Surrender (7 page)

“What happened, little bird?” Garrick reaches across the table and cradles my hand in his.

I know he can read me like a book. I’ve never been able to hide my pain. I can camouflage everything else. “Nothing.” I avert my eyes.

His grasp tightens and I study his hand. It’s the size of a bear paw and callused. I like holding hands—it’s as intimate as kissing.

“You can tell me
anything,
Robyn.”

I cross my legs. “Nothing ever turns out the way I plan.”

“What happened
today
?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’re a complicated woman,” he comments. “Did Craig . . .”

My gaze darts up. How does he know about Craig? “Stop it,” I snap.

“
You
stop it,” he counters. “I bought Macey a drink a few minutes ago and she told me about Craig. Did he hurt you?”

Those four proverbial walls are closing in on me fast. I squirm. “He never hit me, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t ask if he smacked you, Robyn. There are a thousand different ways to inflict pain. I asked if he
hurt
you . . .”

“Yeah,” I say, matter-of-fact. “He did.”

I’m staring at her lips. I want to suck on the bottom one while I pump inside her. I need to focus on something, anything except her words—I already wanna kill that son-of-a-bitch bouncer. Things will change next week.

“. . . We went to dinner a few months ago.” I curse myself for missing the first part of what she said. “Then we hung out for a week—the bookstore, a dorm party, the movies. Nothing serious, really.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” she says.

There’s a hitch in her voice. Maybe she’s holding something back.

“I never slept with him.” She shivers, and not because it’s cold.

I’m beyond aroused. I mentally try to control the animal urges rising inside me, but my dick has a mind of its own. I want to comfort and please her at the same time. I’m glad that asshole didn’t get between her legs. She has good instincts. Craig is a predator. I look around the dimly lit room. We’re alone. There’s a bouncer posted outside the door, but he doesn’t interfere with activities in the VIP. It’s all a front to pacify the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission—the state’s version of the morals police. Every so often there’s a spotlight on the local news showing “raids” on the strip clubs. Propaganda to appease the Bible thumpers on the city council.

If religion is the opiate of the masses, power is the aphrodisiac of Texas politicians.

The waitress delivers our meals and I hand her a credit card. “Keep an open tab.”

Robyn eyes the carnage on the plate in front of her. I laugh at her reaction. “You need a shot of protein.”

“I can drink a protein shake to get that.”

I’ll give her something to swallow.
I growl, frustrated by what I can’t do to her here, and stab my steak like a barbarian. I cut a large piece and stuff it in my mouth.

“Your table manners are atrocious,” she says.

I laugh and chew at the same time. “So I’ve been told.”

I cut a second piece and stab my fork into it. I look up at her. She’s watching me—appalled and intrigued at the same time. I extend my hand across the table, offering her a taste of meat. “Try it.”

Her stomach grumbles and she goes red-faced. “See?” I taunt. “It’s completely natural. We’re carnivores.”

“No,” she denies. “We’re omnivores.” I enviously watch the fork slide in and out of her mouth.

“Is it good?” I ask.

She swallows and nods. “I hate to say it . . .”

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten red meat?”

“A year.”

Goddamned vegetarians.
“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

She stiffens. “You want to take me on a real date?”

“Yeah.” I wonder why that surprises her. She’s flawless and intelligent. I know there’s a pack of wolves fighting over her. Maybe I affect her in ways other guys don’t. “There’s a great restaurant at the Omni Bay Hotel . . .”

“Can we go somewhere casual?” she interrupts. “Maybe sushi?”

She’s the first girl I’ve ever known to turn down a three-hundred-dollar meal. I’m pleasantly surprised. “Anywhere you want,” I say.

“Let’s get out of town,” she suggests. “There’s a great place in Rockport, a hole-in-the-wall, really. Sushi Luck. I love it.”

I consider the reasons why she wants to drive all the way to Rockport. She’s one of the best dancers at the Devil’s Den. There’s a price to pay for that notoriety. She risks a lot showing up to work every night—including her reputation. After she graduates, she’ll have a hard time transitioning from stripper girl to a young professional in Corpus. Although men from the corporate world frequent this establishment, in the morning they’d sooner stab you in the back than admit it.

I’ve wanted to ask her a question since the first night I visited here. “Why don’t you use a stage name?”

“I used to.”

I raise an eyebrow, hoping she’ll explain.

“I went by Savanah. One night at dinner with my family at Luby’s . . .” She sounds strangled. “A customer came over to my table and asked when I was going to be at work. That’s before my family knew what I did for a living. Put two and two together.”

I see the pain in her eyes. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It complicated things with my mother.”

She looks away. Now I know where that hint of sadness on her perfect face comes from. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Four,” she says. “And you?”

“Just my sister, Gretchen.”

“That’s better than being alone,” she offers in consolation. I know she’s thinking about my parents’ tragic deaths.

“Are you lonely?” I ask, regretting it the moment it comes out.

She slants her head, wearing a blank expression. “I’m on my own most of the time.” She purses her lips, indicating that this part of the conversation has come to an end.

Garrick presses me for answers on private things. Is he writing a book?
No, idiot,
I tell myself,
he’s genuinely interested
.
If he wanted a piece of ass, he could have gotten it the second night you knew him.
Hell, if
I
wanted a piece of ass . . . There’s more to this. I feel it. Sometimes I have to remind myself that not everyone is out to take advantage of me. It’s hard to trust people in this business. Don’t get me wrong: my best friends—more accurately, my real family—have all come through this club. I don’t match the cookie-cutter personalities at school. Most of my professors respect me, but they call me steamroller for a reason. I’m opinionated and not afraid to share my philosophies when asked.

I’m uncomfortable with Garrick because he pegs everything about me. I
am
lonely. I can stand in a room naked with a hundred men ogling me and still get lonely. Does that make sense? If I’m going to date this guy, maybe I should open up a little. Let him catch glimpses of the real me—the girl who wants more than most of the women I work with. I see the brass ring. It’s far away, but damn it, I
can
see it.

“I get lonely,” I admit.

He runs his fingers through his thick hair. I watch every move he makes. I love the shape of his eyes, lips, and face. Don’t get me started on that perfect face.

“Let’s see if we can change that,” he says.

I don’t know if he’s a godsend or a devil. Somehow it doesn’t matter right now. I feel safe with him. I can’t explain it. And if I keep second-guessing myself, I’ll never get any sleep.

Chapter Six

I hear the rumble of Garrick’s engine outside. He’s coming to the door. I wait. I’m wearing a checkered pantsuit—not Hillary Clinton–style. The top is sleeveless and backless and ties at the neck. My hair is in a classic bun with wisps of curls around my face. I have a long neck, and I know this outfit and hairstyle accentuate it well. He knocks. I take a deep breath. My heart races as I reach for the doorknob. I’m a thirteen-year-old again, waiting for my first date. It’s crazy.

I open the door. I know a Fioravanti suit when I see one. How can I keep up with this guy’s wardrobe? I smile sheepishly, almost embarrassed by what I’m wearing.

“Hello, Robyn,” he says. “You look stunning.” He takes my hand and spins me around.

I laugh. “So do you.”

I grab my purse off the kitchen counter and lock the front door. We walk to his truck, then he opens the door for me. On the passenger seat, a dozen pale blue roses are waiting for me. I’m surprised and speechless. I look at him.

“They remind me of you.” He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Thank you.” I pick up the beautifully wrapped bouquet before I climb in. He shuts the door.

Customers send flowers to me all the time. But these mean something.

“Wanna put them in the backseat?” he asks.

I lean over the bench seat and gently place the flowers on the floorboard. When I turn back, Garrick’s gaze is locked on my ass.

“I can’t help myself, little bird,” he says with a shrug.

If he bent over, I’d do the same thing. Only he wouldn’t catch me watching. I’m not sure I like the nickname he’s chosen for me. “Birdie” isn’t entirely unknown to me. Before I developed curves, I was rail thin, and the boys made sure I knew it. And my mother chopped my hair short because she couldn’t make me sit still long enough to brush out the knots. Sometimes I was mistaken for a boy. Especially in the summer, when I ran around half-naked on the beach. Those are happy memories.

He starts the engine, and Eminem’s “The Monster” is playing. I shake my head.

“What?” he asks.

“I thought you were a country boy.”

“I am.” He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate good music.”

“Who’s your favorite country artist?” I ask.

“Garth Brooks.”

“Me too!” I say. “Favorite classic rock band?” My eyes narrow.

He smiles. “Led Zeppelin, hands down.”

“Wow.” We love the same music. “This is crazy. If you like the same movies, I’m outta here.”

“Top ten?” he asks. I nod.

“The
Godfather
trilogy,
Rob Roy
,
The Shootist
,
True Grit
,
Fight Club
. . .”

I adore John Wayne. And don’t get me started on
The Godfather
. Did this guy read my journal? “Favorite number?”

He shrugs. “Eight—reminds me of infinity.”

I nearly choke. If I believed in matches made in heaven . . . I know it’s insignificant stuff, but I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s the small things that count. And all those
small
things add up. Right?

It’s a thirty-minute drive to Rockport if we do the speed limit. We merge with traffic on South Padre Island Drive. I enjoy the blazing sunset as we cross the JFK Bridge. When we arrive at Sushi Lucky at seven, the place is empty. We pick a table and sit down. Garrick takes off his jacket and hangs it on the chair next to him. The waitress comes over and gives us menus.

“Why don’t you order for us,” Garrick suggests.

I smile. “Sure.” I open the menu and scan the sushi rolls. Most people frequent this place for the authenticity of the food, not the service. After ten minutes, I signal for the waitress. She comes back.

“We’ll have nigiri, hirame, a Fulton Roll, and a Sushi Luck Roll.”

“Anything to drink?” she asks.

“Sake,” Garrick pipes in. “Two each, and ice water.”

The waitress nods and goes to the kitchen. The restaurant is located in a renovated house, so the atmosphere is very casual. There’s a big window next to our table and I see cars zip by.

“I thought you didn’t believe in contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

“I didn’t order the sake for you.” His eyes glow with mischief.

Most places won’t serve more than two drinks per person. “If you drink all that sake, aren’t you afraid I’ll take advantage of you?” I say. Nothing wrong with a little friendly teasing.

“That’s an interesting proposition, Ms. Gonzalez.” There’s something wild and hungry in his eyes.

“You know my last name.” I’m impressed.

“Personnel files at the club.”

“So you
are
stalking me,” I jest. I put my elbow on the table and rest my head on my hand. I can’t help staring at him and he knows it.

“Comfortable?” Garrick asks.

“As much as a pig in a blanket.” I wink at him.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Robyn?”

“For three days now . . .”
Oh. My. God. I can’t believe it slipped out.
For a moment I want to wither and die.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. The waitress delivers the sake and water without checking our IDs. Garrick stands, sucks down three shots, takes a sip of water, reaches in his pocket, pulls out a bankroll, places a hundred-dollar bill on the table, grabs his jacket off the chair, looks down at me, then offers me his hand. “Come on.”

I glance at him, then the kitchen. “But . . . what about our meal?”

“It’ll keep.” He clutches my hand and pulls me to my feet.

I take long strides to keep up with him on our way to his truck. He hurries me inside and slams the door shut. He gets in and doesn’t explain anything. Two minutes later, we take a right on a dark street and drive to the end of it. He throws his truck in park and shuts off the lights. The AC is blasting. He presses play on the CD player and Blake Shelton comes on. I’m petrified. Why did I open my big mouth? I’m starving and nervous. I think I need to puke. I stare out the window, too afraid to look at him.

Then, he starts to tickle the back of my neck and plays with my loose hair. My neck is the most sensitive spot on my body. Macey often jokes that she needs to design a chastity belt for it to protect me from myself. Essentially, it’s my sex switch. Another reason I steer clear of men. I can’t control myself if someone touches me there too long.

Her words hit me like a hurricane. My mind shuts down and my dick takes over. I rush her out of the restaurant without saying a word. I’m only a man. I have two brains. And when a woman like Robyn Gonzalez tells me she’s been trying to seduce me for three days—I’m done. She wins. I’m hers for the taking.

I slam the seat back and blood thunders in my ears. I hope she knows what she’s getting into. I trace circles up and down her neck while I watch every move she makes. She closes her eyes and her breaths come in short bursts. Every inch of her is so goddamned silky smooth. My fingers can’t stop caressing.