Surrender (2 page)

"Isabella, don’t you understand? You don't know the limits of your own passion."

Her legs almost gave way when he released her. Why was he tormenting her?

Why did she feel empty all of a sudden? She cleared her throat, but her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. "So, all I have to do is play your whore for a weekend, perform as your sex slave. And when you're through with me, my life simply goes on?"

"I don't like the word 'whore', Isabella. Think of this as a business arrangement, for want of a better word. Now, to continue, you will come to my home with nothing but the clothes on your back and you will wear only what I give you to wear. I will bathe you and feed you, and in return, you will be at my disposal for the entire weekend. Surrender is the name of the game, Isabella. I want it all." Lyon cornered her like a predator about to pounce on its helpless prey. "Are you willing to give it?"

"I'll never forgive you for this."

He appeared nonplussed, and she'd have liked to wipe that smug look from his face.

"Is that your answer?"

She clenched her fists to keep from trembling. "Do I have a choice?"

"Everyone has a choice, Isabella. But I'll take your answer as a 'yes'. Is the thought of a lovely, quiet weekend as a guest in my home so abominable to you?" He slid a gentle finger down her cheek, leaned forward, lowering his lips to her ear. Isabella shuddered when he bit then licked the soft flesh. "See. I've barely touched you, and you're aroused, aren't you? Since the day we met, I've wanted you. I want you still."

"I can't believe you'd want to have sex with an unwilling woman."

"Don't underestimate yourself. I don't think you're unwilling at all." He framed her face with his fingers. As if to seal the deal, he pressed a bone-melting kiss to her lips.

His tongue urged her mouth open, exploring, teasing, until she found herself moaning into his mouth, answering to his kiss. Their tongues swirled and teased. He tasted dark and forbidden. Lyon's hand slid up to cup one breast and a groan of pleasure escaped her. His thumb flicked over a nipple, and inside, Isabella melted into a puddle of warm syrup, hating herself for giving in so easily. Ending the kiss, Lyon tilted her face to meet his deep gaze, now dark and threatening. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

She managed to find her voice as she shook her head. "I can't possibly leave on such short notice. I have things to get done. We're approaching a holiday weekend. I have to tell my father where I'll be."

"I'll contact your father." He stepped away from her, leaving her feeling strangely abandoned.

"One last thing, Belle."

No one had called her 'Belle' since Lyon held her in his comforting arms five years before. Now she shuddered at the sound of her nickname from his lips. She stood rooted to the spot, her fingernails digging into her shaking palms.

"If at any time you decide to leave my home, our arrangement shall be null and void. If you want the money, you must stay the entire weekend." He turned from her and settled back at his desk, essentially dismissing her. "Be ready at nine."

"You'll regret this, Lyon."

"No, I don't think so."

She'd heard his words, and a chill raced over her as she stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

* * * * *

To put it in simple terms, Lyon Sauvage was a beast. A sexy, manipulative, conniving creature that'd turned the tables on her.

Sitting in her car moments later, hands sweaty and shaking, nipples throbbing against the silk fabric of her suit, Isabella sighed from the aching throb beating low in her body. She held back unshed tears as she rested her head against the steering wheel. How could she allow herself to lose control like that? And why, oh why, did she agree to Lyon's preposterous proposition? What possessed her to go to his office and ask him for money?

Because you have to save Dad's life, that's why.

"I've totally lost what little mind I have left."

Finding the strength, she turned the key in the ignition with trembling fingers, yanked the car into gear, and then peeled out of the parking lot. Why hadn’t she taken the money from the trust fund her mother had left her?

And why hadn’t she sold her jewelry? It would have netted at least half of what 'Al'

demanded and maybe would have stalled him for a while.

So why didn’t you?
Because there was a good chance half the money wouldn't be enough, that's why. She couldn't take a chance with her father's life. She had allowed herself to approach Lyon after their friendship ended on such a sour note.

No, you left him and the friendship you shared, behind. You knew how he felt about you
five years ago, and still, you came to him for money.

Everything seemed to come down to one question—why?

Don't go there.
She shook her head. Within the last twenty minutes, a simple request for financial help she'd planned and debated for days had gone too far. She'd never expected Lyon to act the way he had, and she'd been thrown off guard when he drew her close, kissed her, and touched her as if she belonged to him. He'd turned her flesh to jelly in those few tense moments.

Tomorrow, she'd return to Lyon and do the right thing. Explain to him she couldn't possibly go through with this absurd stunt. He'd understand. If not, she'd make him understand.

Deep inside, she knew he wouldn't. To plead for money was her idea in the first place. What would happen now if she reneged on their agreement? Not only would she still be in debt, but also, more importantly, her father would be hurt. She'd never let that happen. She'd keep her word and adhere to their verbal contract. Taking several deep breaths, she calmed enough to think back on the outrageous bargain she'd just struck with the man. Lyon Sauvage had grown more handsome in the past five years, if you could call his scarred face handsome. Something about him had always reminded her of a fallen angel, from his dark clothes to his ink black hair worn long and a little unkempt in a sexy sort of way. Lyon possessed a daring gaze capable of rendering any woman helpless, especially when filled with passion. Combined with his tall, fit body, strong hands, large enough to hurt, and, at the same time, skilled enough to bring ecstasy, Lyon Sauvage stood a devastating, imposing figure of a man. She'd reacted to his kiss in a way she'd never experienced. The warmth of his lips had forced her mouth open, and she'd allowed his tongue to mate with hers. He'd brought her body to life. His touch had burned through the silk, causing her nipples to tingle and her pussy to weep with heat. Even his scent, a mix of forbidden dark secrets, had weakened her knees and turned her legs to jelly.

Oh God, what am I going to do?

First, she'd go home, take a cold shower, and figure this out rationally with the mind and control of an adult. Yet Lyon's proposal had been anything but rational. She'd gone on exactly four dates in the past five years. Those few men had all attempted to ply her with expensive dinners and seductive words, complimenting her beauty. Each encounter had turned out disastrous. Isabella knew she was pretty. Her father called her his 'beauty' many times. Did every man think she wanted to hear that drivel? Why didn't they look deeper, into her soul?

She thought she'd finally found a soul mate in David—fair-haired, tall, and movie star handsome. Isabella had made the mistake of believing she and David were alike in so many ways. David, like Isabella, knew the pitfalls of physical beauty. Neither of them had a problem ignoring their looks and probing each other's hearts. For over two years, she'd been so happy. Then David had proposed and given her a beautiful engagement ring with a promise to love her forever.

Forever didn't last. Neither did their engagement.

In the end, Lyon had been there for her. He'd remained by her side both day and night, offering his shoulder to cry on. Lyon, her dear friend, who made sure she ate, dried her tears, held her in his arms, and listened to her cries of grief, never saying a word, never judging her.

Lyon had confessed his love to her, wanted to take care of her forever if she wished. But Isabella had just had her heart broken by the love of her life. No room remained in her heart for anyone, not even Lyon. She had taken advantage of him long enough. Though she'd cherished Lyon's friendship, David's betrayal had left her body and soul nothing but an empty shell. So, she'd severed all ties to Lyon, and moved away, leaving no forwarding address.

Is it any wonder he detests you?

Maybe their confrontation was a good thing. He didn't love her, so neither of their feelings would be hurt.

She had to find a way out of this predicament though, and fast. She had less than twenty-four hours.

Don't think about anything else until tomorrow.

Finally, turning into her parking space, she exhaled a sigh of relief. The only way out of this mess was to do Lyon's bidding. But she couldn't be what he wanted—submissive, bending to his will. Could she? She took a breath, got out of the car, and made her way into her condo. Throwing her bag on the couch, she pulled her hair from the elastic restraint, and then fell into the soft cushions.

"I can do this," she said to no one but herself. "I can survive seventy-two hours with him, can't I? In the end, the shop will be saved, my father will be safe, and then Lyon and I will go our separate ways."

He'd acted like a beast, but as long as she kept control of the situation, and allowed him to use her body only, never her mind—and God forbid, her soul—she'd survive. Wouldn't she?

That sexy accent of his complimented his French heritage, and his classical European education lent to his Old World style of speech. Isabella often thought of Lyon as a throwback to another time and place, who spoke more like a Victorian era gentleman than a modern day man. He adored Shakespeare and Dickens, could recite Blake, Lord Byron, and Yeats like the days of the week. Classical and opera music was the norm for him, and he was as comfortable with Homer and Socrates as she was reading a romance novel.

As a result of a car accident suffered as a teen, his nose set a bit off center and two pencil thin scars pierced the flesh over his right eye, causing the skin to droop just a touch. Another zigzag wound had marked his chin. His lips were a slash of arrogance whose kisses hypnotized as if possessed by demons in a dark place. Because of damaged vocal cords, Lyon's voice emitted nothing more than sandpapery whispers. And beneath all that fire and brimstone, his deep sense of loneliness was all too evident. Her thoughts brought her back to her present predicament. Lyon had backed her into a brick wall.

Face it. Lyon is your only hope.

Chapter Three

After all these years, she would finally belong to him.

Lyon sat behind his desk, the echo of her stormy exit adding agony to his pounding headache. Isabella left behind a trail of sultry, seductive scents that hardened him like stone.

Still as beautiful as the day they met, Isabella possessed a fiery personality, a sensual nature, and a body so alluring and quietly sexual, a man would gladly brave the depths of hell to touch her.

Tomorrow, his plan to possess her would become reality. Lyon's methods may have been a bit unorthodox, yet he didn't mistake the way her eyes heated when his cock ground into the silk of her skirt. Her moan of arousal awakened a longing deep inside him, and he sensed a spark of something that even in her denial, still remained. Isabella needed help to realize who and what she wanted. Would the long weekend provide her with the proof she needed to realize they belonged together? He would not force her to stay. At the end of the weekend, if she insisted on leaving him, he'd let her go.

As for tomorrow, she would be true to her word. If she wanted to save her precious father and his business, she would come to him.

Whether she'd been gone five years or fifty, Lyon had never forgotten her. Hell, he thought he'd die when she ended their friendship. Yes, he knew she'd been in love with David. But since the day they'd met, Lyon felt a connection between them, a deep sensation that he couldn’t explain away. He wanted her then. Truth be told, he wanted and would welcome her now.

In the empty years without her in his life, meaningless sex with many lovely women of his acquaintance satisfied his body, but no woman had ever captured his heart as had Isabella.

Now, the beautiful Isabella would be his, and he would show her what possessing a woman really meant. He'd teach her things, the likes of which she'd never dreamed.

He ached, recalling the vision she made when she walked into his office wearing that stunning grey suit combined with impossibly high heels. The combination brought out the curve of her calves and her slender figure. Smoky eyes revealed a passion that barely tapped the surface. Porcelain skin, soft and smooth, highlighted a face of untold loveliness, intelligence, and hidden secrets. He hungered to cup the fullness of her breasts, to taste her nipples, and to suck them until she came apart in his arms. He wished to tear her clothes from her soft flesh, to trail his tongue down her flat tummy until he reached her warm, wet channel, and to sip from her sweetness. His cock had cried for mercy as his gaze had rested on her thick hair pinned up in a severe twist. Lyon looked forward to pulling those thick tresses out of their tight wrapping and looping that long rope around his cock, while she took him in her mouth. He looked forward to spending every precious minute with her in his bed, under him, riding him, begging to be taken, again and again, screaming his name. Pushing back from the misty fog of his fantasy, he forced himself to steady his racing heart, calm his aching cock. He reached across his desk, picked up his iPhone, and tapped the screen. Business was business, after all. His assistant answered on the other end.

"Gerard, this is Sauvage. I need you to handle something for me . . . ." His business with Gerard completed moments later, he pressed a button to end the connection with a slight grunt of satisfaction. Assured his instructions would be carried out to the letter, he leaned back in his butter-soft leather chair, steepled fingers pressed against his lips. He puffed out a breath and allowed his thoughts to drift back to Isabella, and the weekend ahead.