Surrender to Temptation (11 page)

“I'm sorry, Miss Reid. Mr. St. Brenton has left orders for you to dress and eat, and then you are to travel with him to the office.” My mouth fell open slightly.

He had left orders, had he? When, and how? Had he called from the bathroom, after insinuating that he wanted nothing more to do with me?

Did he really dare to expect me to listen to him, after how he had just treated me?

“Thank you, Charles.” I tried to suppress the sparks of anger that ignited my voice—it wasn't this man's fault, after all. No, my current anger was directed solely at the thickheaded man who was showering in the ostentatious barn of a bathroom.

“I'll get dressed. I don't usually eat breakfast, so I hope you haven't gone to much trouble. I don't think I'll be making an exception today.” I saw the corners of Charles's mouth quiver, and drew my eyebrows together in irritation. I thought that he might be about to chastise me, but then I realized that he seemed amused—yes, very slightly amused.

Well, then. Perhaps people didn't often make a habit of challenging Zachariah St. Brenton's orders.

Thinking back to the visual of him leaning against his dresser, commanding even as he offered himself up, I realized that a strong, proud man had relinquished his power to me. And I had shoved it back at him, knowing that I didn't have it in me to cause him pain.

I had nothing left to lose.

“After I dress I'll go wait at the door to the garage.” Well, I would if I could find it. Regardless, I wasn't going to suffer through an awkward meal, whether Zach was present or not. I couldn't picture sitting next to the man who had placed a whip in my hand, neither of us speaking, as we ate pancakes and scrambled eggs.

“Very well, Miss Reid.” The amusement had been banked by the time Charles left the room and shut the door behind him. Finally alone, I closed my eyes for a long moment and pressed my fingers to my throbbing temples.

Even if Charles wouldn't go against Zach's orders and drive me back to the hotel, I was sure that I could have convinced him to at least call me a cab. He struck me as the type of man who would be a sucker for a damsel in distress, and I was feeling very distressed, indeed.

But there was one thought that held me back from calling out to him. If I had Charles call me a cab, then this—whatever “this” was between Zach and me—was truly over.

It was cowardly, but I wasn't sure that I was ready to face that. Pain ripped through my heart when I thought of how coldly Zach had left me alone in his room. He might have already made the decision for me.

I sighed shakily. This intense spectrum of emotion was exhausting. Letting the towel drop to the floor, I reached for the clothes that were folded so neatly. I frowned when I realized that they weren't mine.

Instead of the floaty ebony skirt and matching blouse that I had been wearing the day before, I found a pair of sleek black dress pants, an incredibly soft cardigan, and matching shell. The pants looked expensive, and the sweater set was pure, luxurious cashmere.

Squeezing my eyes shut against the migraine that suddenly threatened, I tried to process the fact that there were shoes as well—black pumps with a high, sexy heel.

He hadn't forgotten the underwear, either, ever so thoughtfully providing a pair of sheer bikini panties and a matching lace-edged bra, also colored in my favorite raven black.

Zach had been with me since we'd entered his house last night, so he had sent someone—probably Charles—to buy me new clothes. While it was thoughtful, it was also horrifically embarrassing.

Someone else had selected my underwear. This just wasn't something that I was prepared for. The thought of stoic Charles, with his bulging muscles and buzz cut, sifting through a rack of ladies' panties, had me swallowing back a laugh that was tinged with hysteria.

Ridiculous. This was all just insane. How on earth had I found myself here?

I thought of barging back into the master bedroom, of demanding to know where my own clothes were—my affordable, sensible clothes.

I . . . couldn't do it. No matter how bad the scene in Zach's bedroom had been, the fact that he had thought to save me from the morning-after walk of shame was a sweet gesture. I couldn't find it in myself to throw it back in his face, no matter how angry I was with him.

And as I swallowed my pride and dressed in the clothes, I had to note that they fit me better than my own had, almost as if they had been made for me, or had at least been tailored to my specifications. They were also a much finer quality than anything I could afford. I tried to ignore the designer name stitched into the sole of the pump, because if I let myself think about it, I'd choke on the amount that they must have cost.

The clothing was all black, something else that didn't escape my notice.

Someone was paying attention.

I found an array of cosmetics in the en suite bathroom, everything from deodorant to mascara to perfume. Everything was still in its packaging.

They were all the brands that I used, even the toothbrush, an exact duplicate of the one on my hotel room counter, bright pink color and all.

A gnawing sensation made its presence known in the pit of my stomach as I slapped on a minimal amount of makeup, just enough to help diminish the dark circles in the thin, ghostly skin under my eyes. I pulled my damp, bedraggled hair back into a ponytail, tucking the wisps that wouldn't be tamed behind my ears. I couldn't reconcile the man who would take the time to find out what kind of lip balm I preferred with the specter who had handed me a whip. And neither of those images would merge at all with the dominating creature who had enthralled me since the moment I laid eyes on him.

Who, exactly, was Zachariah St. Brenton? There was nothing in this spare room to tell me—nothing personal at all. And though I could see more of the house in the early-morning light, nothing new was bared to my eyes as I cautiously left the bedroom I had been in and retraced the route to the garage.

“Can't you do a single thing that you're told?”

I whirled, startled at the forceful voice, and pressed my back flat against the cool plaster of the wall. Zach stalked toward me, irritation painting his features with shadow.

He was dressed for work, his black suit fitting so perfectly to his amazing body that I was very nearly jealous of the fine cloth. His tie was dark red today, and my fingers itched to undo it as my mouth watered.

No man should look so damn good. It wasn't fair to those of us who were supposed to function around him.

“I would do as I was told if it made any sense to do so.” As much as a raw need clawed at me at the very sight of him, I hadn't forgotten what had transpired between us. Anger sliced at me like razor blades. It was irritating that he looked just perfect, while I was emotionally wrung out, pale and exhausted. “It wasn't fair for you to ask that of me, Zach.”

He halted in midglower, surprise and—was I imagining it?—uncertainty flickering over his face. Feelings that I didn't quite understand made me tremble as I watched him struggle to get himself under control.

I knew that he wasn't as flawless as most of the world saw him, though to me his shadows made him all the more intriguing. Was I the only one who saw more than the good looks and the money?

Zach moved quickly. Before I could breathe again, I was caged where I stood, my back to the wall, a strong arm on either side of my head. Surrounded by him this way, I could smell soap and cologne and that scent that I had become so intimately familiar with the night before—that essence that was uniquely
him
.

I raised my head, hoping desperately that he would brand my lips with his own, and cursing myself for wanting it all the same.

The kiss didn't come. Instead he looked down at me, that intense stare scorching me wherever it touched.

“Zach . . .” The word was a whisper as it left my lips. As if I had burned him, he jolted back, putting space between us in more ways than one.

I dropped my stare and swallowed thickly, wishing I could somehow ease whatever it was that tormented him. If whipping him would do it, then I'd lash his skin in a moment; but I just couldn't see how raining blows down on his skin would exorcise the pain he was so clearly trying to tamp down.

If only he understood that.

“Are we leaving now?” I needed to break the silence that felt as if it might choke me with every breath.

Zach pulled his arrogance around him like a cloak, dismissing me as if he hadn't been a whisper away from claiming me only moments ago.

“Charles will drive you to the office now.” Despite the expression on his face that told me he didn't care how I got to work, one way or the other, I knew that a man who had ordered someone to buy me lacy underwear cared. It was so incredibly frustrating, the way he chose to show it. “I will follow later. If we arrive together it will cause unnecessary gossip.”

I nodded, partially relieved, half-disappointed, and full of fatigue.

“And I trust that you will be extremely discreet at Phyrefly.” His raven-dark eyes bored into my own, and I knew that this was one order I would not disobey. “Gossip isn't going to hurt the man who signs the paychecks. But it could be very damaging to someone new, someone with a lot of potential. I won't have that.”

Though his face still seemed carved from stone, Zach's words showed me that alluring and compelling side of him again. I very nearly groaned with frustration.

How could I show him that I saw it, and that I was drawn to it?

“Thank you for the clothes.” Slowly I raised a hand to the scooped neckline of my shell. My fingers caught at the wool, relishing the softness.

Zach's gaze followed the path of my fingers, and then moved farther down. A slight heat colored his skin, and when I dared to glance down, I saw that his cock had risen and was tenting the front of his suit pants.

He was thinking of the underwear that he had ordered to be purchased for me; I could see it on his face. Since he had been with me, he didn't know what it looked like, and the thought had gotten him hard.

My pulse increased, my heart fluttering against my rib cage as heat descended over me. No matter what had happened, I wanted him.

He wanted me.

He said nothing in response, instead nodding and turning to walk away.

•   •   •

I
t had been a week.

I sat at my desk, unable to concentrate, for the umpteenth time. I was falling behind in my work, and my supervisor, Mrs. Gallagher, had been hounding me all day about a report that was to be turned in that afternoon. Each day it had gotten worse. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't eating.

I sipped at a cup of sweet strawberry hibiscus tea that I didn't particularly want, but I soaked in the heat of the ceramic mug against the chilled skin of my hands, and tried to focus.

“But it could be very damaging to someone new, someone with a lot of potential. I won't have that.”
Zach's last words to me had told me that he felt something for me—something more than the lust that raged between us whenever we were in the same room. Despite every lecture that I had given myself in the last week, I had hoped for . . . something from him. Some gesture, or communication between us.

Instead it was as if we had never met. No phone calls, no texts—I hadn't even seen him inside the Phyrefly building. I wanted to take the elevator to the top floor, to storm past Philippa the paper-doll princess, to confront Zach and ask him what the hell was going on.

My fling with him was supposed to be different from every other relationship that I had had. I was supposed to leave it feeling stronger, more secure in myself. Instead the weeklong silence had left me feeling even worse than I had right after I'd discovered Tom's infidelity.

Though I had been with Tom for much longer, the intensity of my feelings for him were a pale shade of what I already felt for Zach.

It was equally tempting to put down my tea, to walk out of the Phyrefly building and to never come back. To go back to the familiarity of Sacramento—though not to Tom—or to someplace entirely new, where no one knew me or had any expectations of my behavior.

Yet, deep down, I didn't want to run anymore. I liked this job. I liked this city.

And more than any of that, I knew that there was more to be explored between Zach and me, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.

I scowled as I set my mug down on my desk hard enough that Tony looked over from his own workstation, which was beside mine.

“Everything all right?” He had been nothing but impeccably polite to me since Zach had warned him away, but I had still caught him checking out my ass when he thought I wasn't looking. I didn't really mind—it was nice to be found attractive, and Tony was a good-looking man. But his ogling didn't do any more for me than raise my spirits for a moment or two.

The mere thought of Zach looking at me in any way at all, even with that terrifying glower of his, made my temperature rise.

As if my thoughts had become real, I looked up across the busy accounting office, and met the stare of the man himself. My lips parted involuntarily with shock, and my pulse felt like a flock of birds had taken flight in my veins.

There was heat in his stare, and he looked me over thoroughly as I gaped at him.

Then, as if our gazes hadn't connected intimately, he turned back to the group of suit-clad men and women that he was ushering into the conference room.

My vision was shaded with crimson. I had never before felt fury like I did in that moment. I was on my feet and halfway across the room before I even realized what I was doing. I vaguely heard Tony call my name; I didn't care.

Zach had no right to treat me this way. No right to use me the way that he had.

I wasn't going to be anyone's doormat, no, not ever again.

I had very nearly marched into the conference room behind the group when I thought of what Zach would do if I embarrassed him in front of his staff. I could picture the thunderclouds on his face, the fury radiating from his frame.