Dare to Surrender (6 page)

She tried to push herself up onto her elbows, but he urged her back down until she was flat on the bed, flat on her back.
He slid one long leg between her thighs and leaned his chest against hers. He kissed her.

She resisted for a second, but then she was reaching up to hold his head to her, to run her fingers along the muscles of his
neck. She wasn’t sure how much time passed with the easy way they kissed and touched, but by the time he pulled back, she
knew he’d done it again. Made her his. What she wasn’t sure of was why.

And at the moment, it didn’t matter.

She thought of all the reasons she’d come here, to lure him to the gallery, to tell him about the sculpture. But this was
too good to mess up with that kind of talk. It felt too good when he pulled her to his body and tucked her under his arm.
She sank into him, into the bed, and eventually into sleep.

S
till no answer?”

Shaking her head, Erica flipped her cell phone shut with a frustrated click. “No, and now I’m really getting worried. It’s
1:00 a.m.” It was, in fact, so late that Erica and Blaine were the only people in the building using the student kitchen.

Fellow culinary student Blaine Prescott looked up from the pan of onions he was sautéing. “Do you always look out for Joy
like this?” he asked in his annoyingly precise voice. It reminded her of those overeducated students she used to serve, and
she clenched her teeth. She’d heard a rumor that he was on a break from his überlawyer job because he wanted to learn how
to cook. Must be nice.

She gave him her dirtiest look. “I can’t help it if I have friends I care about.” For the millionth time, Erica cursed her
instructor for pairing her with the stuck-up chef-to-be for the entire semester. The man was always questioning everything
Erica did. And making suggestions when she hadn’t asked for any. His only redeeming quality was that Blaine did possess an
impressive palate. Annoyingly impressive, but she supposed that was to be expected. He’d probably grown up with a chef trained
by Julia Child.

And she had to admit he had some other qualities that didn’t suck. Such as his nice ass, his chocolaty brown eyes, his solid-looking
shoulders…

Ack! What was she thinking? Instead she reminded herself that Blaine epitomized all the things she’d come to detest in a person.
He was a conceited, upper-class, rich yuppie. The first time they’d met, he’d just stared at her tattooed arms as if they
were overcooked slabs of meat. So she made sure to wear tank tops whenever she knew she was going to see him.

“I have friends I care about, too, Erica. Doesn’t mean I stalk them all night long.”

She hated it when he said her name. It made her stomach do funny things, which she ignored.

“That’s because all your friends are probably home in bed by ten, tucked tidily underneath their three-thousand-thread-count
Egyptian sheets.”

“Actually, seven hundred is the softest. Anything over that is just silly.”

“And I’m sure you know all about thread count. Did your nanny teach you? Or were you just born with this amazing knowledge?”

He paused his stirring, pretending to think. “Must have been born with it. I’ll ask
Mummy
.” He said the last word with a hoity-toity accent. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Playing with your necklace.”

She yanked her hand away from the amethyst. It had been a sixteenth-birthday present from her mother, and she never took it
off. It reminded her of her mother’s strength as she’d single-handedly raised four children, even if it took four jobs to
do so.

“Anyway,” she said. “I’m not stalking. I’m being a
friend
. Joy went over to some strange guy’s house, and I haven’t heard from her since. I care. It’s called compassion; maybe you’ve
heard of it.”

He grinned. “Nope.” Then he leaned a bit closer to her, and she tried to ignore the way her heart skipped. “And I never donate
to any charities, either. Nor do I help old ladies cross the street. Let them hobble on their own, I say.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Erica put her hands on her hips. “Joy is my best friend. That’s what friends do; they look out for
each other.”

“Uh-huh.” He tossed some chopped fresh sage into the pan.

She held her breath, counted to ten, but in the end she couldn’t stop herself. “What do you mean,
uh-huh
?”

He didn’t glance up. “I mean
uh-huh
.”

Why was she even talking to him? “What the heck do you mean, Prescott?”

“I guess I just don’t understand why a beautiful girl such as yourself spends all her time either here or with her best friend
or worrying about her best friend. Surely you have other things to occupy your time? A boyfriend? A cat? A body part to pierce?”

Blood beginning to boil, she stepped forward. “Listen, unlike you, I’m here because I want a good job. Not all of us have
a fancy degree and can afford to take months off at a time to go to cooking school simply for fun.” Erica yanked on her white
apron ties, making it tighter, but despite how irritating he was, she couldn’t help the little thrill that shot through her
at his words. He’d called her beautiful.

Yeah, right. He was just being a sarcastic jerkwad.

“
I
need a good job after I finish school.”

“And you’ll get one. You’re one of the best students here. Not as good as me, of course. But a close second.” His grin softened
the words into a joke.

But Erica wasn’t laughing. “Blaine. Why are you always giving me such a hard time?”

He stared at her, seeming to think about the question, and each second that passed had her pulse racing faster and faster.
Finally he said, “I don’t know. You’re just so uptight. I can’t help myself.”

A loud guffaw erupted from her throat. “I’m uptight? Me? You’re the one with the frat-boy haircut, the perfectly pressed trousers,
and the uppity speech pattern.”

“So? I could be covered in tattoos and have hidden piercings for all you know.”

“Right. I bet this preppy look is just a ruse for your hidden wild nature. I bet you even leave the Beamer at home and take
public transportation sometimes!”

He just shrugged. “Actually, I have a Ducati motorcycle. Whatever. Let’s just hurry up and finish. Your being overly distracted
with your girlfriend is what’s keeping us here so late.”

Erica ignored the truth of the accusation. “I like things to be perfect; that’s the reason I keep starting over. Deal with
it.”

“I am dealing with it. That’s why I’m still here in the student kitchen when I should be tucked under my goose-down comforter.”

“You’re really irritating, ya know that?”

“So are you.”

But he was staring at her, his striking, mocha-colored eyes holding Erica’s gaze until she shifted, her black comfort shoes
squishing on the rubber floor.
Stop looking at me like that!

Taking a deep, deep breath, she straightened her apron. Again. It had to be the straightest apron in history. She wasn’t going
to stop calling Joy until she heard for herself that her friend was okay, but she’d let it rest until they finished in the
kitchen and cleaned up. She didn’t want to hear any more bitching from Blaine.

“You should add some brandy to that pan,” Erica said, just to annoy her partner.

“Oh, shit!” Joy tossed Ash’s watch back onto the nightstand. “I have to go!”

A sleeping Ash had bolted upright at her exclamation and was now looking at her with eyes that shouldn’t be so awake and alert
so fast. “What’s wrong?”

Joy went to slide out of bed but realized she was naked. “Where did my clothes go?”

“I took them off when you were sleeping.”

“You what…?”

“Took them off while you were sleeping,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a person of limited intelligence.

“Great. So you saw me naked.”

“Um, yeah. Don’t you remember last night?”

“Well, I was awake then! Anyway, where are they?”

“What?” he asked, looking very confused.

“My clothes!” No way was she prancing around in front of Ash in the buff, not with the morning sun glaring through the window,
ready and able to showcase each minor imperfection of her body. She pulled off the comforter and wrapped it around her before
scooting off the bed.

“Where did you put them?” she said, scanning the floor; that was usually where all Joy’s possessions ended up. “Damn, my grandmother’s
going to kill me.” She pictured her wrinkled dress and knew she was going to have to run home and change so she didn’t show
up at her grandmother’s house in a soiled and crumpled garment.

Ash ran a hand over his hair. “It’s only nine. Where do you have to be so early on a Sunday? Church?”

“Worse. Every Sunday I go to brunch at my grandmother’s house on the peninsula. If I don’t show up at ten on the dot, she
gets… upset.” And mean, but Joy kept that part to herself. “Now, where are my clothes?”

Ash got out of bed, clearly having none of the self-conscious issues Joy possessed. Why did men always seem to feel comfortable
buck-naked? He strolled over to Joy, gave her a kiss on the head, and headed to the bathroom. “They’re in the closet. I washed
them.”

Joy stared after him, her heart pounding. In the dim light of the previous night, she hadn’t noticed the scars on Ash’s body.
About six inches of skin on his right shoulder looked mottled and uneven, as if he’d been burned. What had happened to him?
Then she recalled the way he’d teased her the other night about her slamming into him, and she wondered how much he’d been
kidding.

Some instinct told her it wasn’t the time to ask. Despite his sexual advances, she realized Ash rarely talked about himself,
and she knew she’d have to tread gently if she wanted to know more about him.

With a start, she realized she did. Badly.

Clothes. That’s what she needed now. Nearly tripping on the edge of the comforter, Joy padded to the closet. When she opened
the door, she nearly dropped the bedcovering altogether because Ash hadn’t been joking. Her dress hung, smartly washed and
pressed, next to one of Ash’s shirts. Her bra and panties were draped neatly over the same hanger.

“Oh my God, when did you do this?” she shouted over her shoulder.

“Last night, while you were sleeping. I had some work to do, anyway.” She jumped; he was suddenly standing right behind her.
He pressed his body against her back, and she felt his erection through the thick comforter. “You’re so cute when you’re all
frazzled, Joy.”

“I’m always frazzled.”

“I know.”

Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned back against him as he kissed her neck. “I have to go… ,” she said.

“Mmm. You can. Just give me one kiss first.”

She slanted her head back against his shoulder, and just when his lips almost touched hers, she jerked away. “No! Really,
you don’t understand. I can’t be late!” If she started kissing Ash, she’d be unable to stop. Then she’d be really late, and
her grandmother would blow a gasket. That was never a pretty sight.

“Fine. Okay.” Grinning, he stepped back.

“Thank you for washing this dress. I think I can go straight from here now. Would you do me a huge favor and bring up my bag?”

Still naked, he trotted off, and she couldn’t help but pause to admire his firm, naked ass. A wave of desire washed over her,
but it was quickly quenched by the fear of being late for her grandmother’s brunch.

When he returned, she took her bag and her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, Ash’s master
bath was big, modern, and elegant. A huge, square, Zen-looking bathtub took up one side of the room, and on a long walnut
counter there were side-by-side white-porcelain-vessel sinks. Lush towels were folded neatly in an open cabinet, and Joy would
have given anything to spend the morning pampering herself in the spa-like room.

Instead she quickly rinsed off and put on her bra and panties. Then she turned over her bag and dumped the contents onto Ash
Hunter’s floor. Smiling, she picked up a linty toothbrush and a free sample of moisturizer.
And this is why I love my purse,
she thought, and was suddenly glad she wasn’t the kind of girl who went out at night with only a tiny clutch. If any of those
women at the museum fund-raiser had gone home for a one-night stand, they would have been woefully ill-prepared for a brunch
date the next morning.

The minute Joy pulled onto the long, tree-lined road leading to her grandmother’s house, her palms started to sweat. Even
though she was wearing the brown dress from the night before, the cut made it suitable for daytime, and on her feet were the
tan flats she always wore. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail she hoped would stay put and had applied a little bit
of makeup—not too much. She’d even put on some lipstick when she’d found her favorite shade after she’d gone through the contents
of her purse. It had rolled behind the toilet (an area, she noted, that had been spotless), but she’d retrieved the tube and
now a neutral shade of peach coated her lips.

Grandmother shouldn’t have much to pick on.

Now if only Joy could stop thinking about the mind-blowing good-bye kiss Ash had given her just before she left. She could
have stayed in his doorway all day, simply kissing him. As she pulled into the gravel driveway and slowly rolled her 1975
Mercedes to a stop, her toes curled as she remembered the way he tasted, the way he’d held her shoulders tightly as he’d slowly
licked his way around her mouth.

Heaven.

But she pushed the lovely memory aside as she paused to prepare herself for brunch. Calling her grandmother’s residence a
house was a slight understatement. It was more like a mansion, and in Atherton, California, a place like this was worth many
millions of dollars. Her grandmother owned one of the most expensive pieces of property in the Bay Area.

Built like an English manor, the exterior of the Tudor-style house was covered in ivy, and several huge oak trees dotted the
property. Joy had parked in the back, and as she looked around the separate garage area, she tried not to be disappointed.