Sweet Surrender (14 page)

I
n the last three days, Faith had been more sexually adventurous than she had in her entire life. She’d also made a complete ass of herself in front of more men than she’d slept with. Which was pretty dismal when she added that up in her head.

She sank lower in the tub and gazed down at her freshly painted toenails. But not even the bright, cheery pink managed to pick her spirits up.

Gray’s words churned over and over in her head, an unending litany of just how stupid she’d been. Now that he’d laid it out for her, it seemed so clear.

Her idea of a man taking control had been handing him a checklist of activities to perform. She’d have been better off to hire a male prostitute and give him a script. But amid her lament, one single thought formed and took hold.

With the right man, she wouldn’t have to give directions, and the simple fact was, she’d never been with the right man. That much was obvious. She’d responded out of frustration in the only way she saw how. But Gray had balked at her subtle control. He was a man used to doing things his own way. He would have been perfect for her if she hadn’t managed to convince him she was a flighty twit playing games.

She was more confused than ever. Her gaze slid to the cordless phone she’d carried into the bathroom with her. She had two options. She could call Micah, but she was sure he’d respond with an invitation, and she wasn’t prepared for that. Or she could call Damon and get his opinion. He seemed open enough, and she felt comfortable talking to him.

After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the phone and called the private number Damon had given her. On the second ring, he picked up.

“Damon, it’s Faith. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“Of course not,” he said warmly. “What can I do for you?”

She hesitated for a long second. “I need to talk to you. Is there any way we could meet for a late drink? I mean if you’re not busy,” she rushed to say.

“I’ll send my driver for you,” he said.

“Driver? I can just meet you.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll send the driver in say, an hour? Does that give you enough time? I know a great place across town where we can be assured of privacy.”

“Yes,” she said finally. “An hour is fine.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

She let the phone slide from her fingers. Then she hoisted herself out of the tub to dry off. A driver? Who the hell sent a driver? It sounded positively decadent. Did the position of club manager pay that well, or was having a driver merely a perk of the job?

He’d said private and across town. That, coupled with the bit about the driver, had her thinking something a little more elegant than jeans and tennis shoes was in order.

Exactly an hour later, she went to answer the door. She’d chosen a classy black sheath with spaghetti straps and had worn the sexy, ultrahigh heels Damon had returned to her just days before. She’d piled her hair artfully atop her head and chosen simple teardrop diamond earrings. She checked her lipstick in the hall mirror before opening the door.

She was greeted by a large man in a somber-looking suit. He wore dark shades, even though it was well past nine o’clock.

“Miss Malone?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she said with a tentative smile.

He returned her smile and offered his arm. “Mr. Roche would like you to join him. I’ll be driving you to your destination.”

Her eyes widened when she saw the car he’d arrived in. Maybe she’d been expecting a limo, but seeing a freaking Bentley knocked her for a loop. Who the hell had a Bentley at their disposal? Were sex clubs that lucrative?

The driver assisted her into the backseat, then closed the door behind her. She sank into the butter-soft leather and closed her eyes in appreciation. As they drove away, she gazed out the tinted windows at Gray’s truck. She emitted an unhappy sigh and turned her attention back to the interior of the car.

The soft strains of a classical melody filled the air. She turned her head to look out the window again, enjoying the lights of the city.

Thirty minutes later, the Bentley pulled up to an awning where a doorman opened the car door and extended a hand to help her out.

“Right this way, Miss Malone,” he said.

She arched her brow, surprised and impressed by all the pomp. She was more intrigued than ever about Damon’s status as the manager of a sex club.

She was escorted into a darkened, intimate restaurant, where she was promptly handed over to the maître d’, who bowed and kissed her hand. He held an arm out to her and escorted her farther inside.

The furnishings screamed exclusive, reservation only. She wished she’d paid more attention when they’d pulled up, though she doubted she’d recognize the name anyway. The only place she haunted on a regular basis was Cattleman’s, and exclusive it was not.

To her surprise, the maître d’ escorted her past the common dining area and into a smaller, private club room in the back of the restaurant.

When they entered, Damon rose from the small table across the room and smiled. He reached out for her hand then nodded at the maître d’. “That will be all, Phillip.”

Phillip smiled and backed from the room.

Damon pulled a chair from the table and gestured for her to sit. Then he circled around and eased into his own chair. He reached up and loosened his tie then proceeded to unbutton the cuffs on his long-sleeved dress shirt.

“I hope you don’t mind me making myself more comfortable,” he said.

“Not at all,” she mumbled.

He laid his arm back on the table and met her gaze. “You look beautiful.”

She shifted uncomfortably on the chair. For some reason, she felt that the Damon she’d talked with, had met at The House, was not this same man she now sat across from. And now she felt foolish for calling and asking him to talk to her.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked. “They have an excellent selection of wine, or if you prefer, something stronger.”

She sighed. “I don’t suppose you can get a root beer here.” The last thing she needed was alcohol. Her head was muggy enough without adding liquor to the mix.

He laughed, perfectly straight white teeth flashing. “Root beer it is. I live to serve.”

He gestured for a waiter Faith hadn’t seen standing in the corner. When the young man moved to Damon’s side, Damon requested wine Faith wasn’t familiar with and a bottle of their finest root beer.

She chuckled as the waiter didn’t so much as blink an eye. “I’m hopelessly gauche,” she said by way of apology to Damon.

“You’re delightful,” he said with a smile. “Are you hungry at all?”

She shook her head, knowing her stomach wouldn’t tolerate food after all of today’s upheaval.

Awkward silence stretched between them, and Faith fidgeted with her table napkin to cover her unease. The waiter returned bearing their drinks, and she latched gratefully onto the cool glass.

As the waiter walked away, Damon fixed her with his gaze. “Now, what’s bothering you?” he asked.

She sipped at her root beer then set the glass down with a sigh. “First you have to tell me how a man I thought to be a simple club manager has somehow turned into Mr. GQ.”

He offered a wry smile. “I don’t believe I ever claimed to be a simple club manager.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” she admitted. “The Bentley might have been a bit overdone though.”

He chuckled and took another sip of his wine. “Okay, I admit, I was trying to impress you. Did it work?”

She shrugged. “I think I’m more confused than impressed, but then I seem to be wallowing in confusion lately.”

The amused twinkle in his eye faded and was replaced by genuine concern. He reached across the table and laid his hand on top of hers. “If there’s something I can do to help, Faith, I will.”

She slowly pulled her hand away and put it in her lap. “I admit, there were things I wanted to discuss with you, a subject I thought you might have considerable expertise in, but now…”

“Now, what?” he prompted.

She twisted in her seat. “Now, I wonder how much of your role as ‘manager’ of The House is just a game, like everything else. I’m having a hard time figuring out what’s real and what isn’t.”

“Ah.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, frustrated by the seemingly knowing look on his face.

He sat back and took a deep breath. “Faith, I
own
The House. So my position as manager or proprietor is certainly legitimate. The House is my escape. It’s a place I can go where I’m free to be myself or to enjoy a different lifestyle.”

“So it’s a hobby?” she asked.

He gave her a searching look. “I can sense your anger and frustration. Right now you feel led on, lied to and played with.”

Her brows went up. Yep, he’d nailed that one on the head. Actually, she felt more like she’d become trapped in some never-ending fantasy land where everyone was reading one of those scripts Gray had bitched about.

“I admire you, Faith. I really do.”

“Huh?”

“You know what you want, and you aren’t willing to settle for less, and you’re willing to make mistakes while you search.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Know what she wanted? She wished. It would make things so much easier.

He shook his head when she would have spoken. “You may be confused right now, but you know deep down inside what you want. You just haven’t known how to get it. That’s why you came to The House. Not because you didn’t know what you wanted, but you just didn’t know where to find it.”

“Or how to go about it,” she said glumly.

“Who was the guy?” Damon asked curiously. “The one who showed up at The House looking like he wanted to tear Brent limb from limb.”

Faith looked down and grimaced. “His name is Gray.”

“He seemed to know quite a lot about you,” he said simply.

She sighed. “I think he understands me
too
well.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s a long story. A long, really messed-up story.”

“I’ve got all night,” he said lazily.

She hesitated for a moment, and then she poured out the entire story, starting with her breakup with John and her subsequent encounter with Gray, first at The House and then at his apartment.

“And the sad thing is, he’s right,” she said when she’d finished.

Damon gave her a thoughtful look as he refilled his wineglass.

“I’d hoped maybe you could offer some insight. Am I playing games? The very thing I despised so much about my experience at The House? Am I wanting something that just doesn’t exist outside role playing and elaborate fantasy reenactments?”

He leaned over and touched her cheek. “I don’t think that at all. I think, as I said before, that you’re a woman who very much knows what she wants. You just haven’t known how to go about it, nor have you met the right man, a man who won’t have to take direction, hints or scripts.”

“Am I twisted?”

“No. You’re a woman most men would dream of having. Myself included. I spend a lot of time at The House, and part of it’s because I too am searching. For what, I’m not even sure, but I know it goes beyond the harmless games played behind closed doors. I don’t begrudge any of my patrons their sexual excesses. I’m very committed to giving them a safe environment in which to play out their wildest fantasies.”

“What do you want?” she asked softly.

He smiled and shook his head. “It would shock you.”

She raised a brow. “If having you watch while I sucked off another man didn’t shock me, I don’t see why anything you have to say should.”

He choked on his wine and pulled a napkin up to cover his mouth. It took her a minute to figure out he was laughing.

“You are so refreshing, Faith. I can’t seem to figure you out. You have the most feminine blush, yet you’re extremely blunt.”

“Well? Are you going to tell me what kind of woman you’re looking for?”

He studied her for a moment then laid the napkin back on the table. “You and my dream woman share a lot of qualities, I think. But I would take things further.”

She leaned forward. “Oh, now you have me intrigued.”

He smiled. “I want a woman who is completely submissive. I guess in some circles, she might be considered a slave.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “A slave?”

“I said in some circles,” he said dryly. “You see, people are too hung up on labels. I want a woman completely devoted to me and my needs. In return, I would take care of her and provide for
her
every need. But I would be in control.”

“But that’s what I want,” she said softly.

He nodded. “I know. Sad, isn’t it? Here we are, a man and a woman, both wanting the same things, and yet, you aren’t attracted to me.”

She started to protest, but he grinned. “C’mon, you know it’s true. Yes, you responded to my touch. But when Gray stepped in, well, it was another story entirely.”

There wasn’t much she could say to that.

“So, do you think based on what I’ve told you that I don’t have a chance with Gray? I mean it sounds like he’s just like you. He wants a submissive woman without the games, etc. How do I show him that I want the real thing too?”

Damon shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you, Faith. It sounds to me like he’s fighting his attraction to you. Why, I don’t know. If you showed any interest in me, I’d have you collared and tied to my bed in two seconds flat.”

Heat buzzed up her spine and surged into her cheeks.

“Like that image, do you?” he teased.

“Asshole,” she muttered. “Damn, why do I have to be hung up on him? Why does he do it for me and no one else? Do you know since I’ve started pursuing this whole wanting a man to take care of me thing, that I’ve had more offers than I’ve ever gotten in my life?”

“Men love a submissive woman,” Damon said simply. “Even when they say they don’t. There’s something about a beautiful, soft woman looking to them to protect and take care of them that inspires a man to greatness.”

“It seems like there’s a lot of room to abuse that power, though,” she remarked.

Damon nodded. “That there is. If more men acted responsibly, then more women wouldn’t mind allowing them a lead role.”