PrideandSurrender (7 page)

I tugged at my seat belt and stared pensively out the front
window of Christos’ Mercedes. “Are you sure about this?” I asked him for the
hundredth time.

He smoothed a palm over my knee, the heat of his hand
warming my skin even through my white cotton pants. “I’m sure, Juliet.” He
pulled to a stop at the light and leaned over to kiss the side of my neck.
“They will love you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. How had I let him talk me into
this? I hadn’t met a man’s family since my ex-husband’s, and here I was, after
one night, on my way to meet Christos’.

“It’s a lot of pressure.” Didn’t he understand the
seriousness of the step he was taking? He’d never brought anyone home. And now
he was showing up with me? Their expectations had to be sky-high.

He slid his palm around the back of my neck, kneading a spot
with his thumb as the light turned green and he stepped on the gas. “No
pressure. It’s a simple party. We eat. We drink. We talk. I’ve seen you do that
a million times and you’re quite charming.”

“That’s different!” I insisted, once again gearing up for
the argument I’d been making all day.

“I know.” He squeezed the nape of my neck. “And I’m
reminding you—you’re good at this. You know how to talk to people, how to make
small talk and polite conversation.”

“I’m good at business talk.” I crossed my hands over my
chest. “Do you think your parents want to discuss corporate restructuring?”

“My parents will be so thrilled you’re there, they won’t
care if you sit in the corner and don’t say a word.”

“That would make a great impression,” I said with
considerable sarcasm.

He laughed and I sighed, turning to stare out the window as
we drove down the congested River North streets. Of course he was right. I was
making a big deal out of nothing. I did small talk with the best of them, but
this
was
different.

Everything about Christos was new. For almost two years I’d
been viewing him as a threat, an adversary. Now, barely forty-eight hours
later, I was meeting his family. The drastic swing of our relationship was
giving me whiplash.

Last night had been like a dream, a fantasy come to life. We’d
slept. Talked about everything and nothing. I relaxed around him for the first
time since I’d met him. He made me laugh. He’d let me take pictures of him
despite his protests, charming me with the look of horror he’d given me when
I’d taken out the camera. At one in the morning we’d ordered pizza and devoured
it as though we’d never seen food before. Then we’d gone at it as if we’d never
touched, as if we hadn’t had wild, passionate sex numerous times already.
Unable to make the trip upstairs to my bedroom, he fucked me on the kitchen
table until I was once again screaming his name in ecstasy.

It was hands-down one of the best nights of my life, and
when we’d finally gone to bed for good, I’d slept like a baby.

But as soon as we’d woken, I’d started waiting for the other
shoe to drop. That the world hadn’t crashed around me made me almost more
nervous than if it had. Now I was on my way to his parents’ house and I had no
idea what to do with myself or the panic jumping around in my belly.

“You’re still fretting.” It wasn’t a question. He moved from
my neck to rest his palm over my thigh, entirely too high for comfort.

“I can’t help it.” I looked back at him and just kind of
stared dumbly at him for a moment in amazement. Was I really having this
conversation with him? How had I gotten here? A month ago he’d been my mortal
enemy. Today, he sat across from me, touching me as though he owned me, looking
gorgeous and composed and not the slightest bit anxious.

Irrationally, I wanted to smack him. “Seriously, why do you
have to be like this?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Like what?”

“All this calm is grating, you should be nervous.”

“Why?” His hand draped over the steering wheel, dark
sunglasses hiding his green eyes. In all black, he looked wicked, like sex and
sin, completely unaware of his overwhelming appeal.

With a frustrated snarl, I tucked a stray lock of hair
behind my ear and smoothed over my white sleeveless blouse.

“Would you worry if I came home with you?” He grasped my
hand and brought it to his lips.

The thought of Christos Constantine sitting in my beat-up
childhood kitchen back in my parents’ small Ohio home was almost enough to make
me break out in hives. “You’re kidding, right?”

The car crawled a couple of feet forward before coming a
stop. He smiled at me. “So, you’re intent on worrying, is that it?”

I shrugged, resisting the childish “duh” that sprang to my
lips.

See, this is what I hated. I had no composure around him, no
sense of control that infused my interactions with other people. I couldn’t
trust that some scathing remark wouldn’t pop out of my mouth and embarrass me
in front of his parents. Who knew what he’d say that might irritate me to rash
behavior?

“I should have remembered who I was talking to.” The muscle
of his thigh flexed under his dark pants as he pressed on the gas and the car
once again began to move. “Since I’m such a great guy, I’ll tell you what I’ll
do.”

Sensing a trap, I narrowed my gaze. “I don’t like the sound
of this.”

He squeezed my thigh and grinned at me so devilishly all my
nerves started to tingle. He made a right turn down a one-way side street.
“Clearly you need a distraction, something else to worry about.”

“Ha!” Unable to come up with a better response as his
fingers moved higher up my leg so my clit swelled and started the now familiar
pulsing that seemed to beat out the rhythm—
Touch me, touch me, touch me
.
I went to push his hand away, but he caught it in his strong grasp.

He made another right and pulled into a spot that magically
appeared as though the gods had saved it just for him.

“We’re here.” He pointed to converted brick brownstone
before taking off his sunglasses and tossing them into the console.

I glanced up at it, my heart sinking down into my stomach,
and I was suddenly thankful for the comfort of his hand on mine. This was it.

“Look at me, Juliet.” I did, and he squeezed my fingers. “I
promise you this will be fine. They will adore you.”

My pulse thudded in my neck and all I could do was nod.

He pulled me closer to him and leaned to meet me halfway,
kissing me softly on the lips. “Now about that distraction I promised.”

Not really paying attention, I closed my eyes, placing my
free hand over his heart. The combination of his breath and the steady beat
calmed me.

“Tonight, I’m going to take you back to your house.” His
voice stroked over my skin, soothing me with his deep timbre. “I’m going to
spread you out on your bed and strip you naked.”

Excitement seeped through my blood, washing away some of my
nervousness. He was right. This did help. The corners of my mouth twitched up
when the rise and fall of his chest quickened. “Do you want to know what I’m
going to do next?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“I’m going to tie you to that fantastic headboard and make
you beg for me.”

My lids flew open and I shook my head. “No. No way.”

He nodded. “Yes, Juliet.”

I didn’t know which was stronger, my desire or my fear, but
they mixed inside me and created a lethal cocktail. I couldn’t do that. I’d be
completely vulnerable to him, unable to get away. It was one thing to feel his
power and control over me, quite another to experience it. Once again I shook
my head.

“Yes.” He kissed my mouth, slow and deep. I wanted to melt
under him, but I couldn’t because I knew he was serious. This was his plan, to
have me bound and helpless under him. “I’m going to tie your hands together
over your head, clasped on either side of that metal scroll.”

His gaze searched my face, gauging my reaction, but all I
could do was blink back at him like a deer in the headlights. “But your legs,
I’m going to tie them apart so your thighs are spread open to me. So your cunt
is exposed and I can see how wet you are.”

Unbearable excitement rushed through my veins. Did I want
this? No, I couldn’t. It was too much. “No, I don’t want that.” Saying the words
out loud as though it would make them true.

“But you do.” He looked into my eyes and his hand went to my
neck, his fingers pressing into my pounding pulse. “I can feel your need. I can
feel how you crave it. And how much it scares you.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the press of his thumb on my
throat, I was flooded with heat. Why had I ever told him how this affected me?
Now I was at his mercy.

“You’re wet for me right now. Thinking about how it’s going
to feel, what I’m going to do to you.” He kissed me again, and I could feel his
control slipping away. “I could fuck you right here in this car. On another
day, I will, and you’ll let me, but now I’m going to make us both wait because
it will make your total surrender that much sweeter.”

* * * * *

He was right, the jerk
. As we walked up the front
steps of his parents’ house, our hands clasped tightly together, I wasn’t
worried about meeting them anymore.

Well, I was, but not with the same single-minded obsession I
had been, because as he’d promised, I had something new to worry about. How
could I possibly survive being tied up and helpless? I was sure I didn’t want
it but couldn’t deny how my stomach jumped every time the image of me spread
out before him came unbidden into my mind.

Christos twisted the knob of the front door and flung it
open into a wide, spacious foyer. I held my breath as I stepped over the
threshold, praying I would survive this party and this night.

He squeezed my fingers, and let go, sliding his arm around
my waist to pull me close. “You’ll do fine,” he whispered in my ear as a
beautiful little girl in a pink-and-white-flowered party dress flew into the
room.

“Uncle Christy,” she said excitedly, black curls bouncing as
she danced around him.

Uncle Christy?
I raised a brow at him, and he shrugged.

Suddenly the little girl stopped on a dime, planted her
hands on tiny nonexistent hips and tapped the toe of her white shoe. “Where’s
my present?”

He laughed, bending down to smooth his hand over her glossy
hair. “And why would I bring you presents, little one?”

“It’s my birthday.” She glared up at him with dark eyes.
“I’m six!”

“It is?” He frowned, looking concerned and utterly serious.
“Are you sure?”

Thoroughly charmed at the sight of him with the little girl,
I couldn’t help but smile. Bit by bit, Christos was becoming human to me—no
longer the enemy, the adversary. No longer the Greek god cast upon us mere
mortals. He was simply a man, and his realness continued to chip away at my
barriers.

She blew out a puff of air, sending her dark bangs flying.
“Yes!”

“Have you been a good girl?” he asked her.

“Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “Very good.”

“I don’t know,” he said with exaggerated suspicion, but his
affection for her was written all over his face. “That’s not what your mama
says.”

Dark brown eyes with thick long lashes narrowed. “I know you
brought me something. You never forget.”

Christos pointed at me. “And where are your manners,
Nicolette? Say hello to my Juliet.”

The little girl turned up to look at me and my heart filled
my throat when she grasped handfuls of her dress and curtsied. “It’s a nice to
meet you, Ms. Juliet.”

Christos laughed and rubbed a palm over her gleaming black
hair. “She’s a princess in training.”

A whisper tried to sneak into my mind, but I slammed the
door shut, refusing to let it enter. Those are the not the kind of fantasies I
allowed myself about the man next to me.

I leaned down and held out my hand to the little girl.
“Happy birthday, Nicolette.”

That tiny hand slipped into mine. “Do you know where my
present is?” she asked with a six-year-old’s single-minded focus.

“Nicolette,” a woman spoke in accented English before
continuing on in what I assumed was Greek.

The little girl turned and beamed a brilliant smile at the
older woman, responding in the foreign language before waving to us and
trotting down a hallway.

I straightened and smoothed my pants, my palms turning
clammy in an instant. I hadn’t thought I’d had any expectations about what
Christos’ parents would be like, but I was wrong. Somewhere along the way I’d
begun to picture a caricature of an old immigrant.

Nothing like the stunning woman standing before me.

Although I knew she was in her sixties, she looked far
younger as she glided toward us in a flowing red sundress. Glossy black hair
fell to her shoulders, setting off clear green eyes that reminded me of a cat
with the sharp bite of intelligence shining in them.

“Mama,” Christos said, his fingers tightening on my waist as
though reassuring me. “This is Juliet Russo.”

She beamed a smile that transformed her face into something
so indescribably radiant I wanted to take her picture. If I’d held my camera,
it would have been impossible to resist capturing her. “Ah, this is the Juliet
I’ve heard so much about.”

I cast a startled glance at Christos, who merely shrugged
and grinned.

Unable to think about what he might have said about me on
top of all the other thoughts swirling in my mind, I put on my most sincere
smile and outstretched my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs.
Constantine.”

She ignored my hand and enveloped me in a warm hug where she
whispered a few words in Greek, squeezing me tight before pulling back and
grasping my face in her hands. “You’re right, Christos,” she said rolling his
name over her tongue. “She’s lovely.”

Caught off guard by her warm openness, I fought the instinct
to pull away and step out of her embrace. Off kilter, I longed for the safety
of politeness but was able to murmur, “Thank you.”