Dangerously Bound

“In
Dangerously Bound
, Eden Bradley has created a delicious tale of second chances and dark yearning, of
people exploring love’s shadowed edges. Mick is a hero to inspire wicked dreams, while
Allie is a strong woman who is not afraid to admit to a fascination for dominance
and submission. I enjoyed every luscious word!”

—Angela Knight,
New York Times
bestselling author

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF EDEN BRADLEY

“Intelligent, haunting and sexy as hell . . . for you people who like story and heart
with your erotica, I’d definitely recommend any of Eden’s books.”

—Maya Banks,
#1
New York Times
bestselling author

“Honest, tender and totally sexy—a feast for the senses and the heart.”

—Shayla Black,
USA Today
bestselling author

“Brilliant, seductive and dangerous. All of my favorite things.”

—R. G. Alexander, author of
Tempt Me

“A hot and steamy ride to the climactic end . . . This story will steam up your glasses.”

—
Library Journal

“An exciting, erotic page-turner that does not disappoint . . . Ms. Bradley’s wonderful
storytelling ability and knack for description transport you right into the story
and hold you there until the very last page.”

—
Night Owl Reviews

“Graphic, loving and incredibly well written, the sex scenes ratchet up the drama
with unbelievable intensity . . . Sexual desire intertwines with emotional intensity,
resulting in a book you won’t want to put down.”

—
Romance Junkies

“Bradley delivers the goods. There is intense intimacy and heart-wrenching emotions . . .
This is delicious and delightful from the first page until the conclusion.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Eden Bradley is an incredible author who writes scorching-hot love scenes with characters
who are very memorable and so very well written.”

—
Fallen Angel Reviews

“Eden Bradley knows how to heat up the pages in a hurry. She creates sexual tension
and love scenes that will get your heart racing. But she also creates characters that
are realistic and fun to read.”

—
Fiction Vixen

“Eden Bradley has a knack for penning extraordinary erotic romances.”

—
Wild on Books

“Dark and seductive; it left me breathless and eager for more. I loved it!”

—
My Secret Romance Book Reviews

“Highly erotic and sensual.”

—
Under the Covers

Titles by Eden Bradley

DANGEROUSLY BOUND

Writing as Eve Berlin

PLEASURE’S EDGE

DESIRE’S EDGE

TEMPTATION’S EDGE

Anthologies

EXCLUSIVE

(with Jaci Burton and Lisa Renee Jones)

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

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penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

Copyright © 2014 by Eden Bradley.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices,
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The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-425-26962-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bradley, Eden.

Dangerously Bound / Eden Bradley.

pages cm. — (A dangerous romance ; 1)

ISBN 978-0-425-26962-6 (paperback)

1. Sadomasochism—Fiction. 2. Bondage (Sexual behavior)—Fiction. 3. Erotic fiction.
I. Title.

PS3602.R34266D34 2014

813'.6—dc23 2013051060

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley trade paperback edition / April 2014

Cover photo of Rope by Phil Cawley/Alamy; Wrought Iron by Purestock/Getty.

Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility
for author or third-party websites or their content.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Dawn, for being the most amazing beta reader ever, and brainstorming this story
with me!

To Sidney Bristol, for cheerfully getting down on the floor to demonstrate the viability
of a certain hog-tie. The first dungeon scene in this book only happened the way it
did because you were such a willing coconspirator!

And always, to R. G. Alexander, for being my unending support; for being the person
I can take any crazy idea to and talk it out as many times as I need to; for helping
me to build depth into my characters and cleverness into my dialogue—but most of all,
for being my friend.

A note to those of you who know rope: Thank you to the many people who have been directly
or indirectly involved in my research, through hands-on experience as well as observation.
My intention here was to present rope bondage in a way readers who may never have
seen it could understand, so I have left out the more technical terms for the beautiful
knots, materials and suspensions.

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING
about New Orleans—something about the air itself—a certain sultriness found nowhere
else, that silky touch of humidity on skin, like fingertips dragged slowly over your
flesh. Or maybe it was only that this was Mick’s town. Every side street and café
thick with memories of him, each corner she turned leaving her breathless with the
possibility of running into him, seeing him again.

She couldn’t come back without thinking of him. Without the hard yearning that had
never gone away, running like honey in her veins.

Mick . . .

Damn it.

But it was her town, too—her hometown. Allie had been gone for the better part of
the last twelve years, away at college in San Francisco, then at culinary school in
Europe, then back to San Francisco to practice her pastry arts. She’d returned to
New Orleans on occasion to visit family and friends, but Mick had always managed to
avoid her. Except for that one summer when she was twenty years old. The summer Mick
had finally—finally!—come to his senses and
had
her.

One night. One night that had left her shattered. And more unable to forget him than
ever.

She stepped off the running board of the trolley car that ran the length of Chartres
Street and moved toward the small French café that was her destination. Patrons sat
at white-clothed tables in front of the old brick structure. Like so many in New Orleans
it was a little decayed by the tropical moisture, the bricks literally crumbling at
the corners. Yet it was covered in the yellow and pink lantana that lent a spicy perfume
to the air all over the old city.

She paused, catching her reflection in a shop window, and ran a hand through her long,
dark hair.

He’d always loved her hair.

She could see his face in her mind, the face she’d known since those very first moments
when her body had awakened to desire and come to know what it was to be
female
.

He had hard features, but he was beautiful in the most masculine way. So tall, towering
over her. She loved that about him—that he could intimidate with his height, with
that well-earned air of bad boy. She loved the way his black hair fell into his face.
And those soft gray eyes that always melted her . . .

A woman bumped into her, apologizing, and the noise of the passing cars and the crowds
on the sidewalk came to her as she shook her head, shook herself out of the memories
that tried to come flooding back. If she was going to be in New Orleans, live here
again, she’d better get a hold of herself. It wasn’t as if she’d come back specifically
for
Mick, although he was definitely on her radar.

Which was why she was meeting Jamie for lunch today, only
a few days after she’d returned to the city. He was one of her oldest friends—and
Mick’s best friend. Not that she didn’t want to see Jamie—she did, of course. She’d
missed him. But the struggle she fought against every day, between the part of her
that wanted to forget Mick and the part that yearned to know every detail of his life,
was impossible in New Orleans.
Their
town, where everything had happened. She couldn’t resist asking Jamie about him. And
if Mick was still available—and since her best friend was married to Mick’s brother
she had some insider information that told her he was—well, she had a plan. Jamie
was the one person who could help her execute it.

Feeling like she was involved in some espionage plot, and a little silly, as well,
she settled her purse on her shoulder and squeezed between the outdoor tables and
into the cozy bistro where they were having lunch.

She spotted Jamie at a table by the window, all six feet of his long legs sprawled
out in front of him, but he rose as soon as he saw her, a wide grin on his gorgeous
face.

“Allie.”

He pulled her into a long hug, and she stood on her toes to wrap her arms around him.
It felt lovely, familiar, and she realized with a sudden pang how much she’d missed
New Orleans and all the people in it. But she was done missing everyone. She may have
let Mick Reid chase her away all those years ago, but she was back. And she was determined
that everything would be different this time.

Pulling back, she took a good look at Jamie. “You’ve shaved your hair almost completely
off!” She ran a hand over the brown buzz cut. “Ooh—it’s soft. And it suits you. I
like the eyebrow piercing, too.”

He laughed and pulled out a chair for her, held it while she settled into it before
seating himself across the small table from
her. “I’m glad you approve. You can give me all the style advice you want. I’m just
glad you’re back.”

“I am, too. It’s so good to see you. What have you been up to?”

“The usual. Working on cars. Trying to stay out of trouble.”

“How’s the shop doing?” she asked. Jamie’s business was restoring vintage muscle cars,
work he’d loved since high school.

“It’s doing great. We’re finally recovering, along with the rest of the city. Business
is good. In fact, my cousin Duff is coming in from Scotland in a few months. We’ll
be expanding the shop to include his specialty—he restores vintage motorcycles. We
just gutted the space next door and are about to start the build-out. What about you?
Are you settling into the house?”

“The house” was a small cottage in the Garden District left to her by her great-aunt
Joséphine, her father’s aunt—the reason she’d initially decided to return to the city
and make it her home once more.

“The house is a bit of a mess, actually. The kitchen needs to be completely redone,
and it needs to be painted—a few other things. I wanted to ask if your brother Allister
is available to take on the job.”

“Of course. He runs several crews these days. I’ll talk to him, have him give you
a call.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him over her menu.

The waitress brought water to the table, and they ordered.

“So . . .” Allie started, wanting and not wanting to ask about Mick.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So . . . I ran into Summer yesterday.”

“Summer Grace?”

“Yes. It was nice to see her. We ended up sitting down and talking over coffee. You
know she still has the hots for you.”

He groaned. “Jesus, do people still say ‘has the hots’?”

Allie couldn’t help but grin at his discomfort. Summer Grace Rae—Brandon’s sister—had
been after Jamie since they were all kids. “She’s a total sex kitten, that girl. You
could do worse.”

“Worse than hitting on my best friend’s little sister? The one who he asked me on
his deathbed to look after?”

“That could be one way of doing it,” she teased.

He blew out a breath, his hand rubbing the stubble on his head. “Why do I have the
feeling you’re using this to avoid the conversation you came here to have with me?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” he answered simply.

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the white cotton napkin she held. What
the hell—she was going to ask sooner or later.

“Okay. So, I was wondering . . . How’s Mick? Is he in town?”

“Mick’s fine. And yeah, he’s here in town. What’s the rest of the question?”

Allie tried to laugh, but it came out short and sharp. “You know me too well.”

“I know you both too well.”

“Just tell me, Jamie. What’s going on with him? Is he . . . is he single? And God,
did I really just ask you that?”

Jamie laughed. “You did, sweetheart. And it’s Mick. Of course he’s still single.”

Allie folded her napkin, laid it carefully across her lap, avoiding her friend’s gaze.

“Is he still playing at the club? The Bastille?”

“We both are.” He narrowed his gaze at her. “What do you know about The Bastille?”

She looked up then, met his gaze. “Everything. I know about your kink, about Mick’s.
Maybe it’s time we talked about mine.”

He raised his brows. “Yours? Your kink? What are you saying, Allie?”

She took a deep breath. “I should have told you sooner. I don’t know why I didn’t,
especially since I’ve always known you would never judge me.” She paused. “I learned
a lot while I was away. In Berlin. Amsterdam. I went to my first club when I went
to culinary school in Paris. It was . . . eye-opening. Life changing, really. I belong
to two of the top clubs in San Francisco—I’m sure you know their names. Sanctuary.
The Ring. Everywhere I went to learn pastry, I went to the clubs. I’ve probably had
as much experience with kink as you. Maybe more.”

“More, huh?” He nodded thoughtfully, and she could see he was trying to absorb everything
she’d just revealed to him. “I do know of those places in San Francisco. Good clubs.
Solid reputations.”

“I joined The Bastille a few months ago when I knew I was coming back here. I’ve seen
your online profile. And Mick’s. You’ve admitted to some of this stuff over the years
so it was no surprise. And Mick . . . well, I’ve known about him for a long time.
And I understand that’s why he never thought he could be with me.”

“You know that’s only part of it, Allie. You know Mick. All that lone-wolf bullshit.”

She caught his gaze. “Exactly. It’s bullshit.”

Jamie let out a long breath. “I imagine you’ll be coming to The Bastille, then, now
that you’re living here. That could be . . . awkward, where Mick is concerned.”

“Are you saying you don’t think I should come?”

He held up his hands. “Of course not. You know me well enough to know I’d never say
that.”

“I do know. And I get it. I’d really rather it weren’t awkward.”
She leaned across the table, grabbed one of his hands. “Jamie, will you help me?”

“Help you? With what?”

“With Mick. With this whole . . . situation. It’s more than awkward. It could be untenable.
I’ve been thinking about this, and I only see one solution. I want you to help me
see him. Not just
see
him. I want you to negotiate a scene at the club—one between Mick and me.”

“Allie, you’re crazy if you think he’ll agree to that. You know how he feels. He still
sees you as you were at sixteen.”

“What if I told him—if you helped me tell him—about where I’ve been, the things I’ve
done? That I’m an experienced bottom.”

“He’d always doubt it. He’d doubt himself.”

She sighed. “Why? I don’t get it. I’m almost thirty years old. This is ridiculous.
Are you saying you think he doesn’t want me?”

“We all know damn well he does. Always has. Always will. That’s the problem. You’re
the one he wants. The one he can’t allow himself to have.”

“Jamie, please. I need you to do this for me.” She knew he was her only chance. “Mick
will refuse to see me if I just ask him myself, won’t he?”

“Jesus, Allie,” he groaned, pulling his hand back.

“Don’t let me leave here today not knowing how things are going to be when I walk
into that club and see him there. This is the only way. You have to get him to sit
down with me and talk this out. All you have to do is set it up.”

He blew out another long breath. “If I set it up—and I am
not
promising anything—then I sit through the detailed negotiations between you two.
Not just the initial conversation in which I get him—
maybe
—to agree to do this. It’ll be my
responsibility as the Dominant introducing the negotiations, despite your history
together. It’s proper protocol. No arguing about it.”

She nodded. “Of course. I understand that.” She paused, bit her lip. “Not sure if
Mick will understand,” she muttered.

He scrubbed a hand over his head. “Two minutes back in town and already causing trouble.
What am I going to do with you, girl?”

She smiled at him. “You’re going to help me give Mick Reid what we’ve both always
wanted. Each other.”

*   *   *

A
LLIE PUSHED OPEN
the screen door and stepped onto her porch. The old wood boards creaked under her
bare feet—she’d have Allister look at that.

It was an unseasonably warm and humid night for May, and she hadn’t had time yet to
replace the old cottage’s air-conditioning. It was cooler out there, with a small
breeze picking up the damp tendrils of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. She
pressed her glass of iced tea against her hot neck—not the traditional New Orleans
sweet tea—she’d broken herself of that habit in her years living in Europe.

She moved to the edge of the screened-in porch, searching the sky for the moon. It
was a small crescent in the inky sky, the stars glimmering from between the clouds.
Hard to believe Mick shared this same sky with her somewhere in the city. That he
was that close.

It always came back to him. Especially now. Especially here, with the warm, sultry
air soft on her skin, making her remember.

He wasn’t the first boy she’d kissed, but kissing him had changed everything. It was
a mad rush of heat and need. Startling at first. Then something she looked forward
to, craved.