Sweet Surrender(17)

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?