Sweet Surrender (7 page)

“You pay your rent on time, I assume.”

“Well, of course.”

“Then insist. If that doesn’t work, you let me know. No woman should have to come home in the dark.”

Surprisingly, this protective side appealed to her. Used to fending for herself, she wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do, other than at work where she took orders left and right; such was the role of a nurse. When he did it just now, it didn’t rile her independent side, which surprised her.

“Um, do you want to come in? I could make coffee.”

“I would, Jessie, very much. If I did, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to live up to my end of the bargain.”

“No funny business… I remember. You’ve been doing quite well with that, I might add, so I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you going back on your word.” It was for the best, she knew, but she was disappointed all the same. She’d had a good time and didn’t want to see it end. She’d also been hoping to lure him in for another kiss. Truth be told, she’d thought of little else since the locker room yesterday morning. Tilting her head back, she let her eyes skim over his lips, remembering how silky soft they were, yet demanding, and surprisingly possessive. His kisses had the perfect amount of moisture, not sloppy and he used his tongue exactly right, not overwhelming or suffocating her. He was an excellent kisser.

“Jess, eating me up with your eyes is not helping.”

Startled, she blinked, seeing the mix of amusement and desire on his face, and then looked away. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry.” His hands slipped around her waist and he drew her in gently. “Kiss me goodnight, before I lose all my willpower and take you up on that coffee.”

It wasn’t a request and she found herself responding, without question. It was what she wanted, after all. Lifting up on her tiptoes, she clutched at his shoulders for balance. Even with her four-inch heels, his mouth was several inches above hers. He helped by dipping his head. When he did and their lips met, her fingers curled into his coat and the solid muscles underneath.

An electric pulse zipped through her, sending her pulse racing, her libido going from zero to sixty in mere seconds. Okay, maybe she wasn’t quite at zero, but his nearness, his arms wrapped around her, one large hand sliding down to cup her backside was exhilarating. The next instant her feet were a foot above the ground. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms wound around his neck, her hands diving into the thickness of his hair. She heard and felt the growl that rumbled in his chest as he walked them inside. Her back thudded into the door as his big body pressed her into the wood panel, the momentum slamming it shut.

His arms felt so good wrapped around her, his strong hands on her ass creating a delicious tingle low in her belly. His lips and tongue awoke a hunger that she’d suppressed. She couldn’t remember who she’d been with last, not with Marc swamping her senses, but she’d gone two, maybe three years without a man. It was near impossible to believe, but she knew it had never been like this; full-blown sex with what’s-his-name didn’t compare to the thrill of a kiss from Marc Trent. His mouth felt wonderful, his tongue dipping and delving inside, over and over, caressing her tongue with his own. His mouth tasted decadent, hinting of the lemon cake they’d had for dessert. He was like sustenance to a starving woman and she wanted more. Then, suddenly, his mouth was gone.

“Damn, Jess,” he swore as he buried his face in her neck.

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered, beginning to pant.

His hand found the curls at the back of her head and he wound the long length of her hair around his wrist. Pulling her head back gently, his breathing was as rough as her own when he spoke. “I know people think I’m a player, Jess, so this is me proving to you it’s not true. I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted any woman, but I think we have something special here and I don’t want to ruin it by jumping into bed the first night. Understand?”

“No,” she answered raggedly as she clung to him, lips parted, hoping he could see how much she wanted him.

“
Bella mia,
” the endearment was a plea for mercy, “you’re killing me.” Letting her legs slide down his body, he set her on her feet and, with a light kiss to her lips, eased away. “Friday, there’s a charity dinner for the children’s hospital and Sunday I have to attend a dedication for a new habitat at the zoo. Come with me.”

“Okay,” she said without hesitation. “I haven’t been to the zoo since grade school.”

“Shameful,” he scolded with a teasing grin, “then you have to come. You owe it to the animals.” He brushed her lips with another soft kiss as if he couldn’t resist. His hands moved from her waist to stroke up and down her back, keeping up a constant motion, always touching gently. “The zoo will be fun, especially since it’s closed to the public for the afternoon. The benefactors’ and patrons’ families will have the run of the place. The dinner, however, will be stuffy and I’ll be bored out of my mind if you don’t come along. “

“I love the zoo,” she said evasively, the thought of a formal dinner scaring the crap out of her. “I’ll look forward to that.”

“What about the dinner? It’s a chance to dress up in something besides scrubs and there will be dancing.”

“I don’t know. A high-society charity dinner is not in my usual social calendar.” Right… who was she kidding? She didn’t have a social calendar. Other than Marc, she wouldn’t know anyone and the attendees weren’t exactly her peer group. She imagined rich, classy donors with the women dripping in diamonds and furs. As a girl from Hamtramck originally, who lived for ten years in a trailer park, she was definitely not in their social set, so she demurred. “I don’t have anything formal.”

“The dress you have on is perfect, baby. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.”

Baby,
that one word was enough to make her panties melt. Add killer charm, wit, and gorgeous good looks to the mix and it was little wonder there was a parade of brokenhearted women lining the halls of St. Joe’s. A voice inside warned her not to become one of them, yet she found herself agreeing without really being aware. With a last brief kiss, he told her to lock up tight and was gone.

Her head fell forward, resting against the door as she tried to gather herself and think straight, but she couldn’t get beyond the memory of his mouth. The way his soft lips and tongue moved upon her, tenderly seductive one moment and hungrily demanding the next. The man was dangerous; with a single kiss, he could drop her IQ forty points and turn her into a mindless and very willing participant in his seduction. Damn, she was in trouble.

Chapter Five

The charity dinner should have been a snooze fest; the food wasn’t good, the speeches were dry, and she didn’t know a soul other than Marc. Though there was music and dancing, both of which she loved, it would have been utterly forgettable if not for Marc. As always, he looked stunning, whether in drab scrubs or the black formal wear he wore tonight, it didn’t matter. The man was hot!

He could also dance. Holding her close, he guided her expertly around the dance floor. Slow or fast, he moved fluidly with full command of his body, whether to an Ol’ Blue Eyes standard from the Michael Bublé-esque lead singer or a more challenging tango, he could dance and made her feel like a pro doing it. When the band played a song by Diamond Rio, he led her in a country two-step, making it seem effortless, as if she danced it every day, rather than never before in her life. Was there anything the man couldn’t do? She hated for the evening to end, but it did, ending the way of their last date, with hungry kisses at her door and Marc nixing anything else.

Sunny with temperatures in the mid-sixties, Sunday turned out to be a perfect day for the zoo. There was a short meet and greet after the groundbreaking for the new penguin experience, and then, hand in hand, they explored the 125-acre zoo. Riding the train, taking in the 4-D theater, and acting like kids on the carousel, they laughed at the lemurs, held their noses in the lion habitat, and dodged kangaroos in the Outback Adventure where they actually walked among the baby roos and the wallabies. Jessie smiled so much that her face ached. In the butterfly house, she snapped pictures of Marc when they landed on his head and teased that he was so tall, they obviously had him confused with a tree. He countered when one landed on her shoulder by calling her a stump.

Arm in arm, they headed back for the catered event at the main entrance at the end of the afternoon. That was the only time in the day when Marc left her side. He excused himself to have a word with an acquaintance who was on his way out. Left on her own, she wandered over to the site of the groundbreaking where she perused the sign for the brand new penguinarium. Along with a diagram of the venue, it listed the contributing patrons and benefactors. At the top of the list was Trent Industries. Her jaw dropped at the amount listed to the side, which was four times as much as any other corporate sponsor and more than she would make in her lifetime.

It dawned on her then that Marc Trent was the son of David Trent, the millionaire plastics mogul of Motown. Holy crap! That meant Marc wasn’t simply loaded, which was expected of a successful surgeon—he was freakin
’ rich. Why hadn’t she put this together before now? She stared at the board unseeing for a moment as the disparity between them grew in her mind. They really had nothing in common; it would never work.

A feeling of unease swept through her at that moment, as if someone was watching her. Slowly she scanned the area, paying close attention to the crowd for the first time. Most of the men were in suits, which she found ludicrous. She scrutinized the men’s faces trying to identify one of the suits as Marc’s dad. Who other than a freakin’ millionaire would wear a suit to the zoo—seriously? She didn’t see a tall, handsome older Italian man, so she focused on the women. Most of them wore dresses, nothing too formal. They were designer no doubt, made of expensive silks and wool blends, and she was sure several sweaters were cashmere. Even the kids were turned out in polo shirts and khakis, not a pair of blue jeans in insight. She glanced down at her Target khakis and no-name sneakers, becoming fully aware that she didn’t fit in with this crowd. Feeling like a gatecrasher, she scanned for Marc. She wanted to get out of there before someone stood up, pointed an accusing finger at her, and cried, “Interloper.” Worse, calling her ‘trailer-trash,’ which was exactly what she was.

Nervously wringing her hands, she spotted Marc across the congested pavilion where the picnic tables and buffet line were being set up. As she started his way, she found the reason for her earlier sense of unease. Off to the left, maybe thirty yards away, was a stunning dark-haired woman who was staring daggers in her direction.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jessie prayed she’d see a herd of antelope bearing down on the gathering, which would explain the woman’s cold stare. No such luck. Turning back, she returned the woman’s gaze, noting the smirky sneer on her carefully outlined red lips. She leaned in to say something to the older woman seated beside her, who raised her head. In her mid to late fifties, she was still as beautiful as her younger companion. As their eyes met, Jessie was shocked to see hers narrow, her brow wrinkling as she also glared at her fiercely.

Jessie didn’t know either of the women, but she suspected how they knew her. Her heart lurched and her palms became damp as she looked away. Hurrying through the crowd, she rushed toward her only way out—Marc.

As she approached, she saw the shadow of concern cross his face. He spoke to his acquaintance, shaking hands before they parted. Then he strode quickly to her side.

“Jessie, what’s wrong? You’ve gone pale.”

“I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. Would it be okay if we go now?”

“Certainly, let me make our excuses to my parents.” His eyes skittered away, scanning the crowd. “Mom and my older sister Giada are right over there and dad is somewhere…”

Dread consumed her as she followed his gaze toward the bench where the rude women sat. Surely she couldn’t be that unlucky. Dark hair and eyes, olive skin, strikingly beautiful, and richly dressed—Damn!—she should have known at first glance who they were. As she recalled his mother’s disapproving stare, she felt sick for real.

“I’m going to pop in the ladies’ room, while you say goodbye.” She dashed off before he could respond.

Waiting until the clock on her phone ticked off five full minutes, she paused for two more before venturing out. Marc was standing nearby with his sister.

“There she is.” His words were close to a sigh of relief. “
Cara,
I was getting worried and was about to send Giada in to check on you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m getting a migraine, I think.”

“Poor dear, I don’t suffer them. My maid does. She’s like you, in that they come on so abruptly, I mean. It keeps her from work some days, such a shame,” Giada said in a tone so sickly sweet that the cotton candy they were handing out to the kids wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and Jessie mentally added nausea to her list of ailments. Giada’s message, that Jessie was beneath her, comparable to ‘the help,’ was clear. The headache was no longer a pretense as a throbbing pain began to pound behind her eyes. Her hand came up to rub across her forehead and to shield her eyes from the bright late afternoon sun. Always, light made the pain worse.

As if sensing her increasing discomfort, Marc put his arm around her shoulders. Although his support made her feel marginally better, she still made her excuses. “I’m sorry, but they do come on quite suddenly at times. Please, can we go? Or if you need to stay, I can take a cab.”

“You’re not taking a cab. Giada, tell dad we had to leave and that I’ll call him later.”

“I will. I hope you feel better soon, Julia.”

“It’s Jessica,” Marc corrected vaguely as he turned her toward the exit, oblivious to his sister’s tactics. But Jessie heard the condescension in her tone and knew the use of the incorrect name was on purpose. Giada Trent was pure bitch; with a pedigree, but that didn’t make it less true.