.”

  “You’re asking me to help you.” Michael’s voice was low, deadly, serious. “If you want my help, then you need to start sharing.”

  Isabelle knew she was trying his patience, decided to back off. She spooned some yogurt in her mouth, then touched a napkin to her lips. “What do you want to know?”

  “What’s with your pretty self-defence skills, how you came to be ma
rried to Jack Creed, what he’s holding over your head?”

  “How are my self-defence skills relevant?”

  “Isabelle!” Michael’s tone changed from impatient to menacing. Isabelle bit her lip. She hated telling her story. She hadn’t had to share anything about her in such a long time and she liked it that way. She liked being Isabelle Sterling, glamorous, sassy, and wealthy enough to enjoy the pretty things in life. Telling her truth would make her even more vulnerable to Michael.

  “How do I know you won’t use what I tell you against me?” That was a fair question.

  Michael gazed at her. It was clear he was torn in his response. “I’m a killer, a conman, a bastard when it comes to women. I seduce them, fuck them, and leave them. I do what I need to do to get where I need to go. I don’t have long-term relationships for two reasons – either the woman will get me killed or I will get the woman killed. Three women have died because of me. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He put his plate on the table and stood up, pacing away from the couch.

  Isabelle admired his strong biceps, his bare chest as he ran a hand through his untidy hair. He was letting her see him at his most vulnerable she realized suddenly. And he was telling her about him. She waited.

  “Two were lovers of mine that I kept around too long. Because I genuinely enjoyed their company. The other seduced me into believing she was nobody, a bartender without an agenda. Until she tried to kill me. Obviously, she wasn’t successful. And she died trying.”

  Isabelle felt herself go cold at his confession. She’d wanted to know, and he was making sure she regretted asking. “Michael, you’ve made your point.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Michael walked over and sat next to Isabelle on the sofa, sandwiching her between himself and the overstuffed arm. He took her plate from her hands and set it on the coffee table in front of him. Then he took her hands in his. “I love beautiful women, in that lustful, testosterone driven, greedy way. And I get whatever I want because that’s who I am. No woman has ever said no to me.” He ran his thumbs over the backs of Isabelle’s hands, soft even strokes, his gaze in her eyes. “But I don’t keep them, I don’t rescue them, and I don’t concern myself with the morning after.”

  He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed the back of it softly. “The question begs then, why am I here with you? Why did I drag you along with me, keep you safe? Why didn’t I leave when I found out that this was about you, not me?”

  Isabelle finally spoke up, not answering his redundant questions. “How do I know you’re not seducing me like every other woman in your life?”

  “Because Isabelle, if I were seducing you, we would have fucked months ago and this conversation wouldn’t be taking place.” He reached for her, pulling her into his strong arms, hugging her to him, leaving no opportunity to protest. His mouth sought hers out, his lips parting as he crushed them to hers, forcing her mouth open, seeking her heat, her taste.

  Isabelle stiffened. Couldn’t decide how to respond, what to do. Desire coursed through her, maddening her senses. His hand slipped under her bathrobe, to her breast, curling around the softness of it, flicking her hard nipple with his thumb. As he came up for air, he gazed into her eyes, into her depths. It was hypnotic. She waited for him to kiss her again, but he didn’t. He moved his hand from her breast to her lips, tracing them gently with his fingers.

  Then he sighed and straightened up. Reached across her for his coffee and took a mouthful. “I don’t truly understand it. And I sure as hell don’t like it.”

  Isabelle was stunned, lost for words, heightened desire protesting his abandonment of her. She touched her lips trying to capture the lingering traces of his mouth. “I’m confused,” the soft tone of her voice barely audible. “You want me, but you don’t want me.”

  “If you get in my head, then neither of us will be safe. If we fuck now, then I’ll start to think I own you. If I start to think that, then I won’t be thinking clearly.” He held his coffee mug between his long fingers as if it were a Kevlar vest.

  Isabelle frowned, his crude words serving to dampen her desire. She picked up her own cup but didn’t drink. “Michael, this is the 21st century. You don’t get to own me.”

  “Creed owns you,” Michael interjected.

  Isabelle felt the heat rise in her face. “That doesn’t make it right, Michael. I got in over my head with him.”

  “You’re in over your head with me, Isabelle. Why aren’t you more afraid of me?”

  Isabelle studied him, his dark hair, black inscrutable eyes, the shadow of whiskers on his strong handsome face, his sexy mouth set in a small questioning frown, his hard, bare chest. It was the question of the hour. Why wasn’t she more afraid of him? Was it because she trusted him? Cared for him? Was she a fool? Maybe. “I think it might be because we’ve known each other several months. And you’ve always been thoughtful and respectful.”

  “That doesn’t make me want you less. I still want to own you – your body, your mind, your loyalty.”

  “My love?” Isabelle said softly.

  He skirted that topic. “Do you see how vulnerable that makes me? Whatever is going on will result in a bullet to our heads.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “We’re both smarter than that Michael. There’s a time for lust and there’s a time for logic. I think we can compartmentalize. And I am somewhat capable of looking after myself. I was doing a pretty good job of it until Jack came along and fucked it up.”

  “I know you’re capable of looking after yourself, in your world. But don’t go thinking that your little self-defence move in the garage was effective. If I was going to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

  Isabelle furrowed her brow at him, “My little self-defence move in the garage was just a small show of what I can do. I didn’t want to unleash on you. I was afraid I’d hurt you.”

  Michael erupted in sardonic laughter. But he didn’t respond to her remark. Instead, still chuckling, he said, “We’re off topic.”

  “A little bit,” Isabelle acknowledged. She wanted to pummel him to show him that her self-defence skills were more than sufficient to take him down, even if they were rusty, but decided she would save it for later. “Okay, I think you’ve made your long-winded point. Get away from me so I can think. I’ll give you the goods on my sordid past. But no judging.”

  Michael’s lips tugged up in a half-smile as he stood up. “Let’s start with more coffee.” He refilled their cups and returned to his corner of the love seat. “Start talking.”

  Isabelle wasn’t sure where to begin. She hesitated as she looked over at Michael. How much should she tell him? And did he want to know so that he was better armed against Jack or did he want to know because he was interested in knowing more about her? She wanted to ask him. But did it really matter in the moment? He was here. He was going to partner with her. And if he was telling the truth, he wanted more than his typical one-night all-inclusive package of fucking.

  “When I was thirteen, I was raped by my brother’s best friend.” Isabelle stared into Michael’s eyes looking for a reaction. They were impenetrable as always. Nothing on his face betrayed any emotional response to her statement. She was grateful for that. Because the rape was the catalyst for the next chapters of her life, but it didn’t make her who she was today. She was already that girl at age 13. The girl who didn’t take things lying down, didn’t take shit or allowed bigger, stronger boys to kick her around and take advantage of her. Until she met Jack Creed of course. But she was getting ahead of herself.

  “I’m like you, Michael. I’m contained and calculating in how I lead my life.” She stopped and gave him a measured look. “Except apparently when it comes to you. You seem to kick right through my defences. And I find myself reacting, not responding. That’s dangerous.”

  “I know,” Michael agreed. “What happened after you were raped?” So matter-of-fact, no hesitation, no shying away from the topic. That made it easier.

  “It p
issed me off. I told my brother, Craig. The asshole told me to suck it up and not tell anyone or he’d beat me to a pulp. There was no one to tell anyway. My mom was a single parent – dad was never in the picture. I’m not even sure my brother and I have the same father. Mom worked as a waitress at local bar, a different boyfriend every other week. Barely made enough to support us, we were pretty much left to our own devices. Neil’s mom took pity on Craig and me and had us over for dinner a lot.”

  “Neil’s the guy who raped you?”

  Isabelle nodded. “He and Craig were 16 and in senior high school. They pretty much left me alone. I was a bit of a loner, no best friend. It was a small town, mom’s reputation filtered down to me for some reason. Not Craig, though – guess because he was a guy and athletic.” She shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I figured as soon as I graduated high school, I would hit the road. Find a college that would take me, get a job. Then Neil raped me and my brother threatened to beat the shit out of me.”

  Isabelle’s hand trembled slightly as she brought the coffee cup to her lips and took a swallow. She didn’t like to revisit that time in her life. She didn’t like to revisit anytime in her life, except for the last three years.

  Chapter Seven

  Michael saw the tremor in her hand as she took a drink of coffee. He said nothing though. Just waited. He wanted to know what happened next. It would tell him a lot about who she really was and if she could fit into his world, keep up with him.