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Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in USA by Penguin Group (USA) 2015
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015
Copyright © Roni Loren 2015
‘I Surrender’ by Roni Loren © Roni Loren 2015
Excerpt from ‘Call on Me’ by Roni Loren © Roni Loren 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Roni Loren asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780425268575
Ebook Edition © January 2015 ISBN: 9780007548507
Version: 2014-12-03
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Epilogue
I Surrender short story
Call on Me extract
Keep Reading
About the Author
Also by Roni Loren
About the Publisher
ONE
12:35 a.m.—Spring
Georgia Delaune had never been particularly drawn to illegal activity. Or taking risks. Or, okay, fine—sexually deviant behavior. She was woman enough to admit what this was. So finding herself hiding in the dark, peering around the curtains of her second-story window with a set of binoculars, should’ve tipped her off that she was officially losing her shit.
But since moving into the house on Fallen Oaks Lane six months earlier, she’d known this moment was coming. Before now, she’d convinced herself that she’d only been catching inadvertent peeks and unintentional glimpses. Her neighbor would surely shut his curtains if he didn’t want to risk being seen, right?
She groaned, lowered the binoculars, and pressed her forehead to the window frame. God, now she was blaming the victim. He gets naked in the confines of his own home. A home that’s on a treed corner lot with tons of privacy and a seven-foot-tall fence. How dare he!
This was so screwed up. What if he saw her? He could call the cops, and she’d be slapped with some Peeping Tom charge—or Peeping Tammy, as the case may be. That’d be an epic disaster. Especially when the cops found no information on a Georgia Delaune. Plus, afterward, she’d have to move because there’d be no facing her neighbor again. Not after he knew what she did at night. And there was no way in hell she was moving. It had taken too much time, effort, and planning to find this spot, to finally feel even a smidgen of security and safety. These walls were her only haven, and she had no intention of leaving them.
But despite knowing the risks, when she saw a lamp flick on and light glow in the window of Colby Wilkes’s bedroom, she found herself dragging a chair over to the window and lifting the binoculars to her eyes. It took a second to adjust the focus, but when the lenses cleared, the broad, wet shoulders of her dark-haired neighbor filled the view. Her stomach dipped in anticipation.
He wasn’t alone.
She’d known he had friends over. She’d seen the group going in when she’d closed her living room blinds earlier that night. Two women and three guys, plus Colby. Later, she’d heard water splashing and the murmuring of voices, so she’d gone into her backyard for a while to listen to the distant sounds of life and laughter. That world seemed so foreign to her now. Being surrounded by people, having friends over, relaxing by the pool. She couldn’t see anything from her backyard. Colby’s pool area was blocked by the house and bordered by trees. So she’d lain in her lounge chair out back, closed her eyes, and had imagined she was a guest at his party, that she was part of that laughter. And she’d also found herself wondering what would happen afterward.
Now she knew. Colby had stepped into his bedroom, obviously fresh from the pool with his dark hair wet and only a towel knotted around his waist. And he had company with him. One of Colby’s friends, a tall blond guy who was also sporting a towel, had followed him in. And then there was a woman. She wore nothing at all. Georgia’s lip tucked between her teeth, heat creeping into her face. She so shouldn’t be watching this. But she couldn’t turn away. She’d learned rather quickly that her dear neighbor, despite his affable grin, Southern-boy charm, and straitlaced job, was a freak in the bedroom. Threesomes were only part of it. The man was dominant to the core. Considering her last relationship, that alone should’ve turned her off, sent her running. Guys who wanted control. Fuck, no.
But the first time she’d caught sight of Colby bringing a flogger down on a lover’s back, Georgia had been transfixed. She’d been completely stuck on her latest writing project at the time. But after watching Colby drive a woman into a writhing, begging state, Georgia had gone into her office, opened a new document, and written until the sun had broken through the curtains the next morning. Before she knew it, her thriller-in-progress had taken a decidedly erotic turn. Thankfully, her editor had loved the new direction. So now Georgia, in her guiltiest moments, told herself these stolen moments at the window were all in the name of book research.
Yeah. Even her sleep-deprived brain didn’t buy that one.
The guilt wasn’t enough to make her stop, though. Especially now when Colby was grabbing for the knot on his towel. She held her breath. The terry cloth fell to the floor at Colby’s feet, and everything inside Georgia went tight. Holy heaven above. She’d watched—oh, how she’d watched—but never before had she been able to see everything in such intimate detail. The binoculars transported her, took her by the hand and dragged her into that room with those strangers. Colby was right there in front of her—strong, beautiful, aroused. His hand wrapped around his cock and stroked ever so slowly, taunting her with unashamed confidence. No, not her. The woman. God, Georgia should look away. But need rolled through her like thunder from an oncoming storm, her fingers tightening around the binoculars.
The other man had stripped, too, and although he was gorgeous in his own right with his polished, camera-ready good looks, Georgia was drawn to the rough-around-the-edges brawn of her neighbor. Every part of Colby hinted at the wildness he hid beneath his surface—dark wavy hair that was a little too long, the close-cropped beard that shadowed his jaw, and a body that looked like he could bench-press a Buick. He was the opposite of the pressed and creased, Armani-clad businessmen she’d been attracted to in her former life. He was the guy you’d be wary of on first glance if you ran into him in a dark alley—the cowboy whose hat color you couldn’t quite determine straightaway.
Perhaps that was why she was so fascinated with him, despite the fact that he was a man who wanted what she could never give. She’d learned that danger often hid behind the gloss of an urbane smile and perfectly executed Windsor knot. Colby was none of that. But regardless of the reason for her mixed-up attraction, she couldn’t stem the crackle of jealousy that went through as the other man laced his fingers in the woman’s hair and guided her to take Colby into her mouth.
The view of Colby’s erection disappearing between the lips of some other woman was erotic. There was no denying that. But it also made Georgia’s jaw clench a little too hard. She could tell, even from the brief moments she’d been watching, that this woman belonged to Colby’s friend. They were a couple and Colby the third party. But it still activated Georgia’s He’s mine, bitch! reflex.
Georgia sniffed at her ridiculous, territorial reaction, and tried to loosen the tension gathering in her neck. Sure, he’s yours, girl. You can’t walk down the street without swallowing a pill first, much less start something if he were even interested in the weird, spying chick next door.
But she shoved the thought away. She didn’t want anything tainting these few precious minutes. This wasn’t about finding a hookup. Only when she stood at this window did she feel even a glimmer of her former self trying to break through. This was her gossamer-thin lifeline to who she used to be, to the capable and confident woman who would’ve never hidden in the dark.
Before long, the blond man eased the woman away from Colby and guided her toward himself, taking his turn. Georgia tilted the binoculars upward, finding Colby’s face instead of focusing on the scene between the other man and his woman. What she found lurking in his expression wasn’t what she expected. There was heat in Colby’s eyes, interest for sure, but as she stared longer, she sensed a distance in those hazel depths. Like he was there with them but other … separate. Alone.
It probably was only because the other two were a couple. Or maybe it was Georgia’s mind slapping labels on things to make herself feel better. But regardless, it made her chest constrict with recognition. She didn’t know what was going on in his head. Or how seeing his friends together made him feel. But she knew loneliness. And for those few seconds, she was convinced Colby did, too. She pressed her fingertip against the cool glass of the window, tracing the outline of Colby’s face. Needing to touch … something.
The glass might as well have been made of steel, the yards between the houses made of miles.
But she couldn’t walk away. The night went on and there she sat, watching the three lovers move to the bed, the woman being cuffed to the headboard. The two men lavished her with hands and mouths and tongues. It was like watching a silent symphony, the arching of the woman’s back the only thing Georgia needed to see to know exactly how these men were affecting their willing captive. The melancholy feelings that had stirred earlier had quickly been surpassed by ones much more base and primal. Georgia’s body was growing hot and restless, her panties going damp.
When Colby braced himself between the woman’s thighs and entered her, Georgia trained the binoculars on his face, unable to handle the image of him having sex with another woman. Her mind was developing quite the ability to focus on the fantasy and block out the unwanted parts. She only had a view of Colby’s profile, but she watched with rapt attention as his jaw worked and his skin went slick with sweat instead of pool water.
Without giving it too much thought, she braced one elbow on the window ledge to hold the binoculars steady and let her other hand drift downward. Her cotton nightgown slid up her thighs easily. Somewhere her brain protested that this was wrong—sick and sad. She had a perfectly functioning vibrator in her bedside drawer. She had an imagination strong enough to fuel an orgasm without doing this, without watching the man next door screw another woman. But her starved libido didn’t seem to give a damn about morals or ethics or pride right now. There was need. And a solution. Simple as that.
As Colby’s lips parted with a sound she could only imagine, Georgia’s fingers found the edge of her panties and slipped beneath the material. Her body tightened at the touch and the little gasp she made reverberated in the dead silence of the guest bedroom. Colby’s head dipped between his shoulders, and Georgia imagined it was her he was whispering passionate words to. That deep Texas drawl telling her how good it felt to be inside her, how sexy she was, how he was going to make her come. He would be a dirty talker, she had no doubt. No sweet nothings from Colby Wilkes.
She closed her eyes for a moment as she moved her fingers in the rhythm of Colby’s thrust—long, languid strokes that had a fire building from her center and radiating heat outward. It wouldn’t take long. Her body was already singing with sensation, release hurtling toward her. But she wouldn’t go over alone. She forced her eyes open, the binoculars still in her grip, and found Colby again. His dark hair was curling against his neck, sweat glistening at his temples. He had to be close, too. Every muscle in his shoulders and back had tensed. All of her attention zeroed in on him, and in her mind, the touch of her own fingers morphed into his—his hands and body moving against her, inside her.
Every molecule in her being seemed to contract, preparing for the burst of energy to come. Her breath quickened, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. And right as she was about to close her eyes and go over, Colby jerked his head to the side toward the window. His heated gaze collided with hers through the binoculars—a dead-on eye lock that reached inside Georgia and flipped her inside out. He knows.
But she was too far gone for the shock to derail her. Orgasm careened through her with a force that made the chair scrape back across the wood floor. She moaned into the quiet, the binoculars slipping from her hand and jerking the strap around her neck. The part in the curtains fell shut, but she didn’t notice. Everything was too bright behind her eyelids, too good, to worry about anything else but the way she felt in those long seconds. Enjoy. Don’t think. Just feel. The words whispered through her as her fingers kept moving, her body determined to eke out every ounce of sensation she could manage.
But, of course, the blissful, mindless moments couldn’t last forever. Chilly reality made a swift reappearance as her gown slipped back down her thighs and sweat cooled on her skin. She sat there, staring at the closed curtain and listening to her thumping heart. Colby couldn’t know, right? His gaze had felt intense and knowing because the binoculars had made him seem so close. But her window was dark, her curtains darker, and the moon was throwing off enough light that it would make the glass simply reflect back the glow.
But her chest felt like a hundred hummingbirds had roosted there, beating their wings against her ribs. She wet her lips and swallowed past the constriction in her throat. She had to look. Would her neighbor be striding over here to demand what was going on? Would he be disgusted? Embarrassed? Angry?
God, she didn’t even want to think about it. She wanted to turn around, go to her bedroom, and hide under the covers. But that was all her life had turned into now—hiding. And though she couldn’t fix that situation, she refused to create another one. So she forced herself to lean forward and peel the curtains back one more time, leaving the binoculars hanging around her neck.
What she saw made the hummingbirds thrash more. Colby wasn’t in the room anymore. His friend was now with the woman in the bed, and both seemed totally absorbed in each other. Did that mean that Colby had left and was heading this way to confront her? She was about to go downstairs to check the yard but then paused when she realized nothing had changed about the view. Nothing at all. If Colby had been concerned about a nosy neighbor, he hadn’t bothered to close the curtains or warn his friends. Surely he would’ve done that.
She sat there, debating and worrying, but soon Colby returned to the bedroom. The man and woman had finished. Colby had on a pair of boxers and had brought clean towels in for everyone. He didn’t look concerned. He didn’t glance over at the window. He seemed perfectly relaxed as he helped uncuff the woman’s hands, kissed her forehead in a friendly gesture, and then left his friends to sleep alone.
Georgia let out a long breath, sagging in the chair.
He didn’t know.
She should stop taking this risk—throw away the binoculars, put a bookcase in front of this damn window, and stop while she was ahead.
But she knew she wouldn’t. She would find herself here again.
Because if she didn’t have her secret nights with Colby Wilkes, what was left?
Four walls, long days, and fear.
She needed this. She just had to make sure he never found out.
TWO
October 31
Right before quitting time, Colby got a visit from the Grim Reaper. Colby looked up from his desk at the hooded head peeking in through his doorway. “You know where Dr. Guthrie is?”
The sullen voice sounded appropriately grim for the costume. Colby put aside the student file he’d been making notes on. “He had to leave early because he wasn’t feeling well. Were you supposed to meet with him today?”
The reaper shrugged and pulled his hood back, revealing the face of junior Travis Clarkson. “Yeah. But if he’s not here …”
Colby could hear the indecision in the drift of Travis’s voice. If his counselor wasn’t here, he had the right to skip his appointment, but Colby sensed the kid needed to talk. He’d heard there’d been a bullying incident this morning and that Travis had been the target. Unfortunately, not an uncommon spot for Travis. Poor kid came from one of the wealthiest families in the area, but money couldn’t fix his acne-prone skin, his crippling social anxiety, or the resulting depression it caused.
“Come on in and grab a chair, Travis,” Colby said, keeping his voice casual. “There’s only a half hour before the bell. You can skip the rest of study hall and chat with me.”
Travis shifted on his feet in that awkward way teen boys did when they hadn’t quite grown into their new longer limbs. “I don’t want—you look busy.”
“Nope.” Colby stretched his leg beneath his desk and sent the chair in front of it rolling toward Travis. “I was just finishing up some notes. You’ll save me from boring paperwork.”
Travis tucked his hands in the robe of his costume and shuffled in. He glanced around at Colby’s office, his eyes skimming over the shelves of books and the few photos he’d kept from his music days. “Your office is different than Dr. Guthrie’s.”
No shit. That was because Guthrie liked to pretend he was Freud himself instead of some guy working at the pedestrian institution of Graham Alternative High School. Guthrie’s office had a plush couch, hunter green paint over the cinder-block walls, muted lighting, and a freaking desk fountain. If smoking weren’t banned in the building, Colby had no doubt the school psychologist would have a pipe hanging from his mouth during sessions. But Colby had learned that the last thing these kids needed was to walk into something that looked like a therapist’s office. In fact, he spent most of his sessions with his students doing something active while they talked. It was amazing how a kid could open up if he was shooting hoops and not being stared at when he answered personal questions.
“I like to keep things simple.”
Travis went to the wall to get a closer look at a photo instead of immediately sitting down. “Is that you and Brock Greenwood?”
“Yeah,” Colby said. “I played with him in a band when we were younger. Of course, back then, he wasn’t the Brock Greenwood. Just a guy who could sing his face off. You listen to country music?”
Travis turned away from the picture and lowered himself into the chair. “I listen to everything. I like mashing shit—er—stuff up on my computer. You know, making things that don’t seem to go together blend.”
Colby smiled. “Really? That’s cool. I can’t be trusted with all those music programs. I have a friend who does it and he’s tried to teach me, but he’s declared me a hopeless case. Just give me my guitar and a blank piece of paper to jot down lyrics.”
“Old school.”
“Or just old.”
Travis almost smiled—something Colby wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Travis do—but the kid seemed to catch himself before he let it break through. God forbid he let the school counselor know he liked talking to him. “You still play?”
“I do. I play a few gigs here and there. Nothing serious. It’s a good way to relax—playing without any pressure attached to it.”
Travis nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But I can’t really imagine getting onstage as being relaxing. I like the behind-the-scenes stuff. Putting on my headphones … I don’t know, it’s like a switch that shuts out the world and transports me somewhere else, another life.”
“An escape.”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his chapped lips together. “That’s what I like. That escape. Nothing else matters when the music is playing.”
Colby leaned back in his chair and hooked his ankle over his knee, understanding that desire but also hearing the loneliness lacing Travis’s words. “Ever thought about pursuing a career in that? Sound engineering or music producing?”
Travis glanced up, his face a bit haunted—although that could’ve been the whole Grim Reaper look he had going on. “I’ve thought about it. But my parents would shit a brick—sorry.”
Colby waved a hand, dismissing the language. The kid was talking, he didn’t care if he slipped up and cursed.
“They hate me fooling around with my computer. They think it isolates me or whatever. Like if I just stop doing that, suddenly my life will be all Friday night football games and proms and crap.” He sneered. “They can’t see that those things aren’t options for me even if I wanted them. Maybe they should be the ones on medication. They’re delusional.”
Colby rubbed a hand over the back of his head, choosing his words carefully. It was always a fine line when kids complained about their parents. If you took the parents’ side, the kid shut down. If you undermined the parents and agreed with the kids, you helped justify behavior that might not be one hundred percent healthy. “Sometimes it’s hard for parents to see the benefit in something that from the outside looks like wasting time. If they don’t share that passion, it can be hard for them to understand.”