Maya Banks - Sweet Surrender

He walked over and leaned in closer. Hmm, not a porn site, at least not in the typical fashion. The website was actually an informational on bondage and submission. Couples in a variety of poses dotted the page, and Gray couldn’t help but picture Faith in the woman’s stead.

Did she harbor dark fantasies? Sweet, easily blushing Faith with a penchant for kink? The dichotomy turned him on and intrigued the hell out of him.

Then he frowned. Was she just another woman all too willing to give up control in the bedroom, live for the fantasy then forget the whole thing the next morning? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had his fill of those women.

Oh, they were more than willing to play a role, one that only extended to the bedroom, but when it was over with, they became a completely different woman.

He wasn’t into pretend shit. He wasn’t some damn puppet to have his strings pulled then be put back on the shelf until it was time to play again.

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. He was getting worked up over nothing. And letting past experiences color his perception of something he had no idea about. Who knew what Faith was up to or why she was looking at submission sites. It wasn’t any of his damn business.

Remembering the fact that he had a job to do, one that didn’t include figuring out a dozen ways to fuck Faith, he hurried into the kitchen. After arranging the tap, he headed for her bedroom, sure he’d find another phone there, but after a quick search of the house, he only discovered the one in the kitchen.

Quickly surveying the living room and kitchen to make sure he hadn’t disturbed anything, he strode to the door, opened it a tiny crack and peered out. Not seeing anyone, he let himself out, locking it behind him. Then he hightailed it back to his apartment and the promise of a nice long nap.

Faith raised her hand to knock on Gray’s door but hesitated at the last minute.

“Don’t be such a ninny,” she muttered. “Just because you can’t be around him two seconds without blushing doesn’t mean you’re a spineless wimp.”

Shifting the sack she held in her arm, she pressed her lips together and knocked. She waited several seconds then knocked again, louder this time.

Finally the door opened, and she blinked as Gray, a shirtless Gray, stood in the doorway. He leaned against the frame for a minute, and she let her gaze wander down his body. He wore only a pair of jeans, and his bare feet stuck out from the pants legs.

As she glanced back up his body, she stopped at his chest. He folded his arms over his rib cage, and she couldn’t help but admire the bulging muscles of both his arms and his upper chest.

He only had a smattering of hair in the hollow and then a fine line leading downward to his navel. She felt the dreaded heat of a blush as her eyes settled on the fly of his jeans.

Finally she jerked her gaze back up. He was eyeing her lazily, his blue eyes studying her much as she’d been studying him.

“I, uh, sorry to bother you. Pop said you weren’t feeling well.” She thrust the bag toward him. “I brought you some homemade chicken and dumplings.”

He smiled as he took the bag. Then he stepped back. “Come in, please.”

She hesitated for a minute then followed him inside.

“This was sweet of you. You shouldn’t have come all the way over here. I’m feeling much better now.”

He set the bag down on the bar separating the small kitchen from the living room then looked back at her again. “Just let me grab a shirt, and I’ll be right back.”

She fidgeted as he walked down the hallway to his bedroom, and when he disappeared she let out a long breath. She turned her attention to the bag on the bar and removed the plastic container holding the chicken and dumplings.

Not wanting to stand there like an idiot, she walked around the bar into the kitchen and set about looking for a bowl. When she found one, she hastily transferred the contents of the plastic container to it and thrust it into the microwave.

She set it for two minutes then rummaged around for a spoon. Just as the timer went off on the microwave, Gray sauntered back in, this time wearing a T-shirt. It was all she could do not to sigh in disappointment.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he protested as she gestured for him to sit down.

“Sit,” she directed. “It’s all done anyway.”

She removed the bowl and stirred the dumplings before plopping the bowl in front of him. “Do you want something to drink?”

He put his hand on her arm. “Faith, sit down. You don’t have to wait on me.”

“I should probably be going,” she hedged.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked as he stared intently at her.

“W-why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re making a habit out of running away from me,” he said.

She sank onto the barstool across from him like a deflated balloon. “Oh, no, I mean, well, yes, you make me nervous.”

Her hand came up to her mouth in mortification. Had she just said that?

He chuckled. “At least you’re honest.”

“I’ve made a pact with myself to start being more direct,” she explained. God, Faith, shut up!

His eyes twinkled, and he grinned. “Then maybe you’ll tell me why I make you nervous.”

“Not that direct,” she muttered.

He laughed and picked up his spoon. “Mmm, this is really good. Not only are you beautiful—and adorable—but you’re an excellent cook as well. I’m dying to know why you’re still single.”

She glared at the mischief in his eyes. He was totally yanking her chain.

“Maybe I haven’t found a man worthy of my beauty or culinary skills,” she said airily.

He raised his spoon in salute. “Touché.”

“I really should be going. My lunch hour is almost over, and I have a lot of paperwork to do this afternoon.”

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

“I’ll get something when I get back to the office. I just wanted to see how you were feeling.”

His gaze caressed her face, his expression intense. “I appreciate it.”

She stood awkwardly, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles in her jeans. She reached into her pocket for her keys and headed around the bar. As she passed him, he reached for her wrist.

A surge of warmth raced up her arm as his fingers pressed into her skin.

“Thank you,” he said huskily.

For a minute, she thought he’d kiss her, just as she’d thought he would last night. But again, she was disappointed as he let his fingers slide off her wrist.

“I’ll see you later,” she said as she started for the door once more.

Faith got out of her car and headed back into the office building. When she rounded the corner into her office, she was surprised to see Connor and Pop sitting in chairs eating pizza.

“Hey,” she said in delight. “I thought you guys were eating out today.”

“Well, we came by to eat with you,” Connor said. “But you weren’t exactly here.”

Her cheeks prickled, and she fought to maintain a neutral expression. “I took some chicken and dumplings over to Gray. I wanted to see if he was feeling any better.”

“That was nice,” Pop said with an approving nod. “How was he?”

Faith walked over to the open pizza box and took out a slice. She picked up a napkin and took her chair behind the desk. “He seemed to be feeling better. I think he must have been in bed when I knocked because he looked like he’d been asleep.”

“Have things been okay with you, Faith?” Connor asked bluntly.

She blinked in surprise, the pizza stopping its rise halfway to her mouth. She set the slice back down and looked over at her brother.

“Things are fine. Why on earth do you ask?”

“Pop and I have been worried,” Connor said. “You just seem distant lately.”

A momentary rush of panic swelled in her throat. Had her mom called when she wasn’t in the office? Did they already know that Celia was in dire straits again?

She hated these situations. She never wanted Pop or Connor to regret inviting her into their lives. No way would she burden them with issues involving her deadbeat mother. They’d done more than their fair share of dealing with Celia.

“Faith?” Pop’s gravelly voice interrupted her dire thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. You two worry too much.” She smiled reassuringly at them both.

Connor grunted. “Worrying is what we do best.”

Faith concentrated on her piece of pizza, chewing and swallowing mechanically. What would she do if her mom called when Faith was out of the office? What if Pop or Connor answered? Would her mom hang up or lay out her sob story regardless of who was on the other end?

Embarrassment, hot and raw, crawled up her spine and wrapped around her neck like a vise grip. Why now? Why after all this time did her mother have to worm her way—or try to worm her way—back into Faith’s life? Because if Faith had her way, Celia would stay the hell away.

“What do you think of Gray?” Pop spoke up.

Faith looked up in surprise. “Huh?”

“Seems like a good fellow,” Pop continued. “Too bad about his partner. I bet Gray made a damn fine cop.”

“Is he quitting?” Faith asked curiously. Had Gray decided to take a permanent position with Pop?

Pop shook his head. “No, not that I know of. Far as I know, he’s just taking a break.”

“Ah, you made it sound like he wasn’t going back or something.”

Connor swallowed his last bite of pizza. “I don’t see him as the quitting type.”

On that he and Faith agreed.

Pop shrugged. “Sometimes a man just needs a change. That’s all I’m saying.”

The phone rang, and Faith dropped her pizza. Pop looked quizzically at her as Connor reached for the phone. Faith lunged for it and slipped the receiver from underneath Connor’s grasp.

“Malone’s,” she said as cheerfully as her frayed nerves would allow.

Her shoulders sagged in relief when she heard the person identify himself and ask to speak to Pop.

She held the phone out to her father. “It’s for you. Raymond Jarrell.”

Pop wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for the phone. As he took it, Faith’s gaze flickered over to see Connor staring at her, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to see right into her head.

She looked away then gathered up the empty pizza box and escaped the office with it, heading to the larger trash can in the back. As she stuffed it into the large plastic can, Connor’s hand closed over her wrist.

She turned, and his concerned gaze met her head-on.

“What’s going on, Faith?”

When her gaze drifted downward, his other hand cupped her chin and directed her eyes upward to meet his.

“You know you can come to me with anything, right?”

She smiled, feeling the sting of tears at his loving concern. “Yes, I know, big brother. Everything is okay. Really.”

He looked doubtfully at her but let his hand fall. “I’m here when you’re ready to talk about whatever’s bugging you. Just remember that.”

He bumped her nose with his knuckle then turned and walked back toward the front.

Faith sighed and closed her eyes. She hated lying to them, but she also hated the idea of them knowing her mother was calling again. She knew Pop would take over, shield her from the calls, even going as far as to change the business number or screen all the calls, but she couldn’t allow that. It was time for her to take a proactive stance, one that didn’t allow for her mother’s manipulation.

Was it horrible to admit that she simply felt better when her mother was out of sight and out of mind? When she didn’t have to think about her or wonder what mess she’d gotten herself into.

Again the prick of tears stung her eyelids, and she gritted her teeth in irritation. Don’t let her do this to you. Not again. She’s caused you enough emotional angst for a lifetime.

Faith took several steadying breaths as she tried to gain control of the surge of emotion and grief she felt. No matter how hard she tried to steel herself against the emotional fallout her mother caused, it always hit her square in the chest. There was too much sadness and regret buried behind the protective barrier Faith had built to keep her mother out.

“It wasn’t your doing,” she whispered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She forced herself forward, down the hallway back to her office. She was careful to adapt a serene expression, hopefully something that didn’t belie her inner turmoil. As she headed toward her desk, Pop looked up.