Dare to Surrender

“Why have you resurfaced now?” I asked, hoping the conversation would be brief.

“When that bastard Gabriel Dare pulled his accounts, he damaged my reputation within the firm. I couldn’t do anything about it at the time.” He flexed his hands, showing his impotence at Gabe’s treatment. “At least when I heard you were struggling on your own, that gave me some satisfaction. It helped tide me over.”

Nice, I thought. He was a real gentleman. I remained silent.

“But even Page Six picked up the new happy couple.” He frowned now, the expression showing the real Lance, the unhappy, evil man who lived inside him. “Now you two are together, and his business is growing while I’m still trying to hold my portfolio of clients together and explain how I managed to lose the firm’s biggest asset.” Anger radiated from him in ugly waves.

“So?”

“So your birthday seemed like the best time to come wish you well. And to remind you that bottom-feeders like you inevitably end up alone.”

I winced, unable to control my reaction to his words. Lance had always used words as weapons. Unfortunately, I knew from experience showing he’d hit his mark merely fed his appetite to spew more hateful things. I’d try to escape, but I didn’t want him manhandling me again.

“Just how long do you think it will take before Gabriel Dare sees the real you? The pathetic gold digger who is so frigid in bed I had to turn to other women to get what I needed?”

Tears burned my eyes as every word hit its intended mark. I raised my chin, but I knew he wouldn’t buy the unaffected act. But I wanted to be unmoved, and I reminded myself that Gabe wanted me.

But why? Your own parents didn’t, a little voice in my head asked, one that sounded frighteningly like my own as a child. And one that reinforced Lance’s words. Maybe he had a point. How long before Gabe grew bored, as Lance had? Before he cheated and humiliated me?

“Ahh, there they are.” Lance swiped at the tears that had escaped down my cheek. “Proof you’re still the same whiny bitch I remember. Not so sure of yourself anymore, are you? Sometimes it just takes a little reminder.”

I treated him to a hate-filled glare. “You’re a despicable excuse for a human being.”

“And you’re pathetic.” He rolled his shoulders as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

And now that he’d wounded me, maybe he didn’t.

“Give your boyfriend my best,” he said and, with the smile he considered his most charming, strode off down the street, clearly pleased he’d just inflicted a deadly blow to my ego and self-esteem.

I raised a hand to my cheeks, coming away with black mascara streaks on my fingertips.

Knowing I couldn’t let Gabe see me like this, I rushed back upstairs, ducking my head as I passed the doorman. I hoped to repair the outer damage. The inner pain would take longer to go away.

I looked into the mirror as I methodically cleaned the mascara and eyeliner smudges, redoing the entire mess with shaking hands. As I fixed my makeup, I couldn’t help but remember Lance’s hateful words, frowning at the images gold digger and bottom-feeder created.

I had left Gabe and the safety he’d offered me. I’d been determined to be independent. Granted, three months wasn’t a lot of time to be on my own, but I hadn’t caved and gone running back to a man, unable to make a fresh start. True, I’d been living in a friend’s apartment, but I’d been paying rent, even if it had been below market value, along with utilities and expenses. Dammit, I’d tried. I was still trying. I had my own bank account, and I contributed to living here with Gabe—although I had to do it when he wasn’t paying attention.

And if things with Gabe didn’t work out for whatever reason, it wasn’t like I didn’t have the resources or the ability to start again.

I moved on to the lipstick and gloss, and when I was finished, I stepped back to look at the end result. Much better. If not for the painful knot in my stomach, I could almost believe the encounter with Lance hadn’t happened.

But it had.

I groaned. “Are you really going to let stupid words and old insecurities send you running? For a third time?” I asked, taking in my reflection in the mirror.

“Running where?” Gabe appeared behind me.

I drew a deep breath and turned to face him. The scowl on his face told me he’d at least correctly interpreted the context of my statement, if not the reasons behind it.

He stepped forward, cupping my chin in his hand, tilting my head until I met his gaze. “I asked you a question.”

I noted the muscle ticking in his jaw, reminded myself that he’d sought me out. Kept tabs on me while I’d carved out a life for myself. Wanted me for me.

And though he rarely showed them, he had vulnerabilities he’d let me see. “I’m not running anywhere,” I assured him.

He studied me for a few more seconds, as if trying to get into my head and see what he’d walked in on. Finally, he released me and stepped back. “But you thought about it?”

“For half a second, after—”

His gaze strayed from my face to my bare arm. “What the hell happened to you?” He lifted my hand, brushing fingers over the deep red indentations my ex had left on my arm.

I swallowed hard. “I had a run-in with Lance.”

Heat flushed Gabe’s cheeks. “I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

As happy as I was that he was no longer focused on my running anywhere, I didn’t want to have to bail Gabe out of jail. “He was just trying to upset me.”

“And he did.”

I sighed. “Because I let him get inside my head. Just for a few minutes. Maybe a little longer, but I pulled myself together. I’m good.” Or I would be, I promised myself.

Gabe glanced at the bruising and frowned. “I’m not.”

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my head against his chest. His solid body felt good against mine. He smelled like musk and man.

My man, I realized, and I wasn’t letting go. “Better?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

So I tipped my head back. “Gabe?”

“What did he say that made me almost lose you?” he asked, his voice a tender mix of caring and frustration.

This was hard, mostly because it was an embarrassing statement of who I’d been. Or who Lance thought I’d been, which still held some amount of painful truth.

I inhaled a deep breath. “Basically, he called me a pathetic gold digger and said he’d had to turn to other women because I’m frigid in bed. Then he asked how long I thought it would be until you saw the real me and did the same thing.” I looked away, rushing out the words, hoping that, once behind me, they’d lose impact.