Read Rough Surrender for Free Online Page B

be obeyed.
    She squeezed her eyes shut. “No.”
    “Excuse me?”
    She sniffed, opened her eyes then looked up. “No. I don’t wish you to leave.”
    His eyes changed from lukewarm to hot .
    The iron of the seat met her back. Oh yes, definitely she was the keeper at the zoo and she’d just offered her own leg, medium-rare, to the lion.
    “Exactly what are you saying, Faith?”
    Heavens, does he want me to put it down in writing? On a dotted line?
    He didn’t move at all. Nothing. No eyebrow moved, no crease appeared on his ever so majestic face.
    The china clinked then rattled as she tried to settle her cup in the middle of the saucer. Did she have the gumption to do this?
    “Please stay.”
    Still nothing.
    “Come to my room.”
    He leaned in. The chair squeaked. “You have no idea what you are playing with here.”
    How did he do this? How? Flying her Bleriot was less nerve wracking. “I don’t?”
    “No. You don’t. I have...different...tastes.”
    Different? She didn’t even know what tastes she had. Where was the fairness in that? He made her ache with some...longing she couldn’t describe, and he’d deny her because of his tastes ? She wanted his lips on hers. That much, she knew.
    “I don’t care.” She toyed with the arch of the teacup handle.
    He sat back. “Unnatural tastes, some might say. You don’t understand who I am.”
    The other couple had gone, as had the solitary waiter.
    The chair scraped as she rose. “Come to my room, Mr. Meisner, if you dare.”
    The sound of Mr. Meisner drawing in his breath galvanized her, awakening every nerve. Oh. Yes. That had done it.
    He stood, slowly, unfolding like a colossus. “Give me your key.”
     

 

 
    Chapter 5
     
    Give him my key? There was an undercurrent to that request that made her hesitate. Leonhardt had his hand out, waiting. Not a request–an order. This was some sort of test and, if she failed, he was going to walk away.
    The steel key lay on her palm, cold and heavy, attached to a pretty cloisonné-enameled medallion. She extended her arm and tilted her palm so the key slipped, clinking, into his hand. Why did she feel as though she’d just handed him a piece of her soul?
    “Thank you.” He nodded. Was that a triumphant glint in his eyes? “Ladies first.”
    It wasn’t too late–not yet. Nothing compelled her to go with him to her room. Leonhardt had said nothing to encourage her, hadn’t put a hand on her or smiled–as if he meant her to understand this was her decision and not his.
    She took the first step, and another, then, with his hands behind his back, he matched her stride as she threaded between the tables.
    Together, they walked to her door, the Oriental carpet underfoot muffling the sound of shoe on floor. Number three hundred and twelve. Mr. Meisner unlocked the door then pushed it open. Not daring to look at him, Faith drew a smooth yet deep breath, and went in.
    The little entryway held a slim cabinet and a silver vase with swans for the handles. Art Nouveau, as was the bedroom beyond. Everything flowed with curves and the shapes of animals and plants. In the center of the wide floor sat the double bed with a shimmering peacock-and-lily quilt that fairly begged one to sprawl upon it. The outline of lilies showed in the cast iron bedhead and curled up the four corners of a chest of drawers. Gold curtains to her right covered a set of French doors that must lead to a balcony.
    The room sang with honeyed hues and electric blue vibrancy. Bracing herself, she turned to find Mr. Meisner had discovered a chaise lounge and sat upon it–one ankle atop the other knee, his trousers sliding up to reveal his sock.
    “Come here, Faith. Please. Sit.” He patted the lounge.
    “I don’t usually invite men... I mean I’ve never...” Oh, Lord . Now she had him in her room, she really wasn’t sure she wanted to get close.
    “I know. Sit here.” He sighed and uncrossed his leg. “I won’t bite. We need to talk.”
    “I