Читать книгу: «Surrender To Me»

Chapter 1

A warm leg brushed against his. Rafe Lawson glanced over his shoulder through dark eyes still lazy with sleep. He blinked slowly in the dim light of early morning, bringing the body next to him into focus. The night before began to come back to him in brief snapshots. His grandfather Clive’s birthday party. Bourbon. Music. Beautiful women.

He gently lifted the pale blue sheet that covered her body and peeked beneath. Hmm. Very nice. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. And she definitely was not the woman he’d dreamed about all night—the woman he’d met at the party.

They’d only had a few moments to talk. She was part of the Secret Service detail that was assigned to the vice president, who’d made a surprise visit for his old friend’s birthday. Avery! That was her name. The woman from last night.

The unnamed woman in his bed moaned softly and he felt her lush body stretch against him. He eased out of bed and strode to the adjoining bathroom.

Rafe leaned on the sink and assessed his reflection in the mirror. The residue from his night of partying was barely evident beyond the five-o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw.

At thirty-six, his body still bounced back from the wear and tear he subjected it to; whether tearing up the highways on his motorcycle, hours in the gym or nights of indulgence in alcohol and women. He knew, however, that his often wild lifestyle couldn’t be maintained forever. He lived for the adrenaline rush of living on the edge, on his own terms, even to the dismay of family and friends. He did it as much to amuse himself as to piss off his powerful father.

He backed away from the all-knowing mirror and turned on the shower full-blast in the hope that his head would clear about the events that led to the woman in his bed.

By the time he turned off the taps he remembered—and it wasn’t good. The lovely lady was Shante Thornton, who worked for his sister Dominique. He muttered a curse while he knotted a towel around his waist. Back in front of the mirror he wiped the fogged glass with a cloth. His face appeared haloed by the mist. “You’re an idiot,” he grumbled.

When Rafe returned, Shante was sitting on the side of the bed with the sheet pulled up around her. She glanced quickly at him, turned away and clutched the sheet in her fist, but not before he registered the look of uncertainty and maybe embarrassment in her eyes. Without makeup and the fancy gown that was now tossed on an armchair, he could see how young she was. Not underage jail potential, but younger than the women he was accustomed to dealing with. There was a vulnerability that engulfed her like the scent of great sex that still lingered in the room.

He may be a womanizer in the eyes of some, but the truth was he loved women, adored them. He cherished the bodies of women, the soft curves of their shoulders and hips, the sexy spot behind the ear right down to the lobe, and the allure of the collarbone and the lovely space where he could dip his tongue and feel the pulse, and the sensual pull of a woman’s breasts when he held them in his palms was always exciting. Women’s bodies fascinated him and he made it his duty to explore, awaken and satisfy. He treasured their minds equally, and there was nothing more singularly sexy than an intelligent woman. But in every instance he treated them all with equal doses of charm and respect—a mantra that he lived by. Unfortunately, it had gotten him into more trouble than he needed on occasion.

“Mornin’, sugah,” he said while he crossed the room. He sat beside her and felt her tense. “Sleep okay?”

She barely nodded her head. Rafe smiled and that seemed to break the ice.

“I haven’t slept that good in ages.”

“It’s the sheets,” he teased.

Shante laughed softly.

“There’re fresh towels in the bathroom.” He stood. “I’ll fix us some breakfast. Bacon and eggs cool?”

“Sounds great.”

“Coffee? Tea? Juice?”

“Coffee,” she asked more than stated.

“Got it.” He left and as he reached the door he heard her get up from the bed and scurry into the bathroom. Modesty was actually an admirable trait.

* * *

He deftly threw together his morning-after omelet special of cheddar and sharp cheeses, green and red peppers and diced bits of ham mixed with a dash of milk to keep the eggs light and fluffy; a trick he’d learned from his mom. He hummed while he worked and in between every other note he thought about or saw an image of Avery. Rarely did one woman leave that kind of impression on him. He was used to easily seducing the woman that he wanted; a full-on Lawson press. Not this time. He frowned as he replayed their brief encounter.

He’d noticed her the moment she walked in and it was clear, even in an eye-popping black gown, that her presence was more than an invited guest. He could tell by the way her gaze covertly scanned the room, noted the exits and followed at a discreet distance from the vice president that she was part of his security detail—Secret Service. He had an image of a .22 strapped to her inner thigh.

Unlike many highbrow gatherings of politicos and the like that were too reserved for his tastes, a Lawson party was the real deal full of loud laughter, louder conversations and the music to go with it. So of course he had to get particularly close to talk to her.

He gave her time to assess the layout before he approached. He came alongside her. “Can I get you anything?”

She turned cinnamon-brown eyes on him, fanned by long curved lashes. Her smile was practiced, distant, but Rafe didn’t miss the rapid beat of her pulse in the dip of her throat that belied her cool exterior. Her sleek right brow rose in question as she took him in with one long glance.

“Clearly you’re not one of the waitstaff,” she said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Rafe Lawson.”

Her eyes widened for a split second. “Oh, the scandalous one.”

He dramatically pressed his hand to his chest. “Guilty as charged, cher, but I have perfectly reasonable explanations for everything.”

Her eyes sparkled when the light hit them. “I’m sure you do, Mr. Lawson.”

“So what can I get for you that won’t interfere with you being on duty?”

She tensed ever so slightly.

“Trust me. I’ve grown up in this life. I can spot Secret Service a mile away. Although I must admit that you bring class to the dark suits and Ray-Bans.”

She glanced past him to where her colleague stood near the vice president. In one fluid motion she gave a barely imperceptible lift of her chin, a quick scan of the room and said, “Nice to meet you,” as she made a move to leave.

He held her bare arm. “Tell me your name,” he commanded almost in her ear. He inhaled her, felt the slight shiver that gripped her.

“Avery.”

Rafe released her and followed the dangerously low-cut back of her dress until she was out of sight.

“Smells delicious.”

Rafe blinked, glanced over his shoulder. Definitely cute, but she wasn’t Avery. He took two plates from the overhead cabinet and set them on the table. “Help yourself to coffee.”

“Thanks.”

He spooned the eggs onto a platter and added the bacon. “Toast?”

“No. I’m fine with this.”

Rafe poured himself a glass of orange juice, straddled the stool and sat. “How long have you been working with my sister, six months?”

“Just about.”

He watched her over the rim of his glass as she tried to remain ladylike when she took a half spoonful of eggs and one strip of bacon when he knew damn well she had to be starving because he was.

He lifted the serving spoon from the platter, loaded it with eggs and plopped it on her plate, followed by two strips of bacon.

“We’ve already experienced carnal knowledge, honey, no point in putting on a show now. Eat like you mean it.” He winked and filled his plate.

“I...want you to know that... I don’t do this.”

“What’s that, Shante, eat breakfast?”

She sputtered a laugh. “No. I mean...spend the night with a man the first time I meet him.”

He chewed thoughtfully. “Hmm. Okay.” He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I consider it an honor, cher.” He watched her sandy brown skin flush then tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. His fingers instinctively caressed the smooth lock. “Eat up. I’ll drop you home before I take care of the rest of my day.”

* * *

Rafe preferred the black Range Rover for his everyday use rather than either of his two cars or his motorcycle. Plus the roominess gave him an artificial sense of distance when he knew it would be the last official time he’d drop a woman at her door. The intimacy of a car made parting more difficult.

“Thanks for a great evening...and breakfast,” Shante said. She smiled shyly.

“It was my pleasure.” He remotely unlocked the doors, got out and came around to her side. He held her hand to help her out.

Shante glanced up at him and he knew this was the “I’ll call you” moment that wouldn’t happen.

Rafe leaned down and placed a long, tender kiss on her forehead, ran his thumb along the line of her jaw, turned and got back in the Rover.

A spark of guilt ignited with the turn of the key. It always did at times like this. He checked his mirrors and slowly pulled off.

No sooner had he driven away and gotten back on the main road than his cell phone rang. He pressed an icon on the dash and his sister Dominique’s voice came through the speaker.

“Tell me that you did not take Shante home with you last night.”

“Well hello, Dom, and how are you today?”

“Don’t play with me, Raford Lawson.”

Anytime his family used his full name he knew he had to brace for the inevitable tongue-lashing. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“Damn it, Rafe!”

“What? She’s grown and so am I.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“No. I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me like I know you want to do.”

Dominique sighed heavily. “You run through women like socks, Rafe. Shante’s a nice girl and—”

“And I treated her like a nice woman. There is no way that she could say anything different.”

“I know that. That’s the problem. You treat them all like princesses and then poof, move on. Telephone book of broken hearts.”

“Bit of an exaggeration, sis.” He turned onto the street where his club was located.

“We work together, Rafe. I don’t need her grilling me about you and whining in my ear when you don’t call.”

“What makes you think I won’t call?”

“Will you?” She pushed out a frustrated breath when silence hung between them. “Aggh. If you weren’t my brother...”

Rafe chuckled. “Love you, too, sis. Gotta go.”

“Fine. Try to stay out of trouble.”

“Always.” He pulled into his parking spot. He disconnected the call and cut the engine.

Dominique, unlike her twin Desiree, had no problem saying what was on her mind regardless of how her remarks fell on the ears and souls of her target. She’d softened somewhat since she got together with Trevor Jackson. But even he couldn’t always keep the lid on Dominique. Now that their eldest sister, Lee Ann, was married and expecting, Dominique took on the role as head Lawson woman in charge.

He had to laugh. As much as he loved his siblings they could be a bit much at times, never mind that he was the eldest son. With three females, he and his younger brother Justin didn’t stand a chance.

Rafe entered the club through the back door. He flipped on lights as he strolled through. No matter how many times he crossed the gray marble floors, walked behind the circular bar or looked out onto the eclectic crowd that packed the house night after night, he still got that rush. This was his, the one thing separate and apart from the Lawson legacy of money, politics and backdoor deals, much to his father’s horror.

From the time he was old enough to walk and talk, his father, Branford, began to groom him for politics. And from the moment Rafe was old enough to think for himself he resented what his father wanted for him. The last footsteps he wanted to walk in were his father’s and that caused a rift between father and son that had spanned the better part of his adult life.

Fortunately, his sister Lee Ann married Sterling, a senator, and Justin had taken up the Lawson mantel, gotten his law degree and had begun to carve a name for himself in civil liberties law with his private law firm. It was only a matter of time before he pursued public office.

Rafe went behind the bar and fixed himself a quick shot of bourbon. Sure it was early, but what the hell. He placed his phone on the bar top. 11:30. His staff would arrive soon to prep for the five o’clock opening. He sipped his drink, picked up his phone and called his brother.

Justin answered on the third ring. “You’re on speaker so don’t say anything crazy.” He chuckled.

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I didn’t see you leave last night.”

“Yeah, kinda flew under the radar.”

“Hmm, I know what that means. So...what’s up?”

“Look, there was this woman there last night...”

“Oh really?” Justin teased.

“This is different,” Rafe said, pacing in front of the bar.

“What do you mean?”

Rafe paused a moment, trying to piece what was running through his head together. “I don’t know, man. I saw her and...anyway, she’s been on mind.”

“Okay... I know you’re not asking for my advice.” He chuckled.

“Not exactly. More like a favor.”

“Shoot.”

“All I know is her name is Avery and she works for the Secret Service. She was on the VP detail.”

“Whoa. Okay. And...”

“And I need you to use some of your connections to find out her last name and how I can reach her. I’m sure Dad knows, but he’s the last person I’d ask.”

“Hmm. I’ll see what I can find out. Is it really that important?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard that tone in your voice before. This is new.”

“Guess it is,” he said, the realization hitting him. He took a swallow of his drink. Frowned.

“Actually, I get it. Ran into this woman weeks ago at a bar downtown. Couldn’t shake her, and damn if she wasn’t the bartender at Granddad’s party.”

“What! But you were with what’s-her-name. The one none of us like.”

Justin grumbled deep in his throat. “Yes, the situation got a little awkward. But at least I know where she works. It wasn’t until last night that she actually knew who I was.”

“What does that mean? You been seeing her in disguise? Using a false name?” He chuckled.

“Naw. I just never told her I was a Lawson.”

“For obvious reasons. I get it. Say no more. But now that she knows what’s your next move?”

“I plan to see her again. There’s this connection. Ya know?”

“Yeah, bro, I think I do.”

The front door opened and the club manager Carlos walked in with Paul the house chef and Rafe’s favorite two waitresses Simone and Leslie right behind them.

“Gotta run. Duty calls.”

“Yeah, me, too. Meeting a client.”

“So you’ll check that out for me?”

“No doubt.”

“Cool. And, J...”

“Yeah...?”

“Good luck with your lady friend.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s her name by the way?”

“Bailey. Bailey Sinclair.”

“Bailey. I like it.” He chuckled. “Be easy.”

“You, too.”

Rafe pocketed his phone and greeted his staff, all the while wondering how long it would take Justin to find out what he wanted to know.