Surrender to Temptation Part II: Tempted to Rebel (5 page)

Read more of Devon and Zachariah’s tumultuous passion in

Part III of SURRENDER TO TEMPTATION

TEMPTED TO OBEY

Available from InterMix on January 15, 2013

And keep reading for a special preview of

Lauren Jameson’s upcoming erotic romance novel,

BLUSH

Available from NAL in May 2013

Many people would look uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny that I have been directing his way. This man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blush, doesn’t toss me a cocky smile. Instead he returns my stare, unabashed, stoic even, letting me look my fill. He doesn’t touch me, either, but after he sets the glass down, I feel as if his hands had been all over me.

“Let me get you something else wet.” I think he smirks now, just the smallest upturn of his lips, but the expression is gone before I can be certain. Certainly he hasn’t meant the double entendre that has leapt into my head.

He waves the bartender over and speaks; I am not listening and don’t hear what he orders. I am busy focusing intently on not making a fool of myself—that, and wondering why on earth such a desirable man is here, talking to me.

“There.” The man eases himself up onto the stool beside me and turns to face me. Our knees bump together, and I get the impression that he has done it on purpose.

“Now. Why are you so nervous, so uptight, that my ‘hello’ makes you spill your drink?” He steeples his fingers, rests his chin on them, and looks right into my eyes. I feel like a bug pinned on the wall.

“I . . . I . . .” I can’t tell him why. It’s stupid. No, it’s not stupid, but it would
seem
stupid to someone who doesn’t know me, who doesn’t know what I’ve been through or why I’ve done the things that I’ve done.

The man frowns when I don’t reply, and I feel, again, a bit like a child being scolded. Then he smiles again, a seductive smile right at me, and the sun seems to shine through a batch of rain clouds.

“Let’s start with something easier, then.”

The bartender arrives at that moment, setting down a fat wine bottled with an elongated neck and two stemmed glasses. The man pays it not a whit of attention, keeping his eyes intently latched on my own.

I am growing very warm.

“My name is Alex Fraser. What is yours?” He seems keenly interested in the answer.

“Um.” Why on earth does he care? Why do I care why he cares? “Maddy. Maddy Stone.”

He nods as if he has never heard anything so interesting. “And is ‘Maddy’ short for anything?”

“Madeline.” My voice is soft, but I can’t seem to speak any louder.

“Well, then.” Enormously pleased, the man I now know as Alex Fraser turns and pours two small glasses of the liquid from the bottle, which is already uncorked. He hands me one, and though I can feel the heat of his hand as I wrap my own around the glass stem, he doesn’t touch me.

I find myself oddly disappointed.

“Drink.” Instead of sipping his own drink, he watches me expectantly. I lift the glass, study its ruby contents, then lower it again. With wide eyes I move my stare from the glass to him.

“I usually stick to cola.” I have learned the hard way that too much alcohol unlocks the grief. I become another person entirely when I’ve been drinking, a stranger who is wild, emotional, and above all, angry. Since I like alcohol, it is just easier not to start.

I don’t like releasing that other me, maybe because I know that, given half a chance, she will take over the rest of me, and the person I was a year ago will be lost forever.

“This is much better.” He is watching my lips again, expecting me to lift the glass, to sip.

I know better than to accept drinks from strangers in bars, but I have watched this one’s journey from the bartender’s hands. Alex seems to want so badly for me to taste it.

“You’ll like it.” The promise sounds sultry, and I warn myself to settle down, knowing that his hormones are probably much calmer than mine in this moment.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I will like anything he tells me to like.

Lifting the glass to my lips, I take a sip. Heaven pours over my tongue and down my throat, and I surprise myself by taking a second sip.

“It’s lovely.” Alex is watching me with pleasure, and I feel absurdly pleased that my enjoyment of the liquid has pleased him. “What is it?”

“Mouton Rothschild, Bordeaux Red. 1943 was an excellent vintage.” I very nearly choke again.

1943? This wine is seventy years old?

How on earth much must it have cost?

My face must display my shock, and Alex laughs—a sound unexpected from someone who looks like he does. There is no malice in the sound—he seems to be genuinely enjoying me.

I like the way the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkles as he laughs.

“Why?” What on earth is he going to expect in return for two sips of something this outrageously expensive?

“Why not?” He sips again, not breaking eye contact with me. “I think you deserve it. If you feel the need to alleviate some ridiculous misplaced sense of give-and-take, then you tell me why you are so nervous.”

My jaw drops a fraction at his supercilious words.
Misplaced sense of give-and-take?
Excuse me? But in the same breath he has told me that he—a stranger—thinks that I deserve wine that is over twice as old as I am. Flustered, I take another deep sip from my glass, buying time.

I don’t deserve anything. I take one more small sip of the wine, telling myself that it’s okay, it’s just wine, not a self-actualizing experience.

He wants to know why I am nervous? Fine. I’ll tell him—though I won’t delve too deeply into it. Then he’ll laugh
at
me, and I’ll have a reason to leave.

Lauren Jameson
is a writer, yoga newbie, knitting aficionado, and animal lover who lives in the shadows of the great Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada. She’s older than she looks—really—and younger than she feels—most of the time. She has published with Avon and Harlequin as Lauren Hawkeye and writes contemporary erotic romance for NAL. Visit her online at www.laurenjameson.com and www.laurenhawkeye.com.

Surrender to Temptation

Part I: Tempted to Submit

Part II: Tempted to Rebel