Surrender Your Heart

Surrender Your Heart

Raven J. Spencer

Copyright © 2015 by Raven Spencer
All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely
coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

For
everyone who prefers the sexy, troubled billionaire to be a woman…

Chapter One

Penny

Women want to be
courted, cherished, swept off their feet by someone who is crazy about them,
obsessed with them. They would do anything for love. That’s what the romance
novels say, at least, and for most of my life, I’ve been shaking my head or
cracking jokes when the subject came up in our book club.

Lesbian
relationships are not like that anyway, I used to argue. We defy the rules of
patriarchy, well, as long as you don’t get involved with the occasional
self-centered girl. That can happen, but a billionaire lady showering you in
gifts and luxury in exchange for kinky games? I don’t think so. If there’s one
who’ll pay my tuition until I have my degree, I’ll let her spank me, I used to
say, sometimes, when after too many shifts at the café, the exam results didn’t
live up to my expectations.

Even Haley and
Lara, who eat up these books by the spoonful, saw the humor in that. There’s no
guy like that either. They are smart capable women, each in their respective
field. Fiction is an escape. I understand that, even if I don’t always agree on
the same theme. The gleam in their eyes when talking about their favorite
stories was disconcerting to me. It’s not what they, me, or any woman would
want, right? It’s not real. It’s not right.

Then it happened
to me.

* * * *

The café where I
work, trying to get enough hours in to keep me fed, clothed and in university,
is the opposite of a modern coffee shop. When you come in here, it’s like
another world, the menu and décor resembling an old-fashioned coffeehouse in
Austria
—hence the name, Café Vienna. It’s
expensive, far beyond my own price range for a cup of coffee. I was lucky to
know a girl whose parents are friends with the owners. She opened the door for
me, and since I had experience in the service industry, I was able to get the
job.

As a guest, you
take your time—first, choosing from the many different kinds of pies and
pastries, and the various flavors of coffee, then, savoring all of it. That is,
except if you work here. The Café Vienna is popular, because it’s one of a kind
in town. Work is never slow. At times, this has led me to resent the patrons
who seem to have all the time in the world.

My story starts
with a $1,000 tip, one I never get the chance to spend, because life changes,
quickly and irreversibly.

It’s the last day
of the semester when I first meet Carter Forbes. I don’t know who she is, but
she does catch my eye which is part attraction and part jealousy…not so much
for her, but the man she’s with. They seem to know each other well, leaning
close when they talk. I go to their table to take their orders, in a much
better mood now that my schedule looks less brutal. I may even get in a little
weekend getaway with the girls. That would do me a lot of good.

She orders a
black coffee which is almost a sacrilege in this place, while her companion
goes for a
café au lait
and a piece of the famous
Sacher
tart.
The clientele of the Café Vienna is usually well-dressed and loaded enough so
their tips can be seen as meager. Even compared to the usual patron, she is
exquisite, tall and slender, wearing a simple white dress that probably cost
more than I earn here in a month, her hair in a fashionable ponytail. I have to
remind myself to move away, but not before she gives me a once over, with a
little smile that shows me she caught me staring. I blush a bright red and
finally make my way back to the counter.

I should get out
a little more often, that’s what my friends say. They might be right.

The man with a
love for chocolate tarts isn’t Carter’s lover. He’s head of security for her
company, but I don’t learn that until later.

There are many
things I don’t know, about her, about myself, at this time. I bring the coffee
and cake to their table, trying to avoid her gaze best I can. I’m already
feeling too hot under my uniform. Silly, ridiculous, and all for nothing,
because a woman like that wouldn’t date a waitress no matter what she could
give her.

Besides, I’ve
sworn off all relationships until I finish my degree. I snort to myself. As if
there was any possibility! Come to think of it, I lead the boring
inconsequential life that those fictional characters want to be rescued from,
but I know it won’t last. Once I get out of this town, get a job that pays a
little more than the necessities, everything will be different.

I believe in
that—most days.

I wait on a few
other tables, then she asks for the check, once again giving me that intent
look. I can’t help it. I feel naked. The thought makes me blush even more, and
the warmth I feel is not all in my face. Maybe I’m coming down with something.
A fever. I’m not usually this silly.

Marcie, the
other waitress on shift, laughs when she sees me. “My, what happened? Did
someone make you an indecent proposal?”

The joke will be
on me. Soon. Only I have no idea.

“Of course not.
I have to go to the bathroom. Would you mind?” I didn’t mean to snap at her. I
could really use some time away.

Marcie shrugs.
“Sure, I’ve got it covered. Go.”

“Thank you.”

In the small
staff bathroom—they had to save space somewhere—I look at my face in the
mirror, touch my cheek. The skin feels warm under my fingers. Damn that
stranger undressing me with her eyes. I have no use for any of this now, not
this kind of behavior or the foolish ideas it produces.

When I return,
the couple is gone, the bill paid, and tip left within the leather cover.

I open it,
hoping for a nice addition to the weekend with the girls…and then I have to sit
down. It’s not an exaggeration, my knees go weak the moment I see the bills,
the one on the top with the name scribbled in the upper left corner. My name.

Penny, thank
you for your service.

For long
moments, I stare at the bills until they become a blur of green before my eyes.
I count them with shaking hands. Ten. Ten $100 bills.

“What happened?”
Marcie asks. I jump and the bills are sailing to the floor. She helps me
gathering them.

“Wow,” she
comments. “That’s one expensive cup of coffee. I guess I wasn’t so far off with
the indecent proposal. Maybe they want to invite you sometime.” She winks, and
I shake my head at her.

“Come on, that’s
crazy.”

Some women would
do anything for love, at least in romance novels. I’m not one of them. I
wouldn’t get in bed with someone’s husband just to…the thought is too crazy to
even finish.

However, they
did give me a $1000 tip. Whatever that means.

* * * *

I don’t tell
anyone, too bewildered about the incident. I call it an incident, because
nothing like that has ever happened to anyone I know. I’m freaking out a bit.
Usually, I don’t carry that kind of money on me, nor do I keep it in my apartment.
I feel like every random stranger I see on the street when walking home knows.
I imagine robbers jumping out of the bushes at every corner, or someone hitting
me over the head while I open my front door.

Nothing of the
kind happens, but I’m spooked. Nothing is ever for free. What did they see in
me that inspired them to throw that much money at me? I’m always friendly, on
the cute side, and I try to be quick and efficient. That might warrant a nice
tip, but the sum is completely out of proportion for two coffees and a piece of
cake. It’s the first time I’ve seen this man and woman at the café. What were
they thinking? What do they want?

I go about my
week pondering those questions. The couple doesn’t return, but there’s an
additional $1,000 in my bank account. I plan to suggest the getaway at our next
book club meeting.

Haley sighs
happily when I tell her about it on the phone. “Oh yes, please, sign me up. I’m
sure Mom will come over and give Ryan a hand with the kids if necessary.”

“Cool. We talk about
it on Friday, then.”

Sometimes I
wonder if Ryan minds the kind of books she loves, or if they find them
inspiring. Then again, they’re my friends, and I don’t want to think too hard
about the ways this could be possible.

I feel happy and
relaxed when I hang up and not so worried about the tip anymore. Not everyone
has ulterior motives. For the people who come to the Café Vienna, money doesn’t
matter all that much. Maybe someone had a good day.

I end mine with
a glass of wine, watching TV on my couch, looking forward to the book club
meeting.

I never make it
there.

* * * *

My eyelids are
heavy. Somehow, I don’t mind. The surface I’m lying on is enticingly soft. The
scent of laundry detergent tickles my nose. It’s quiet, peaceful. I want to
enjoy the moment a bit longer until I have to work my last shift before meeting
the girls tonight…wait.

This is not my
bed. It’s not my room. I struggle to open my eyes in earnest, but I’m so tired.
Irrationally, my first worry is that I’m going to miss work, and then my heart
starts pounding. With some difficulty, I sit up, realizing that my small
bedroom has somehow morphed into a luxury suite. The bed is king size, with a
canopy, its dark wood a stark contrast against the white sheets. There’s a
bedside table and a comfortable looking sitting area by the window where the
blinds are closed. I look down at myself and realize I’m wearing the same
clothes as…when? Yesterday? The sun coming in through the blinds suggests it’s
day outside, but that means I missed a few hours. I must have fallen asleep on
the couch, but what happened after that?

The most
important question: Where am I?

There’s no way I
could have been this out of it from one glass of wine. That means someone was
in my apartment.

Someone took me.

The catastrophic
fantasies come immediately. I have no riches to show for, and the same goes for
my family and friends. Why else would someone kidnap a woman my age? What for?

I’m instantly
dizzy when I get up, but manage to stay on my feet. I’m wavering between no
holds barred panic and plain astonishment. The wooden doors, created with
beautiful detail, are locked, of course. As quickly as I can, I hurry to the
window, feeling a sense of urgency now which is irrational. I have no idea how
long I slept. The windows are locked as well, and there’s a code for the
blinds, but I manage to pull two of the blades apart enough to get a glimpse.

There’s a lot of
green and, in close distance, a stretch of beach and…the ocean?

I step away,
dizzy again, but this time, the feeling is overwhelming. I might be sick. The
other door has to lead to a bathroom? Whoever is responsible for this, I don’t
want to piss them off by puking all over the expensive carpet. I didn’t need to
worry. Before it can get to that, I pass out once more. I almost make it to the
bed.

Chapter Two

The touch of a
hand on my forehead, warm and soft, makes me flinch. “Don’t be afraid.” I hear
the whisper, oddly calming. “You’re safe.”

Let me be the
judge of that.

I shrink away
from the careful contact, once again coming to in the spacious bedroom with
locked doors and windows. It’s now dark outside, and the lamp on the bedside
table is switched on, casting a soft glow on the woman who sits in the chair
next to it.

“Welcome,” she
says.

It’s the woman I
saw in the café, now dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved blouse. Her hair
falls down to her shoulders. She smiles.

Immediately, I’m
reminded of the man who was with her at the Café Vienna, and Marcie’s not so
innocent joke. These things happen for real, women disappearing off the street,
kept in some sick person’s basement for years. Only this isn’t a basement, but
a luxury residence…where?

“Welcome to
where?” My question comes out as a croak. I have a headache. The pain must have
shown on my face, because she hurries to pick up a tall glass of water from the
bedside table.

“Here,” she
says. “Drink. You passed out earlier. Fortunately you didn’t hit your head, but
you might need a little time to adjust to the climate. You can have an Aspirin
with dinner later. That will help.”

It occurs to me
that she answered none of my questions, nor does she seem in a hurry to do so.
I give the glass a suspicious look.

“It’s just
water. I apologize for the measures taken, but those were extraordinary
circumstances.”

“What
circumstances?” My voice rises, almost against my will. I shouldn’t do this. I
have to remind myself that I could be dealing with a crazy person. Rich,
criminal, that’s a given. I drink the water though, first a hesitant sip, and
then all of it.

The woman looks
content.

She doesn’t look
crazy. Considering the surroundings, I realize whoever is behind this must have
planned it some time ago. It gets worse by the minute.

There’s nothing
much intimidating, in this room, or her relaxed body language, but I know it’s
a false sense of security.

“What do you
want me for?”

There’s a bit of
a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “What do you think?”

“The guy at the
café, is he your husband? Do you do that all the time, kidnap people?”

Slow down
, I tell myself. I don’t know anything about her, except that I
thought she was hot a few days ago. You never know what might set a person off.

To my surprise,
she laughs. “My husband? God, no. I hope you’re not disappointed, but I came up
with this nefarious scheme all by myself.”

Now she’s mocking
me, I am sure. That’s my fault for underestimating the criminal energy that
even attractive women can have, obviously. Why am I still thinking about this?
I have to admit, she’s beautiful in the soft glow of the lamp, and if the
situation was different…But it isn’t. This woman had me drugged and abducted to
God knows where. My long neglected libido is not priority at the moment. It’s
rather ridiculous, but I start crying. I can’t help it.

“It’s not as bad
as you think, you’ll see,” she says after a moment, leaning forward to brush
her hand over my hair. I’m a mess. The gesture shouldn’t feel calming, not from
her, but it does. I hate her for manipulating me that way. Part of me protests
that assessment already. I can’t seem to make up my mind.

“I’ll explain
everything to you,” she continues before she pulls back and gets up, leaving me
to feel oddly bereft. “I’d like to show you around your quarters, and then you
can change before we have dinner.”

“My…
quarters
?”
My voice goes up a few notches again. “What time is it? Where are we?” She pats
my shoulder with a smile as if all of this was completely normal.

“Come,” she
says, seemingly excited about what’s to come next. “It’s a little after dinner
time, but I wanted to wait for you. We are in a place that’s as close to
paradise as it gets. Once I know I can trust you, you may go everywhere in the
house and to the beach, but please understand that I can’t take the risk yet.
This is all new for you. I understand. You’ll learn.”

I don’t know if
I want to slap her or give in to other, no less disturbing impulses, but I
decide it’s best to stay quiet for now, follow her lead and try to figure her
out. The door I saw earlier leads to a bathroom indeed, and its size and design
makes my jaw drop. The shower is round, tiled in amazing detail, a sink to the
other side and, farther into the room, the kind of bathtub I’ve always dreamed
about, sunken, with jets.

I am drawn back
into the more troubling aspects of my altered reality when she opens the
cabinets. Everything looks just like…at home? Perfume, shampoo, shower gel,
toothpaste, all the products are those I use.

All of those
bottles and tubes are brand new.

“How…?”

This time, she
doesn’t keep me waiting. “Please don’t faint again, okay? I want you to feel
good. That’s priority. Of course I did my homework.”

“Homework. You
broke into my apartment?”

I expect her to
laugh at me again, with those obvious questions, but instead, she studies me
for a moment, as if wondering how much of the truth I can take before I start
crying again. I catch a glimpse at myself in the mirror and cringe. Then again,
why would I care? I don’t need to be pretty for her. I don’t owe her anything.

“I’m afraid
there were some things I had to delegate. Here, you’ll see there are no pills
of any kind. Again, I don’t feel comfortable enough for that yet, but I’ll get
you that Aspirin later. I know you don’t take any regular medication, so this
will do. If you need something, just tell me.”

“Did you bring
my clothes too?” I ask, failing to sound ironic. At this point, nothing
surprises me. How will I get out of this? What will happen to my job, my
studies…my
book
club
? I’m feeling rather close to hysterics
again.

“Oh no, you
won’t need them. Let me show you something.” From the bathroom, we go back to
the bedroom where she opens another door, this time to a walk-in closet that
might be the size of my complete apartment. She puts a hand at the center of my
back which shows foresight, because I was close to fainting again. Even so, my
knees crumble a bit at the sight, and she moves in closer, steadying me.

“What is this?
Did you put together a harem?” I didn’t want to go there, bring up any sexually
charged imagery, but I assume I can’t hide from the truth much longer.

She’s amused.
“This is all for you. We can keep it casual tonight. That might help you narrow
it down.”

She’s got to be
kidding. Not in a million years I would accept this from a benevolent
stranger—or a lover—but she is neither. I walk farther into the huge closet,
taking in the sight of rows of dresses, tops and bottoms, shoes…I won’t even
start to count. There are so many. With dread I realize there are clothes for
all seasons.

She seems to
read my mind. “I know you won’t need any winter clothes around here, but we
might not stay all through the year.”

I reach out and
take out a random dress, then a blouse, a shirt…They are all my size. I open
one of the drawers, then another. They are filled with beautiful lingerie,
bras, panties, thongs.

I turn to her,
take in her satisfied smile. She’s been looking forward to this moment, I can
tell. I am…bewildered. Shocked. Maybe not as scared as I should be, but all of
this is too much to comprehend all at once.

One thing is for
certain: Her motives are all but innocent.

“Who are you?”

Let’s sum it up,
she went to great length to take me here to a secret place, and she has a
closet full of beautiful and, no doubt, expensive outfits for me. She doesn’t
seem to think the normal rules of society—or laws—apply to her in any way.
Maybe she’s trying to lure me into thinking I’m safe with her when it’s her
plan all along to sell me off to the highest bidder after I’m clothed, fed and
painted.

“I’m Carter
Forbes,” she says, brushing the back of her hand against my cheek. “You don’t
have to worry about a thing. You’re with me now. I’ll take care of everything
you need.”

* * * *

The headache has
vanished without any medication. If I’m still feeling dizzy, it’s mostly
psychological, as I’m overwhelmed with the choices. Shower or bath? I can’t
bring myself to move, not just because by getting naked, I’d make myself more
vulnerable, but because I’m afraid she’s going to take away my old clothes, the
last part of me. Silly. She is only getting started, and I still have no idea
what her end game is. Carter. The lingerie in the drawers might be an
unmistakable hint, but why? Why me?

I can’t handle
all these questions, and her half answers now. Besides, my stomach is growling.
I am locked in for the moment, so I have to play along best I can to gather
more information, hoping it won’t be too late.

She’s not a
deranged killer, is she? Just a woman with too much money and time on her
hands, and, apparently, some criminal friends. That part still worries me. If
she wanted to ask me out, she could have, right?

Carter Forbes didn’t
give me a choice in the matter, that was never part of her considerations, I
guess. What else will she do without asking me? Maybe the nice suite for the
captive is all a show, and somewhere in the basement there’s a dungeon with all
the tools of a…
Stop it
, I tell myself.
Just…stop
.

I can hear
sounds from somewhere nearby, voices, someone setting the table, I assume.
Forbes seems like a person who has people for that, so maybe that’s someone I
could talk to, tell them about what happened…and then I realize they probably
know, setting the table for two, not asking any questions.

She said I could
walk around the house and outside if I was good. I’ll be good. Until the first
chance for escape that is.

In spite of
those many insecurities, it feels surprisingly relaxing to step into the
spacious shower and wash of the grime of the day, but each moment brings up
more questions. Who took me? Did we drive? Take a plane? If she wants me for
her company and life-sized dress up doll, Carter Forbes will have to answer
many more questions for me, or—or what? There’s nothing I can make her do. She,
on the other hand…This is unreal. It’s the only way I can keep a sane mind,
take it step by step. Get out of the shower and into some clothes before she
comes back.

I frown at the
underwear choices, nothing I would usually choose for everyday wear, though the
black panties and bra I choose are surprisingly comfortable. I don’t want to
imagine the price of them.

I halt
mid-motion.

I almost forgot
about the tip, all of a sudden excited. Somebody will remember and think it’s
strange, right? The police will come looking for me.

Here I am,
wearing lingerie this strange woman bought for me, a skirt and a shirt. In a
sudden fit of clarity, I take everything off once more and slip back into my
own clothes, blessedly familiar, boring, not as soft, but mine. I don’t want
Carter Forbes to think I’m easy.

Whatever that
means.

She opens the
door a few minutes later, frowning when she sees I haven’t taken anything from
the closet. The door is still open, my earlier choices lying on the floor. For
some reason I’m blushing. It’s not like I’m the one who did something criminal.

“You didn’t like
any of it?” she asks coolly, the different tone sending a shiver down my spine.
I refuse to give in to fear. Brave or foolish, I don’t know yet.

“I don’t want
any gifts. I’ll give you back the $1000, just let me go.” Then, maybe, I can
make myself believe that all of this was nothing but a weird dream.

She shakes her
head, no, like one would do with a stubborn child.

“I can’t be
here. I can’t,” I repeat, my composure slipping. There’s a hint of emotion in
her expression, worry, but she covers it up with a determined, no room for
negotiation attitude.

“You must be
starving. Let’s eat, and I’ll tell you everything about your new life.”

I could throw a
tantrum and see what happens, but somehow I think that won’t get me anywhere.
All of a sudden I feel silly holding on to these clothes, an old shirt and pair
of jeans I put on after my shower yesterday…the day before?

I don’t know.

As for now, the
woman who had me kidnapped appears to be my only tie to reality. Now, I am
actually scared. I’m also tired, and yes, hungry, so I follow her without any
further protest. She unlocks a couple of more doors and leads me into a private
dining room. By now I’m aware that Carter Forbes must have unlimited funds at
her disposal, but pardon me if a few hours of being conscious are not enough
for me to adjust. The view from the big window is breathtaking. Palm trees, beach
and the ocean.