Surrender Your Love (2 page)

Did he follow me out? My heartbeat sped up but
I didn’t halt. If anything, I floored the accelerator and the car spluttered forward. The engine lets out a drawn-out protest, but I didn’t care. Whatever Townsend’s business was, I decided he was a creep,and I had no intention of ever seeing him again
.
I was definitely not the kind of woman who’d ever succumb to a hard body and dimples to die for.

I reached my tiny apartment in Brooklyn
Heights in less than an hour and parked the car opposite from the five-story building that had been my home ever since graduating from college two years ago. The street was damp and deserted. The street lamp in front of the building cast a golden glow on the steel door, which led into a narrow hall with a lobby area. Minding the large rain puddles, I fished my keys out of my bag and let myself in, then rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.

My roommate and best friend, Sylvie, wasn
’t home. Ever since she landed the investment job of her dreams, she barely ever made it home before midnight. I had been taught to put one hundred and ten percent into everything I did, but Sylvie took working hard to a whole new level. She went so far as to sacrifice her hobbies, friendships, and health by doing unpaid overtime in an attempt to gain recognition for all the extra effort. Any attempts I ever initiated to make her realize just how unhealthy her stress level had become were futile so far, but I wasn’t going to give up.

Dropping the umbrella into a brass holder and
my handbag and coat on the old coffee table in the hall, I kicked my shoes off and headed for the kitchen to pour myself a much-earned glass of wine. I was halfway through my second glass when the key turned in the lock and Sylvie’s blonde head popped into my line of vision.

“
What a surprise!” I sat up and pointed at my glass. “Want one?”

“
You better have a bottle.” She slumped onto the couch next to me and put her long legs up. I scanned from her striped skirt that rode just above her knee up to her face and damp, blonde hair. Something was different. Her mascara was smudged. The skin beneath her blue eyes was swollen and red as though she had been crying, which was impossible. Sylvie wasn’t the crying kind. In all the six years we had been best friends, I never once saw her shed a tear. She never looked anything less than perfect and happy.

I sat up, instantly feeling something was wrong.
“What happened?”

“
I got the boot.”

“
What?”

She took the
glass out of my hands and drained it in one big gulp. “They kicked me out. Said something about not needing another intern. Blah blah.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“
Oh, crap.” I shook my head in disbelief. “But you worked so hard.”

“
I know, right? But you know what? I am okay. C’est la vie. Time to move on.” She jumped up, and a smile spread across her lips. “Let’s get plastered.”

I narrowed my gaze. There was something in the way she
avoided looking at me that raised my suspicion. “Wait!” I grabbed her arm and pulled her back down on the sofa. “You’re not telling me everything.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“Spill it,” I said.

She pressed her mouth into a tight line.

“Sylvie,” I prompted.

“
Fine. I slept with the boss.”

My jaw dropped.
“No.”

She nodded.
“I did. His personal assistant, who’s best buddies with his wife, started to suspect. So the bastard got the jitters and decided to get rid of me.”

“
Is that even legal?”

Was it?

Sylvie shrugged. “Probably not, but it’s a small world, and I need this reference if I ever want to land another banking job.”

“
The bastard,” I mirrored her words. Sylvie was the brightest person I knew. She had graduated in the top of her class, and any firm would have been happy to have her. “You’ll find something else in no time.” I had no doubt about that.

She smirked.
“Yeah, only next time remind me not to screw the boss, no matter how hot he is. You’re so lucky you have Sean. At least he’s not married and lying to you about not having slept in the same bed with the wife for the last two years. Talk about cliché.”

My arms wrapped around Sylvie
, and she leaned her head against my shoulder the way she always did when a relationship turned sour. They always did, whether we wanted it or not.

“
Sean’s not perfect, you know. And I don’t want commitment,” I said.

“
At least he’s honest. That’s more than you can say about the majority of guys out there.”

Call me a romantic
, but I didn’t agree with Sylvie on that one. Surely not all men were liars or commitment-phobes. I rolled my eyes as I thought of the guy everyone seemed to think was a catch. Sean—the boyfriend who wasn’t ready to commit, and neither was I, for my own reasons. He was good-looking, successful, and the guy I had been hanging onto for almost a year even though I knew it was a dead end relationship that might be over any minute
.
If you’d call his ‘let’s hook up every now and then’ a relationship, then that was about all we had: a sort of friends-with-benefits thing.

Less of a friend, more of a sex buddy.

We met when Sylvie left her handbag in a bar on a drunken night out. Sean found it,and when he turned up at our doorstep she should have been the one to thank him for not stealing her money and tossing her ID card in the nearest dumpster. However
,
Sylvie had been puking in the bathroom for nearly an hour...so Sean met me instead. We hit it off instantly, and I really thought he might be long-term material. As it turned out, even planning a weekend break was too much commitment for him. I couldn’t remember the last time we went on a romantic date. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever planning any sort of event that didn’t involve a drunken night out with our friends.

Right from the beginning,
Sean had made it clear we weren’t exclusive, and I was fine with that because he made me feel comfortable. Around him, I felt as though I could be myself. When we talked time seemed to fly, and we’d end up talking the night away. Okay, so I wasn’t in toe-curling, belly-warming, butterfly-feeling love, but then again does that even exist outside of
Barbara Cartland’s
novels?

“
Anyway,” Sylvie continued, jerking me out of my thoughts. “How was your meeting with that guy?”

“
Mayfield,” I said to refresh her memory.

“
Mayfield,” she repeated.

“
Don’t even get me started.” I waved my hand, choosing to avoid this particular conversation. “He didn’t turn up.”

“
It seems like we both need a drink.” Sylvie jumped to her feet again and pulled me up with her. I hesitated. She might be unemployed now, but I still had a job. While it might be fun to linger around New York’s bars, sipping on margaritas at midnight, I didn’t have Sylvie’s platinum Visa card—courtesy of her dad—to pay my bills. I had to get up early in the morning and do my job.

“
Come on, babes.” Knowing it would make me laugh, she put on the fake British accent she picked up on one of her family vacations. “Let’s forget this bloody day.” My lips twitched. “We’ll be back in a jiffy.” Which, in Sylvie’s personal dictionary, was the equivalent to a whole-night bender. But she was my best friend; she needed me. She would have done the same for me. Naturally my resolve never stood a chance.

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and followed
her out the door. The cool night air whipped my hair against my skin. Luckily our favorite drinking spot was just around the corner, so we didn’t have to brave the cold for long before we settled into our usual booth, surrounded by Sylvie’s countless admirers and a few shots of tequila with lime.

***

A penetrating ringing noise woke me up too soon. I groaned and covered my ears with my pillow, silently begging whoever was making such ungodly noise to shut it. It took me a moment to realize it was my alarm clock. I rolled on my side and knocked it over in the process. A male voice let out an amused snort. I sat up, instantly awake. My gaze settled on the guy on the left side of my bed, and I felt the telltale heat of a major blush rushing to my face. He was propped up on one elbow, one arm tucked beneath his head; his chiseled chest with dark hair trailing down his flat abdomen was on full display. The sheet covering his modesty left nothing to the imagination. In fact, it only managed to stir an unwelcome pull between my legs. Not only was he strikingly good looking, he was also well endowed. A heady—yet dangerous combination—in a man. My tongue flicked over my suddenly dry lips as I pried my gaze away from the bulge that was evident beneath the thin sheet.

What was he doing in my bed? And why was he naked?

What do you think, stupid? It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Just look at his smug grin.

I peered
at his face. In the bright morning light falling through the window he looked younger than last night, but just as arrogant. His gorgeous lips curled into the most stunning smile I had ever seen. A panty-dropping smile, as Sylvie would have called it. I paled at the realization. Had I dropped my panties for him?

He regarded me with mild amusement
in his smoldering eyes—the color of dark moss covered by a thin layer of opal mist. The way he looked at me, I felt as though he saw through my body and directly into my soul. No one had ever made me feel like that before. Then again, I had never met someone so electrically good-looking, but there’s a first time for everything.

“
Are you ready for Round Two?” His voice dripped with insinuation. I had heard that hoarse voice before, but where? My brain fought to make a connection through the alcohol infused haziness clouding my memory retrieval system. And then it dawned on me.

“
You were at The Black Rose. I was supposed to meet with Mayfield, but he sent you instead.”

His grin widened, revealing
two strings of pearl white, even teeth.

Beautiful, strong teeth that nibbled on my neck and grazed the sensitive skin on my
thighs.

Whoa, where did that come from? I shook my head lightly and tried to cling to the memory before my eyes, but it was gone already.

“Did we—” I gestured at his naked chest. My heart stopped beating for a moment as I waited for his assurance that it was all a misunderstanding, that I didn’t bang a stranger, because one-night stands weren’t my thing. Besides, I was in a relationship, albeit an open one, but cheating wasn’t my thing either. I wasn’t turning into Sylvie, was I? And I probably wasn’t so stupid to have banged the guy.

Mystery G
uy opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, and in that instant I knew.

I was cheap, not least because I couldn
’t even remember his name.

“
Oh, God.” I jumped out of bed, vaguely realizing I wasn’t wearing anything, not even my panties—probably courtesy of his panty-dropping smile. Mortified, I pulled the sheet from him and covered my naked body, then scooped up what I assumed were his jeans from the pile of clothes scattering the floor and tossed them toward Mystery Guy. He caught them in midair but didn’t hurry to put them on. Well, he obviously was comfortable with his private parts on full display. Good for him.

I cringed and hissed,
“Get out.”

He blinked and frowned, as though he wasn
’t used to this tone from anyone. Was that a hint of disappointment in his eyes? I shook my head at my confusing thoughts. Why would he feel that way when he didn’t even know me? And then it was gone, and his blazing gaze turned to ice. My heart sank in my chest.

I turned my back on him and called over my shoulder,
“You found your way in here, so I’m sure you can find your way out,” as I sprinted out the door and headed for the safety of the kitchen, running right into Sylvie brewing our morning coffee.

“
Is somebody doing the walk of shame?” Sylvie pointed at my burning cheeks.

I stared at her made-up face
and perfect hair. Seriously, how could she look as though she just went through a beauty treatment at a spa after a long night of binge-drinking and barfing all over the small patch of lawn outside our building?

Sylvie held out her coffee mug.
“Here, take it. You need it more than me.”

“
Thanks.” I took a sip and burned my tongue in the process. The sharp pang of pain offered a welcome diversion from the question at hand. Why did I bring a guy home?

“
Is he still here?” Sylvie whispered conspiratorially.

I almost spit out my next sip.
“You know?”

She nodded.
“You didn’t exactly make a secret out of wanting to bed him.”

What the hell
did I do? Strip off and give him a lap dance? Sylvie made it sound like I acted all sex-starved. No wonder the guy was disappointed not getting a morning quickie.