Dangerously Bound (3 page)

That had really been the end. And that monkey had ridden his back ever since. Nearly
ten years and he still felt like shit for having led her down that dark path. And
just as much for having turned his back on her without nearly enough of an apology.

You are a Goddamn coward.

It was true. Allesandra LeClair was the one thing in life he was afraid of.

Not her, exactly. She was the sweetest girl ever born. It was the way he felt about
her. Even now, after all these years.

Crazy that he’d never gotten over her. He’d traveled all over for work, almost as
often to visit the BDSM clubs all over the country, giving rope bondage demonstrations,
lecturing. He’d been with some of the most gorgeous women in the world. But it was
always Allie in his head.

Allie and her long, silky hair, her big, brown eyes. Eyes like a doe—wasn’t that what
they called it? There had always been something about the length of her neck, the
way she moved . . . pure graceful innocence and pure sex all rolled up into one beautiful
package.

And totally off-limits.

Which meant he’d have to find some way to stay away, even with her right there. New
Orleans could be a small world sometimes.

He stepped back from the windows and went to the console table where he kept his favorite
bottle of rum, poured his two-finger limit into a glass and tossed it back, set the
glass down.
It was good rum, but he still felt the burn going down. Enjoyed it. Needed it.

Because his damn head was spinning a million miles an hour with thoughts of Allie.
Her face. Her sleek golden skin. Her scent like a summer evening—that wicked combination
of purity with an edge of sinful promise.

He pulled in a breath, held it, tried to get his shoulders to loosen as he let it
out. But it was no good. He was knotted as tight as piano wire, and that knot wasn’t
just in his shoulders. His groin was pulled tight with desire. For her.

Her face. Her skin. Her scent . . .

He grew hard. The room grew warm.

He yanked his shirt off over his head, ran a hand over his jaw. Muttered, “Fuck it,”
and moved his hand lower, over the bulge pressing against his jeans.

He was hard as stone just picturing her. How much harder would he be if he got his
hands on her again?

It would be different than last time. He’d do all the things he’d been wanting to
do. Tie her up, using his ropes to subdue her. To subdue his own raging need. Control
them both. Then he’d use his hands on her—no toys, just his bare hands on her bare
flesh. Just touch her. Pinch her. Scrape his nails over her naked skin.

Plunge his fingers into her.

He groaned, gripping the hard ridge of his erection through the denim.

“Fuck it,” he said again before he unzipped and pulled his cock out.

He leaned his back into the wall, not wanting to take the time to get in the shower
or on the bed or even sit down. He was too desperate to get this driving need out
of his system.

He closed his eyes and began to stroke.

He remembered when he’d taught her to give him head. She’d wanted to—had practically
begged for it, which was hot as hell. He remembered her wet mouth, those plush lips
swallowing him, her tongue . . .

“Christ.”

His hips arched into his fisted hand, pleasure stabbing into him. He stroked faster.
And remembered the lush curve of her breast in his hand, the tight, succulent flesh
of her nipple as he drew it into his mouth.

He groaned, gripped his hard shaft tighter as he pumped.

Allie.

“Fuck!”

Pleasure slammed into him like a wall, hard and fast. He came into his fist, hips
surging, breath panting, her name echoing in his dazed brain.

It was several moments before he opened his eyes and turned to stare out the window.
The moon was a small crescent in the inky sky. The stars hid behind a drifting veil
of clouds. And somewhere out there in New Orleans was Allie.

My girl.

He’d never been able to think of her any other way. His girl that he would never—could
never—have.

*   *   *

A
LLIE’S STOMACH WAS
fluttering as if a thousand butterflies were trapped inside as she went to sit down
with Jamie at the outdoor table at Pâtissier, the small neighborhood café where they’d
set up their meeting with Mick.

Jamie stood and hugged her briefly before pulling out her chair.

“You okay?” he asked.

She sat down and sipped at the sharp-tasting chicory coffee he’d ordered for her.
“Sure. Yes. I’m just . . . well, as much as I want to do this, I don’t know how it’ll
turn out.”

“He’s going to be mad as hell.”

She tried to smile. “That much I knew.”

Jamie shrugged. “Don’t worry. Mostly he’ll be mad at me. I can handle him.”

“I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure
I
can,” she muttered.

“Too late now, sweetheart.”

She looked up. And saw him.

He was as imposing as ever: tall, dark, his goatee making him look every bit the wicked
Dom she was sure he was. And his gray eyes went absolutely stormy when he spotted
her.

“
Allie?
What are you—what the hell, Jamie!”

“Come on now, Mick. Sit down. You two were going to run into each other sooner or
later. Don’t be rude to the lady.”

Mick nodded, just a brief tilt of his strong chin. She saw that he had a scar down
the side of his nose that hadn’t been there before. Which looked . . . rakish. Charming.

God, had the word
rakish
just gone through her head?

There was a tattoo on the inside of his left forearm she hadn’t seen before—something
in Latin, the bold script highlighting the corded muscles.

Yes . . . charming and rakish.

“Hello, Allie.”

Her breath stuttered in her throat. That low, smoky voice, a little bit gravel, a
little bit velvet. She shivered and cleared her throat.

“Hi, Mick.”

He stared at her. She stared back, transfixed by him. She felt stunned. Had he looked
this good the last time she’d seen him?
The years had made him more rugged. Sexier, if that were even possible. But the warm
pit heating to a slow simmer in her body was telling her it was true.

Mick.

Finally.

“Either of you going to tell me what this is about?” Mick demanded.

“As soon as you sit down, buddy,” Jamie said, carefully keeping his tone even.

She could see Mick was ready to bolt by the way he held his broad shoulders, by the
hard set of his mouth.

“Please, Mick,” she found herself saying, her voice a breathy whisper.

That seemed to catch his attention. He raised one eyebrow, watching her for several
moments while she held her breath. Then he pulled out the chair next to her and slowly
settled his big frame into it.

God, he was close enough that she could smell the earthy scent of leather that was
always attached to him, whether he was wearing one of his motorcycle jackets or not.
That and the citrus-scented soap he’d always used, which made him feel a little exotic
to her. But what was Jamie saying?

“You look like you got knocked around, Mick. What happened?”

It was then she noticed the bruise darkening his left cheek.

Mick shrugged. “Nothing. Fought this morning.”

“Fought?” She sat up in her chair. “You’re seriously still doing that ridiculous bare-knuckled
boxing?”

He answered slowly, his gaze challenging her. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s just . . .” she sputtered, “. . . stupid.”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Allie.”

“She’s right and you know it, Mick,” Jamie interrupted.
“Although now isn’t really the time for that discussion,
Allie
,” he said pointedly.

“Change of subject, both of you. I’m sitting. Jamie, you going to start? Or do I ask
her?”

“Can’t old friends have some coffee together?” Jamie asked, his expression challenging
his friend.

“Theoretically. When that’s all it is.” Mick spoke to Jamie, but his gaze hadn’t left
her face.

He was studying her. Looking for answers, maybe. She shifted in her chair.

“Mick,” she finally said, forcing the words out, “I’m sure you know I’ve moved back
to New Orleans.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Don’t you think after all these years it’s about time you and I faced each other?
It’s not that big a town. Especially when you consider our common . . . the friends
we share.”

“Maybe so. I still don’t appreciate being ambushed. Or you using Jamie to do it.”

“Would you have agreed to see me any other way?” she asked, knowing what the answer
was. Unable to prevent herself from baiting him just a little. Why did he have to
be so stern with her?
She
hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Don’t give me those puppy dog eyes, Allie.”

“Don’t be so damn grumpy with me, Mick. After all this time, is that really necessary?”

His shoulders dropped a little. “I guess not. No. I’m sorry.”

His eyes softened as he spoke, and it melted the anger she’d been carrying around.
A bit, anyway.

He turned to Jamie. “Since you set this meeting up, I figure you have an agenda,
buddy.
”

Jamie nodded. “Do you want a coffee first?”

“I want answers first.”

“Fair enough.”

“Please don’t be mad at Jamie,” Allie said. “I made him do it.”

“And I’m sure a delicate thing like you twisted his arm real hard.”

She reached out to lay her hand over his. “Please. Just listen.”

He yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned, and she blinked away the hurt she
knew would be shining in her eyes.

“Shit, Mick,” Jamie said quietly. “You don’t have to be such an asshole.”

Allie heard that faint touch of Scottish accent come through, which usually only happened
when he was angry or drinking, even though he and his family had been in the US since
Jamie was seven.

“Okay. Okay.” Mick raised his hands, palms outward, and leaned back in his chair.
“I know I’m being a bit of a bastard. You two go ahead and explain. I’ll try to mind
my manners.”

“About time,” Jamie muttered. “You want to start, Allie, or should I?”

“I guess I should.” She turned to Mick. It was hard to look at him, to see the stark
male beauty of his face, the storm still raging in his eyes. To see him and not touch
him.

“So, Mick . . . look, I’m here, and we were going to see each other sooner or later.
Probably sooner. That’s why I pushed for this meeting. Because you and I have a few
things to get straight, but we can’t do that until I come totally clean with you.”

“About what?”

“About kink.”

“About
what
, now? Are you serious?” His voice was pure gravel. “We’re having this conversation
right here, right now, with Jamie?”

“Yes. Because I need his help in explaining a few things to you. Because I think you
won’t quite believe me.”

He’d gone eerily still. “What wouldn’t I believe?”

“I’m in the lifestyle, Mick. I have been for years. And I know you don’t want to hear
those words come out of my mouth.”

She could see from the shock on his face she was right.

“Mick, Allie’s been to BDSM clubs all over the world,” Jamie put in, filling up the
tense silence. “She’s an experienced bottom. She’s been under a collar of protection
to a well-known Dom in San Francisco for three years. She knows about you and me,
our involvement in the lifestyle. She’s done her homework. And I checked out her story—she’s
told me the truth.”

She turned to Jamie in surprise. “You checked me out? I already told you everything.
Jesus, Jamie—”

Their friend didn’t flinch. “I had to make sure, Allie. It’s my responsibility, given
that you asked me to speak on your behalf. I had to know you were as experienced as
you claimed to be before agreeing to do all this. Before bringing you into The Bastille.”

“Now wait one damn minute,” Mick exploded. “You are
not
taking Allie to The Bastille! Over my dead and bloody stump of a body. Are you out
of your fucking mind?”

“I’m going with or without your approval,” Allie said, her tone low but firm.

Mick turned on her. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing at, Allesandra,
but this is not happening.”

“Oh, but it is.” Anger simmered, flooding her veins. “I live in this city again, too,
Mick. And you can’t deny me access to the kink community that I have as much a right
to as you do. That I
need
. Why would you want to make me feel isolated in my own hometown?”

“If your family ever found out what you were doing—”

“They’d be just as shocked as most of yours would. By the way, I know your brother
Neal knows about you. Marie Dawn
told me. She knows all about me, of course. I don’t think she’s told your brother . . .”

“Jesus Christ.” Mick huffed out a breath, ran both hands through his dark, moppy curls.
“That’s what I get for letting my brother marry your best friend,” Mick huffed, dropping
his hands into his lap. “Okay. I guess you’re right, damn it. We just have to find
a way to deal with this. Schedules or something, so I don’t have to . . . see you
there. Fuck,” he muttered.

“That’s why we’re here, buddy,” Jamie chimed in. “Allie has a solution, and I think
it’s a good one or I wouldn’t be here supporting it.”

“Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?” Mick asked.

“Probably because you’re not,” Jamie said, his tone almost cheerful.

Allie had to suppress a smile. He really was a little bit of a sadist.

“All right. Give it to me.”

Jamie leaned forward, his expression sobering. “Mick, I’m here not only as your friend
and Allie’s, but to act as formal mediator.”

“Formal . . . for what?”

Allie put her hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away this time. His skin was warm, just
the way she remembered. She suppressed a shudder as the heat zinged through her system.
“For negotiations, Mick. Jamie is going to help you and I negotiate play.”