Surrender Your Heart (2 page)

The table is set
for two, plates, glasses, food under silver dome lids. I know because it smells
so good I’m almost fainting once more. This is getting old. My headache is long
gone, leaving behind a feeling of complete confusion. Everything looks shiny
and sparkling, including the bottle of champagne on ice. I can’t believe she
thinks I’m that easy. I can’t believe how tempted I am to give in.

“What do you
want
?”

She smiles,
brushes a finger down my arm. I shiver, disconcerted mostly about my reaction.
How is that possible?

“Isn’t that
obvious? I want to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. I want all of
you.”

“Why me?” I will
keep asking until she gives me a real answer.

She moves
closer, but doesn’t touch me again. She doesn’t have to. Her words have me
spell-bound. “I knew it when I first saw you. I had to have you.”

“Gee,” I say
nervously. “You could have asked for my phone number.”

She chuckles at
that. “Come on, sit down. Before we eat,” she takes the bottle out of the
cooler and pours two glasses of the sparkling liquid, “have a sip. Relax.
You’re safe here.”

“So you keep
telling me. Please excuse me for thinking there must be a catch.”

“There’s no
catch,” Carter denies. “That day at the café, I could tell, you were
interested. You were thinking about…us.”

One sip of
expensive champagne and I throw all caution in the wind. “You’re not only a
rich criminal, you’re also psychic. Wow.”

My face is
burning, giving me away. Maybe I had been thinking about it, a little fantasy
of a single woman that hurt no one. That didn’t give her the right…What if I
keep saying yes, to the clothes, the dinner, the champagne?

What if I said
yes to more than that?

“I didn’t need
to be psychic,” she says, not denying any of the other charges, as their truth
is obvious. She starts to lift the lids off the food, orange-glazed chicken,
rice, vegetables. Everything looks delicious. Finally, she pours a glass of
white wine for both of us.

“First you drug
me, now you want to get me drunk? I’m scared to find out where this is going.”

Carter takes a
sip of her wine and leans back in her chair. She’s too comfortable with all of
this, which, I assume, comes from always getting your way. No exceptions.

“Again, I’m
sorry, but I can assure you it was just a harmless sedative to make the trip a
little easier. The pilot tells me there was a lot of turbulence, so that was
probably for the better. It has long worn off by now, so you can have a glass
of wine safely. Please excuse the meager meal for today, but I think it will be
easier on your stomach. Tomorrow will be better, I promise. I won’t let you go
hungry.”

Meager
? “Why did you buy all of those clothes?”

“You’re going to
need something to wear,” she says, sounding too damn reasonable. “Look, once we
have established some rules, we might travel. You’re going to need clothes for
different occasions, and I thought you’d appreciate a little variety. I know
you’re worried about your job and the university, but I can assure you all of
it is taken care of for at least a year. You don’t need to trouble your mind
with any of it. You are free.”

“One year! What
did you do?” I ask in disbelief.

She shrugs as if
it’s no big deal. “You’re taking a leave of absence from your job and studies.
I know it takes time to build trust. I don’t want to rush you into anything. In
the meantime, you may use the library if you’d like to keep up with your
studies, but please, don’t feel like there’s an obligation. I’ll show you
tomorrow.”

Taking a year
off? It’s impossible. It’s something I have dreamed of before, to let go of all
responsibilities. This is the kind of dreams you can’t help sometimes, even
though you know they can never come true. What will she expect for all that
generosity? Why do I keep asking myself this question when I already know?

I can’t help
thinking that behind this clever plan, the implications of which still have me
reeling, hides a very lonely woman. The circumstances make it hard to feel
sorry for her, and, frankly, I’ve been lonely too. I could fool myself for a
few hours, for a night maybe, but…a year? Carter doesn’t seem crazy. In fact,
she seems to know very well what she wants and how to get it.

“You expect me
to be grateful? I worked so hard to be able to stay in school. Do you really
think I would somehow fall in love with you and forget all about this?”

Carter fills my
glass again. I hadn’t even noticed I drank all of the wine. “Honestly, love, I
wasn’t thinking that far. Why don’t we start with pleasure?”

“I’m not sure if
you and I have the same taste in anything. You obviously like to be in
control.”

“Maybe you need
to let go,” she suggests. “Does that scare you?”

“What are you
talking about? You want to tie me down?”

I utterly fail
at irony. The tone of my voice makes the question sound more like an
invitation, which she noticed. I can tell by the small smile.

“This is crazy.”
I can only repeat myself. “You don’t know me. Why would you want to do anything
for me?”

She leans close
enough to whisper in my ear. “Because you deserve it. Besides, I think you
would enjoy being tied down.”

I almost expect
her to kiss me, but she pulls back with a satisfied smile. “How about dessert
now?”

I nod, to the
dessert, not anything else, breathless with an emotion somewhere in between
anticipation and dread.

I could try to
lie, but I can’t deny my body’s instant reaction. This woman, a stranger, has
seen right through me, straight to fantasies I never shared with anyone—and she
knows it.

A woman in her
fifties serves dessert. She’s not giving me a second glance, going about her
work quickly, and I realize I can’t expect any help from her. I’m not sure
whether the people who work for Carter Forbes are threatened or bribed into
silence. Whatever the strategy is, it seems to work.

“You don’t know
anything about me.”

“Oh, I know a
few things.”

She knows I get
flustered, and enjoys it.

“You think I’m
so easy to read?”

“No. I have a
lot of experience reading people.”

This is surreal,
having dinner with this attractive woman, somewhere in a house on a beach—after
she kidnapped me, with the possible intention of tying me down. Jesus.

“Don’t try so
hard to figure this out,” she advises, laying a hand on my arm. “Trust me.”

“Now that’s a
little hard to do.” The chocolate cake, however, is impossible to pass up. If I
want to formulate and execute and escape plan, I need my strength. That’s an
explanation as good as any. “I don’t even know where we are. I don’t know
you
.”

“Don’t worry.
You’ll get to know me.” Her eyes darken, and I wonder if she’s imagining how
exactly that’s going to happen. “It’s been a long day for both of us. I’ll let
you get ready and I’ll come see if you need anything later.”

“What? It’s
bedtime already? I don’t get to play?” It’s probably not wise to act like a
brat, but I can’t help it, still too overwhelmed by this rapidly shifting
reality.

“You get to play
when you are ready,” she murmurs. “Now finish your cake.”

* * * *

This is
ridiculous. I slept for most of the day, I’m jet-lagged, freaking out, and not
the least bit tired. Back in my suite, I pace the length of the room, back and
forth before the futility of my actions catch up with me. I open the door to
the walk-in closet, the effect the same as before. I have never seen so many
clothes except in a store, and my budget never allowed for a luxury like this.
I take out a ruby red gown that would be perfect for a celebrity party or a
dinner in a restaurant way beyond my means. The fabric feels soft and enticing.
I have to remind myself this is not my life, my reality. It’s a prolonged
disconcerting dream and the fairy…a powerful woman who keeps undressing me with
her eyes.

Yes, of course,
that’s what it’s all about. She’s locking me up, dressing me up for her own
pleasure. What pieces did I miss? You can’t come up with all of this and be
totally sane, can you? What if she has a torture chamber somewhere in this
mansion?

I put on the
dress and regard myself in the full-length mirror, my eyes wide with a myriad
of mixed emotions—but mostly excited. I’ve never seen myself like this, and in
spite of being confused out of my mind I look—amazing. The dress, the
underwear, everything is comfortable and fits perfectly.

I can’t be here.

I need to study,
go to work.

I take out
another dress, this one a dark blue, and choose a pair of silver sandals from
the shoe shelf. There’s a transformation taking place already. I’m in it, I’m
not sure I like it, but I can’t stop it.

Before I know
it, I’m immersed in a fashion show for one, an accidental Cinderella, rescued
from her boring ordinary life by…It’s impossible to determine yet, an evil
queen, or Princess Charming. I laugh at my thoughts. Maybe I’m going insane.

I jump at the
sound of the door falling shut, and a moment later she’s standing behind me,
obviously amused at what I’ve been doing.

“I see you’re
making yourself at home. Good.”

“I wasn’t…” It’s
hard to prove the opposite, with the pile of clothes on the chair, and at least
five pairs of shoes underneath. “I’m sorry,” I say, unsure, much aware that I’m
only wearing a bra and panties. She studies me, unabashed.

“Don’t be,
they’re all yours.” Carter steps closer, and I flinch. “Hey. It’s okay. I want
everything to be to your convenience.”

She brushes her
hand over my hair, her eyes never leaving mine, fingertips traveling down my
shoulder. It’s odd that she touches me like this, tentative, cautious, as if
asking for permission. I don’t think she went to all this trouble thinking she
would have to ask. If she wants something, she takes it. I’m the living proof.

“What are you
going to wear for the night? Or do you prefer to sleep naked? You can. None of
my staff is going to walk in here without permission.”

“It’s not the
staff I’m worried about,” I mumble, and she laughs. Damn my crazy kidnapper for
having such a sexy laugh. Damn me for being so easy. Stockholm syndrome starts
early, apparently.

The romance
novels are wrong. This is not what I’ve dreamed of all my life—or is it? Crap.
“Can’t you let me go? I swear I’ll forget about all this. I even give you my
number…Wait, you have it. Did you clean out my apartment?” I step back and
stare at her in disbelief—or maybe that disbelief is directed at myself,
because her hand on my arm, moving to my back, felt so good.

“I’m afraid
there wasn’t much of worth in it,” Carter says. “I had someone get your
passport, and a few papers of course. A few clothes, so anyone who goes in
there will buy the timeout for a year. I don’t want the police to come looking
for you. As for your question,” she finishes calmly, “the answer is no. I can’t
let you go.”

“Why?” I’m
starting to feel like a four-year-old, asking all these questions. Underneath
it all, there are too many emotions that are all but child-like. I’m not ready
to face them.

She lays her
hands on me again, on my sides, barely above my hips. There doesn’t seem to be
enough air in the room for both of us to breathe.

“What if, after
some time, you don’t want to leave?” she asks, her lips almost brushing my
cheek. “What if you like it here so much you realize this
is
what you
want?”

“Being your
guest?” I find the sarcasm hard to muster for a reason, but…
I had someone
get your passport
. That means we’re not even in the country anymore. No one
is going to come looking for me, and she knows it. She arranged for it.

“Being
mine
,”
she says. “Breathe.” Her arms come around me, and it’s a wild tug of war, body
and mind. How can I trust her? My body turns out to be a traitor, overriding
the instinctual fight/flight reaction. When you can do neither, I’ve learned in
class, you play dead. The warmth traveling to various places of my body as she
holds me against her tells me without a doubt that I’m very much alive.

“You said I
could study.” The words come out in a series of gasps, and it’s not for
panicking. If I am, it’s for a different reason. “Show me.”

With regret in
her expression, she lets go. “You should put on some clothes then.”

“Why do you
care?”

A wry smile
curves her lips. “I don’t, but we might run into someone. I don’t want them to
get the wrong impression.”

“What is the
right impression? What do you want them to think—or me?”

Carter answers
my question, this time leaving no doubt as she steps into my personal place
again and kisses me, spiraling me even deeper into confusion. Her lips are warm
and soft, mine opening to her instinctively, a split-second, before I tear
myself away.