T. Grey: Wicked Surrender

She looked at him, astonished. “Seriously? ‘God dammit, blah blah blah blah.’ You don’t remember just saying that to me. It was a borderline growl and shout, by the way.”

He turned to look out the window so she wouldn’t see the laugh he was fighting. If only she wasn’t her then maybe he could stand her. But all it took was one look at her fancy dress, shiny shoes, and pearl necklace to know she was so not for him. He needed a woman who could comfortably eat at a burger shack, not five-star dining. She'd probably eat five filet mignons in one night and clean him out of the bank in a week.

“Oh come on, saying that one line automatically makes me a dick?” A heavy, soft sigh followed his question. It made him wonder, no, no, couldn’t think about that.

“I didn’t say you were a dick, just a jerk, and yes, growling at me does automatically make you a jerk. Besides, I’ve been around you enough to know that you are in fact nothing but a jerk—and that’s putting it lightly. You should be thankful.” She didn’t quite mutter the words, but it was close.

“And what in your prissy little book has qualified me as a jerk exactly? It’s not like we’ve had deep conversations. I’ve seen you all of a handful of times, and lady, you’ve had your panties in a twist each time.” Her fingers dug so hard into the steering wheel he was surprised it didn’t bend.

She worked her jaw side to side before answering in a measured, quiet voice. “First off, you have no right to say something like that. I do not have my panties in a twist, and if they were then it’s none of your business—ever. Secondly, I know enough about you to know you’re a jerk. My God, you left my sister-in-law helpless to a crazy psychopath while you went and fucked my brother’s ex-girlfriend! How’s that not being a jerk?” Her words rose and rose until she was nearly shouting in the small confines of the car.

Vera shot a look at him to see his face completely shut down. The grin and bright eyes were gone, replaced instead by a cold mask that ate at her. She’d done that and she wanted to rip it off and put the stupid smile back on. Damn this man, why did he have to make everything difficult?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

She was cut off with sharp shake of his head. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Vera hated to admit it, but she missed hearing him talk.

# # #

The vampire’s mansion lived up to its name The Royal One . It had massive towering windows in the front adorned at the top by intricate arches pointing to the sky. Two black gargoyles coiled menacingly over the front door, taunting those who dared to enter.

For Vera, the house was a reminder, a reminder of the past she sorely didn’t want to dredge up.

As the massive front doors parted and out stepped a beautiful, hauntingly familiar face, Vera wished she’d given this trip a second thought. How had she thought this wouldn’t be hard? Seeing Dmetri Demidov was anything but easy.

A stodgy valet with a thick head of brown hair slicked back from his face waited for her to pull to a stop.

“Who is he?”

Vera set the car in park and sighed, telling herself that she was the one who’d wanted to come here and do this, to get away from her happy brothers.

“That’s Henry. I don’t know his last name. He’s been the valet here for years.”

“No. Who’s that ?” Uh oh. Jacks had just noticed Dmetri—her ex lover.

“That is...Dmetri.”

He shot a cutting look to her that spoke more than words. The look said he wasn’t an idiot. “He an old friend or what?”

“Um—” Vera sighed in relief when the Valet opened her door with a sweeping bow. She hurried out of the car. Jacks cursed and got out after her.

“You’re not getting out of this,” he said when he reached her; his voice was a lethal growl.

The fact that she shivered at the sound of his voice didn’t escape his notice. Eyes darkened to a seductive light; he watched her response like a predator catching whiff of prey. Vera’s breath caught in her throat and she had to remind herself that she was the predator.

He’s only human.

“I shall park your car, my lady. Master Demidov will escort you to your room. I hope you have an enjoyable stay.”

She didn’t recall telling herself to say thank you to the valet but knew somewhere in the back of her mind that she did. Seeing Dmetri striding towards her sent her mind buzzing in a whirl.

Flashes of memory came back as if she’d been hiding them deep inside her the whole time. Their sweat-slicked bodies writhing against each other in the throes of passion, lips hanging together in a soft, teasing press. Their time together had been brief and so memorable that when she stared long enough at his mouth, she could practically remember their taste again.

His voice was just as she remembered, dark and accented with his Slavic decent. “Vera, it’s so good to see you.” Even the way he said the words hinted of past times, a time when he’d whispered her name into her ear as he shuddered over her. Yet strangely, seeing him, remembering their past brought not even a lick of warmth to her. Instead, it left her feeling cold. He was a reminder. A reminder of pain and heartache.

“Dmetri, it’s been a long time.” He kissed her on first one cheek then the other, lingering longer than customary. Jackson tensed and growled under his breath. It was soft but she was certain both she and Dmetri’s keen hearing picked up the sound.

“And who’s this...human,” he asked brushing a thick lock of his long blonde hair over his shoulder.

“I’m her guardian, Jackson Marsh.” He thrust out his hand and shook her ex lover’s hand hard enough that Dmetri’s hand was red when he pulled away.

Dmetri’s smirk showed that he hadn’t missed a thing. “Vane called and said he wouldn’t be able to make it this year. How unfortunate. He did say he was sending a guardian but I assumed it was Roman or Darien.” He lifted one thick eyebrow and smirked.

Vera had dated him long enough to know what that smirk meant—he thought this was a joke. She suddenly had the urge to slap him and tell him that Jacks was a strong fighter and capable of being her guardian.

“It’s getting late. Why don’t you just show us to our rooms?” Dmetri nodded, still with that smug look, and led them through the front doors of the Demidov House.

Vera glanced over at Jacks and nearly stumbled into Dmetri as she did so. Jacks wasn’t floored with the interior of the mansion as she had been when she first saw the luxurious home. Magnificent had been her first thought.

The interior of the mansion opened up into a great space as tall as it was wide. A sweeping, grand staircase went up then parted on either side to lead to the next floor. A rich, ancient rug in red and gold swirls tiled the deep staircase.

The staircase had made her gasp when she first saw it, made her want one of her own. But now, years later, she no longer drooled over the wood paneled walls with exquisite paintings of the Demidov family nor of the adjoining waist—tall vases that lined the bottom stair. The mansion reeked of arrogance and wealth, something she no longer wanted.

Yet, Jacks appeared completely oblivious to his surroundings as Dmetri led them up the staircase and down a series of hallways. His eyes didn’t stay arrested for even a moment on the expensive, pure gold chalices that sat upon a side-serving table or even on the grand chandelier that hung high above the mahogany staircase.

She realized with surprise that instead, his eyes strayed towards each set of windows and their locks as if categorizing them by priority. His eyes swept up the staircase and to the other side of the hallway where the door to the outside balcony was. It was as if he was assessing the house for exits and risks. And he probably was.