Secret Surrender

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Copyright

“I’m sorry about the fuss just now.”

Drew was lounging casually on a bank, evidently waiting for her to catch up with him.

“You’ve had a soft life and now that things are getting tough, you can’t handle it!”

Christy’s lips parted; Drew’s words had been flung at her with a casualness that stung. “That’s not true!” she snapped indignantly.

He raised a dark brow in query. “Isn’t it?”

LAURA MARTIN lives in a small English village in Gloucestershire with her husband, two young children and a lively sheepdog! Laura has a great love of interior design and, together with her husband, has recently completed the renovation of their Victorian cottage. Her hobbies include gardening, the theater, music and reading, and she finds great pleasure and inspiration in walking daily in the beautiful countryside around her home. Secret Surrender is Laura Martin’s debut novel in Harlequin Presents. Look out for more from this exciting new author in the months to come.

Secret Surrender

Laura Martin

CHAPTER ONE

‘CHRISTY?’ She could see him in the half-light, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a face that expressed incredulity and anger. ‘Just where the hell do you think you’re going?’

The hotel sheets didn’t cover much of the powerful naked torso. Christy, in the second it took her to turn her head, appraised the glistening body with its sheen of sweat, found herself picturing the frantic activity that had gone on between them, on this most humid of summer nights. ‘I…I thought you were asleep.’ She continued her scramble in the grey light for her clothes. Her blouse had been retrieved but that wasn’t enough—not if she wanted to escape the luxurious surroundings of this place without causing a riot.

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ His voice was steel-edged, insistent, and Christy found herself trembling deep inside.

What on earth was she doing here? How had she ever allowed this to happen? She closed her eyes for a split-second and called herself all manner of names as she pulled her blouse frantically over her tousled, shiny blonde mane.

‘Christy, come back to bed! It’s past one in the morning.’ It was a strong voice. Strong and deep and commanding. Used to being obeyed, used to having its wishes followed immediately, particularly when those wishes were directed at young, attractive females who barely had a stitch on.

But I’m not just another of his bimbos, Christy reminded herself desperately, frantically continuing her search for her clothes. I’m not! Her eyes were more used to the light now and she saw with relief a pile of clothing on the floor beside the bed. ‘This is crazy! How did I ever get myself into this situation?’ she whispered frantically. ‘I…I’ve got to go; I should never have stayed—never!’

Since the ardour of their mutual passion had been extinguished so satisfactorily, that thought had been the only thing on her mind—that and what a fool she had made of herself. ‘I’ve got to get out of here.’ Her voice trembled noticeably as she cast her eyes towards the bed and with enormous effort she took a deep breath and added in stronger tones, ‘I should never have come here. We should never have——

Drew leant forward then and she felt the strength of his fingers curled around her upper arm, felt tingling deep in the pit of her stomach as the heat of his breath warmed the sensitive place between her neck and her shoulder-blade, sending shivers of desire down her spine, just like before. ‘Christy, don’t be so hasty.’

His voice had momentarily lost its edge, as if he too had fallen under the spell that had overwhelmed them so unexpectedly earlier in the evening. Her name sounded so sweet, so sensuous on his lips, beguiling her, trying to fool her all over again. And his mouth— oh, that was a sensation! How could kisses be so erotic, so tempting? Christy wondered, as her eyes began to close and her body momentarily swayed back against the strength of Drew Michaels’ powerful chest.

‘Don’t be foolish,’ he murmured huskily, running his mouth along the curve of her neck, sweeping her hair away with his large strong hands. ‘You can’t leave now. You know you can’t.’

She was weakening all over again. Her resolve just seemed to melt away at the lightest of touches. She felt the sharp familiar ache of desire deep in the pit of her stomach and knew that time was running out; any more of this and she wouldn’t be able to hold on, wouldn’t be able to rescue what little pride and self-esteem she had left…

With a jerk Christy dragged herself free and stood up, stepping away from the bed, walking purposefully to the lamp over at the far side of the room. She clicked it on, steeling herself for the flood of light that would reveal Drew Michaels in all his glory, that would display the luxurious yet impersonal surroundings of the best suite in the hotel, and at the same time show up the extreme tackiness of the whole damnable situation that she had somehow allowed herself to slide into. She had always vowed that she would save herself for the right man…to be nearly twenty-three and still a virgin had been some kind of a record, she suspected—at least in the world she inhabited. But that was over now; she had thrown it all away in a moment of supreme stupidness.

He was angry. The sharp, tight angle of his jaw told her that, the ice in the steel-blue eyes. They had been like azure before, she thought distractedly, fresh, sparkling, like the colour of a perfect summer’s sky. When he had smiled and dragged her into his arms for the first time, they had sparked with lust and sensuality.

What had been her undoing? Finally meeting him after all the hype and the expectation? Had that contributed in some way to what had followed? But why should it have? she thought as she struggled into her sleek linen skirt. She had met many famous people before, many attractive men who were successful, who commanded respect.

A tormented sigh escaped her lips. Who was she kidding? None of them, not the powerful politicians, nor the wealthy businessmen, nor the renowned authorities on one subject or another, had possessed this aura, this magnetism. All Drew Michaels had had to do was stare long and hard with those magical deep blue eyes as he murmured her name and held out his hand in greeting and she was hooked—she along with all the others…

Christy jerked her head up and saw that his mouth was widening into the semblance of a smile now—a cynical, mocking twist of the lips that held precious little warmth, certainly no feeling. ‘You’re really intent on leaving?’ He lay back against the pillows, clasping his hands behind his head, appraising Christy with a look that chilled her through to the bone, because suddenly he looked so cold and distant. ‘And the night is still so young! This is hardly the exit I would have expected, Christy—a little undignified, don’t you think? Rather lacking in the composure that we’ve all come to expect from so celebrated a television personality. What do you think the concierge will make of your exit when you fling yourself out through the main entrance at this time of the night?’

‘If it’s your reputation you’re worried about——’ Christy began through tight lips.

‘My reputation?’ Drew let out a harsh laugh and shook his head. ‘Oh, no! Mine’s past redemption, I’m afraid, and besides, I’ve reached a stage in my life where I’m past caring what other people think of me. Oh, no, Christy, it was actually yours I had in mind.’

Drew rose from the bed. His naked body was lean and taut, powerful, thrilling with its mat of dark hair covering the sculptured chest, the strong solidness of his thighs, his abdomen…

‘Take a look in the mirror, Christy—see how beautiful you look: tousled, fulfilled…Do it!’ Drew placed commanding hands on her waist, twisted her around so that he was standing behind her, so that she had no choice but to do as he bid. ‘Go on—take a look at yourself.’

She swallowed, fighting hard against the instinct to hold her head in her hands as she viewed their reflection in the full-length mirror. It was a striking combination: two physically attuned bodies, tall, athletic figures with features that were in stark contrast. Drew rugged and darkly handsome, with hair as black as night. Christy lithe and elegant with a delicate face, a halo of golden hair.

Drew spanned his hands against her stomach, pulling the fabric of her silk blouse taut so that the outline of her full breasts was clearly visible beneath. She watched and felt the stirring of desire, saw the evidence of her own weakness as their outline became more and more prominent. ‘You see how good we look together, Christy? How easily your body registers its need? Once is never enough; let me make love to you again, let me fulfil your desires again and again…’

Her breathing was rapid now, as if oxygen was at a premium. Drew’s gaze, his voice dripped sexuality, contributing as much to the way she felt as the thrill of his hands on the smooth, flat plane of her stomach. She hated herself for this weakness. It shocked her that despite everything she could still be tempted to turn and press herself against the sculptured body, to lift her face and accept the ravaging hunger of his mouth. It had felt like pure heaven before, in that moment when desire had overtaken sense, in that length of time that had felt like eternity and no time at all, and despite everything the need to experience such a pinnacle of pleasure again and again was strong within.

‘No!’ Somehow, from somewhere, she dragged up enough resistance. It had been a fool’s paradise, she knew that, didn’t she? Hadn’t she experienced dreadful despair as soon as that most glorious sensation had been reached because she had allowed Drew to make love to her purely for physical reasons alone? ‘No!’ Christy ran a shaky hand through her hair and then jerked herself free. ‘I’m leaving, Drew and I’m leaving now!’ She turned, struggling for a moment to keep hold of what little composure she had left, then she spun back around to face him, to stare Drew in the eyes and make him believe that what she was about to say was the truth. ‘Can’t you understand that I feel dreadful, like a stranger inside? I’ve allowed this to happen. I’ve allowed a man I don’t know, don’t particularly like even, to make love to me…’ Her voice trailed miserably away—even now she could hardly believe that she had allowed herself to be seduced.

‘You make it sound as if you were an unwilling participant,’ Drew murmured with a casual quietness that seemed only to emphasise the ice beneath his words, ‘when in fact we both know that you were feverish, passionate—dare I say desperate?—to secure a union between us.’

He stunned her with his cruel bluntness for all of three slow seconds. ‘My God, I hate you!’ Christy’s violet eyes blazed with dislike. ‘I must have been mad…or drunk…or…’

‘You were neither and you know it!’ Drew growled menacingly. ‘As soon as we laid eyes on one another we both knew the outcome of this evening. We made love because it was what we both wanted and don’t you dare start pretending otherwise!’

‘Don’t you presume to tell me how to behave!’ Christy snapped, swinging back round to face him. ‘I’ll act just however I feel like acting! Don’t think you can talk to me like all the other women you entice into your bed. I lost my senses for a couple of hours, but they’re back now and in full working order.’

‘Are they?’ Drew raised a dark enquiring brow and something in his expression, some hint of what was to come perhaps, sent a shiver of trepidation down Christy’s spine. ‘This is hardly as your public usually sees you, is it? Composed and in control at all times, isn’t that the Christy King maxim? “The ice-cool goddess of the small screen"—wasn’t that how one columnist recently described you? So what happens when we meet tomorrow? When we face one another in the studio? How cool will the icy interviewer Miss King be then, I wonder?’

That had been his parting shot, and the next day in the studio he had proceeded to make life as difficult as possible for her…

‘I believe I’m particularly honoured this evening; you don’t give interviews as a rule, do you, Mr Michaels?’ Christy managed somehow to force her widest, most appealing smile, purely for the viewers’ benefit, of course, and waited with bated breath for his answer. A direct, no-nonsense first question. Why should she change her tactics? she thought.

He took his time, oblivious, it seemed, of the fact that several million viewers were waiting on his reply. Were nerves a part of this man’s make-up? Christy wondered, as she registered her own familiar thudding heart and damp palms.

‘Interviews are a rather boring and incredibly egotistical way of passing the time,’ he drawled, leaning one arm along the back of his chair. ‘To be honest— and of course I realise that that is what you of all people would want, Christy,’ he added with more than a hint of sarcasm, his mouth widening into a charming, all too attractive smile that no doubt sent millions of Michaels fans swooning over their television sets, ‘I can think of a hundred and one things I would rather be doing at this very moment.’

‘Such as?’ Christy asked swiftly, leaning forward slightly in her chair, determined not to let this unpromising start get the better of her. ‘What would you be doing now, Mr Michaels, if you weren’t sitting here talking to me?’ She raised questioning eyebrows and tried to look as if she really wanted to know, as if she cared about the answer.

Drew’s mouth twisted suggestively, his eyes narrowed, and for several calculating seconds he stayed silent. What was he going to say? Christy felt the automatic shiver race through her body as sexual tension sparked between them. She tried not to think about the night before and failed dreadfully. ‘I think perhaps I’d better leave that to the imagination,’ he murmured after a moment. ‘Suffice to say it would involve soft lights, wine and a very attractive female.’

The audience laughed at the deliberate heavy sexual innuendo he had put into his reply and Christy, much to her chagrin, blushed; she just couldn’t do a thing about it. The audience didn’t know, of course; no one knew that she of all people had allowed Drew to make love to her, that she had been seduced so very easily in exactly that way, but that knowledge didn’t stop her feeling heart-stoppingly anxious. How can he be doing this to me? she thought wildly. What shall I say now? What shall I do? I want to get out of here, she screamed silently, listening to the noise in her earpiece from the gallery above where the director and his assistants sat. How many minutes left? How many?

‘But duty calls,’ Drew continued with a dismissive shrug. ‘I decided that I would plunge into the rather disagreeable depths of promotion for the benefit of my latest project and so here I am—completely at your mercy.’

Who are you kidding? Christy thought angrily, watching the relaxed features, the twist of a smile. ‘Er…you put up a great deal of your own money for this film, I believe?’ she continued with determined briskness.

‘Almost all.’

‘You must have a lot of faith in its potential. What made you take such a risk? After all there is a recession on; this is not supposed to be the best of times for launching new ideas.’

‘On the contrary,’ he responded crisply, ‘good things rise to the top no matter what the economic climate; indifferent and average commodities sink without a trace, and as far as I am concerned that is how it should be.’

‘The script must be very good.’

His eyes were glacial, there was an expression of bored disdain written clearly on the smooth, tanned face. ‘Yes. I wrote it myself!’

Christy shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers curling tensely around the arms of her swivel chair, her bright expression fixed hopelessly, and waited, knowing that his reply was over, but waiting just the same. ‘Perhaps you’d care to tell us a little about the film?’ Her voice was still light, still sounded remarkably relaxed, despite the painful tension within. Would he continue with this almost monosyllabic massacre to the very end? Would he really make it that hard?

‘This film is what people wish to make of it. Funny in parts, dramatic, thrilling, tense, sad——’

‘Sounds too good to be true!’ Christy cut in lightly. ‘Surely it’s not possible to introduce so many elements in one piece of drama?’

He raised dark eyebrows and threw her a casual look. ‘Really? And why not?’ he enquired composedly. ‘Do you know something that I don’t about the film business, Miss King?’

She floundered like a fish out of water as he waited with deliberate cool for her to answer his question. ‘Well…I…’ She hesitated and cursed herself for falling into the trap of asking a question that hadn’t been thought through, that hadn’t been planned. He had unsettled her and she had said the first thing that had come into her head. ‘Well…’ Why couldn’t she think quickly enough? ‘Er…films tend to fall into categories, don’t they? I——’

‘Films as in life—there are many elements, Miss King.’

Silence.

She wanted to throttle him. To get up out of her chair and wipe that superior, slightly amused expression from his face. I could at least get up and walk away, she thought. What’s stopping me?

‘I believe you were once quoted as saying that you despised money? Rather a weird statement from someone who’s as wealthy as you, surely?’ Pick the bones out of this one, Michaels! Christy thought, relieved that she had changed tack so quickly. ‘After all, we read at very frequent intervals various things about your extravagant lifestyle——’

‘And you believe it all?’ He gave a small shake of his head and produced a brilliant, totally relaxed smile, gazing with stunning eyes at Christy, managing to produce just the right effect: a mixture of disbelief and genuine amusement, coupled with the implication that perhaps Christy was more than just a little bit dim.

‘So exactly what do you do with your millions, Mr Michaels?’ she enquired with ill-concealed annoyance. ‘Surely you aren’t trying to tell us you live like a monk?’

‘Not at all—anyone who believes that would have to be very foolish.’

Christy gripped the leather arm-rest and tried not to allow the cutting reply to get to her. ‘So you do indulge in extravagant luxuries, then?’

‘You seem rather obsessed by other people’s wealth, Miss King. Why is that?’

‘Obsessed? No…I’m——’

‘Aren’t I right in saying,’ Drew continued, ‘that you’re the highest paid female on television?’

‘Oh, no——’

‘You’re telling me that’s not a fact?’

His perfectly timed question was delivered with the utmost precision—any other time and Christy would have almost admired it. ‘Well—er——’ Stop stuttering, you fool! she told herself angrily. Say something. He’s getting the better of you! ‘I admit to earning a substantial amount,’ she conceded finally, forcing a smile that masked, she hoped, all of her awkwardness and her animosity. ‘But I’m sure the viewers don’t want to know about me——’

‘Oh, no false modesty, Christy, please,’ Drew delivered smoothly. ‘Credit your audience with more intelligence. How do you like to spend your wealth, Miss King? Or do you give it all away?’

‘Look——’ There was no mistaking her own annoyance now. She heard the audience collectively snigger and in that moment knew that she had failed miserably. ‘If we could just get back to you, I’m sure——’

‘You’re not doing as well as I had hoped,’ Drew remarked casually, ‘and I have to confess a certain amount of disappointment. I was led to believe you were one of the best when it came to interviewing, Miss King.’

Christy gulped back her shock and struggled to come up with some sort of half-decent reply. ‘I…I find that you’re rather a difficult personality to get to grips with, Mr Michaels,’ she retorted swiftly.

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. ‘That’s not what you said last night!’ he drawled casually.

Christy paled visibly beneath the bright lights as the audience chuckled again. A joke, they imagined—if only, Christy thought desperately, if only…

And so it went on…and on…and on…

* * *

She had been a fool to imagine for one moment that she could handle him, of course, that he wouldn’t reap his revenge in some sort of sadistic way. Seven million people had witnessed her verbal humiliation on live television and to this day she still hadn’t truly managed to get over it.

‘Christy?’ She jumped a mile and glanced across to the door. ‘I did knock.’ Lizzie smiled and then a frown of concern furrowed her brow. ‘You OK? You look a bit peaky. Not sickening for something, I hope.’

‘No, no!’ Christy hastily pulled herself together and picked up a comb. ‘You just startled me a little, that was all.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘I was miles away.’

‘Planning all the wonderful things you’re going to do after this evening?’

Stop thinking about him. Stop it! Christy took a deep breath and made an effort to stay with the present. Three years ago, she told herself angrily; stop going over it!

She took a huge breath and determinedly thrust away the images that insisted on haunting her. ‘Umm…sorry, what did you say, Lizzie?’

Her friend’s grey eyes widened teasingly. ‘Hey, you really are in a daydream, aren’t you? I know this is the last one in the series, but you still have tonight’s show to do, you know!’

Christy managed a vague smile. ‘Lizzie…’ she frowned slightly and then made her voice sound casual ‘…that scent you’re wearing. I noticed it when you came in before—it’s new, isn’t it?’

Lizzie raised her hand and smelled the inside of her wrist before offering the same to Christy. ‘Mmm, I like it. But it’s not perfume; I borrowed some of Paul’s incredibly expensive aftershave this morning, I was in such a hurry to get out of the house…’

That was what had started it. So distinctive, not powerful, nor overwhelming, but invasive. Drew had been wearing it that night; the smell had become a part of her as their bodies had entwined together…

‘Time I was out of here,’ Christy murmured, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘Five minutes before transmission. I’ll see you after the show, OK?’

CHAPTER TWO

‘AND that, I’m afraid, is just about it for this series. I’d like to thank my guests this evening—the Right Honourable…’

Christy’s mouth smiled effortlessly as she delivered her closing lines into the television camera, her startling violet-blue eyes skimming the autocue with practised ease. One final heart-stopping curve of her scarlet lips, a slight pause and then her husky, ‘Goodnight,’ and she was swivelling casually back in her by now famous leather chair to chat to her guests as the studio lights dimmed and the credits rolled and the audience clapped their usual enthusiastic response.

She heard the voice of Jeff, the director, in the radio earpiece she wore, telling her that they were off air and that she had just completed yet another great hour of live television, and with an inward sigh of relief she stood up, smiling, to shake hands once again with her guests who had spent the last hour discussing themselves and revealing their innermost thoughts with the viewing nation.