Surrender (3 page)

* * * * *

Aching for a shower, Isabella padded toward the bedroom, peeling her clothes off along the way. She stood in front of her full-length bedroom mirror. Standing a hair over five feet three, her long auburn waves framed a face that housed large grey eyes and a nose a tad too small. Her full mouth had not known botox as many thought, and her generous breasts had been inherited from her mother's side of the family, not the products of a surgeon's scalpel and a glob of saline. Several days a week at the gym had certainly been to her advantage. She wasn’t, as a rule, vain, but she liked to take care of her body.

She sighed. If she were going to be Lyon's sex toy, at least she looked presentable.

Moments later, she stepped into the shower, letting the beaded silver streams beat down on her. She stood there for endless moments, trying to steady the unusual rhythm of her heart. Her mind raced in an attempt to wash Lyon from her thoughts. But her body had other ideas.

As though possessing a mind of their own, her fingers slid down to her breasts, while warm water spilled over them. With both nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, Isabella closed her eyes, threw her head back, and pinched them. The arousal between her legs intensified until an orgasm cried to escape her aching body. Skimming one palm past her navel, she found her swollen clit and squeezed the hardened nub between two fingers. A vision of Lyon appeared behind her closed eyelids and she exploded. Coming hard, she braced her back against the cool tiles to steady herself against the onslaught of her climax.

Out of breath, Isabella turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, crossed the room, and dropped to her bed. Who was she kidding? Though she'd seen Lyon no more than ten minutes and masturbated in the shower amidst carnal thoughts, she harbored reservations about going with him. Not because she still loved David. She was done with that story years ago. In truth, she'd sold herself. Even if the money saved her father's life, bartering her body troubled her more than she could say.

Caught in a trap she alone was responsible for, she'd go to him, head held high, but she would never give him anything more than her body. Never.

* * * * *

The sight of her made him smile when she approached him the next morning. Right on time, he thought. He leaned against the door of his car, his legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest.

Casually dressed in well-worn jeans, she wore a rose design encrusted t-shirt, bearing the name of her florist shop. The top appeared older than he was and molded to her body like a second skin.
Damn.
She also wore no make-up, which suited him fine. Isabella possessed a natural beauty he'd always admired, yet she seemed unaware and unconcerned by her own allure. The Nikes on her small feet had seen better days. Her gorgeous auburn waves were swept up in a haphazard ponytail.

Suddenly, he wanted her naked, tied to his bed, her thighs spread wide so his tongue could suck her swollen clit and slick channel and bring her to orgasm. He couldn't wait to have those lips of hers suck him until he cried out in ecstasy.
Calm down, there's plenty of time to relish all of her.

Shaking his thoughts away, he mentally reinforced his agenda. A deal was a deal.

He curbed his arousal as she walked toward him, moving fluidly and putting all his senses on alert. What was it about this woman that turned him inside out and made his body betray him? Everything about her seemed to hold him captive, from her natural beauty to her sexual allure. Even now, the smell of her shampoo, a tempting floral fragrance, made his cock twitch.
Damn her.

Her shirt displayed the outline of her nipples. His mouth watered at the sight of her tight jeans, pressing into the V between her legs, and the defiance evident in each step she took.

Did she have any idea how she affected him? How his flesh heated and cock hardened as she approached? Obviously, she'd become more insolent since her broken engagement to David. Lyon had been there for support. Wanting but never touching, knowing she loved someone else, he'd held her as she cried in pain and later, exhausted, while she slept in his arms. He'd even been tempted to kill her fiancée with his bare hands, but he'd tamped his rage for Isabella's sake. Why in the hell he chose this way of getting her wasn't important right now. She belonged to him for the time being and that’s all that mattered. He deserved her disgust and repulsion for forcing her to make this kind of deal. But first, he would taste and touch her. He would be the one to bring her to her knees as she surrendered to him.

She gave a slight look of defiant surprise. "What, no shackles?"

"You have a fresh mouth, Isabella. Try using those lips for something other than spouting sarcastic remarks."

Before she took another step, his hand swept out and turned her, pushing her against the hood of the car. He grabbed her ponytail and pulled back to gain full access to those enticing lips.

Chapter Four

Isabella's breasts tingled and her nipples ached against the thin cotton of her tshirt. Her core throbbed when he pressed her against the door of his black Mercedes sports car. As he ravished her mouth, her lips, she recognized this as a prelude of things to come.

She hated to admit her panties moistened as his kisses took and took with relentless strength. Before Isabella could draw a breath, he ended his onslaught, leaving her wanting. How was she supposed to survive a weekend of Lyon Sauvage when his kisses alone held such lethal power over her?

"Let's get going." His voice strained with unfulfilled passion. His eyes grew dark and his nostrils flared. And his long, hard bulge protruding from the front of his pants told her what she already knew.

He held open the car door for her. From the passenger seat, she looked at him, searching for any hint of compassion, but found only an expression devoid of emotion. He made his way quickly to the driver's side, settled in, and turned the key in the ignition. "Buckle up," he rasped. "I'm in a hurry." She clasped her hands in her lap, as he pulled out of her driveway and into traffic.

"May I at least ask where we're going?"

"Showing some interest, Isabella? I'm impressed." He stopped at a red light and turned to face her. "I have a house in the mountains. And stop acting like a wounded rabbit." When the light turned green, he smirked before redirecting his attention to the road and hitting the gas. "It's not as if we're strangers."

"Oh yes, Lyon, we are. I don't know
this
man you've become. Don't know why we couldn't have solved any problem between us without you degrading me or demanding I become your sex slave for the weekend. I'll hold to my promise. But never, ever think you can control me."

He drove onto the highway, and the car picked up speed. "I will collect what is mine."

Her cheeks grew warm. "I am not yours, Lyon. No one treats me this way."

"And what way is that?"

He smiled; she didn't. "Having fun at my expense?"

"I will be."

She crossed her arms over her breasts. Sparring with him turned out to be a waste of time. "There is one thing I have to say."

"Only one?" he asked with a chuckle.

"If you try anything kinky or weird, deal or no deal, I'll leave. Understand?" His smile faded. "Good God, Isabella, I would never hurt you. What I have in mind will only bring pleasure, I promise you that."

For the moment, she was rendered speechless. She peered out the window, electing to spend this time to collect her thoughts.

He drove off the highway and approached a tollbooth, paid the fare, then exited to the east. From there, he proceeded until he approached a long, tree-lined drive. About a mile in, Isabella's gaze rested on an incredible sight. Her mouth dropped open. The man lived in a damned castle.

Imagine. A castle set in the Hudson Valley. Funny, as a child she'd always dreamed of marrying her Prince Charming and living in a place just as magnificent as this. With the sobering thought, she shivered. What if he had a dungeon and planned to keep her tied up with rats and—

"You look like you're about to faint, Isabella. This is my home, not a prison."

"Easy for you to say."

She swallowed hard and stared in amazement as he approached a circular driveway and stopped the car.

He shut off the engine, turned to her. "Welcome to Castle de la Sauvage."
Castle of the savage. Appropriate.

He left the car and approached her side. Opening her door, he held out his hand.

"My home is your home, Isabella."

She managed a tight nod.

"Shall we?"

Instead of taking his hand, she shoved her fingers in her pockets and allowed him to lead her to the huge front door. A handsome young man appeared, greeted them, and faded away into the house like a wraith.

"That was my assistant, Gerard. He will not bother us while you are here."
Of course not.
In spite of his words to the contrary, she was a prisoner. I guess that makes Lyon my jailer, she thought.
What on earth does he have planned?

"I've tried to make my home as comfortable as I could for you, Isabella. What do you think?"

She turned toward the sound of his voice, and immediately her sense of smell kicked in. On the cherry wood table in the center of the large, marble-floored vestibule, stood an elaborate wide-cut crystal vase holding several dozen incredible lavender roses.

Her favorite.
How'd he know?

"I asked your father what variety you favored."

She frowned. Did he read minds, too? If he did, she was in big trouble. Maybe this was a gesture to lull her into a false sense of security, but she had to admit, maybe the presence of her beloved lavender roses was merely a gesture of kindness. Don't defend him, she told herself.
Remember why you're here, to trade your body for
your business. The flowers are to trick you into thinking he's human. Don't fall for it.
She continued to inhale the magnificent scent and almost missed the tapping of feet clicking on the marble floor. A distant sound made its way to the front of the house, straight toward them.

What on earth?

She stood in stunned amazement as two of the most beautiful creatures she'd ever seen rounded a corner and barreled toward them with deliberate purpose, straight into Lyon's open arms.

"Well, good morning, ladies."

One blonde, the other a redhead, both with sleek bodies, almost knocked him over with their combined exuberance. Their love and devotion to Lyon was plain to see as they kissed and nuzzled him.

Isabella couldn't help but smile.

As she watched, the red and golden retrievers wrestled their master to the floor and playfully licked his scarred face, causing his expression to change to one of pure enjoyment.
Lyon actually laughing? Impossible.

He drew up on his knees and accepted their displays of affection, while petting and embracing them. "Yes, yes, I missed you too, now get off me. We have company. This is Isabella."

As if they had understood, they turned to Isabella, side-by-side, waiting.

"The red head is Eugenia—the blonde, Ophelia." Lyon knelt between them and ran his hands through their shiny coats. "I rescued them from the pound, just hours from their inevitable demise. They'd been abused and abandoned. An associate of mine notified me of their predicament. Next thing I knew, they were in my car, and here they are. Don't be afraid."

Isabella laughed. "Afraid? Lyon, they're stunning. Eugenia and Ophelia, huh?"

"I'd been reading Shakespeare when I adopted them," he explained.

"My, aren't you gorgeous?"

And the animals were, despite Eugenia missing one eye and Ophelia's mangled left ear. As Isabella shook their paws and petted them, the dogs seemed to nod in agreement, enjoying the attention.

Lyon cleared his throat. "Go on, ladies. I'll be back to play with you later." The lithe, stately creatures, obviously enamored with their master, nuzzled Lyon's cheek then trotted away, their tails wagging furiously. He loved his animals. How would he treat her as a guest in his house? Would she be as 'well loved'?

"You saved their lives." Holding back tears, she managed the words on a whisper, watching the animals trot out of sight.

Lyon shrugged. "They were suffering and needed someone to take care of them."
The way you took care of me when I needed someone
. She turned to face Lyon and simply nodded, noting the loneliness she saw in those beautiful blue eyes. "Lyon, I
. . . .
" Before she could form the words
,
she found herself lifted into his arms and swept up a winding flight of stairs as if she weighed no more than a rose petal. His smile suddenly gone, he gazed down at her, and his damaged voice rumbled through his chest." Now we are utterly alone, Belle." Anticipation of surrendering to his power sizzled through her like a thousand volts of electricity. Her nipples ached. Her pussy throbbed. She said nothing, just savored the strength of his arms supporting her.

As Lyon carried her into an opulent suite of rooms decorated in varying shades of lavender, gold, and white, she gazed at crystal vases filled to overflowing. A floral chaos of every flower and hue imaginable created a feast for the eyes. Pink carnations, white calla and orange tiger lilies joined roses of unimaginable splendor. Isabella looked around her, stunned by the beauty and opulence of the living area. Lyon brought her through to a large bedroom, complete with a silk-curtained four-poster bed, antique bureaus, gilded chairs, and marble pedestals, every vacant space exploding with brilliant grandeur.

Lyon lowered her to a carpet so soft and so plush, her feet were lost within the suppleness. She inhaled the scent of floral heaven and drank in the splendor of the room and the arms that, a moment before, had engulfed her.

"Nothing to say? Or can I presume the rooms meet with your approval?"

"Stop mocking me. You know as well as I that this house is incredibly beautiful. And the roses . . . ." She stepped to a crystal bowl of tea roses ablaze in blush pinks, scarlet reds, and lemon yellows, and then turned to Lyon.