Surrender Your Heart Read online

  Surrender Your Heart

  Raven J. Spencer

  Copyright © 2015 by Raven Spencer

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For everyone who prefers the sexy, troubled billionaire to be a woman…

  Chapter One

  Penny

  Women want to be courted, cherished, swept off their feet by someone who is crazy about them, obsessed with them. They would do anything for love. That’s what the romance novels say, at least, and for most of my life, I’ve been shaking my head or cracking jokes when the subject came up in our book club.

  Lesbian relationships are not like that anyway, I used to argue. We defy the rules of patriarchy, well, as long as you don’t get involved with the occasional self-centered girl. That can happen, but a billionaire lady showering you in gifts and luxury in exchange for kinky games? I don’t think so. If there’s one who’ll pay my tuition until I have my degree, I’ll let her spank me, I used to say, sometimes, when after too many shifts at the café, the exam results didn’t live up to my expectations.

  Even Haley and Lara, who eat up these books by the spoonful, saw the humor in that. There’s no guy like that either. They are smart capable women, each in their respective field. Fiction is an escape. I understand that, even if I don’t always agree on the same theme. The gleam in their eyes when talking about their favorite stories was disconcerting to me. It’s not what they, me, or any woman would want, right? It’s not real. It’s not right.

  Then it happened to me.

  * * * *

  The café where I work, trying to get enough hours in to keep me fed, clothed and in university, is the opposite of a modern coffee shop. When you come in here, it’s like another world, the menu and décor resembling an old-fashioned coffeehouse in Austria—hence the name, Café Vienna. It’s expensive, far beyond my own price range for a cup of coffee. I was lucky to know a girl whose parents are friends with the owners. She opened the door for me, and since I had experience in the service industry, I was able to get the job.

  As a guest, you take your time—first, choosing from the many different kinds of pies and pastries, and the various flavors of coffee, then, savoring all of it. That is, except if you work here. The Café Vienna is popular, because it’s one of a kind in town. Work is never slow. At times, this has led me to resent the patrons who seem to have all the time in the world.

  My story starts with a $1,000 tip, one I never get the chance to spend, because life changes, quickly and irreversibly.

  It’s the last day of the semester when I first meet Carter Forbes. I don’t know who she is, but she does catch my eye which is part attraction and part jealousy…not so much for her, but the man she’s with. They seem to know each other well, leaning close when they talk. I go to their table to take their orders, in a much better mood now that my schedule looks less brutal. I may even get in a little weekend getaway with the girls. That would do me a lot of good.

  She orders a black coffee which is almost a sacrilege in this place, while her companion goes for a café au lait and a piece of the famous Sacher tart. The clientele of the Café Vienna is usually well-dressed and loaded enough so their tips can be seen as meager. Even compared to the usual patron, she is exquisite, tall and slender, wearing a simple white dress that probably cost more than I earn here in a month, her hair in a fashionable ponytail. I have to remind myself to move away, but not before she gives me a once over, with a little smile that shows me she caught me staring. I blush a bright red and finally make my way back to the counter.

  I should get out a little more often, that’s what my friends say. They might be right.

  The man with a love for chocolate tarts isn’t Carter’s lover. He’s head of security for her company, but I don’t learn that until later.

  There are many things I don’t know, about her, about myself, at this time. I bring the coffee and cake to their table, trying to avoid her gaze best I can. I’m already feeling too hot under my uniform. Silly, ridiculous, and all for nothing, because a woman like that wouldn’t date a waitress no matter what she could give her.

  Besides, I’ve sworn off all relationships until I finish my degree. I snort to myself. As if there was any possibility! Come to think of it, I lead the boring inconsequential life that those fictional characters want to be rescued from, but I know it won’t last. Once I get out of this town, get a job that pays a little more than the necessities, everything will be different.

  I believe in that—most days.

  I wait on a few other tables, then she asks for the check, once again giving me that intent look. I can’t help it. I feel naked. The thought makes me blush even more, and the warmth I feel is not all in my face. Maybe I’m coming down with something. A fever. I’m not usually this silly.

  Marcie, the other waitress on shift, laughs when she sees me. “My, what happened? Did someone make you an indecent proposal?”

  The joke will be on me. Soon. Only I have no idea.

  “Of course not. I have to go to the bathroom. Would you mind?” I didn’t mean to snap at her. I could really use some time away.

  Marcie shrugs. “Sure, I’ve got it covered. Go.”

  “Thank you.”

  In the small staff bathroom—they had to save space somewhere—I look at my face in the mirror, touch my cheek. The skin feels warm under my fingers. Damn that stranger undressing me with her eyes. I have no use for any of this now, not this kind of behavior or the foolish ideas it produces.

  When I return, the couple is gone, the bill paid, and tip left within the leather cover.

  I open it, hoping for a nice addition to the weekend with the girls…and then I have to sit down. It’s not an exaggeration, my knees go weak the moment I see the bills, the one on the top with the name scribbled in the upper left corner. My name.

  Penny, thank you for your service.

  For long moments, I stare at the bills until they become a blur of green before my eyes. I count them with shaking hands. Ten. Ten $100 bills.

  “What happened?” Marcie asks. I jump and the bills are sailing to the floor. She helps me gathering them.

  “Wow,” she comments. “That’s one expensive cup of coffee. I guess I wasn’t so far off with the indecent proposal. Maybe they want to invite you sometime.” She winks, and I shake my head at her.

  “Come on, that’s crazy.”

  Some women would do anything for love, at least in romance novels. I’m not one of them. I wouldn’t get in bed with someone’s husband just to…the thought is too crazy to even finish.

  However, they did give me a $1000 tip. Whatever that means.

  * * * *

  I don’t tell anyone, too bewildered about the incident. I call it an incident, because nothing like that has ever happened to anyone I know. I’m freaking out a bit. Usually, I don’t carry that kind of money on me, nor do I keep it in my apartment. I feel like every random stranger I see on the street when walking home knows. I imagine robbers jumping out of the bushes at every corner, or someone hitting me over the head while I open my front door.

  Nothing of the kind happens, but I’m spooked. Nothing is ever for free. What did they see in me that inspired them to throw that much money at me? I’m always friendly, on the cute side, and I try to be quick and efficient. That might warrant a nice tip, but the sum is completely out of proportion for two coffees and a piece of cake. It’s the first time I’ve seen thi
s man and woman at the café. What were they thinking? What do they want?

  I go about my week pondering those questions. The couple doesn’t return, but there’s an additional $1,000 in my bank account. I plan to suggest the getaway at our next book club meeting.

  Haley sighs happily when I tell her about it on the phone. “Oh yes, please, sign me up. I’m sure Mom will come over and give Ryan a hand with the kids if necessary.”

  “Cool. We talk about it on Friday, then.”

  Sometimes I wonder if Ryan minds the kind of books she loves, or if they find them inspiring. Then again, they’re my friends, and I don’t want to think too hard about the ways this could be possible.

  I feel happy and relaxed when I hang up and not so worried about the tip anymore. Not everyone has ulterior motives. For the people who come to the Café Vienna, money doesn’t matter all that much. Maybe someone had a good day.

  I end mine with a glass of wine, watching TV on my couch, looking forward to the book club meeting.

  I never make it there.

  * * * *

  My eyelids are heavy. Somehow, I don’t mind. The surface I’m lying on is enticingly soft. The scent of laundry detergent tickles my nose. It’s quiet, peaceful. I want to enjoy the moment a bit longer until I have to work my last shift before meeting the girls tonight…wait.

  This is not my bed. It’s not my room. I struggle to open my eyes in earnest, but I’m so tired. Irrationally, my first worry is that I’m going to miss work, and then my heart starts pounding. With some difficulty, I sit up, realizing that my small bedroom has somehow morphed into a luxury suite. The bed is king size, with a canopy, its dark wood a stark contrast against the white sheets. There’s a bedside table and a comfortable looking sitting area by the window where the blinds are closed. I look down at myself and realize I’m wearing the same clothes as…when? Yesterday? The sun coming in through the blinds suggests it’s day outside, but that means I missed a few hours. I must have fallen asleep on the couch, but what happened after that?

  The most important question: Where am I?

  There’s no way I could have been this out of it from one glass of wine. That means someone was in my apartment.

  Someone took me.

  The catastrophic fantasies come immediately. I have no riches to show for, and the same goes for my family and friends. Why else would someone kidnap a woman my age? What for?

  I’m instantly dizzy when I get up, but manage to stay on my feet. I’m wavering between no holds barred panic and plain astonishment. The wooden doors, created with beautiful detail, are locked, of course. As quickly as I can, I hurry to the window, feeling a sense of urgency now which is irrational. I have no idea how long I slept. The windows are locked as well, and there’s a code for the blinds, but I manage to pull two of the blades apart enough to get a glimpse.

  There’s a lot of green and, in close distance, a stretch of beach and…the ocean?

  I step away, dizzy again, but this time, the feeling is overwhelming. I might be sick. The other door has to lead to a bathroom? Whoever is responsible for this, I don’t want to piss them off by puking all over the expensive carpet. I didn’t need to worry. Before it can get to that, I pass out once more. I almost make it to the bed.

  Chapter Two

  The touch of a hand on my forehead, warm and soft, makes me flinch. “Don’t be afraid.” I hear the whisper, oddly calming. “You’re safe.”

  Let me be the judge of that.

  I shrink away from the careful contact, once again coming to in the spacious bedroom with locked doors and windows. It’s now dark outside, and the lamp on the bedside table is switched on, casting a soft glow on the woman who sits in the chair next to it.

  “Welcome,” she says.

  It’s the woman I saw in the café, now dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved blouse. Her hair falls down to her shoulders. She smiles.

  Immediately, I’m reminded of the man who was with her at the Café Vienna, and Marcie’s not so innocent joke. These things happen for real, women disappearing off the street, kept in some sick person’s basement for years. Only this isn’t a basement, but a luxury residence…where?

  “Welcome to where?” My question comes out as a croak. I have a headache. The pain must have shown on my face, because she hurries to pick up a tall glass of water from the bedside table.

  “Here,” she says. “Drink. You passed out earlier. Fortunately you didn’t hit your head, but you might need a little time to adjust to the climate. You can have an Aspirin with dinner later. That will help.”

  It occurs to me that she answered none of my questions, nor does she seem in a hurry to do so. I give the glass a suspicious look.

  “It’s just water. I apologize for the measures taken, but those were extraordinary circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” My voice rises, almost against my will. I shouldn’t do this. I have to remind myself that I could be dealing with a crazy person. Rich, criminal, that’s a given. I drink the water though, first a hesitant sip, and then all of it.

  The woman looks content.

  She doesn’t look crazy. Considering the surroundings, I realize whoever is behind this must have planned it some time ago. It gets worse by the minute.

  There’s nothing much intimidating, in this room, or her relaxed body language, but I know it’s a false sense of security.

  “What do you want me for?”

  There’s a bit of a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “What do you think?”

  “The guy at the café, is he your husband? Do you do that all the time, kidnap people?”

  Slow down, I tell myself. I don’t know anything about her, except that I thought she was hot a few days ago. You never know what might set a person off.

  To my surprise, she laughs. “My husband? God, no. I hope you’re not disappointed, but I came up with this nefarious scheme all by myself.”

  Now she’s mocking me, I am sure. That’s my fault for underestimating the criminal energy that even attractive women can have, obviously. Why am I still thinking about this? I have to admit, she’s beautiful in the soft glow of the lamp, and if the situation was different…But it isn’t. This woman had me drugged and abducted to God knows where. My long neglected libido is not priority at the moment. It’s rather ridiculous, but I start crying. I can’t help it.

  “It’s not as bad as you think, you’ll see,” she says after a moment, leaning forward to brush her hand over my hair. I’m a mess. The gesture shouldn’t feel calming, not from her, but it does. I hate her for manipulating me that way. Part of me protests that assessment already. I can’t seem to make up my mind.

  “I’ll explain everything to you,” she continues before she pulls back and gets up, leaving me to feel oddly bereft. “I’d like to show you around your quarters, and then you can change before we have dinner.”

  “My…quarters?” My voice goes up a few notches again. “What time is it? Where are we?” She pats my shoulder with a smile as if all of this was completely normal.

  “Come,” she says, seemingly excited about what’s to come next. “It’s a little after dinner time, but I wanted to wait for you. We are in a place that’s as close to paradise as it gets. Once I know I can trust you, you may go everywhere in the house and to the beach, but please understand that I can’t take the risk yet. This is all new for you. I understand. You’ll learn.”

  I don’t know if I want to slap her or give in to other, no less disturbing impulses, but I decide it’s best to stay quiet for now, follow her lead and try to figure her out. The door I saw earlier leads to a bathroom indeed, and its size and design makes my jaw drop. The shower is round, tiled in amazing detail, a sink to the other side and, farther into the room, the kind of bathtub I’ve always dreamed about, sunken, with jets.

  I am drawn back into the more troubling aspects of my altered reality when she opens the cabinets. Everything looks just like…at home? Perfume, shampoo, shower gel, toothpaste, all the
products are those I use.

  All of those bottles and tubes are brand new.

  “How…?”

  This time, she doesn’t keep me waiting. “Please don’t faint again, okay? I want you to feel good. That’s priority. Of course I did my homework.”

  “Homework. You broke into my apartment?”

  I expect her to laugh at me again, with those obvious questions, but instead, she studies me for a moment, as if wondering how much of the truth I can take before I start crying again. I catch a glimpse at myself in the mirror and cringe. Then again, why would I care? I don’t need to be pretty for her. I don’t owe her anything.

  “I’m afraid there were some things I had to delegate. Here, you’ll see there are no pills of any kind. Again, I don’t feel comfortable enough for that yet, but I’ll get you that Aspirin later. I know you don’t take any regular medication, so this will do. If you need something, just tell me.”

  “Did you bring my clothes too?” I ask, failing to sound ironic. At this point, nothing surprises me. How will I get out of this? What will happen to my job, my studies…my book club? I’m feeling rather close to hysterics again.

  “Oh no, you won’t need them. Let me show you something.” From the bathroom, we go back to the bedroom where she opens another door, this time to a walk-in closet that might be the size of my complete apartment. She puts a hand at the center of my back which shows foresight, because I was close to fainting again. Even so, my knees crumble a bit at the sight, and she moves in closer, steadying me.

  “What is this? Did you put together a harem?” I didn’t want to go there, bring up any sexually charged imagery, but I assume I can’t hide from the truth much longer.

  She’s amused. “This is all for you. We can keep it casual tonight. That might help you narrow it down.”

  She’s got to be kidding. Not in a million years I would accept this from a benevolent stranger—or a lover—but she is neither. I walk farther into the huge closet, taking in the sight of rows of dresses, tops and bottoms, shoes…I won’t even start to count. There are so many. With dread I realize there are clothes for all seasons.