The Surrender Gate: A Desire Exchange Novel Read online

  The Surrender Gate

  A Desire Exchange Novel

  By Christopher Rice

  The Surrender Gate

  A Desire Exchange Novel

  By Christopher Rice

  Copyright 2014 Christopher Rice

  ISBN: 978-1-940887-62-3

  Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Book Description

  THE SURRENDER GATE: A Desire Exchange Novel

  By Christopher Rice

  New York Times bestselling author Christopher Rice's first foray into erotic romance, THE FLAME, earned accolades from some of the genre's most beloved authors. "Sensual, passionate and intelligent," wrote Lexi Blake, "it's everything an erotic romance should be." J. Kenner called it "absolutely delicious," Cherise Sinclair hailed it as "beautifully lyrical" and Loreli James announced, "I look forward to reading more!" Now, Christopher returns you to the world first introduced in THE FLAME with an all new novel of The Desire Exchange…

  Emily Blaine's life is about to change. Arthur Benoit, the kindly multimillionaire who has acted as her surrogate father for years, has just told her he's leaving her his entire estate, and he only has a few months to live. Soon Emily will go from being a restaurant manager with a useless English degree to the one of the richest and most powerful women in New Orleans. There's just one price. Arthur has written a letter to his estranged son Ryan he hopes will mend the rift between them, and he wants Emily to deliver the letter before it's too late. But finding Ryan won't be easy. He's been missing for years. He was recently linked to a mysterious organization called The Desire Exchange. But is The Desire Exchange just an urban legend? Or are the rumors true? Is it truly a secret club where the wealthy can live out their most private sexual fantasies?

  It's a task Emily can't undertake alone. But there's only one man qualified to help her, her gorgeous and confident best friend, Jonathan Claiborne. She's suspected Jonathan of working as a high-priced escort for months now, and she's willing to bet that while giving pleasure to some of the most powerful men in New Orleans, Jonathan has uncovered some possible leads to The Desire Exchange—and to Ryan Benoit. But Emily's attempt to uncover Jonathan's secret life lands the two of them in hot water. Literally. In order to escape the clutches of one of Jonathan's most powerful and dangerous clients, they're forced to act on long buried desires—for each other.

  When Emily's mission turns into an undercover operation, Jonathan insists on going with her. He also insists they continue to explore their impossible, reckless passion for each other. Enter Marcus Dylan, the hard-charging ex-Navy SEAL Arthur has hired to keep Emily safe. But Marcus has been hired for another reason. He, too, has a burning passion for Emily, a passion that might keep Emily from being distracted and confused by a best friend who claims he might be able to go straight just for her. But Marcus is as rough and controlling as Jonathan is sensual and reckless. As Emily searches for a place where the rich turn their fantasies into reality, she will be forced to decide which one of her own long-ignored fantasies should become her reality. But as Emily, Jonathan, and Marcus draw closer to The Desire Exchange itself, they find their destination isn't just shrouded in mystery, but in magic as well.

  Also From Christopher Rice

  Thrillers

  A DENSITY OF SOULS

  THE SNOW GARDEN

  LIGHT BEFORE DAY

  BLIND FALL

  THE MOONLIT EARTH

  Supernatural Thrillers

  THE HEAVENS RISE

  THE VINES

  Paranormal Romance

  THE FLAME: A Desire Exchange Novella

  THE SURRENDER GATE: A Desire Exchange Novel

  Acknowledgments From The Author

  As with every book, there are too many thanks for one page, but I'll try.

  M.J. Rose and Liz Berry, thank you for making Evil Eye Concepts such a great place to do business.

  Jillian Stein, thank you for giving us such a great social media presence.

  To the authors included in 1,001 DARK NIGHTS in both 2014 and 2015, thank you for working so hard to celebrate your colleagues.

  And a mountain of thanks to Lexi Blake, whose gentle and generous guidance had made my transition into erotic romance a truly joyous experience. (And it would be remiss of me if I didn't give a shout out to the lovely ladies and gents of the Naughty Book Club on Facebook, who answer my queries about erotic romance in great and wonderful detail.)

  Thanks to Kimberly Guidroz and Pam Jamison for their fine editorial eyes.

  As always, I need to thank the people who make the day to day operations of my writing life possible. Everyone who works to make THE DINNER PARTY SHOW WITH CHRISTOPHER RICE & ERIC SHAW QUINN a reality each Sunday evening at 8 PM ET/ 5 PM PT at TheDinnerPartyShow.com, a list topped off by my best friend and co-host Eric Shaw Quinn.

  And last, but certainly not least, a big thank you to those bloggers and romance readers who responded to THE FLAME with great enthusiasm. Thank you for taking a chance on a new novella from an author with no previous track record in erotic romance and for sharing your lovely responses with me and others. I hope this novel continues the universe of The Desire Exchange in a way that satisfies your every craving.

  Sign up for the 1001 Dark Nights Newsletter

  and be entered to win a Tiffany Lock necklace.

  There's a contest every quarter!

  Click here to subscribe.

  As a bonus, all subscribers will receive a free

  1001 Dark Nights story

  The First Night

  by Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose

  Table of Contents

  Book Description

  Also From Christopher Rice

  Acknowledgments from the Author

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Also From 1001 Dark Nights

  About Christopher Rice

  Kiss The Flame: A Desire Exchange Novella by Christopher Rice, Coming Soon!

  Special Thanks

  1

  When the rain starts to fall, Emily Blaine is peering through one of the skylights in the pool house’s roof, watching her best friend undress in front of a man old enough to be his father. She could care less about the weather’s insensitive timing. She’s too grateful to have made it this far inside the grounds of this palatial mansion without being detected.

  Her journey here seems like a blur. First she hopped the wrought iron fence in front. Then she darted along corridors
of shadow, snaking through the forest of banana trees and elephant ear plants that fill the Greek revival mansion’s massive side yard. Then, after she watched Jonathan and his older companion disappear inside the pool house, she mounted the back staircase and hoisted herself onto the skylight-filled roof, all without setting off an alarm or finding herself in a security guard's furious embrace.

  She has already watched Jonathan and the man he’s come to visit share a half-hug, a brief peck on the cheek, and then a few minutes of conversation that appeared stilted, mindless. Perfunctory. If the older gentleman had focused his attention on anything other than Jonathan’s tall, muscular body, their exchange could have been mistaken for an informal business meeting. But he didn’t, not for a second. It was all just a prelude to this slow disrobing.

  Because it is the end of summer in New Orleans, the drops that make it through the thick canopy of oak branches overhead are warm against her back. For now her view is perfect, but soon the skylights will start to fog, she’s sure of it. Will the condensation be outside or inside? Or both? She has no idea. Either way, the drumbeat of raindrops on the sea of glass before her is loud enough that if she has to resort to wiping the panes with one bare hand, the patter will cover up any inadvertent squeak.

  The pool is the size of most people’s homes. In its soft, wavering light, Jonathan Claiborne’s sculpted, hairless torso appears in between the folds of the baby-blue dress shirt he is unbuttoning with slow, cloying precision, the same shirt he wore to dinner with her only hours before, a dinner defined mostly by empty chitchat.

  He’d spoke of the indecisive weather. She’d choked back suspicions he’d been working as a high-priced escort for months, while mentally listing the basic surveillance techniques she planned to use on him as soon as they’d paid the check and said their deceptively cheerful good-byes. She didn’t have to follow him very far; just a short hop down St. Charles Avenue past Audubon Park, then a left into the blocks of gorgeous mansions that fill the bend in the Mississippi River.

  Now, the smile Jonathan gives his older companion looks genuine. But smiles are Jonathan’s strong suit and he deploys them all the time to great effect, along with charming comebacks, tenderness, and gentle affection, sometimes even with strangers and passersby.

  At six-foot-three, he towers over most people, but he has the angelic facial features of a young boy. His Cuban mother gave him skin the color of sandalwood, but his Irish father studded it with sparkling blue eyes. Emily’s oldest and dearest friend, the man who made high school endurable and adulthood enjoyable, is a study in delicious, physical contrasts, and over the years, she has watched many men (and a few misguided women) fall under his spell. But she’s willing to bet this particular spell comes at a price and the man sitting in the cushioned, rattan chair has paid for it well.

  Jonathan unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them, one leg after the other, hairless quads flexing, rock-hard ass filling his white briefs. But he’s locked eyes with his companion, and he’s chewing gently on his lower lip, as if this were the first time he’s undressed himself in front of another man and it’s giving him a naughty thrill.

  You shouldn’t be doing this, she tells herself. This isn’t about Arthur Benoit or his dying wish. This is about you. Your ego. After all you’ve confided in him over the years, Jonathan kept this a secret from you, and you’re angry and you’re hurt and—

  The hinges of the skylight she’s resting both hands on let out a loud, brief squeak. For a second, she thinks it’s her skin dragging against the glass. Her dark thoughts must have distracted her, causing her to lose her balance. But then, in a single, terrifying instant, every skylight in the roofline tilts at a forty-five degree angle. Suddenly, Emily is hurtling face-first through open air, the glittering blue rectangle below rushing up toward her with terrifying speed. She contorts herself at the last possible second and hits the water legs first.

  When she surfaces, Jonathan gazes at her, gape-mouthed, wide-eyed. The expression makes him look both childish and foolish given that he’s only wearing underwear. But the man sitting a few feet away shakes with laughter. In his right hand, there’s a small remote that must have allowed him to open the skylights with the press of a button. He hits the button again and she hears the riot of squeaks as they rotate shut overhead.

  There are two entrances to the pool house. A security guard the size of a linebacker appears through each one, right hands at their belts, hovering between holstered handguns and Tasers.

  “Emily!” Jonathan hisses.

  “So you know this girl?” the man asks.

  Winded and treading water, Emily wonders what type of facial expression would make her look appropriately humble and self-effacing given that her lungs are on fire. Then she recognizes the man responsible for her fall.

  His mane of black hair is gone, replaced by a polished, blemish-free cue ball. George Dugas is his name, and he built most of the condo complexes in the Warehouse District. Back when Emily and Jonathan were kids, the man was some kind of politician, a state senator or a congressional representative, she can’t remember which. What she can remember are scores of articles detailing how he narrowly avoided a major corruption trial, and the rumors he’d done so by intimidating witnesses. Now her humiliation is edged with real fear.

  “Sir?” one of the guards asks. He’s a few inches from the edge of the pool, staring at Emily as if she were a trapped rat.

  “One moment, Frank,” Dugas says. “Girlfriend of yours, Michael?” In the shock of the moment, Jonathan seems to have forgotten what is apparently his alias. Further proof Dugas is a client, not just some secret lover. Not some random hookup.

  “Sister?” Dugas adds, when it’s clear no one’s going to answer him.

  “I should go,” Emily says, feeling as dumb as she sounds.

  “But you just landed,” Dugas says.

  One of the guards says, “Would you like us to question her, Mr. Dugas? We’d be happy to take her to the staff house so she’s…out of your way here.” So you two can get back to whatever it is you were doing, the guard wants to say.

  “No. Thank you, Claude. But stay right there until I find out what publication this young lady writes for.”

  “She’s not a reporter,” Jonathan says as if he’s been stung. His tone makes it clear a reporter is the worst possible thing Emily could be at this moment.

  “Then what is she? Your wife?”

  She’s never seen such pain in Jonathan’s eyes. Maybe once back in high school, after their friend Remy took his own life and they spent their nights drinking away grief with stolen bottles of Southern Comfort. But not since then. And she can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or frightened. One thing’s for sure; she can’t force him to lie for her, not after the way she’s handled this. Sneaking around, breaking and entering. Falling out of ceilings.

  “We discussed confidentiality, Michael,” Dugas says. “I thought I was clear.”

  She raises her hands, walks slowly toward the shallow end of the pool. The water is bathtub warm but she is shivering. “He didn’t tell me anything. I followed him here. I’m a friend of his. That’s all.”

  “Why follow him here, young lady?”

  “It wasn’t… It wasn’t personal. I just…I met him for dinner. I was going to follow him wherever he went.”

  “Because…?”

  Because of the gifts, and the new BMW he shouldn’t have been able to afford. Because he dropped back on his hours at the restaurant. And because of all those fancy health food supplements that started arriving in the mail, the ones that made his body even harder and more sculpted. But before Emily can wrap these facts in a polite lie, Jonathan breaks the silence.

  “She’s my friend, sir.”

  “This”—Dugas makes a vague gesture to indicate Emily’s plummet into the pool—“is not the behavior of a friend. This is the behavior of a girlfriend, a jealous wife.”

  “No, M—” Jonathan stops himself from mentioning the man’
s real name. “She thought I was in trouble, that’s all. It’s my fault for not giving her a better—”

  —idea that I was working as a prostitute. Escort. Companion. There might be real consequences for finishing this sentence in front of the guards, so Jonathan goes silent and Dugas laughs, a throaty, half-hearted sound that has more anger than amusement in it. “Trust me, darlin’. Michael can take very good care of himself. That’s for sure. Your little aerialist routine on the other hand? That could use some work.”

  “I’m sorry for all this trouble, sir. I really am,” Jonathan says. “Maybe if we could just reschedule then—”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Dugas says, looking from Emily to Jonathan and back again. “That wouldn’t be convenient for anyone now, would it? After all, this young woman…I’m sorry, what is your name, ma’am?”

  When Emily and Jonathan both answer at exactly the same time, their eyes meet and they almost break out laughing before the gravity of their current predicament silences them once again. But still, the flash of warmth in Jonathan’s sparkling eyes is a sudden comfort.

  “Adorable. Well, considering Emily has worked quite hard to be here tonight, it would be unbearably rude of me to just send her away now, wouldn’t it?”

  Dugas rises out of his chair. His V-neck T-shirt hugs a trim frame, revealing a light patch of chest hair. His linen pants are lose and baggy. She tries to focus on his manicured feet in dark leather sandals instead of the prominent evidence that he is a well-endowed man who isn’t wearing any underwear.

  “Do you recognize me, young lady?”

  Everything inside of her wants to say no. No, I don’t recognize you, Mr. Dugas, and I have absolutely no idea you’re high profile and well known and would make an awesome blackmail victim. But she’s confident lying to him will have a worse result, and so she looks into his piercing eyes and nods.