Surrender Read Online Free Page A

Tonight I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I think the manager owes that guy money or something. I overheard their argument and decided not to stick around for the finale. He chased me.”
    I know a liar when I see one. Robyn is telling the truth. She’s smart. Sexy. Beautiful. Damn. “I’m glad you found me,” she says.
    She throws me one of those irresistible wide-eyed looks again. The I’m helpless one that draws a man in . . . Who’s really vulnerable here? I take her hand and give it a friendly squeeze. “You’re safe now.”
    She’s tight-lipped, but smiles appreciatively. Then she leans sideways and plants a kiss on my mouth. My body can’t resist the heat or temptation. I’m rock hard the minute she touches me. Hell, the minute she leans in. She tries to withdraw, but I cradle the back of her head with my hand and kiss her back. This time there’s no mistaking the message. For a second she responds passionately, her tongue gliding across my bottom lip. I growl, not wanting this to stop. It’s electric.
    I think it startles her. She jumps away, staring out the blasted window again. What’s she looking at? Thinking about? It’s as if she’s here, but gone at the same time. I’m not used to that. She checks her watch and looks at me. “I need to go.”
    “Wait,” I urge. There’s amazing chemistry between us. I don’t know how to contact her. I want her phone number.
    She opens the door and hops out. “Thank you, Garrick. ” I love hearing my name roll off that sexy tongue. “I won’t forget what you did.”
    Before I have a chance to respond, she shuts the door and gets into her Camaro.

Chapter Three
    It’s Friday night—the busiest shift at the Devil’s Den. I check in at the DJ booth at seven, dressed and ready to dance my first set. The booth is fully enclosed, the outside wall lined with diamond plate. There’s a narrow slit that runs the length of the main wall where we can peek out. I slide the step stool over and climb up. There’s a pretty big crowd. I smile and get down. I like to match my music to the crowd. Always a fan of classic rock on my first set, I select a double shot of Judas Priest (“Turbo Lover” and “Victim of Changes”). It should please the middle-agers out there. I leave and make my way to the end of the bar closest to the main stage. Two girls are up before me; then I’ll make the four-stage rotation. Eight song sets, four times a night, isn’t that bad. I make mad money onstage. I’m not the best dancer, but I’m slow and sexy.
    I’m wearing a new dress tonight, black velvet with a plunging neckline that shows off my breasts. It’s form-fitting, but not skintight. I like leaving something to the imagination. Men think they want to see it all right away, but I know better. There’s a systematic way to attract tippers. Some girls dance their asses off. I interact with the crowd, one customer at a time. Thomas, a regular who’s earned a nameplate at his seat at the bar after twenty years of loyal patronage, is seated next to me. He’s a great conversationalist, and I genuinely like him.
    “Here.” He hands me a five-dollar bill. He’s always generous. Always positive.
    “Thanks, Tom,” I say, and kiss his cheek. I fold the bill in half and wrap it around my fingers on my left hand. “My good luck charm.”
    He grins. “Wanna rub my . . .”
    He’s a dirty old man, too. “No,” I laugh. “But I’ll rub your bald head for good luck.” He bends at the neck and I playfully skim my hand across his baby-smooth skin.
    He shakes his leg like a horny dog. I roll my eyes. The bartender serves me an iced tea with lemon. I suck down the cold drink. Last time I checked, it was 90 degrees outside, with nearly 100 percent humidity. If I’m destined for hell the way my mother always says, she couldn’t have picked a better place for training. Corpus is hell’s waiting room.
    After fifteen minutes of shooting the shit with Tom, I hear the DJ