Just Surrender... by Kathleen O'Reilly Page A

the plaintive echoes of her own gasps, her pleas, until she stopped fighting, because in the end, it was Edie who always gave way.
    Her body screamed, muscles shuddering, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. When the orgasm came, it broke her in two.
    Tyler moved up her body, and she knew there was more, it was there in his face, the determined glint in his dark eyes, no longer scholarly or unshakable. Now he was a man with one goal. Her. Edie took a sharp breath, her blood starting to rise, and instinctively her body arched toward him, surrendering to the call. He took her, no longer cool, no longer controlled, and she smiled up at him, urging him to take his pleasure.
    Of course he did, and Edie welcomed the dark pain, the sharp slap of skin and sweat. She watched the steely gaze melt under fire, just as she had hoped.
    His powerful thrusts never slowed, never faltered, taking her to climax simply because he could. She stopped feeling, stopped falling, and simply let herself ride.
    This was no more than pleasure, no more than parts.
    Finally, when his body was slick with sweat, when the scarlet spread had darkened to a well-used red, when the musky smells of sex surrounded them, Tyler rose on his knees, muscles frozen, and it was the ultimate turn-on, the ultimate aphrodisiac.
    With a sly smile, Edie watched as Dr. Tyler Hart, man of trench coats and scruples, lost them all and fell to earth.

    A PHONE WAS RINGING somewhere below. Tyler opened one eye and felt a soft breast underneath his cheek. Instantly he snapped awake, ready to perform long, intricate procedures, ready to save lives, ready to confront whatever needed his attention.
    No, he thought, looking around. This was his hotel.
    The phone beeped again and Tyler picked it up, and pressed the button, already prepping himself for the required professional response.
    “Tyler?”
    A woman emerged from the covers like some pagan goddess, lean and tasty, and he remembered that taste. Warm saliva pooled in his mouth.
    “Tyler?” repeated the voice on the phone and he shot out of bed, fumbling for both clothes and sanity. Finding neither.
    Finally abandoning all pretense of professional response, Tyler turned off the phone and collapsed on the floor.
    “Who was that?” asked the seductive voice that had haunted what he thought was a dream. That smooth voice had teased him, tormented him, slayed him.
    Tyler looked up, seeing the reflection in the godforsaken mirrored ceiling, and then swallowed hard.
    “Cynthia. I’m almost positive it was Cynthia.”



5
    “C ALL HER.”
    The naked woman in the bed was telling him to call his girlfriend, former girlfriend, ex-girlfriend? What was the correct vernacular for this particular nightmare?
    Normally, Tyler was not affected by nudity. He’d seen old nudity, young nudity, dead nudity and baby nudity. But this felt personal. It was his nudity. Betrayal nudity.
    Yet even racked with guilt, he still managed to notice Edie’s hotness. He could still remember the feel of her muscles tightening around him, her fingers digging into his back. “I’ll call her later,” he told the naked woman.
    “Go on. I’ll help you,” Edie encouraged, as if completely comfortable with the situation.
    Her eyes were alert and gleaming with diabolical purpose, and it finally dawned on Tyler that Edie Higgins was not as aimless as she had first appeared. Apparently, Tyler was now her purpose. First, it had meant seducing him. Now it was repairing his relations with his girlfriend, ex-girl— Cynthia. For a split second his mind puzzled over those two seemingly incongruous directives, but then the red velvet spread slipped a few inches lower. His bleary gaze was drawn to a long sliver of golden skin and Tyler was struck by two seemingly incongruous directives: wanting to bed Edie again, and wanting to fall back into his former peaceful life.
    “I think I’m going to get dressed,” he announced, hoping she’d get dressed, as well.