Sweet Submission. Lisa Renee Jones
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settled within her, and Darla shoved open her car’s door, more of those nerves zipping through her and settling with a thud in her stomach. She was going to do this. She was really going to do this. Her steps became lighter, the hot Texas night even hotter. It was liberating to know she was acting, rather than hiding behind her conservative attorney shell, behind the expectations of society, by entering a whole different kind of society.
The elevator of the high-rise took her down to the Alexander’s Wine Cellar, which was appropriately located in the basement of the building. But this was like no basement Darla had ever seen. The instant she exited the elevator, she was surrounded by the luxury of heavy Oriental rugs, rich wood and leather furnishings. Low-hanging teardrop bulbs of light created a dim, seductive glow in the room.
A man played a grand piano from the top of a pedestal in the far right corner, and a hostess greeted Darla the instant she was out of the elevator, confirming her name against an entrance list. Darla headed toward the glossy wood bar with oversize bar stools, where she was told she could view the night’s wine selections. Waiters wandered through the crowd, offering a variety of wines, as well. Darla quickly stopped the nearest one and accepted one, welcoming the numbing effect she knew the red liquid would offer her newly jittery nerves.
“I see you made it.”
She turned at the deep masculine tone of Marcus’s voice, offering a smile to her handsome host, a fizzle of awareness stirring in her stomach. She was really going to do this. “Did you doubt I would?”
“I didn’t doubt you for a minute,” he said, a noticeable inference that someone else had, and she wondered if that someone was Jacob.
“You mentioned Jacob referred you to me,” she said, fishing for information about how close the two men were and what Marcus might know of their past. Plenty, she was willing to bet. “Is he here tonight?”
He studied her a moment too long. “He has an open invitation to any of my functions,” he said, alluding to much by saying little. Jacob was a part of his world, his Society, she knew it in her core. And he was here; he just hadn’t decided if he wanted to see her or not.
Part of her wanted desperately to see Jacob, here, now, tonight. Another part of her, an unexpected part of her, did not. It was an illogical reaction. She’d known Jacob might be here. Nevertheless, the idea that she might see him before she felt ready spawned a burning desire to grab Marcus, to pull him to another room, to beg him to take her, to teach her, to hide her from Jacob. Confusion spiraled inside her, uncertainty over what made her want, even need, such a thing.
“How exactly do you know Jacob?” she asked, trying to hide her panic behind conversation.
“We met in college at the University of Texas in Austin and never lost touch,” he said. “Now that he’s a civilian and doing private security, naturally, Alexander Enterprises retained his services.”
Darla reeled inside and dropped her gaze to her wineglass, absorbing the implications of what she’d just learned. Not only was Jacob in Houston again, but it seemed he wasn’t here for a night or two, even a week or two, but long-term. And yet not once had he contacted her, at least, not directly. No matter how deserving his silence might be, that piece of knowledge hurt.
“Let me ask you something, Darla.”
Her gaze lifted and locked with his dark, intensely probing stare. “Ask away.” Her voice wasn’t her own. It was breathless, affected. The look in his eyes said he knew he made her nervous and liked it. Why in the world did that send a rush of heat over her skin? What was wrong with her?
“Did you research me as I did you before accepting our meeting?”
She wet her suddenly dry lips, and his gaze followed the action before lifting to meet her eyes once more. He had a way of making the small act blatantly sensual. As if sex were simply a part of his every action, his every thought. But there was more there, too—a dark sensuality in his stare that said he wanted her, that told her he would introduce her to his world, if she convinced him she wanted it bad enough. The unbidden ache between her thighs said he’d make it enjoyable. Guilt sizzled within her. She didn’t want this man. She wanted Jacob.
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice remarkably calm considering the spike of heat rushing through her and not because of her admission—she saw no reason to deny what any good attorney would do. Because of another flash of memory, of herself tied to those posts, of Jacob naked, erect, in command of her body. She swallowed hard. “I researched your history.”
“So then you’re aware there are rumors about the Society?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I was—I am aware of the rumors.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Yes. I believe them.”
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