Surrender (9 page)

She slid her hand over his cool pillow to discover herself alone. He hadn’t come to their bed last night.

She could see why he thought she'd duped him into their seduction scene. She had to make this right before she left. She couldn’t leave him again while he was angry with her.

Stubborn man, sometimes he was so . . . so . . . old fashioned.
Restless and lonely, she slipped into a silk robe, grabbed a flesh-colored rose in a nearby vase at the foot of the bed, and padded barefoot down the spiral staircase. It wasn't long before she followed the echo of music drifting through the air. Approaching a pair of heavy oak doors, she paused, and then pushed them open without a sound. She found the room dimly lit by several tall, fat candles perched atop a grand piano. She could see Lyon's form, outlined by the candlelight, fingers gliding across the keys, his long hair obscuring what little of his face she could see. She recognized this particular piece, an Adagio by Samuel Barber, a melody so unbearably heartrending, Isabella felt as though she'd intruded where she didn't belong. Tears fell unheeded as the sadness of the music engulfed her, and all of a sudden, she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him forever.

No, don't do it. Don't risk it all again for another man who will never love you.
Her palm slashed at the tears and she took a step back to leave the room but not fast enough.

"Come in, Belle."

She simply shook her head.

He turned, his face a mask of loneliness. "Instead of running away, why don't you face me, tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling."

"Lyon, no matter what you think, I wasn't eavesdropping in the garden. Now that I'm leaving, I want to thank you again for paying the debt." He stood but didn't approach her. "Yes, I realize that. But before you go home, don’t you think it's time you gave me some answers?"

She threw back the hair from her shoulders and straightened. "Are we back to this again? I told you, I had no one else to turn to."

"Bullshit."

She stepped back at the sound of his roar, but found no escape, only the closed door at her back.

"You have several wealthy relatives in Europe, and the trust fund your mother left you would have paid at least a portion of your father's debt. So I repeat my question. Why, Isabella? Why did you really come to me, and this time, tell me the truth."

Her hackles rose, despite the fact her heart bled at the sadness in his raspy tone.

"How did you know about my relatives? Or my mother's trust fund? You intruded into my private life? You had no right!"

With long strides, he approached her; his hands tunneled through his hair and his nostrils flared. She found herself trapped against the door, face to face with Lyon so close, his puffs of breath fluttered errant strands of her hair. Primal heat sizzled through him, and he directed all that power at her.

"When someone comes to me asking for a quarter of a million dollars, everything becomes my right. Don't insult me with your lies any longer. You came here to cleanse yourself once and for all from the past. Yes, or no?" His chest heaved, his anger evident.

"You came back to find out what you'd missed five years ago, admit it."

"No."

"Yes," he bellowed, his voice so strained it cracked. His hands clenched, opened then shut. "I was there, remember? From the beginning, I made the mistake of getting close to you, Isabella. From the first day of our friendship to your relationship with David, and finally, to the end to your engagement. Handsome, perfect David wasn't perfect after all, was he?"

"I don't want to talk about David." With shaking hands, she covered her face, but Lyon pulled her hands away. She lifted her head and in the candlelight, his eyes, like blue marbles, shone wide and wild.

"David and I . . . it was complicated."

He threw out his hands and flung his head back. "He fucked women behind your back. I don’t call that complicated. I call it unfathomable, crude, and just plain evil. In the end, it appears David and I weren't alike at all."

"No, you weren't."

"Why, Isabella? Why did you choose him and not me? I would have never betrayed you!"

Isabella shook her head, refusing to listen. "Stop it!" she shouted. "It hurts when you say that. Why do you care so much? He didn't hurt you." He grabbed her arms and shook her as if to awaken her from a bad dream.

"When he hurt you, the pain was mine as well. He was my brother and I found myself powerless to protect you from his infidelity! How do you think that made me feel?" She knew, sooner or later, Lyon would bring the subject of his brother to the forefront. Isabella shook her head, speechless. But Lyon's words reverberated throughout the cavernous room.

"The perfect, handsome, blond, extroverted brother with the quick wit and endearing charm was not the man he seemed, don't you agree, Isabella? In the end, you turned to the darkly scarred, eccentric twin, didn't you?"

"Lyon, I—"

He didn’t give her a chance to speak. "But things have changed in the past few days, haven't they? I've awakened sensations in you that you never experienced with my perfect brother. Don't bother to deny it, Isabella, because I know every nuance about you."

Before she could react, Lyon grabbed her hair and wound it around his fist until she gasped. He pulled her into his arms and gathered her against the heat of his body; his erection grazed her mound.

His warm mouth caressed her ear, his voice barely audible. "Contradict me all you want, but your presence here has proven at least one fundamental truth—you wanted all I gave even more than I did, if possible. You loved being touched, sucked, and fucked."

"You're being crude," she whispered, but secretly ached for more.

"You need crude, Isabella. You crave it, as I do. I loved having you writhing underneath me. Should I remind you how many times you begged me to slide my tongue inside you hot little pussy? Must I remind you how many times you came in my mouth, in my hand? Shall I, Isabella?"

"All right; all right!" She grabbed the front of his shirt. "I love the way you make me feel. I found out I'm not frigid after all, and I should thank you, shouldn't I, Lyon?

You make my body feel things I've never felt, ever. Do you understand? I feel—"

"The word is 'alive'."

"Yes," she agreed. "Alive . . . but because I surrendered myself for money, I'm no more than a common prostitute."

He pried her fingers from his shirt and cradled her face in his warm palms. "I've paid for sex in the past. This is different. You're different."

"Now who's fooling who? Who's the liar now, Lyon?"

He released her hair and wound his arms around her waist. Then he smashed his mouth into hers, moving his lips against hers, wounding her, crushing her. She gasped and ground her pussy against his aroused cock.

"Feel me, touch me, Isabella. What we have is more than just a deal for money. I ache for you, I want to push myself so far inside you, you won't remember where I end and where you begin. I want to pound our bodies together until we pass out from the power of our passion."

"Lyon," she breathed into his mouth. "Lyon."

"Yes, darling, I'm Lyon, not David. Your body was created for me. We fit together so perfectly." He pulled open her robe and latched onto her breast, greedily sucking and nipping her aching nipples, first one, then the other.

"You taste like heaven and fuck like sin, Isabella. Don't refute what we do to each other."

He bit her nipples until she threw her head back and groaned with pleasure. He licked then palmed her breasts, squeezing them together, and ravishing them as if they were a gourmet meal and he was a starving man.

She couldn’t help but cry out in pleasure when he gently pushed her against the door then trailed his tongue down the length of her tummy. If he stopped now, she would die. He fell to his knees, spread her legs, and feasted on her pussy, kissing and sucking her swollen clit until she could barely keep her balance. His fingers opened her wider, and he lifted one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder to gain deeper access to her throbbing core. Isabella held on tightly to his shoulders, and threw her head back from the touch of his masterful mouth and tantalizing tongue. And for the moment, thoughts of leaving Lyon fled with her good judgment.

* * * * *

He didn't have the strength to carry her upstairs to bed. So he pulled her to the thick carpet and followed her down.

This would be the final time he'd rock into her and take them both over the cliff. She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes. Apparently, she knew it too. "Lyon, give me everything, all of you."

Her pleas made him harder by the second. He ached for the tight, wet walls of her pussy.

"And you will have everything, my beauty."

He shoved his slacks down his legs, kicked them off, and then spread her thighs wide. Her musky scent called to him and he swelled. Her pussy shone wet and pink with moist heat. A sob escaped him as her hand touched his cheek, caressed the scars on his face.

He lifted her hips in his tight grip and glided into her slick channel.

"Ahh," he whispered in response to her heated moans. She raised her legs to accommodate him fully, and Lyon slowly pushed into her, allowing the ecstasy of her body to wrap him in warmth.

Isabella's pussy fit him like a glove, and his hips thrust into her so hard and so hot, their bodies nearly left the floor.

"Tell me, Belle, tell me what you want."

She drew her fingers through his long hair and pulled him down to her. "I want you to fuck me all night. Don't stop, Lyon, please don't stop."

"Yes, yes," he managed.

She tightened her legs around his hips and he kissed her long and deep, their tongues darting in and out, mimicking the act of love. He wanted to explode inside her. But he would wait. When she stilled, he knew she was close. Emitting a hoarse cry, he pumped twice more, and then arched his back in pleasure.

He roared, emptying his seed deep inside her, while she cried out his name over and over. He embraced her tighter, afraid if he let go, she'd vanish.
Don't leave me, Belle, please.

Together, they jumped from the cliff, into the abyss.

* * * * *

Belle fisted her trembling hands in her lap and focused on the road ahead. Things were unfinished between them. What if he didn't return her love? Would serve you right, she thought as he made his way onto the thruway. Sadness blanketed her like a shroud. She missed Lyon already, all of him.

Tell him, you idiot. Tell him you love him, you want to be with him. Tell him now before
he . . . .

Lyon must have mistaken her sadness for apprehension. "You will be home soon, Belle, don't worry."

He didn't want her back. End of story. No happily ever after. She had to try to talk to him, at least. "Lyon, I want you to know—"

"Know what, Belle?"

"I want to thank you for all you did for the shop and my dad. I'll miss you." He focused his eyes back on the road and frowned. "You don't have to say things you don't mean, Isabella. I know you are a responsive and sexual woman. I'm glad we shared a few days, but our agreement is over, and you can go home now; the debt is paid."

She turned to face him as he drove smoothly along the roads back to the city.

"Lyon, you don't understand, I'm trying to tell you how I feel."

"I know how you feel, Belle. You can go back to your shop, your life. So don't say things you don't mean just to make me feel better. It's not necessary." This man was the most stubborn, infuriating person she'd ever known.

"Lyon, listen to me."

"Why, Belle, so you can tell me what I already know? I'm an underhanded bastard to have kept you at my home these past days. You had to give all to me in payment for a debt. Have pity on me, Belle, just go, and forget about me."
Forget him?
She'd just as soon forget how to breathe. She loved him, but he'd never believe her now. He would just think she said the words out of obligation. Before long, her house came into view. He pulled to the curb, but didn't bother to shut off the engine.

She refused to cry. "Thank you, Lyon."

He turned and took her face into his large hands. "I will miss you." His kiss was both tender and cruel.

"Goodbye, Lyon."

"Au revoir, ma Belle."

A hollow sensation swept through her as she stepped out of his car. And out of his life.

Chapter Ten

He arrived home, his guts on fire. He barely had time to put the car into park before throwing open the door and emptying the contents of his stomach. Straightening, he slammed the car door and made his way slowly to his bedroom.

Don't go in there. She slept in there with you. She made love with you in there. Don't—

His gaze took in the room. The room they'd shared for just a few days. The scent of sex and roses mingled with an essence that belonged to Isabella alone. He missed the weight of her thick hair entwined around his wrist, the satin softness of her skin, and her beautiful smile. The way her mouth fit him perfectly as they kissed, and the manner in which she surrounded and suckled his sex. He already missed the sound of her voice, especially her murmurs of pleasure when they made love, and her purrs of fatigue when her body was satiated and she sought sleep. He wanted the pain to eat away at his loneliness. His existence meant nothing now. A big gaping hole speared his belly and twisted until he cried out her name. He wanted to die.

Eugenia and Ophelia entered the room and jumped on him, obviously in tune with his sadness. He spoke to them as they nuzzled in his arms. "I should have told her how much I love her. I've loved her since the moment we met." He clutched at his chest, pain slashing at his heart like a dull knife. He fell to his knees, and cried out a roar of despair so loud and deep the dogs howled in response. Tears fell from his cheeks to his lips, a salty reminder of his loss. He didn’t care that she'd known about the debt. All he cared about was Isabella.

Lyon scanned the luxurious room with tear-filled eyes. She'd taken nothing but the clothes on her back. The diamond necklace lay atop its velvet bed on the bureau, the antique comb beside it. The sexy red gown hung from a black satin hanger, the matching shoes close by.