Free PrideandSurrender by Julia Devlin

deny him an honest answer.
“I… It feels possessive.” My breath came faster. “Like ownership. Like your
touch is a brand.”
    “And you like that?” He fingers pressed into my rapid pulse,
a warning that my body was already telling him the truth. Was already
surrendering to him and his desires.
    Our eyes met and locked together. An unspoken mutual
agreement passed between us. I whispered, “Yes.”
    “You are mine, Juliet.”
    Yes, Christos. The words pressed against the back of
my teeth, but I couldn’t spit them out. I wanted them to be true. But even
more, I wasn’t sure I could stop the qualification right after them. For
now.
    I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
    “I want to know.” His fingers were still wrapped around my
neck, not hard, but with enough pressure I wouldn’t forget the message. “Why?”
    I knew what he was asking. Why was I like this? What was I
so afraid of? Why couldn’t I trust him? He wanted a specific event, and the
truth was there wasn’t one. I sucked in a breath and his grip immediately
gentled.
    I tried to give him the best answer I could. “I wish I knew.
I wish I could point to a tortured childhood and say, oh, right here is the
reason, but I can’t.”
    He waited, raising a brow, staring at me, not allowing me
the easy answer.
    I lowered my gaze, focusing on a smaller photograph I’d done
in the same garden. Another rose. “I like to be in control. It’s easier. Safer.
I don’t like to be emotionally messy. No one made me this way, I just am. I
opened my own business because I wanted to be in control. I married my
ex-husband because he was a good, safe choice. I didn’t make a conscious
decision to block him out, I just did. This is the way I’m built.”
    Beside me, Christos released his hold around my neck and
slid his hand down my body to wrap around my waist. He pulled me close and
kissed my temple. “Go on.”
    “This is the way I like my life. Neat. In control. Safe.
Everything in its place. Nothing happened to make me this way—this is how I
feel,” I searched for the right word, “comfortable.”
    I stopped talking and bit the inside of my cheek. That was
the easy part to explain, the next was harder. Tension seeped into my
previously relaxed muscles and I wished for something to cover my bare breasts.
    He squeezed me tighter then rolled onto his back, taking me
with him so I was draped over him. Covered. Able to conceal my face.
    “How do you do that?” I blurted, unaware I was even going to
speak before the words were out.
    “Do what?” He ran a hand over my back, the silk, warmed by
the heat of his palm, slid over my skin.
    “Always know what I’m thinking, addressing my comfort before
I’ve even spoken? It’s disconcerting.”
    He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against
my temple as he continued his long strokes up and down my spine as if I were a cat.
“I pay attention. Obviously you’re not use to people who do. All this time,
I’ve been watching you. Drinking you in, learning your nuances from afar. I see
what you do.”
    “What do you mean? What I do?” Agitation seeped into the
sensuous mood, and I didn’t like it. Couldn’t I have one night to appreciate
him?
    “I see how you don’t talk about yourself. When people ask
you personal questions you deflect and charm them into not noticing that you’re
not telling them a damn thing.”
    I hated that he noticed, that he saw me . “Because
talking about myself is boring. Those people aren’t asking because they want to
know me, they’re asking to be polite. I deflect, not because I’m hiding but to
let them off the hook.”
    “I believe that’s what you tell yourself,” he said, still
sweeping up and down my back, but it had stopped feeling good, instead it felt
as if he were pacifying me.
    I shot up, scooting away from him and wrapping my ripped
blouse around myself. “Don’t think you know me, Christos.”
    This time agitation flashed in his eyes and I