Free and Bound (A Club Volare New Orleans Novel)

by Chloe Cox

  Cate waited for the panic. When it didn’t come, she felt her heart speed up. She was feeling…

  “Answer the question,” the man said. “Why is it your first time in a place like this?”

  “There was nobody for me to go with,” she heard herself say.

  He looked at her, letting his eyes roam. He grinned, showing off one dimple, and leaned closer.

  “That’s not the only reason.”

  “You know this could be creepy, right? It should be creepy. You asking me these personal questions? We don’t even know each other.”

  “And yet you’re still talking to me.”

  “I’m having a weird day.”

  He smiled, and Cate found herself smiling with him. So far nothing about today had seemed normal, like the day itself existed outside of the usual rules. Maybe it was just Volare itself that existed outside of the usual rules. Definitely nothing about this conversation was normal. Nothing about how it made her feel, how she felt weirdly…not uninhibited, but somehow understood, maybe? Safe. Which was insane. It made no sense. Unless this was just the effect of Volare, of being around people—a person—who she knew understood this one particular thing. Still, she should be on high alert.

  And yet…

  “Fine,” she said, twisting the empty water glass on the shiny black bar. “I just…I suppose I’ve been afraid.”

  Jesus H. Skinny-Dipping Christ. She’d actually admitted that she was interested in this place, albeit implicitly, to another living, breathing human being, one who wasn’t Jason bullying it out of her. Cate stared at the man across from her, her shoulders tense, her breathing getting shallow, weak. She’d just exposed herself to this person, made herself vulnerable. She’d just given him a weapon to use against her.

  In Cate’s experience, that was always, always a mistake.

  He watched her. Like he had outside, when she literally trembled against him in fear, he studied her. Cate could feel his eyes on her, could feel the intensity of that gaze, and wondered where it came from—this stranger, what did he see? And why did he care?

  “That’s not right,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t have to be afraid.”

  She scoffed. “There are lots of things that shouldn’t be true that get priority over my issues with…that,” she said, looking at the ring again. “Child poverty, homelessness, war crimes—”

  “Stop that.”

  She was startled. “Excuse me?”

  “Stop deflecting.”

  “Stop telling me what to do.”

  He inhaled deeply, his hands arching against the surface of the bar as though he were trying to dig his fingers into it. Jesus. What those hands could do…

  “If I told you what to do,” he said, “you’d like it.”

  Cate’s breath hitched. Her hands stopped toying with the glass. Her whole body focused on what he’d just said, and the way he’d looked at her as he said it.

  Was there even a point in denying the truth?

  How crazy was she right now, this far outside of her comfort zone?

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” she said.

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  Cate laughed, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bar, where she saw herself looking all glowing and bright eyed. She’d never been flirted with so brazenly. So effectively. They taught some good tricks in Asgard.

  The Norse god gave her a playful frown and leaned back so his shirt rode up above the waist of his jeans. Cate caught a glimpse of darker blond hair, just trailing down…

  “So what’s the problem, Cate?” he asked.

  Yup. He’d seen her looking. Totally.

  “Nothing, not inherently, it’s just…” She swallowed. “For some people, not for everyone, but for some people, it could be… For people who have problems, I mean, who have…maybe for them it’s not a good idea.”

  Cate listened to the sound of her voice and was a little bit horrified.

  There was a pause.

  “Jesus, I can’t believe I just said that,” Cate said.

  The man cracked a golden smile and laughed, a deep, warm sound that made Cate feel wrapped up in…something. She didn’t know what. She didn’t know how he seemed so totally self-assured.

  “Of course you said it,” he said. “Because it was the truth and I asked you a question.”

  “Do you have super bartending powers of perception? Do you do this with everyone?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Not with anyone. Just you.”

  Cate laughed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  He smiled again. “Just you.”

  “Well, I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

  “You didn’t even say it.”

  Cate tensed. The man was on the other side of the bar, but somehow he felt close, very close, like he had at the window. She felt penned in, overwhelmed. Maybe it was the way those blue eyes didn’t seem to look at anything else. She watched him lean in further, so he was almost on top of her.

  “You’re afraid it’s abusive,” he said.

  Her head shot up, her eyes opened as wide as they’d ever been.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  He ignored her.

  “Abuse,” he said, his ice blue eyes boring holes in her, “is about taking something from someone that they don’t want to give. This is giving something back. Abuse is the misuse of power. This is the perfect use of power. Abuse would be about making you feel small so that I feel big.”

  He put one large finger through the ring embedded in the bar, and leaned forward.

  “If I tied you to this bar, stripped you, spread you, and fucked you, it would be about making you feel incredible.”

  Cate felt her mouth fall open.

  She couldn’t speak.

  Possibly she would never speak again.

  “With your consent, of course,” the man said, grinning. “Very particular about that.”

  “Of course,” Cate whispered.

  There was a silence. His eyes never left hers, not in the entire geological era that it took for her ability to form coherent thoughts to return.

  “That was…very descriptive,” she finally said. “But it missed my point.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  She shivered.

  “I don’t think it’s abuse, what anyone else wants, or what they do,” she said. “Just…I’m afraid that for me, the reasons why I might want…certain things…”

  She couldn’t finish, which annoyed the crap out of her. She had never said that aloud, not even to herself. And now she’d sort of almost told this complete stranger, this man whom now she was doubly sure she could never, ever see again. Why had she told him? Because he’d protected her when she was afraid? Because he looked like he already knew?

  Because somehow those pale eyes looked like they understood.

  Oh God, those were the dumbest reasons for trusting some stranger, especially for trusting him more than she’d ever trusted another human being. Just so, so dumb.

  “You’re afraid of your reasons,” he said.

  “Hypothetically, yes,” she said.

  “That’s a dumbass excuse.” He flashed a wicked smile at her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Some things don’t have reasons,” he said, his hand moving across the bar to take the glass from her hand. “They just are. Even if they did, does it matter? You are what you are. And you don’t seem like the kind of woman to let something that scares you get in the way of what you want.”

  “I’m not,” she said sharply.

  He touched her.

  Just his hand briefly over hers, the pads of his fingers grazing her skin before he took the glass. The slightest touch, but it arced through her, the charge between them briefly paralyzing her, before setting something in her core alight.

  She jerked her hand back and stared at him.

  Cate knew she should be freaked out in this moment. She’d
just revealed more about herself to this sexy bartender than she’d ever revealed to anyone, really. She should be running for the goddamn hills. But all she could actually do was marvel at what it felt like to finally tell someone and be understood. She felt…elated. She’d told him, more or less, about a secret part of who she really was, and it hadn’t ended in disaster. Inner Cate had been let out for a spin, and it hadn’t destroyed her.

  Well, how about that.

  It was more than that, though. Just the feeling of his eyes on her skin, the way he looked at her—she’d never been so aware of her own body before, of every inch of exposed flesh, every movement, every dull breeze in the otherwise still room.

  Whatever this moment was, Cate would savor it. She’d be grateful. Because she’d never have been able to do it if she’d thought she’d ever have to see this man again.

  “I still can’t believe I just told you all of that,” she said.

  “I can keep a secret.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m glad I never have to see you again,” she said. Then she let her eyes linger on his chest, broad and defined even under a t-shirt. “Mostly glad.”

  The Norse god stopped and frowned. He looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes flickered over her shoulder, then came back to settle on her own.

  “Your meeting is here,” he said.

  Cate blinked.

  She turned.

  There was Ford Colson, smiling, his hand outstretched.

  “Cate, thank you so much for coming,” Ford said. Then he looked at the Norse god behind her. “I see you’ve already met Soren.”

  Two

  He’d known her for all of five minutes, and Soren was already in trouble. He suppressed a grin—that sounded about right for him.

  But then he watched Cate’s expression go from confused to comprehending to pissed off in just a few seconds. And something more than that, too. He saw fear spread across her face.

  It echoed what he’d seen outside, which was interesting. The idea that someone she might have to see again, someone who she couldn’t just dismiss and forget about, knew that she was into BDSM—in theory—scared the crap out of her. He could see it was a visceral reaction, like she was braced to protect herself from attack. Weirdly, it reminded him of his dog Desi, who was a rescue. You’d come at Desi from the wrong side, his blind spot, where some piece of crap had beaten him until he lost part of his sight and hearing, and the poor little guy would lose it. Soren knew what that looked like, and Cate was wired the same way. Except that Cate was harnessing that hardwired fear, turning it into a formidable weapon for an angry redheaded lawyer who was five and a half feet of kickass.

  She was beautiful when angry, in fact, which was actually kind of amazing to watch. He felt bad for her, though he’d soon make sure she knew there was nothing to be worried about. What dumb frigging luck.

  “You really didn’t know?” he said, just to make sure.

  He’d assumed she’d recognized him. To be fair, he was world famous. And she was supposed to be his lawyer, so he figured she’d at least googled him.

  The red flush creeping up her beautiful skin said otherwise.

  “No,” she said through clenched teeth. “I really didn’t know who you were. I have been pressed for time this week, and this was a favor to Ford.”

  Soren didn’t even bother to look at Ford, who knew enough to take a step or two back. Favor to Ford, huh? Bullshit. She’d been drawn in by Volare, and the promise of living out all those fantasies she pretended not to have. And she’d done it even though she’d been afraid, no matter what she said.

  Soren thought about how she’d gathered herself up and walked back out where Patrick Cross could see her, even though she’d been truly afraid to do so. Maybe that’s when she’d gotten to him.

  Or maybe it was when he’d caught her staring at those iron rings. Maybe it was the way she’d talked so nakedly about things that terrified her, things that made him think he already knew her. Things that made him think she already knew him, whether she was aware of it or not, which was hands down the strangest experience of his adult life.

  Hell, maybe it was just when he first laid eyes on her. He sure as hell hadn’t been able to look at anything else since. Hazel eyes, that dark, reddish hair, soft skin dusted with the lightest freckles you could only see if you were staring at her at a little too closely. Not his usual type at all, but damn beautiful. And the only woman who’d turned his head after all this time.

  And she was a closet sub. A closet sub with some issues, but the kind of issues he might know something about.

  He shifted his weight again, opened and closed his hands, rolled his neck. He kept having to do that around her just to keep from touching her.

  Focus.

  “Ford, give us a minute,” he said without looking up.

  “I’ll be in the lounge,” Ford said, nodding. “Cate, that’s just up those stairs behind the bar.”

  She nodded curtly, her beautiful lips pulled tight in an angry line. Soren thought about all the things he’d rather do with those lips and reined himself in. She had a reason to be pissed.

  And he had reasons—many of them—to keep his hands off of her, first and foremost being that he couldn’t afford to let a virgin sub get attached to him, even if they did seem perfectly matched. There weren’t many women who really wanted a no-strings D/s experience. There was absolutely no reason to think she was one of them.

  Especially given the intensity of her reactions.

  “So is this going to be a problem?” he said.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Cate,” he said sharply.

  She snapped her head around. He’d known she’d respond to that voice, but it had been a mistake to use it. It gave him a taste.

  “I’m trying to decide if you intentionally deceived me,” she said.

  “I would never do that.”

  “I have no way of knowing that to be true.”

  Soren frowned, not liking the distance between them. Not two minutes ago, because of circumstance and fate and whatever else, this woman had let him into a place he was pretty sure no one else had been. Now she felt miles away. Soren walked slowly out from behind the bar, keeping his eyes on hers, liking how she was determined not to look away. He walked up to her bar stool and watched her spin to keep pace with him, her eyes getting wider, her shoulders tense.

  He stopped just inches away.

  “Look at me. I didn’t think you were really in the dark until just before Ford showed up, when you said you’d never have to see me again,” Soren said. “Look at me so you know I’m telling the truth. I would never do that to anyone.”

  Cate licked her lips and swallowed.

  “Unfortunately, I’m historically terrible at identifying liars,” she said. “Looking at you isn’t going to help much.”

  Much. He thought he caught a little bit of emphasis on that last word, and she smiled briefly. Soren paused, momentarily blindsided by the fact that he was being sexually objectified. Figuring that out did not help.

  Control yourself, dude.

  “What can I do to fix it?” he asked.

  And he meant it. He’d do whatever it took. Including giving her his best puppy-dog eyes, because he really was kind of a bastard.

  Cate wasn’t falling for it, at least not willingly. She looked like she wanted to stay mad, but was quickly losing that battle, and then she grinned. And bit her lip.

  Goddammit.

  “I assume I can count on your discretion?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Soren said, forcing himself to look at something besides her lips. Her eyes weren’t much better. What would they look like when she came? “But your interest in this place isn’t as secret as you think. You’re at a meeting at a BDSM club. People make assumptions.”

  He felt her intake of breath more than heard it. He still couldn’t take his eyes off her face.

  “Be that as it may,” she said. “I need to
know you won’t discuss the details of our conversation with anyone.”

  “Cate.” He put his hands on either side of her bar stool, his thumbs millimeters away from the outside of her thighs, wishing to God he could touch her. “I would never do that to you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  He wanted to say: bullshit. Which was crazy. She was right. He didn’t really know her.

  It just felt like he did.

  “I know enough to know you shared something private with me. I’m not the kind of guy who takes that lightly. I may be an asshole,” he said, “but I’m not that kind of asshole.”

  “What kind are you?”

  Soren paused. She was for real? Yeah, that raised eyebrow, that smile peeking out at the corner of her mouth—she was for real. She really didn’t know a damn thing about him.

  “Baby, there are whole books about it,” he said, grinning. “Literally, there’s a book. It’s called Savage Hearts.”

  He liked to see her laugh. She seemed surprised by it, surprised to feel less afraid. He’d take it.

  “Guess I have some reading to do,” she said.

  “You’ll learn things that will make this seem like…” Soren paused, mildly amused that it took him this long to think of anything truly innocent. “Like that time the teacher read your note in front of the whole class.”

  Cate scoffed. “Never happened.”

  “You never passed notes?”

  “I never got caught.”

  “Too smart for that, huh?”

  “By far,” she said, eying him. “But you got caught all the time anyway, didn’t you?”

  “How’d you know?” he said, smiling. She was right. He’d gotten in trouble every day.

  “Because,” she said, tilting her head, letting her voice drop. “You’d be proud of it.”

  Holy shit, maybe she did know him.

  Soren watched her in quiet amazement. He was used to controlling the pace, the intensity, even the content of pretty much every conversation he had in his life. The only people who could ever match him and call him out were family: Declan, the lead singer of Savage Heart, Declan’s uncle Jim, who practically raised both of them, and now Molly, the woman Dec was marrying. Dec and Jim just had too much dirt on him, and Molly only pulled it off because she worked at it like it was a part time job.