Bind

by Sierra Cartwright

  “Looks yummy,” she said, flipping open the lid of the pizza box. “You were in charge of the plates,” she reminded him.

  “Plates,” he repeated, and she laughed.

  He shook his head to clear his brain circuits and took down plates from a cabinet. Then he pulled a shaker of Parmesan cheese from the refrigerator and put it on the counter.

  She scooped out a slice of the pizza for him then selected one for herself.

  “Cheese?” he offered.

  “No, thanks.” The box had several packets of crushed red pepper tucked inside. She picked up one, ripped it open, then she covered her entire slice with the spicy stuff.

  “I wouldn’t be able to eat for a week if I did that.”

  “They’re delicious. Lots of nutrients.”

  “Sure.”

  “No. Really. They have vitamin A”—she tipped her head to the side—“and anti-inflammatory properties.” Not waiting until they moved from the kitchen counter, she took a big bite, and her eyes instantly watered. “That one was hot.” She started to cough.

  “CPR is not on the menu,” he cautioned.

  “How about mouth-to-mouth?”

  “That could be.”

  She looked at the pizza then back at him. That made her laugh, and the combination of that with her coughing made him hurry to fetch her a small glass of milk.

  “Drink.”

  She downed it in two gulps, and the coughing stopped.

  “Your milk mustache is attractive.”

  She ripped off a square from the paper towel roll and immediately pressed it to her lips. After she pulled it back, she looked at it then glared at him. “There was no milk mustache.”

  “No. There wasn’t. But that look on your face was priceless.”

  She wadded the paper towel and threw it at him.

  He caught it and tossed it in the trash can.

  “Peppers?” she offered, holding up her half-empty packet.

  “I think I’ll skip them.” He added a couple of liberal shakes of cheese to his slice, then closed up the box. “Let’s eat in the living room.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That seems like it should be off limits for you.”

  “Pizza is the exception to almost every rule.”

  “What other rules?”

  He pretended not to notice the way she shook some of the peppers from her slice. “The ones about healthy eating and watching television.”

  “Television?”

  “And I’ll let you pick the movie.”

  “I like chick flicks,” she warned. Then she floored him by adding, “Like Indiana Jones.”

  “I object. Indiana Jones is action-adventure, not a chick flick,” he protested. “That franchise is the coolest thing on the planet for men.”

  “So why is Indy so appealing to women?” she demanded. “Besides the whip?”

  “You tell me.”

  “He’s gorgeous, for one. And the hat. Did I mention the whip?”

  “I have a great whip.”

  “And you’re pretty good with it, too. Well, as far as I can tell, that is. Maybe if I had a little more experience, I’d be a better judge.” She ripped a couple of more pieces of paper towel to use as napkins then followed him into the living room.

  He sat. In invitation, he patted the couch cushion next to him. Her hesitation was slight, but discernible.

  With a small shrug that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching, she joined him. “What else?” he asked.

  “He’s a pretty good dresser. Well, for an archeologist. You’ve got better taste. But you don’t have a hat. A hat would complete your whip outfit.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” He picked up the remote and scrolled through the available movie titles, though he had to admit, the earlier music had been an excellent idea.

  “Stop,” she ordered when she saw her choice of movie.

  He pushed the button to make the selection, and the familiar theme began to play. “You haven’t convinced me it’s a chick flick.”

  “Chick flicks make women all melty,” she said. “And thinking about your single tail and a hat makes me all melty. I win.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe I should take a whip to the office.”

  “Only if you want me visiting you at work every day.”

  “You know…” He studied her.

  She was ripping a piece off her pizza crust, and she paused.

  “You, over my desk, begging for my lash? Show up anytime.”

  Something heated throbbed between them. Not that it surprised him. It was always there, just waiting. “Let me get your wine,” he said to divert both of them.

  “Thanks.”

  He retrieved her glass from the far side of the room then set it down in front of them. “I’ll never look at the coffee table the same way again,” he said.

  She snuggled into him, but pulled away and sat up to cheer when she saw Indy and his whip for the first time. “Can you really do things like him? Like wrap it around people’s wrists and yank swords out of their hands?”

  “I imagine you can with a bullwhip.”

  She shivered then settled back against his body.

  For the next couple of hours, while they kept reality at bay—the upcoming board meeting, Lara going behind her father’s back and working out the final details of their agreement—he had a glimpse of what the future might look like.

  As the credits eventually scrolled, reality encroached.

  She moved out of his arms, and he reached for the remote to kill the television.

  Lara picked up the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

  “It’s late,” she told him.

  “You could stay.”

  “We’d have to get up ridiculously early so that you could get me home in time for me to get ready and pick up my car.”

  He nodded. The drive time would allow them to talk, as well. “You’re welcome to leave anything you want here.”

  Explaining that she needed everything at home, she repacked her bag. More than anything, it was a reminder that she still hadn’t agreed to move in.

  Once they were on the road, he brought that up. “Have you given any further thought to our living arrangements?”

  She tightened her grip on her purse.

  Since the evening was breezy, she was using his shirt as a jacket over her dress. He liked the combination.

  “I see your point about living downtown,” she said hesitatingly. “But I already come in every day. We could commute together.”

  “Or walk in ten minutes.”

  “Honestly, it’s more than that. I’d have a difficult time giving up my place. Even if it was only for a couple of years.”

  “Three years,” he corrected.

  She turned toward him. In the shadows of the setting sun, she added, “And the whole thing about being a submissive…”

  “You hated this weekend?”

  “That’s not it. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “And something that will evolve as we work on it.”

  “I left your necklace on the dresser.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s a beautiful piece,” she hastened to say. “But a hell of a representation about our relationship that I’m not ready to make.”

  “Understood.” That didn’t mean he liked the sting of her rejection, especially after what they’d shared. “You know, Lara, I’m not going to force any of this. You came to me with a proposal. If you’ve changed your mind, I understand. I can drop you off and we can part friends. Think about it. If you still want to pursue it, I want this agreement signed before Tuesday’s board meeting.”

  Chapter Ten

  An hour before the alarm clock rang, Lara gave up the battle and climbed out of bed. As she moved, her abdominal muscles protested the quick movement. In fact, her entire body carried reminders of the weekend. Her buttocks hurt, from his spankings as well as his single tail. Her pussy was tender. Even her ass felt a
little sensitive from being reamed by his finger.

  She paused for a moment, unable to decide whether a shower or a cup of coffee was the first order of business.

  Shower, she eventually decided, since it would help with the soreness in her shoulder muscles. It seemed no part of her body had escaped his particular brand of torment.

  And damn it, she’d enjoyed it all.

  She turned the shower spray on full blast and set the heat to as high as she could tolerate.

  Last night, she’d hardly slept, and she’d awakened a dozen times. She’d tossed, turned, punched the pillow, tried to shove away thoughts of Connor. Even when she’d drifted off, thoughts of him had haunted her. She’d recalled his touch, the feel of his hand blazing across her bare buttocks, the bite from the alligator clamps, the salty taste of his pre-cum spilling into her mouth, the constriction of her vaginal muscles as she’d sat in his lap and ridden him.

  In the middle of the night, his words about their potential marriage had returned to haunt her.

  And now, she had to face them.

  Like Connor had said, if she were serious about moving BHI forward, she needed to commit to a plan of action with him.

  She’d recognized that he was right. Once a course of action was set, it made sense not to deviate unless a compelling reason presented itself.

  That meant signing their agreement.

  So what was she willing to concede?

  The whole submission thing? Living arrangements? The next few years of her life?

  The weekend had shown her how difficult things might be, and not because she disliked him, but because she was starting to care about him. Watching television together, snuggling, oohing and ahhing over Indy’s antics—particularly the ones that involved his kangaroo-hide bullwhip had been fun—more fun than she’d ever had with a man. For someone so rigid, he’d laughed with her, teased her. The way he’d interacted with her mother and his family had shown her how much respect he had for other people. His reaction to Suzy-Q’s enthusiasm had been the magical ingredient that had really melted her heart.

  Even now, she craved his touch.

  She took a minute to consider the thoughts that had loomed so large last night. Other than her feminine fear of Connor and the power he would wield in her life, there was no reason for her to abandon her course of action. That didn’t mean the threat he posed wasn’t real. It just meant that she had to figure out how to deal with him, give him just enough for him to feel as if he had what he needed. At the same time, that meant she had to figure out how to protect her emotions.

  That, she realized, would be the most difficult thing of all.

  No matter what, Connor was determined not to fall in love. She understood, particularly after being around his family, understanding the dynamics, his very real obligations and the loss they’d all endured. But none of that made it easier for her.

  The water ran cold before she turned it off.

  Still, she had obligations, as well, to herself, to BHI, to her father, to their thousands of employees. And being with Connor for a few years would provide real, solid solutions. She could sacrifice for a while. Learn to compartmentalize the way he did.

  With a new sense of determination, she dried off.

  Connor’s shirt was draped across one of the rods in her closet. Instead of putting on a robe, she reached for the shirt and fastened only the middle few buttons.

  Since it was still early, she waited for the coffee to brew then took her first cup out onto the patio, along with her phone.

  There was a message from her mother saying she’d already contacted the board members and that they would be at the meeting. As Lara had expected, her mother had wasted no time.

  But Connor hadn’t sent either an email or a text. Though it didn’t surprise her, it left her somewhat disappointed. She told herself that maybe he was waiting for her to reach out to him with a firm decision. She understood that he wasn’t a man who liked to waste time. Then again, maybe he hadn’t spent the entire night thinking about her the way she’d been consumed by him.

  A small part of her wished she’d spent the night. None of these thoughts would be burrowing around in her brain. No matter what she battled, she knew he’d be there with her. And it was so damn easy to give in to the temptation of turning to him.

  The sun had lightened the sky enough for her to walk around the yard, deadheading flowers and watering the potted plants. She fed the few fish that remained in the pond then grabbed her empty cup and phone and went inside to finish getting ready for the day. All the while, she expected Connor to contact her, but he didn’t.

  She drove to a coffee shop for an extra-large, quadruple-shot caramel latte and a breakfast sandwich. After one sip, she knew she would have preferred one of Thompson’s excellent coffees. Funny, until now, a latte had been her daily favorite.

  At nine o’clock, she grabbed the report she’d put together after Friday’s meeting with the VP of Technology and walked to the conference room for her regular Monday meeting with her father.

  When he hadn’t arrived by ten after the hour, she wandered down to his office.

  Venessa, his assistant, said he’d just called to say he was running late. He’d breakfasted with one of his civic groups and gotten caught in conversation.

  “Can we reschedule for ten o’clock?” Lara asked.

  “He’s leaving for lunch at ten-thirty. Does half an hour give you enough time?”

  To grab an ibuprofen for the headache that was gathering, perhaps. “Just tell him to call when he arrives.”

  Venessa jotted a note to do so.

  Back in her office, Lara’s cell phone was blinking. There was a message from Connor informing her that Texas had a mandatory seventy-two hour waiting period for marriage licenses.

  He suggested they pick it up today if they wanted to execute it by the end of the week.

  Execute was never a word she would have put in the same sentence with the certificate of her marriage, and it summed up her confusion. A business arrangement where they lived separately made sense in her mind. But living with him, watching a movie, having sex, sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same space, made it so much more.

  Telling herself she was being ridiculous, she replied that his suggestion made sense.

  He immediately responded with an address on Caroline Street downtown, and he added, third floor. He suggested they meet at two o’clock, after the lunch rush, and added that April was driving him and they could pick her up, if that would be easier for her.

  Lara was still considering his offer, thinking through her options of accepting the ride, searching for parking or hailing a cab, when she received an emailed invitation to be an administrator on his calendar.

  She had a vague recollection of him making that suggestion over the weekend but that he’d remembered to have Thompson handle it surprised her. How Connor kept his millions of promises straight, she had no idea.

  Realizing she was taking one more step toward him, she accepted.

  As the template in front of her populated, she was shocked. He had a dizzying array of appointments, some of them with BHI competitors. He also had chunks of time blocked out for planning, budgeting and strategy. Some afternoons, he had meetings scheduled every forty-five minutes. The BHI board meeting was already on there, as was their upcoming appointment, and a few hours on Friday afternoon marked as personal and unavailable.

  A phone call from Venessa interrupted her study. Venessa said that Pernell had decided to work from his country club rather than driving all over town. He suggested they meet tomorrow morning instead.

  Any doubts that she was doing the right thing vanished.

  For whatever reasons he had, Pernell was no longer fully engaged in the business. Maybe fear? Maybe lack of interest? Maybe a mistaken belief that things ran well without his input. It didn’t matter where the truth was. He was impeding the ability to get business done.

  She realized that she should have b
een pushing even harder for him to retire, or at least semi-retire. “Actually, if you can, put a board meeting on his calendar for tomorrow at five.”

  “I don’t see any conflicts,” Venessa said. “But he doesn’t always tell me if he has things in the evenings.”

  “Understood. Thanks, Venessa.”

  Lara reached her father’s voicemail and requested he return her call. She said she would be in his office at four o’clock tomorrow for a private meeting, and she added that it was urgent.

  Finally she messaged Connor to let him know she’d appreciate a ride this afternoon. That done, she waited for a feeling of relief.

  It didn’t come. Instead, she had the sensation she’d just stepped onto a rollercoaster.

  * * * *

  “A genius is trying to reach you.”

  Music shattered the silence. All of a sudden, Connor’s office sounded like the inside of a movie theater, with a decibel level to match. “What the hell?” Connor demanded, looking over at Thompson.

  “I think that’s your phone, sir,” the man replied with a grin.

  Connor grabbed his phone from the desktop. He went to turn off the ringer, but it was already in silent mode.

  “Has to be Mr. Bonds,” Thompson said. “Right on!”

  Around them, the action-adventure theme increased in volume. Connor realized it was now also coming from the computer’s speaker.

  “That’s some shit,” Thompson approved.

  Having no other choice, Connor answered the call. Rather than all the noise instantly ceasing, the music coming from the computer gently faded. “I’m done using your prototypes,” Connor said, instead of greeting his old friend.

  “I’ll take them,” Thompson said.

  Connor scowled and Thompson’s expression sobered. “I’ll be handling some filing in my office,” he said.

  Thompson closed the door behind him.

  “What?” Julien demanded. “You don’t like my theme song? It’s gone through a lot of revisions. We’re up to eighty-three percent of respondents saying it’s very identifiable. Astounding number. Thinking about using it on a game, as well. Imagine, me as a video game hero. I wasn’t happy with the jawline. They didn’t quite do a good enough job.”