Jose's Surrender by Remmy Duchene (ebook and pdf reader txt) 📕

Published by Silver Publishing

Publisher of Erotic Romance

A Silver Publishing Book

José's Surrender

Copyright © 2012 by Remmy Duchene

E-book ISBN: 9781614955948

First E-book Publication: August 2012

Cover design by Reese Dante

Editor: Liz Bichmann

All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S.

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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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This book is written in US English.

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Dedication

To everyone who requested this story.

Thank you for loving my boys almost as much as I do. 

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Mustang: Ford Motor Company

Punk'd: Viacom International Inc.

Chapter One

The night before had not been what Ronin McCall had planned.

He'd wanted to drive to Eros just so he could sleep in his own bed. Then he found out his favorite team was playing and he decided to watch the hockey game at a pub in the lobby of a hotel along the road. During the game, he had a couple of beers and though he didn't feel drunk, he refused to drive afterward. He simply got a room and crashed for the night. The moment his head hit the pillows, Ronin was out like a light. He'd fallen into a heavy, dreamless sleep after the long day. The disgust he felt from his team's horrid loss had not impeded his ability to sleep.

For a brief moment he understood hockey rioters.

When morning came, he was rested. Still, he remained in bed just because he could. The Navy hadn't afforded him days to lounge about and sleep in late. He used his shore leave to travel the country they were in or to visit with his brother. Long after he'd woken up, Ronin took a shower. Partially dressed, he walked by the foot of the bed and eased the curtains aside to look outside. It was raining—misting—again. Even with the water, the sun rose over Century like a breath of fresh air. A squad car, siren blaring, shot by the hotel followed closely by another car

and a large black truck. He didn't have to be a genius to know the truck contained SWAT agents—he'd seen way too many cop shows. He listened to the siren and watched the vehicles make their way through the rain-soaked streets until they disappeared from view. Still he stared at the spot they'd passed even longer before blinking to refocus.

Taking a breath, he grabbed his dress shirt from the back of the hotel's chair and walked over to the window while pushing his arms into it. He didn't get how people could live in Century since the weather went from one extreme to another. Below him, the trees looked as though they were tangled with each other. Mist lifted skyward from the forest, leaving him marveling at the majesty of nature. He wondered what would happen if his father were alive and heard him using words like majesty of things.

Laughing softly, he buttoned his shirt and walked back to the desk. He picked up his keys and dumped them into his back pocket, then reached for his Stetson and slipped it on his head before grabbing his bag. With one final look around to ensure he wasn't forgetting anything, Ronin let himself out the door.

The ride down to the lobby was slow. It seemed everyone wanted to check out at that moment and the elevator stopped on almost every floor down from the fifteenth. The music in the elevator made prying the doors

open between floors look good. Why did they put classical music—bad classical music probably from some starving artist—in such a slow-moving piece of transportation? He stifled a groan and waited his turn to get out.

By the time he arrived downstairs the rain had stopped. He made his way to the front and pulled his wallet out. The lobby looked just like every other hotel lobby. It had large potted plants, luxurious leather seats, complimentary phones, and the rush of guests. Men in business suits with briefcases and cell phones stuck to their ears walked by him as though he didn't exist. Women in power suits strutted by, stilettos clicking on the polished floor. He often wondered how they could stay cooped up in offices, dealing with people