12 Shades Of Surrender: Bound. Lisa Renee Jones
to Sarah’s corner. She froze, heart skipping a beat. Could he see her? Panicked for reasons she couldn’t explain, she searched his face. But that question was shoved aside as her stomach fluttered violently. She knew him. She knew those eyes, knew them well enough to know what she could not see at this distance—that they were baby-blue, sparked with flecks of amber that made them look like ocean water twinkling at sunrise. Knew him because their families were enemies, a friendship flawed through the corporate anger that had arced between two fathers—his and her own.
Seconds passed, pregnant silence surrounding her, blocking out the music, the surroundings. There was just her and him. Tension stretched, and so did the warmth in her body, so did the arousal heavy in her limbs. His lips twitched, lifted—a smile but not a smile. Awareness. That word came to mind. He knew she was there, that she watched, that she longed to do more than watch. Perhaps he knew who she was. Perhaps he did not. If he did, he gave no indication of that knowledge. His eyes lingered, held her paralyzed. An invisible hand seemed to stretch across that couch, across the space, and caress her with promises of forbidden pleasures she would not soon forget.
She should have moved. She should have left. She felt traitorous to her family, to her roots and to herself. Rebellion and desire flared out of nowhere and pressed her against the corner wall, not away from it. Sarah wasn’t going anywhere, she realized. She was staying. She was watching. She was celebrating.
CHAPTER ONE
Eight years later
If not for the weight of the four long weeks as interim CEO at Chocolate Delights, Sarah suspected she would have known he was there. Suspected she would have recognized the tingling awareness trickling down her spine as more than the warm splash of water in the Olympic-size pool of the Houston, Texas, country club. Instead, she dismissed the sensation as the edginess created from hours of boardroom brawls, an edginess she’d hoped to dispose of in a dozen laps. And since her swim appeared to be failing miserably, she had every intention of pulling out the big gun—a pint of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. Of course, she’d have to run by the store. Unlike her Austin home, her corporate apartment wasn’t well stocked with critical necessities like her favorite frozen treat.
Her mouth was watering with anticipation of the cookie dough flavor she adored, when she brought herself upright, her fingers curling around the concrete ledge of the pool, and blinked a pair of dusty cowboy boots into view. Boots that could have belonged to any one of the hundreds of club members, but the late hour, near nine o’clock in the evening, coupled with the instinctive thunder of her heart, said they did not. Those boots were going to be trouble, like everything else that had been thrown her way since her father’s diagnosis a month before.
Slowly, Sarah’s gaze lifted, taking in long, muscular, jean-clad thighs and lean hips before jerking to his face—Ryan White, aka the CEO of Delight’s rival, Deluxe Sweets, for the past five, highly successful years. Ryan White, who was also the star of most of her midnight fantasies. She didn’t think for a minute that his appearance poolside was a coincidence. Nor was his choice of faded jeans, rather than one of those designer suits he’d worn to grace the covers of numerous business magazines.
Deceptively casual. Calculated. As was his showing up when she was darn near naked. Well, she wasn’t a young college kid anymore, easily intimidated. She was a corporate attorney with years of experience. Granted, only a few of those years were actually with Delights before she and her father bumped heads over the direction of the company’s future and she’d departed. But that made no difference. She’d met plenty of men like Ryan White, men who were after success at all costs. Okay, maybe not exactly like him. A flash of him standing over those naked women in that club years before had her swallowing hard. Regardless, he was after something—and she knew what. She knew all too well. And he could forget it.
“You heard about my father,” she said flatly, not playing the game of unnecessary introductions any more than she would play cat-and-mouse.
He bent down, light blond hair framing a handsome face. “How is he?” Ryan asked, his voice, his expression, actually sounding concerned.
Emotion welled in her chest, defensiveness rising in her chest. “He has cancer,” she said. “Other than that, he’s great.” And he’s ready to quit fighting, she added silently. The certainty that he would lose the company was eating him alive as rapidly as his cancer. And with good reason. It was in financial ruin. No doubt, Ryan thought to take advantage of the weakness. He could think again.
Sarah lifted herself out of the pool and directly into his path, giving him no chance to avoid the splash of water. She expected him to back away. He didn’t. His hands went to her waist, over the simple, navy, one-piece suit that had felt conservative before it was wet and clinging to her every curve. Sarah froze, heat rushing over her, awareness like she hadn’t felt, well … ever.
“Hello to you too, Sarah,” he said, his eyes latching onto hers, simmering with heat, his voice a confident, sexy drawl that dripped arrogance and sex. His gaze melted into hers a moment, and then, with intentional directness, he let his eyes slide downward, over her nipples pebbling through the material. Lingering, touching her without touching her.
How long had she wanted this with this man? How long had she known what she knew now? That he was the definition of forbidden fruit. She wanted to shove him away; she wanted to stay close. But she held her ground, refusing to be intimidated. Seconds ticked by like hours, before crystal-blue eyes the color of the pool lifted back to hers, heat simmering in their depths. Then he said, “It’s been a long time.”
A long time. In three words, the intimidation rolled through her. In three words, he had successfully zapped her customary control—hit her with the dreaded memory, too soon after the wave of emotion over her father—and melted her into a rare moment of weakness. Heat and embarrassment flooded her system, weakening her knees. They had not seen each other since they were children except once in that club so many years before. The idea of him using that night against her to gain an upper hand didn’t sit well. Not well at all.
Her teeth ground together, her words intentionally prim and perfect. Controlled. Something she had mastered in the courtroom. In her life. “Please let go of me.” She smiled. “Or you might slip and fall into the pool. In some mysterious way I’d have nothing to do with, of course.”
His lips hinted at a smile, and his light blond hair accented the baby-blue eyes, alight with mischief. “You should remember our childhood games enough to know I never back down.”
Their childhood. He’d been talking about their childhood. Not the club. Relief washed over her, and so did the recovery of her courtroom-honed sparring skills. “Because back then,” she said, “I wouldn’t have made you back down. But this is now, not then.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve changed.”
He chuckled and stepped backward, hands up in mock surrender. “You wouldn’t have won so many cases in the courtroom if that wasn’t true.” And before she could process his admission that he’d followed her legal career, he added, “Other things can change too, Sarah. Family feuds begin and they end. We could start that ball rolling with a cup of coffee.”
Or with a bedroom brawl. She shoved aside the naughty thought with a sharp reply. Too sharp, she realized too late. It showed her hand, showed he’d gotten to her. “Save your dollar and your sweet-talking conversation.” She hugged the small towel around her a bit tighter, discreetly, not about to let him see her squirm. “Chocolate Delights isn’t for sale.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly so that only her practiced courtroom skill allowed her to notice. “You intend to try and turn the company around then,” he said. “Good.” He smiled. “And you aren’t about to have coffee with me, are you?”
“Not a chance,” she agreed quickly.
He smiled. “Not even if I promise not to talk business?”
“Not even.”
“I’ve done the whole take-over-for-my-father bit,” he said. “You