Dangerously Bound (17 page)

“Good. And when you talk to him, you can tell him I think he’s an idiot who’s too
blind to see what’s right in front of his face.”

“How about I leave that to you? You’re family. And he won’t threaten to spank you.”

“I thought you liked that?”

She grinned. “Oh, I do.”

The banter with her best friend was cheering her up. So was the idea that she could
take back some of the control in the situation by initiating her next meeting with
Mick. She was going to have to in order to work past his walls, and maybe her own,
too. Only time together would tell. If she had to force that time with him, she would.
Dom or not, the ball was going to be in her court, and Mick would have to play by
her rules for a while.

*   *   *

A
LLIE HAD SPENT
the rest of the afternoon organizing the PowerPoint presentation she was putting
together for the Dolcetti expansion. Knowing the stubborn streak that ran in her family,
she understood it was a long shot, but it was important to her to try—it was something
she’d thought about and wanted to do since she’d first started culinary school. It
was why she’d gone to learn the art of pastry to begin with. And putting her business
plan together was also an excellent way to distract herself from the circling thoughts
about Mick. She was dying to call and talk with him now that she’d made the decision,
since he’d encouraged her to press the issue with her family, but she also knew guys
usually needed some downtime to process things.

At nine o’clock she stood up from the kitchen table and stretched, poured herself
a cup of dark coffee from her new French press and inhaled the rich aroma. Good coffee
always felt like a luxury to her, one she’d become used to when living in Europe.
Just because she was feeling the need for a little self-indulgence she added a spoonful
of sugar before finding her cell phone and going into the bedroom to make the call.
She set her coffee mug on the nightstand, sat on the bed and plumped a few pillows
behind her. Why was her heart racing?

Calm down.

She did some yoga breathing before dialing Mick’s number.

“Reid here.”

“Mick, it’s me, Allie.”

“I’m glad. If it wasn’t, I’d know my caller ID was broken.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

He chuckled and she closed her eyes in embarrassment.

Idiot
.

“So,” she started, “I just wanted to talk to you. We haven’t done any checking in
today.”

His tone sobered instantly. “You’re right. I should have. You okay?”

“Yes, fine. I hung out with Marie Dawn today, which was good. But . . . Mick, in my
experience it’s always good to check in with my Top for a day or two after play, depending
on how hard the play was, or the emotional response . . . if there’s another layer
going on beneath the actual play. Which there is with us.”

“Fuck. You’re right and I’m sorry. Totally irresponsible of me not to call. It’s not
like me. I got a call right after lunch and I’ve been wrapped up in this project all
day. But I shouldn’t have let myself get too distracted to follow up.”

Follow up? Was that all she was to him—a task on his to-do list? But she knew he was
covering for emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with. Making excuses. Still, it stung.

“Yes, well . . .” She didn’t know what else to say. And she realized she was a little
mad, too, at his response. Or lack of response.

After a tense moment of silence, Mick swore under his breath. “Allie, look, I
am
sorry. I leave in the morning for a business trip. I have to go to Atlanta for a
couple of days to scout out a new venue, meet with a new client. But I’ll be back
on Thursday. We can see each other then.”

“Okay.”

She hadn’t meant to draw out the last syllable, hadn’t meant to sound so irritated.
She was caught between the need to be honest with him and the fear of driving him
away. But this wasn’t high school, or even college. And they’d both been in the kink
community long enough to know how this stuff was supposed to be done. Total transparency
was always the best option.

She took a breath. “Mick, if you have even an hour to spare, I could really use seeing
you tonight. I can come there if that’ll be easier. But I need to see you.”

He was silent for a moment, and both the anger and the hurt that had been lingering
inside her all day surged in her chest. Was he really going to turn her down?

Finally he said, “Sure, come on over. I’m still packing for this trip so it’s better
if you come here, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind. Is it okay if I come now?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They hung up and she raced around the house looking for the right shade of lip gloss,
pulled on a clean tank top, found a belt for her low-slung jeans and put on her new
sandals and a pair of silver hoop earrings. At the last moment she shucked her way
out of her clothes and put on clean—sexy black lace—lingerie.

We’re just talking.

Maybe. But one never knew. And even worse than being caught in an accident wearing
shoddy lingerie was being caught in a surprise sexual encounter with less-than-stellar
undergarments.

She locked up the house and jumped into her aunt’s old Coupe de Ville, fired up the
big engine and made her way to Mick’s place, trying not to think about how unsatisfying
their conversation had been, or the fear that was still simmering low inside her.

Parking was awful in his part of town, but she found a spot only two blocks away.
If it had been almost any other city in the world, she would be nervous walking alone
at night through the narrow streets, but this was her town.

Hers and Mick’s.

She found his place, an old plaster-over-brick painted in a rich terra-cotta. It was
covered in flowering vines, as so many of the older buildings in the French Quarter
were. She’d always loved how most of the city had the scent of flowers overlaying
the mild scents of decay and old plaster, the exotic cooking smells. Even the car
exhaust added something to the mix that was the distinct urban perfume of New Orleans.

She looked up and saw lights shining down through the windows on the second floor,
where he’d told her his flat was. Her pulse grew warm and thready knowing she was
going to see him. That he was going to touch her.

Hell, he’d better touch her. She needed to feel his arms around her. Needed to feel
the reassurance of skin against skin even more, maybe.

But if that phone call had been any indication, he was probably still too shut down
from the intensity of their night together, their open conversation, to give her what
she so desperately needed from him. She didn’t want to need it, damn it. But the simple
fact was that she did. Because it was Mick. Because when it came to him she was always
a little desperate and needy. And maybe she was in a more intense state of subdrop
than she realized, because “desperate” and “needy” were not like her at all. She sighed.
Not when it came to anyone but Mick.

Tears stung her eyes, and she shook her head, tried to shake them away.

Stop it. Stay in the moment. Don’t project.

She inhaled, tucked her car keys into her purse and knocked.

She heard him coming down the stairs, and her heartbeat accelerated. To her horror,
the tears burned even hotter behind her eyes.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered—just as he opened the door.

“All right. I guess I deserved that,” Mick said.

“No, it wasn’t you. It was . . . I’m just . . .”

A tear plopped onto her cheek and she started to turn away, but he took her hand in
his.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Where you going, baby?”

And that did it. The damn tears started and wouldn’t stop. She hid her face in her
hands.

“Hey, Allie girl. Come here.”

He pulled her into his chest, and she buried her face into him, took in his scent,
tried to stop crying. It didn’t work. She pushed away from his hold on her.

“Don’t, Mick. Don’t do this if it’s all about you being Mr.
Responsible. I’m going to be honest—I can’t take it if that’s what’s going on here.
I don’t
want
it. Do you understand me?”

She was shaking so hard she dropped her purse. She let it sit there.

Mick looked shocked. Not that she could blame him. She hadn’t expected this, either.

“That’s not what this is about,” he finally ground out, some anger in his voice. “You
know better than that.”

“Really, Mick? How could I know anything after you abandoned me all day to deal with
the fallout from last night on my own? No email. No phone call.”

“I admit I should have called you, Allie, but I wasn’t abandoning you. You’re here
now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but only because I called you.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry.”

“Don’t cuss at me! Jesus, Mick.”

He scrubbed a hand over his goatee. “Allie . . . I always cuss like a sailor. I wasn’t
cussing
at
you, just . . . cussing.”

“I know. I know that. I’m just . . . God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Look,
I’m just . . . going. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have called you. I’m just . . .”

She turned to go once more, but he grasped her wrist even tighter and pulled her close
to his big body, his arm sliding around her waist and holding her tight.

“Allie girl, tell me what this is about. I know I didn’t call and I should have—you’re
absolutely right about that, and I’m a total irresponsible dick. I know it. But this
seems like there’s more going on. Talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

The tears were still coming, rolling down her cheeks. She was absolutely horrified,
wiping at them with one hand. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Tell me,” he commanded, making her take a breath.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk. Just talk. And then this happened.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t expect you to bail on me today. Maybe I should
have known it was a possibility. But somehow I didn’t. And I think I’ve been crashing
a little all day. I didn’t realize it. And then I come here and you’re
mad
at me, for God’s sake, making me feel even more abandoned and . . . like a child,
Mick. Like when my dad died.”

Oh, God. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Christ, Allie.” He pulled her into his body and she couldn’t fight him anymore. He
stroked her hair, his chin resting on top of her head. “Baby. I didn’t mean to set
off any of that stuff.”

“It’s not the first time,” she muttered, allowing herself the comfort of his touch.

“Fuck. You’d better come inside. We have shit to talk about.”

That didn’t sound good. But she let him pick up her purse and lead her up the narrow
staircase to his flat anyway.

The place suited him, she saw right away, even through her upset and tears. All neutral
colors, big furniture, plenty of wood. He sat her down on the leather couch and left
her there for a moment, came back with a glass of water. She accepted it and took
a few sips before he took it and set it on the coffee table. He sat down beside her
and handed her some tissue. She wiped her eyes and nose while he waited quietly.

“Better?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I do think you’re crashing, Allie. That, and I didn’t come through for you today,
and for that I apologize. To be honest, I was processing last night. And today. More
than I thought I’d be. It’s a lot to think about.”

“For me, too.”

“Yeah, I know. Which probably contributed to your subdrop today.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I wish you’d have come to me earlier. I know I should have been the one to initiate
contact, but sometimes I can be pretty dumb when I’m caught up in my own head.”

“Marie Dawn sort of said the same thing.”

“Yeah, well, she’s had to live with my brother for a damn long time, so she’s familiar
with the inherent stupidity of the Reid men.”

She sniffed. “She sort of said that, too.”

He pulled back and tilted her chin, watching her face, his dark brows drawn over his
smoky gray eyes. “What do you need from me?”

It felt like a loaded question. “I don’t know.” That was as honest as she could be
right now.

“Okay. Then how about this? We get undressed and climb into my bed and just curl up
and watch some TV. We can talk when you feel like it. Or not. Come on.”

He pulled her to her feet and led her into the bedroom.

The furniture was all sleek, dark wood, the bed on a platform and covered in a charcoal
gray duvet. Mick left her standing on the white faux-fur rug at the foot of the bed
to pull the duvet down, exposing the smoky lilac sheets, only a few shades darker
than the duvet on her own bed.

He came back to her and bent to slide her sandals off, drew her jeans down over her
hips while she stood passively, her head spinning, a little numbed by too much emotion.

“Climb in. I’ll be right there.”

She got onto the bed, drew the sheets up to her waist. It felt a little odd, somehow,
being in Mick’s bed. Maybe because this wasn’t about sex and seduction. It was just . . .
them.

The sex and seduction was easier. There she knew herself. There she was on solid ground.
Right now she wasn’t sure what to expect.

Calm down. He invited you here—to his home, to his bed.

She watched as he shucked off his T-shirt, and even in her emotional state she couldn’t
help but admire his broad shoulders, the bulging biceps, the taut lines of his abs.
She couldn’t help notice once more the long scar running over his ribs that still
looked raw and angry, even after all these years. It still hurt her to see it, to
know the anguish the accident had caused him. But somehow it just made him sexier.
Why were scars so hot on a man?

He climbed in next to her in the dark blue sweats he’d been wearing when she’d arrived.
He slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close, sitting back against the
pillows piled against the wall behind them. It felt good to be close to him, to feel
the reassuring strength of his big body next to hers. But it still felt a little strange,
more intimate than the things they’d done at the club together. More
real
.