Bound to You

by Shawntelle Madison

  “Like what?” I tried to rise from his lap, but his arms locked around me.

  My protest waited on my lips, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. While the final act played, he couldn’t see a thing. His lips rested against my cheek. Long enough for me to memorize their shape. For the stubble along his chin to tickle me.

  Again and again I told myself to get up, that I was letting myself fall into a game that would leave me wounded. But Sato had never treated me like this. Not in public, anyway. Sato’s passions played out in private, away from the prying eyes of others.

  By the time the final fifth act ended, I resigned myself to getting up. As easy as that idea came, once the lights turned back on, the stark reality of what had happened made it hard for me to look at him. This was my employer and I was sitting in his lap. The assistant who let her boss kiss her hand like a lover.

  I tried to stand and he let me do so.

  “Did you enjoy the piece?” I held in a sigh. What else could I say? Let’s go out for drinks. Or even, What plans do you really have for me other than seduction? But I knew my place and after hearing him say he didn’t want a relationship, at the rate I was going I’d still end up in his bed. When it was time for him to leave, I’d be alone again.

  “The performers are very talented. Your company made the piece all the more pleasurable. Of course.”

  “Of course.” What else could I say? I clasped my hands together to keep myself in check. His darkened gaze never wavered.

  “We should join the others for refreshments.”

  He slowly stood and I couldn’t keep myself from taking in his long, lean legs. The need to look between his legs to see what had pressed against me flicked at my mind, but I kept my gaze where it needed to be.

  The loud crowd was welcome once we descended the stairs from the theater, but I couldn’t go far without following him. His scent was all over me and I couldn’t stop thinking about his lips. Every time he spoke to someone my gaze drifted to them. Every time he shook someone’s hand I imagined his hand touching me.

  By the time we reached the lobby, I had managed to bring Sophie back into play. This was where I thrived. Meeting new people and making new connections. I was talking with the vice president of a major bank in the northeast when Xavier leaned toward my ear.

  “I see an associate of mine. I’ll be back in a bit.” I quickly nodded, welcoming a bit of space between us. It would be far too easy for me to want to follow him, to continue to feel his hand on my back, but this was for the best.

  After chatting with the vice president about how I could help his wife plan a golfing trip for her and her friends, I continued to stroll around and introduce myself to new people.

  But then I stopped cold to see a familiar feminine back. She was short and shapely with the most beautiful black hair. I’d seen her a few times two years ago and she always wore the same designer perfume.

  My heart skittered.

  Don’t look, Sophie. Maybe if you don’t look, she won’t really be there.

  I prayed Komiko Haruto wouldn’t turn around.

  But it was too late. The two women accompanying her saw me and whispered in my direction.

  Komiko turned around and a kind smile touched her lips. For a woman who had to be no less than fifty, she had a girlish grace and a mischievous glint to her dark brown eyes that made her look no older than thirty-five.

  “Sophie-san, is that you, dear?” she called to me in Japanese.

  My insides turned to ice. What was she doing here? Was the rest of Sato’s immediate family in town? He couldn’t be here. In the two years since he’d left me behind, he had yet to set foot on American soil.

  Back when I dated Sato, I only met his relatives twice during family gatherings. The Harutos had lavish affairs, but I always felt like an outsider—which was one of the many reasons why I learned Japanese. It was all too often I felt there was a barrier between Sato and me. He spoke English fluently, but his family didn’t. Learning his mother tongue seemed like the best way to scale the divide between his world and mine.

  Oh, what a fool I was back then.

  Once I’d learned Japanese, I was invited to spend time with Komiko, and she took me under her wing, so to speak. I had appreciated having someone to practice with, but once Sato left me, my association with Komiko vanished, too.

  Resolve left me and circled the room before I moved. With a curt bow, I greeted her and the other ladies. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Komiko-san,” I began. If there was hesitation in my voice, she didn’t react.

  Komiko introduced me to her friends and immediately went into small talk. “One of my nieces—I’m sure you remember Aoki—is getting married this week.” She was all smiles. “The lucky couple wanted to celebrate with their fellow classmates at Harvard.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Sounds wonderful. You’ll have to send me her contact information so I may congratulate her properly.”

  One of Komiko’s friends chuckled. “Why would you send a gift?”

  Somehow I kept my hands from forming fists. There wasn’t a reason other than being nice to a former acquaintance. I had no ties to the Haruto family any longer.

  “Of course she’d send a gift,” Komiko said. “Sophie-san is a friend of the family.” The others nodded as if Sato’s aunt had given her final word and discussion wasn’t necessary.

  Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Based on past experiences, I surmised that Komiko meant no ill will. She stated the facts and that made the ache I’d suppressed for so long flare like an unhealed wound.

  I glanced up to see Xavier had joined us. Out of all the times for him to return, why did it have to be now?

  “Is this your date?” Komiko asked. The two other women eyed him with appreciation.

  “This is a business associate of mine.” I made formal introductions of everyone. Xavier bowed properly, mimicking my movements from earlier. He even tried to return the greeting in Japanese. He stumbled a bit, but he wasn’t short on confidence.

  Now that everyone knew one another, Komiko’s friends said their goodbyes and drifted away, engrossed in their own conversation about what they planned to do once they returned to Japan. Komiko turned to face me. A flicker of pity crossed her face. “I won’t be in town long, but we should have tea if our paths should cross again.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, knowing very well the tea would never happen.

  We parted ways and I was alone with Xavier. Silence lingered between us, but willing my mouth to move was impossible. Shame pressed me to the floor.

  “Are you ready to leave?” he finally asked me.

  Could he read the tension in my shoulders? The doubt circling in my stomach?

  “For drinks, perhaps?” he added.

  I nodded. “Yes, to leave, but I’d like a rain check on those drinks.”

  “Another time then.”

  When he pressed his hand against my back I flinched, so he withdrew. My mood had soured considerably, and meeting Komiko was a sound reminder I shouldn’t again place myself in a position to fall for a man who didn’t truly want me.

  Chapter 10

  Xavier

  The gym equipment beckoned me in the morning. No matter how sore I was from the day before, or maybe how much I hadn’t slept from coding all night, I still got up like clockwork at 5:30 A.M. to work out. Old habits from high school and college died hard.

  I found fresh water bottles and organic green tea in the fridge and chuckled. Miss Ashton had said she’d take care of me. For the past two days I couldn’t stop thinking about our evening at the opera. I’d even tried to call her last night…That night at the theater, my steadfast resolve had crumbled away. Every nerve ending in my body was sparking like crazy until I couldn’t suppress the need to possess her. I’d only meant to reach for her once. A brief brush against her leg. But every time she looked at me, I fell into the depths of those pretty hazel eyes. That night I wanted to give in to temptation.

 
I made my way from my studio to the gym, a bit concerned at my lack of self-control. At least I could work my frustrations out on the equipment for an hour or two—even if I did feel a bit stiff today. My back was good, but my right leg protested on the way. No matter the pain, routine was routine.

  Out of nowhere, I thought of Rosalie’s laugh when I got out of bed early.

  “I think you might love your gym more than me,” she used to say. She always said that before she left for work. Her job was her first love, while I happened to be the man who satisfied her desire to submit on the weekends. I was a fool even back then, giving in to her every wish. In return, I assumed she’d fall in love with me if we spent more time together. A painful lurch in my chest I hadn’t felt in a long time twitched. Little did I know time was something we didn’t have. Memories flashed through my mind of hospitals and specialists and I pushed them back where they belonged—in the past. After Rosalie’s giant cell myocarditis diagnosis, everything changed in a way I never saw coming. I went from a casual sexual relationship in which I thought I was falling in love to being a support system for a woman with a fatal autoimmune disorder. After being with Rosalie, maybe I hadn’t learned my lesson.

  Once inside the gym, I nodded to the other few guys who came in early. Fellow fitness enthusiasts.

  “Morning, Xavier.” The sole guy at the treadmill threw a nod my way. Every time I came, Bob the Headhunter, as I called him, worked out on the treadmill next to mine when I did my run.

  He didn’t break a beat in his stride, casually sprinting for about an hour before he got off to get ready and head to work.

  “Looking good, man.” He always said that first. “How’s the hunt going?”

  “So far so good.”

  “Like I told you, if you need an executive-level job, I’m your man. Been finding gigs for folks like yourself for years now.” He looked me over as if he could see every secret or flaw I had. When I first got here I’d thought he recognized me. “I bet I could get you a job with a firm in Philly in a day or two. You like insurance?”

  Apparently, he didn’t know the face of the guy who constructed the electronics on his phone.

  “I’m good, thanks.” I smiled as I always did and refused any offers. After I finished running, I went through my workout routine.

  Once I got in the zone, it was easy to forget about my troubles. Every time I completed a set of weights, I tried to focus on the present, but the past seemed to creep back in. I began a set of pulls, then muscle memory kicked in and I fell into an old habit of seeing myself and filling my thoughts with an unyielding drive. During each pull, I saw myself growing stronger as the exercise tore apart muscles that would then be built back up.

  In high school and college, every workout was an endeavor toward a greater goal of becoming a better athlete. That meant no sleeping in as I left my house while my parents slumbered. Most of the time, the only other person who was awake at the same time was Marcus.

  When I exercised, he went to the part-time job at one of our family resorts he’d had since he was old enough to drive. At an early age, Marcus put as much effort into his work ethic as I did to sports. Time and time again, I heard Dad talk—when he thought we weren’t listening—about how Marcus didn’t have a lick of talent.

  “The boy can’t figure his way out of a paper bag, but at least he knows a hard day’s labor,” Dad used to say when we were in high school.

  Shit like that always bothered me because I looked up to Marcus. As my older brother, he was the one who kicked my ass when shit went down and I didn’t give a damn.

  To this day, I wonder if Marcus was happy being the family savior after I fell from grace.

  In the middle of the set, a loud noise jarred my attention and I paused. The burn in my arms felt good and memories of long sessions came to mind, but that wasn’t me anymore.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I’d been at it for longer than usual. It was practically seven and any overseas VPs for Silver Sparrow Systems hadn’t poked me yet.

  The message was from Sophie:

  Great news. Be ready this morning for a golf outing. Got an invite from Watanabe.

  So golf today, eh? I typed in reply:

  do you know how to play?

  Kind of…

  Now that made me chuckle. I rested my sweaty forehead on the wall below the bar and found it hard not to imagine her lying in bed at such an early time in the morning. The delicious thought made my cock jerk with approval, but I squashed the idea. That wasn’t the Sophie I’d come to know. She’d most likely be dressed in a suit, her hair already in place.

  At least she wasn’t mad at me or anything. We’d parted poorly. After she spoke to those three Japanese women, the spark in her seemed to fade. Her bright smile faltered and she clasped her hands as if intimidated. I’d wanted to spend more time with her afterward, but it didn’t seem appropriate at the time.

  So I waited patiently and now Sophie had thrown another opportunity to meet Nakamura my way.

  Another message:

  We’ll meet at the Country Club at 9:30 A.M. sharp.

  Nine thirty seemed rather early. Perhaps I was supposed to meet them at ten and she didn’t want me to be late. Very clever, Miss Ashton, I thought.

  Another text message came in:

  I’ve already made arrangements to have a set of your preferred clubs available and a caddy.

  She made no mention of her participation, but there was one thing I was certain of: soon enough I’d be able to see her again, and I had a question about a little message I left on her phone last night.

  Sophie

  The clouds appeared to threaten our plans with rain, but once I met Xavier in front of the main building on the golf course, the skies cleared. An opportunity like this was perfect. Nakamura would be golfing with us.

  I arrived early with a game plan and waited for Xavier in front of the vast, three-story clubhouse painted in bright yellow. History emanated from everything and I could almost imagine gentlemen and ladies from the 1800s sitting outside in the sunshine, sipping lemonade before the men did a round on the course.

  This was my second time visiting the old golf course and I looked forward to getting out of the house. Jesse had done well with the client load I had left him, but sitting around the apartment watching Lana study or go to class wasn’t my style. I liked to keep busy and meeting people meant finding future clients.

  Two days away from Xavier had been good for me—until he’d called me last night and left a message.

  “Any valuable intel before we reach the course?” he asked me. Just hearing his smooth voice did things to my insides in a way I didn’t like.

  Avoiding him or looking toward the crowd did no good. He was far taller than most of the people around us. He didn’t have to work hard to look good, either. He made a dark blue polo shirt and brown slacks look so stylish.

  Compared to the opera, this time I was fully prepared. No emergency shopping necessary. My golfing clothes were professional and fit in with what everyone else wore, even if they were my only set.

  What I did wish was that what I had were shorts or slacks. My skirt revealed far too much of my legs. Xavier seemed to be looking at me every time I stole a glance his way.

  “Intel, Miss Ashton?” he asked.

  I’d spaced out again. “Our caddy, Luke, is already waiting for us over there. Your requested clubs are in place—”

  “That I already know. What about Nakamura?”

  Eager as always for the prize. “A few of Watanabe’s associates will be here, but, like before, you’re not here to engage Nakamura.”

  He slowed down a bit and I enjoyed walking side by side with him. A gentle breeze brought the scent of his cologne and I practically wanted to bathe in it. Every time I smelled him, my mind drifted back to when I’d sat on his lap at the opera house.

  “Your job today is to lose,” I added.

  “Excuse me?” Amusement shined in his eyes. “Now this
should be good.”

  “Don’t get me wrong! I don’t want you earning the worst stroke record for the course, but I don’t want you to repeat what you did a few weeks ago.” Yep, I had done my research with his assistant Ian and learned he was just as competitive with sports as he was with his businesses.

  A tall, lanky man I recognized as Luke greeted us at the entrance to the course. Watanabe’s party met us there, too. Five men, three Japanese and two Americans, stood outside the door.

  Everyone mingled, exchanging bows and handshakes. This time Xavier bowed and shook hands properly with everyone. This was the real test. So far, so good, once our parade of carts reached the first hole. Nakamura was a bit stiff, keeping to himself, but he had greeted everyone. Most of the time he spoke Japanese with Watanabe and the two other Japanese men.

  At the first hole, Xavier was to go last.

  Before he played, he leaned toward my ear. My first instinct was to shift away, but I held myself in check.

  “So this is where I miss a few times?” He cocked a wicked grin.

  “No.”

  “Wild swing into the trees?”

  “Don’t do it.”

  “The water then?”

  “Mr. Quinn.”

  “I rather like seeing you flustered. I’m going to have to do it more often.”

  My cheeks warmed as I watched him move to the hole. He prepared his stance and practiced his swing.

  I watched the muscles in his back flex as he swung. He was powerful, practically beautiful with his technique. His first stroke went pretty far. The others murmured encouragement and remarked on his touch with the green.

  As we returned to our cart, I asked, “Whatever happened to starting slow and building up?”

  The look he gave me made my heart stutter. “When there’s something I want, I’m relentless from start to finish.”

  Xavier

  As much as I was trying to impress Nakamura with my skills, or lack thereof, spending time with Sophie was pleasurable. The morning went by quickly. Our conversation was casual and easy on the way to the eighth hole.