Maya Banks - Sweet Surrender

It was on the tip of Gray’s tongue to ask why he was telling Gray, a veritable stranger, if he didn’t want Faith to know. But Pop seemed upset, and maybe it made him feel better to get it off his chest.

“When I learned Celia was calling Faith and bugging her for money, I tracked her down and paid her off. Told her not to come anywhere near Faith again.” Pop rubbed a hand wearily over his face. “Not my proudest moment, I’ll grant you, but I wasn’t about to let her step in and ruin Faith’s life after Faith finally started living for herself.”

“So she took the money and agreed to back off?”

Pop nodded. “Hell of a note when you view your only daughter as a meal ticket and nothing else.”

Gray grimaced. If Mom had gotten money from Pop before, no way she’d back off now. Which could be good for him and Mick, because with Samuels pulling Celia’s strings, her desperation would only increase with each passing day. Desperation made people sloppy.

Mick’s report of Samuels being seen in Huntsville came back. In all likelihood they were on their way to Houston. If Celia had been successful in getting money through Faith’s connection to Pop, then she’d be quick to exploit that angle. There was also a possibility she’d forgo Faith and go straight to Pop.

“I don’t want her hurt,” Pop continued. “She’s had enough hurt in her young life.” His voice took on a more purposeful tone, and he leaned back, surveying Gray with keen eyes. “You seem interested in Faith.”

Ah, here it came, and now Gray understood that the long spiel was all a lead-up to the “warning.” Don’t fuck with his daughter. Gray didn’t rise to the bait. He merely sat and waited for Pop to say his piece.

“You’ll go back to your job at the end of your leave. I’ve seen guys like you. I admire you. You make a damn fine cop. I have no doubt about that. But I don’t want you messing around with my daughter or using her as a diversion then leaving town to go back to Dallas.”

Pop’s way of putting it irked Gray. “You make her sound like a damn toy. I like Faith. She’s a sweet girl.”

Pop nodded. “That she is. She’ll make some man a damned fine wife. Have a passel of kids. A nice home and security.” His emphasis on security drove home to Gray what Pop wanted for his daughter. And to his credit, it was what most fathers wanted for their daughters.

“I understand,” Gray said calmly.

Pop’s expression softened. “I like you, son. I like you a damn lot. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. Faith could certainly do a lot worse than a man like you. I just don’t see your pathways paralleling each other. That’s all.”

“Not a problem,” Gray said, not wanting to point out that he’d never expressed the desire for a relationship with Faith. No sense pissing the old guy off.

Faith bopped around the office with ill-contained excitement. She was nervous, excited and petrified, all rolled into one, about her appointment tonight. Sex on the brain made for some interesting daydreams, and she could only be grateful it had been a slow day in the office.

The sexual tension between her and Gray simmered like a cauldron, and it made her even more determined and anxious to explore her most secret desires. He brought out every lustful fantasy she’d ever thought of, and even some she hadn’t.

She wanted him. That was certainly not one of her most secret desires. There was nothing secret about it. And he’d have to be awfully thick not to realize she wanted to have sex with him. But. There was always a but.

She wanted a strong, masterful man. From all outward appearances, Gray was that man. He talked the talk, but then she’d had a few talkers in the past. They’d promptly fizzled in bed and out.

Which is why you’re going tonight. To identify, to own, to take what you want. She sensed this was the first big step, and once she embraced this change, this desire to be her own person, there would be no looking back.

She emitted a tiny sigh as she arranged a pile of contracts on her desk. Then she logged onto the internet and opened an e-mail from Damon, the man who’d set up her appointment at The House.

They’d actually exchanged several e-mails since her phone call a few nights ago. He had put her at ease with his friendly, open attitude. He’d encouraged her to ask questions and in return had given her a wealth of information about what went on at The House and also what she could expect from her tour.

In one of her sillier moments, and after spending five hours poring over internet pictures of leather-clad Klingon look-alikes, she’d e-mailed Damon to ask what she should wear. Because if she was expected to don a black rubber suit with no ass and a hole where her tits were supposed to go, they could kiss her ass. Her bare ass.

She skimmed over the e-mail, smiling at the reminder that the environment she was entering tonight would be raw and explicit. She felt an excited tingle all the way down to her toes.

She was reasonably prepared for her visit to The House. Or so she imagined. She’d scoured countless sites on the internet, researched all the links that Damon had sent her, and she’d even worked up the nerve to sneak into Micah’s apartment and raid his porn collection. She’d certainly gotten an eyeful. Apparently soft porn wasn’t in Micah’s vocabulary.

She grinned as she mentally went over the list she’d compiled of scenarios and positions she wanted to try. All she needed now was a willing partner, and maybe a better understanding of the need driving her. Which she hoped Damon and company could shed some light on.

She spun around in her seat, feeling just a little giddy and more than a little ridiculous. She slapped her hand down on the desk to stop her motion when the phone rang.

Stifling a giggle, she reached for the phone. “Malone’s,” she said breathily.

“Faith, we need to talk.” Her mother’s strident voice scratched over Faith’s ear like a tree branch on a tin roof. “I need money. I need you to help me. You have to help me.”

Gone was the wheedling and cajoling she was so used to hearing in her mother’s calls.

Forgoing any attempt to soften her rejection, Faith gripped the phone tighter. “I asked you not to call me again.”

She started to peel the phone away from her ear when a distant sound raised her hackles. She pressed the phone back to her ear again and strained to hear.

“…tell the bitch to get the money, or you’ll both be sorry.”

“Mom, who was that?” Faith demanded.

“No one,” Celia said in a faltering voice. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Familiar sadness settled over Faith, crowding her mind with a lifetime of regrets. Celia would never change. Faith had to accept that. She had accepted it, but it didn’t make it any easier to acknowledge.

“Let me say this so we’re perfectly clear,” Faith began in a halting voice. “Don’t call me.” Her voice got stronger and steadier as she allowed the force of her anger to spill out. “I have nothing to say to you. I can’t help you. I won’t help you. I can’t be any clearer than that.”

Her words came out shaky in the end as she expelled unsteady breaths. “I love you, Mom.” Her voice cracked, and she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “But I hate what you’ve become—what you’ve always been. I don’t want any part of my old life back. My life with you. I’m happy now. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any desire to reconnect with you, to allow you to use me anymore.”

Faith heard a sob and honestly didn’t know whether it was her or her mother. She hung up the phone with shaky hands then buried her face in her arms on the desk.

Her shoulders shook, and she felt tears slide over her arms. When the phone rang again, she reached over, yanked the cord from the wall and flung it across the room. She lowered her head again and wept. Noisy, raw sobs racked her body. So much grief, anger and betrayal coiled in her chest like an angry snake ready to strike.

Why did she hand over so much power to her mother? Why did she give Celia the capability to hurt her so easily?

A firm hand gripped her shoulder, and she stiffened.

“Faith, what’s wrong?” Gray’s urgent entreaty cut through the red haze circling her mind.

Slowly, she pulled her head up, suddenly feeling foolish for her undisciplined emotional outburst. What if Pop or Connor had been the one to walk in? She’d have a devil of a time explaining why she was sobbing her eyes out at her desk.

She scrubbed impatiently at her eyes and looked away, determined for him not to see her tears. Her chair moved slightly, and she glanced over out of the corner of her eye to see him kneel beside her.

Gentle fingers curled around her chin and tugged, forcing her to look directly at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Another quiet sob whispered from her mouth, and she clamped her lips shut to prevent any more from escaping.

“No, you’re not all right. That’s obvious.” He stroked the back of his knuckles over her cheek then tucked her hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“It’s nothing,” she said shakily. “Really. I feel like such an idiot. I just got upset and overreacted.”

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’re not the type to overreact. What upset you so badly, Faith?”

No, he wasn’t stupid, and she was insulting his intelligence by denying her upset.

“All right, it wasn’t nothing, but it’s not something I want to discuss. Can you understand that?” She silently pleaded with him not to push any further.

He stared at her for a long moment. “Yeah. I can.”

He thumbed a tear from the corner of her eye. Their gazes met and hung, suspended in a timeless echo.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and edgy.

“Do what?” she murmured back.

“Kiss you.”

“Are you?”

Instead of responding, he edged closer to her, his lips hovering precariously close to hers. Her sudden intake of breath was all she had time for before their mouths met.

His hands framed her face as he pressed hot and hard against her. Their tongues met and tangled. She gasped for air but wouldn’t pull away. It consumed her. He consumed her.

His mouth inched upward until his teeth nipped and caught at her upper lip. He pulled outward then sucked it farther into his mouth. His tongue licked and laved before he released her lip and moved to the corner of her mouth.

Forgotten were her tears, her anguish. All that existed in this moment was the man in front of her. His touch, his kiss, his very essence wound around her, filling her until everything else vanished.

She reached for him, sliding her hands over his broad shoulders. Her fingers inched toward his neck until one hand cupped the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. She nibbled back at his lips. Kiss for kiss, bite for bite, lick for lick.

A moan built deep in her chest, welled in her throat, until it escaped in a sound of sweet agony. The tension between them that had, over the last few days, built into an enormous entity, exploded in a rush of molten lava.

She moved her hands in front, down his chest until she tugged at his shirt. She wanted to feel his bare flesh. Impatiently, she yanked until it came free from his jeans. Then she slid her fingers under the hem and pressed her hands to his stomach.

He flinched, his mouth stilling over hers. Her hands worked higher, gliding over the muscles of his chest, shoving his shirt upward.

His fingers dug into her head, and his thumbs brushed over her cheeks. There was strength in his touch. A strength she craved, needed, wanted so badly she ached.

She whimpered against his lips when they didn’t resume the passionate kiss but instead remained still. His body tensed underneath her fingers, the muscles rippling across his chest.

“Gray,” she whispered.

He pulled away and closed his eyes. A harsh expletive danced in the air between them, souring the moment. His hands fell away from her, and he pushed himself upward, tension rolling off of him like sand pouring from a bucket.

His palm crept to the back of his neck, and he rubbed up and down in agitation. “God, Faith, I’m sorry. That should have never happened.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Sorry? I wanted it to happen. You wanted it to happen. I don’t see what you have to be sorry about.”

He stalked around the desk, pausing in the middle of the floor, his movements jerky and indecisive. Then he turned to look at her. His eyes blazed with a multitude of emotions. Desire still flamed brightly, so she knew it wasn’t a matter of him not wanting what had happened. But there was also regret, and—self-loathing?