Surrender to Me Read online

  No woman has ever caught him...until now

  Rafe Lawson is driven by two things: his music and living a life away from the influence of his powerful senator father. The woman he meets at a high-profile family celebration won’t change his playboy ways. Still, Rafe is intrigued by the stunning Secret Service agent who never mixes business and pleasure. He has no choice but to jet to DC and use his legendary Lawson power of seduction to win over Avery Richards.

  The first female in her family to rise up the ranks of high-level government security, Avery is comfortable flying halfway across the world at a moment’s notice. But her desire for the sax-playing heir to a political dynasty creates more tension than being on presidential detail. Their fathers are enemies who share a long, bitter history. When Avery falls for Rafe, her loyalty to her family is tested and Rafe’s contentious feud with his father could cost them everything. They must now decide what’s most important—the life they’ve always lived or the one they can possibly make together.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Fine.” She smiled.

  “Going in?” he asked with what sounded like amusement in his voice.

  “Of course.” She took her purse from the passenger seat, extracted the key from the ignition and accepted his hand.

  When she was drawn to her feet, mere inches separated them. Her gaze landed on his collarbone and she realized how tall he actually was and how his lean frame belied the power beneath.

  Avery swallowed and stepped around him. Her heart banged mercilessly as she walked to her front door with Rafe a half step behind.

  She turned. “Thanks so much for inviting me tonight. I had a great time.”

  His eyes picked up the light from the moon and seemed to sparkle. He grinned, leaned down and placed a featherlight kiss on her forehead. “Good night. Rest well. I hope you don’t mind if I call on you again.”

  “You’re going to fly all the way from Louisiana to DC just to see me?”

  “My family has a place in Arlington, Virginia. When I have good reason, I stay there.” He leveled his gaze on her. “Do I have good reason?”

  “You might,” she managed to say.

  Dear Reader,

  Throughout the Lawson-family series, Rafe Lawson has been that elusive, dangerous, sexy shadow that readers were dying to discover more about. Surrender to Me is his story.

  To be honest, I was terrified to finally write about Rafe. The stakes seemed so high. But I put on my big-girl pants and dug in. The shroud of mystery around the man was slowly pulled back, and I know that the revelations will surprise as well as endear him even further in your hearts.

  Rafe is complicated, a confirmed bachelor with looks, money and charisma sprinkled with a heavy dose of Southern gentleman, and it takes an extraordinary woman like Avery Richards to make him realize that surrendering is not a weakness. Creating Avery, I knew that she needed to be really different. So she is a Secret Service agent skilled at looking for anything out of place. Avery is fearless and focused even as she has her own internal enemies to deal with. I hope that you will laugh, cry, scream and root for Rafe and Avery. I know that I did!

  I love to hear from readers. You can always find me on Facebook; please join my fan club at Facebook.com/donnahillfans for updates on new projects and sneak peeks at upcoming works. Also, follow me on Twitter, @donnahill.

  As always, thank you all for twenty-five years of support!

  Until next time,

  Donna

  Donna Hill published her first novel in 1990. She now has more than eighty titles in print. Three of her novels have been adapted for television. She has received numerous awards and recognition for her wide body of work. In her other life, Donna is an assistant professor of English at Medgar Evers College in Brooklyn, New York, and an adjunct professor at Baruch College and Essex County College. She has an MFA in creative writing from Goddard College. Donna lives in Brooklyn with her family. Visit her website at www.donnahill.com.

  Books by Donna Hill

  Harlequin Kimani Romance

  If I Were Your Woman

  After Dark

  Sex and Lies

  Seduction and Lies

  Temptation and Lies

  Longing and Lies

  Private Lessons

  Spend My Life with You

  Secret Attraction

  Sultry Nights

  Everything Is You

  Mistletoe, Baby

  The Way You Love Me

  My Love at Last

  For the Love of You

  Surrender to Me

  Visit the Author Profile page

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  This novel is lovingly dedicated to my tireless editor,

  Glenda Howard, who continues to champion my work.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Excerpt from In the Market for Love by Joy Avery

  Chapter 1

  A warm leg brushed against his. Rafe Lawson glanced over his shoulder through dark eyes still lazy with sleep. He blinked slowly in the dim light of early morning, bringing the body next to him into focus. The night before began to come back to him in brief snapshots. His grandfather Clive’s birthday party. Bourbon. Music. Beautiful women.

  He gently lifted the pale blue sheet that covered her body and peeked beneath. Hmm. Very nice. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. And she definitely was not the woman he’d dreamed about all night—the woman he’d met at the party.

  They’d only had a few moments to talk. She was part of the Secret Service detail that was assigned to the vice president, who’d made a surprise visit for his old friend’s birthday. Avery! That was her name. The woman from last night.

  The unnamed woman in his bed moaned softly and he felt her lush body stretch against him. He eased out of bed and strode to the adjoining bathroom.

  Rafe leaned on the sink and assessed his reflection in the mirror. The residue from his night of partying was barely evident beyond the five-o’clock shadow that outlined his jaw.

  At thirty-six, his body still bounced back from the wear and tear he subjected it to; whether tearing up the highways on his motorcycle, hours in the gym or nights of indulgence in alcohol and women. He knew, however, that his often wild lifestyle couldn’t be maintained forever. He lived for the adrenaline rush of living on the edge, on his own terms, even to the dismay of family and friends. He did it as much to amuse himself as to piss off his powerful father.

  He backed away from the all-knowing mirror and turned on the shower full-blast in the hope that his head would clear about the events that led to the woman in his bed.

 
By the time he turned off the taps he remembered—and it wasn’t good. The lovely lady was Shante Thornton, who worked for his sister Dominique. He muttered a curse while he knotted a towel around his waist. Back in front of the mirror he wiped the fogged glass with a cloth. His face appeared haloed by the mist. “You’re an idiot,” he grumbled.

  When Rafe returned, Shante was sitting on the side of the bed with the sheet pulled up around her. She glanced quickly at him, turned away and clutched the sheet in her fist, but not before he registered the look of uncertainty and maybe embarrassment in her eyes. Without makeup and the fancy gown that was now tossed on an armchair, he could see how young she was. Not underage jail potential, but younger than the women he was accustomed to dealing with. There was a vulnerability that engulfed her like the scent of great sex that still lingered in the room.

  He may be a womanizer in the eyes of some, but the truth was he loved women, adored them. He cherished the bodies of women, the soft curves of their shoulders and hips, the sexy spot behind the ear right down to the lobe, and the allure of the collarbone and the lovely space where he could dip his tongue and feel the pulse, and the sensual pull of a woman’s breasts when he held them in his palms was always exciting. Women’s bodies fascinated him and he made it his duty to explore, awaken and satisfy. He treasured their minds equally, and there was nothing more singularly sexy than an intelligent woman. But in every instance he treated them all with equal doses of charm and respect—a mantra that he lived by. Unfortunately, it had gotten him into more trouble than he needed on occasion.

  “Mornin’, sugah,” he said while he crossed the room. He sat beside her and felt her tense. “Sleep okay?”

  She barely nodded her head. Rafe smiled and that seemed to break the ice.

  “I haven’t slept that good in ages.”

  “It’s the sheets,” he teased.

  Shante laughed softly.

  “There’re fresh towels in the bathroom.” He stood. “I’ll fix us some breakfast. Bacon and eggs cool?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Coffee? Tea? Juice?”

  “Coffee,” she asked more than stated.

  “Got it.” He left and as he reached the door he heard her get up from the bed and scurry into the bathroom. Modesty was actually an admirable trait.

  * * *

  He deftly threw together his morning-after omelet special of cheddar and sharp cheeses, green and red peppers and diced bits of ham mixed with a dash of milk to keep the eggs light and fluffy; a trick he’d learned from his mom. He hummed while he worked and in between every other note he thought about or saw an image of Avery. Rarely did one woman leave that kind of impression on him. He was used to easily seducing the woman that he wanted; a full-on Lawson press. Not this time. He frowned as he replayed their brief encounter.

  He’d noticed her the moment she walked in and it was clear, even in an eye-popping black gown, that her presence was more than an invited guest. He could tell by the way her gaze covertly scanned the room, noted the exits and followed at a discreet distance from the vice president that she was part of his security detail—Secret Service. He had an image of a .22 strapped to her inner thigh.

  Unlike many highbrow gatherings of politicos and the like that were too reserved for his tastes, a Lawson party was the real deal full of loud laughter, louder conversations and the music to go with it. So of course he had to get particularly close to talk to her.

  He gave her time to assess the layout before he approached. He came alongside her. “Can I get you anything?”

  She turned cinnamon-brown eyes on him, fanned by long curved lashes. Her smile was practiced, distant, but Rafe didn’t miss the rapid beat of her pulse in the dip of her throat that belied her cool exterior. Her sleek right brow rose in question as she took him in with one long glance.

  “Clearly you’re not one of the waitstaff,” she said with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “Rafe Lawson.”

  Her eyes widened for a split second. “Oh, the scandalous one.”

  He dramatically pressed his hand to his chest. “Guilty as charged, cher, but I have perfectly reasonable explanations for everything.”

  Her eyes sparkled when the light hit them. “I’m sure you do, Mr. Lawson.”

  “So what can I get for you that won’t interfere with you being on duty?”

  She tensed ever so slightly.

  “Trust me. I’ve grown up in this life. I can spot Secret Service a mile away. Although I must admit that you bring class to the dark suits and Ray-Bans.”

  She glanced past him to where her colleague stood near the vice president. In one fluid motion she gave a barely imperceptible lift of her chin, a quick scan of the room and said, “Nice to meet you,” as she made a move to leave.

  He held her bare arm. “Tell me your name,” he commanded almost in her ear. He inhaled her, felt the slight shiver that gripped her.

  “Avery.”

  Rafe released her and followed the dangerously low-cut back of her dress until she was out of sight.

  “Smells delicious.”

  Rafe blinked, glanced over his shoulder. Definitely cute, but she wasn’t Avery. He took two plates from the overhead cabinet and set them on the table. “Help yourself to coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  He spooned the eggs onto a platter and added the bacon. “Toast?”

  “No. I’m fine with this.”

  Rafe poured himself a glass of orange juice, straddled the stool and sat. “How long have you been working with my sister, six months?”

  “Just about.”

  He watched her over the rim of his glass as she tried to remain ladylike when she took a half spoonful of eggs and one strip of bacon when he knew damn well she had to be starving because he was.

  He lifted the serving spoon from the platter, loaded it with eggs and plopped it on her plate, followed by two strips of bacon.

  “We’ve already experienced carnal knowledge, honey, no point in putting on a show now. Eat like you mean it.” He winked and filled his plate.

  “I...want you to know that... I don’t do this.”

  “What’s that, Shante, eat breakfast?”

  She sputtered a laugh. “No. I mean...spend the night with a man the first time I meet him.”

  He chewed thoughtfully. “Hmm. Okay.” He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I consider it an honor, cher.” He watched her sandy brown skin flush then tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. His fingers instinctively caressed the smooth lock. “Eat up. I’ll drop you home before I take care of the rest of my day.”

  * * *

  Rafe preferred the black Range Rover for his everyday use rather than either of his two cars or his motorcycle. Plus the roominess gave him an artificial sense of distance when he knew it would be the last official time he’d drop a woman at her door. The intimacy of a car made parting more difficult.

  “Thanks for a great evening...and breakfast,” Shante said. She smiled shyly.

  “It was my pleasure.” He remotely unlocked the doors, got out and came around to her side. He held her hand to help her out.

  Shante glanced up at him and he knew this was the “I’ll call you” moment that wouldn’t happen.

  Rafe leaned down and placed a long, tender kiss on her forehead, ran his thumb along the line of her jaw, turned and got back in the Rover.

  A spark of guilt ignited with the turn of the key. It always did at times like this. He checked his mirrors and slowly pulled off.

  No sooner had he driven away and gotten back on the main road than his cell phone rang. He pressed an icon on the dash and his sister Dominique’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Tell me that you did not take Shante home with you last night.”

  “Well hello, Dom
, and how are you today?”

  “Don’t play with me, Raford Lawson.”

  Anytime his family used his full name he knew he had to brace for the inevitable tongue-lashing. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

  “Damn it, Rafe!”

  “What? She’s grown and so am I.”

  “That’s not the point and you know it.”

  “No. I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me like I know you want to do.”

  Dominique sighed heavily. “You run through women like socks, Rafe. Shante’s a nice girl and—”

  “And I treated her like a nice woman. There is no way that she could say anything different.”

  “I know that. That’s the problem. You treat them all like princesses and then poof, move on. Telephone book of broken hearts.”

  “Bit of an exaggeration, sis.” He turned onto the street where his club was located.

  “We work together, Rafe. I don’t need her grilling me about you and whining in my ear when you don’t call.”

  “What makes you think I won’t call?”

  “Will you?” She pushed out a frustrated breath when silence hung between them. “Aggh. If you weren’t my brother...”

  Rafe chuckled. “Love you, too, sis. Gotta go.”

  “Fine. Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Always.” He pulled into his parking spot. He disconnected the call and cut the engine.

  Dominique, unlike her twin Desiree, had no problem saying what was on her mind regardless of how her remarks fell on the ears and souls of her target. She’d softened somewhat since she got together with Trevor Jackson. But even he couldn’t always keep the lid on Dominique. Now that their eldest sister, Lee Ann, was married and expecting, Dominique took on the role as head Lawson woman in charge.

  He had to laugh. As much as he loved his siblings they could be a bit much at times, never mind that he was the eldest son. With three females, he and his younger brother Justin didn’t stand a chance.

  Rafe entered the club through the back door. He flipped on lights as he strolled through. No matter how many times he crossed the gray marble floors, walked behind the circular bar or looked out onto the eclectic crowd that packed the house night after night, he still got that rush. This was his, the one thing separate and apart from the Lawson legacy of money, politics and backdoor deals, much to his father’s horror.