Dangerously Bound (21 page)

“Maybe they don’t understand the prestige of the places you’ve baked for. You know
how New Orleans is—we’re convinced nothing else really exists outside the walls of
this city. It’s an incestuous culture here, especially for the city’s old-guard citizens,
and your family has been here for how many generations? I get it because my family
has been, too. They don’t always see the rest of the world. Isn’t your mother’s argument
that Dolcetti’s recipes were brought to this city by her great-grandmother from Italy?”

She tossed the pillow aside with a sigh. “And it’s like the art of pastry making just
stopped there. Recipes that are a hundred years old. Not that they aren’t fantastic—they
are, or the business wouldn’t have survived. But what happens when the old loyal customers
are gone? So many new people are moving to the city now that it’s being rebuilt. The
old magic always attracts new people. We have to keep up with the times or . . .”
She paused, ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry. You seem to know all this
already. Guess I’m preaching to the choir.”

“Yes and no. Look, Allie, do you want to go over your presentation and business plan
with me? Because it sounds like you have the right idea. I might have some suggestions
for you. And the bottom line is, if you believe in this, then you can’t let their
stubbornness make you back down. If this is your dream, you have to go for it.”

She had more than one dream.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Right now I’m too tired to think any more about it.”

“Do you need some Travel TV?”

What she needed was for him to take her in his arms and tell her everything would
be okay. Her dreams for the family business. Things with him. But even though he seemed
to be
supportive, thoroughly immersed in the conversation, he was still . . . not quite
there with her. That brief kiss when she’d arrived hadn’t been followed up by any
further show of affection, and it was making her feel worse. She didn’t know if she
should just leave . . . or stay and see if they could manage to find their way to
each other tonight.

“I’m . . . not sure what I need,” she lied.

“I have some fresh raspberry sorbet in the freezer. It’s been calling to me for the
last few hours.”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

Mick headed into the kitchen, and Allie got up and went to the bookcase against one
wall—an old, heavy Spanish-looking piece. On it were a few photographs of his family
among the books. She ran her fingers over the spines, peering at the titles. Books
on martial arts, which didn’t surprise her, more on shibari rope bondage, which was
even less of a surprise. Mixed in were a few fiction titles—thrillers, mostly—a small
book of the Tao, which did surprise her, as well as some books on Buddhism by Thich
Nhat Hanh. Strange reading for an Irish Catholic, fallen though he may be. But it
opened a small window into the man he was today—the man she yearned to know better,
and who seemed to be refusing to let her.

Mick returned with the promised sorbet in its carton and two spoons, and she joined
him back on the sofa. He handed her one of the spoons.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he said.

Not looking forward to seeing her.

Was she simply feeling sorry for herself? Or was that a realistic expectation? She
hated that she had to doubt herself so much.

They sat eating the sorbet for a few minutes in silence.

“I really do think you need to talk to them again,” Mick said.

“I will. You’re probably right.”

“And I do like to be right.” He grinned at her, but she swore some of his usual natural
charm was missing.

“Yes, you do.” She smiled, trying to lighten the moment.

She felt desperate suddenly to find a way back to those intimate moments. To find
their connection, despite the unspoken issues hanging in the air—or maybe more so
because of them.

She stuck her spoon into the middle of the sorbet left in the carton, pulled Mick’s
spoon from between his lips and did the same with it. He watched her, an eyebrow raised
in question. She set the carton on the big coffee table, then climbed onto him, straddling
his lap.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” he asked softly as she settled her arms around his neck.

He wasn’t touching her, no hands on her waist.

She had to remind herself about Marie Dawn’s stupidity ruling.

“Mick, you’re going to kiss me. And touch me. And we’re going to have sex.”

“Okay . . .”

“And we’re going to find a way to reconnect. Because I can’t figure out any other
way at the moment, and I can’t stand how distant things are between us right now.”

He had the grace to look a bit sheepish, but only for a moment.

“You know I prefer to be the one calling the shots. Usually I demand it.”

“Believe me, I know. But tonight I don’t want any bondage or pain play. I think it
just needs to be . . . us. Just us here, without all the fancy window dressing, you
know?”

He was quiet a few moments, simply looking up at her. She didn’t have a clue what
was going through his mind, and it was
making her uncomfortable as hell. She was sitting on his lap, and he still hadn’t
put his hands on her.

“Mick,” she whispered as she leaned forward, bringing her mouth within inches of his.
“I need you to kiss me. I need you to touch me. Don’t argue it. Just do it.”

“Bossy girl.”

“Yes. Just . . . for now. Just for now, stop talking and kiss me. Kiss me hard. Make
me remember it.”

He blinked up at her, then his shadowed eyes lost their darkness and began to gleam,
a pure, crystalline gray.

“I need to remember, too,” he said quietly.

The energy between them shifted and so did he, grasping her hips and bringing her
pelvis in until it was seated hard up against his. Then he grabbed her face and kissed
her. He pressed his lips to hers, hard, harder. Just the urgent press of his lips
until she could barely breathe, his hands loosening their tight hold on her cheeks,
going gentle. Then his mouth gentled, too, and it was a pure, sensual fire between
them, his tongue sliding into her mouth, so sweet and soft she wanted to cry for everything
she felt in his kiss.

It was too much—too much to feel. She took his face in her hands and deepened the
kiss, pressed her pelvis into his. Everything changed in an instant. He kissed her
harder,
taking
her mouth. His kiss was primal, wild, taking command. He always would, one way or
another, and she was fine with that. More than fine—she loved it. Her body was coming
alive, every nerve ending on fire. She ground her hips against him, felt the solid
ridge of his erection through his jeans and hers. Wanted—needed—more.

She broke from the kiss long enough to strip her tank top over her head. As she started
on his he helped her, then he bent
to kiss her breasts roughly. She let her head fall back as he gathered her breasts
in his hands and pushed them together, used his thumbs to work his way over the still-dark
bite marks, past the lacy edge of her bra to find her nipples. They were already hard.
His circling thumbs only made them harder.

Pleasure suffused her, washing the worry away. This was exactly what she needed—to
lose herself in body to body, lips to lips, pleasure to pleasure.

Mick unsnapped her bra and tore it off, then he started to unbutton her jeans. She
went for his at the same time—and was rewarded by the hard, golden head of his bare
cock as she pulled his jeans open. She stroked him, her fingers curling around the
tip, and he groaned.

“Ah, Allie.”

“Come on, Mick.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.”

He stood and set her on her feet, stripped her out of her jeans and panties in mere
seconds, then tore his jeans off.

“Damn it. Condom. Hang on.”

She watched his finely molded ass as he strode toward his bedroom, noticed that he
was limping a little. The trip must have been hard on him. Seconds later he was coming
at her, a string of condom packets in his hand, his beautifully erect cock leading
the way.

God, the man was really something.

He sat back down on the sofa, wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her on
top of him, seating her against him the way he had earlier, with her straddling his
lap—only this time, naked. His cock was pressed against her mound, the ridge of it
hitting her swollen clit. Immediately she grabbed the back of the sofa to steady herself
and began a slow, sinuous grind against him.

“Christ,” he groaned. “You’re gonna kill me with that thing, Allie girl.”

“Oh, I intend to,” she said, sliding her wet pussy up and down the length of him,
every stroke sending desire shivering into her system.

She moved faster, the slip and slide of their bodies hitting her in all the right
places, and pleasure rose higher, built like a tight knot deep in her sex.

“Ahhhh,” Mick groaned, driving her on.

She arched her hips, really grinding into him, wanting release, needing it
now
.

“Allie, slow down, baby.”

“No,” she growled.

She let go of the sofa cushions and grabbed his shoulders, dug her nails into the
heavy muscle there. He moaned, arched up against her.

“Oh, yes . . .”

He buried his face between her breasts, kissing and licking at the skin there. “Need
to fuck you,” he murmured. “Need to fuck you so hard.”

“Not yet.”

“You are . . . fucking sexy when . . . you’re toppy,” Mick told her between gasping
breaths.

She sighed as she slid along the length of his shaft, up, then down, making the pressure
just right. He grabbed her ass and helped her move her arching hips, holding her tight
against him, making his cock press harder against her. Pleasure spiraled, crested,
and finally erupted like a burst of thunder deep in her body.

“Oh! Oh . . .”

She was coming so hard she was shaking. Mick held on to her, held her tight, kissing
her bruised breasts as she came. She
kept thrusting her hips, sliding her clenching pussy up and down his hard shaft, her
climax still skittering over her skin.

Before she was certain she was done, Mick flipped her on her back on the coffee table
so fast she never saw it coming—the wood was hard and cool against her back—and in
moments he’d rolled a condom over his cock. He held himself over her, and as she wrapped
her legs around his waist he thrust into her.

“Mick!”

His cock was big, but she was wet enough to take him all at once. He surged into her,
slid out, every motion driving pleasure deep and hard. He was kissing her breasts
again, using lips and tongue, punctuated with small, nipping bites that only drove
her pleasure higher.

He paused, gasping. “Allie . . . I’m going to come.”

“Yes. Do it. But kiss me, Mick. Just fucking kiss me.”

He lowered his head and crushed his lips to hers as he rammed into her. She held his
face in her hands, needing to feel him, to feel connected in some way, even if it
was just their two bodies, their hot, wet mouths, joined together.

He pulled back with a sharp groan, and she looked into his eyes as he started to come,
hips jerking, gaze locked on hers. Something in his eyes looked lost in wonderment,
making her heart twist in her chest. At that moment, she knew he was right there with
her.

Right there.

He shivered all over, shook in her arms, that intense, wide gaze never leaving hers.
Then he buried his face between her breasts once more as he caught his panting breath,
his hands tangling in her hair.

They stayed there for several minutes before he pulled away, helped her sit up on
the edge of the table.

“Bed?” he asked, still not quite all there after his orgasm.

She nodded. He drew her to her feet, and she followed him into the bedroom, where
he helped tuck her in beneath the covers. He climbed in beside her, lying on his back.
When she nudged his arm he opened it and invited her in. She laid her head on his
chest and listened to him breathe. Waited for him to really wrap her in his arms.
To kiss her again. But all he did was lie perfectly still in the darkened room. There
was just enough light coming from the living room for her to see the silhouette of
his eyelashes. His eyes were open—he wasn’t sleeping. But he was silent. Unmoving.
As if she weren’t even there.

She’d needed to be with him, for him to be with her. Present. Engaged. Connected.
But it hadn’t worked in the end, had it? Other than those brief moments when he was
coming, when he looked into her eyes and
saw
her.
Felt
her. And now she felt even worse than she had when she’d arrived.

A slow tear made its way down her cheek, but she didn’t dare brush it away. She didn’t
want him to know. She bit her lip to stifle any sound, forced herself to stop the
crying.

How many tears had she cried over Mick Reid? How many times had he turned away from
her? And yet she still kept after him.

It was beginning to be humiliating.

She couldn’t be the only one with all her cards in the game. And damn it, it wasn’t
a game to her. It was her heart, a heart that had carried these wounds for far too
long. She’d never been able to fall for another man—
really
fall, although she’d tried a few times—because Mick had always owned her heart.

He still fucking did. But maybe she was only helpless against it if she chose to be.

Hours passed while the same ideas whirled through her mind with the force of a tornado.
When she checked the clock at five thirty in the morning, she still didn’t have the
answers. But one
thing she knew: continuing to do this—accepting Mick’s crappy behavior toward her—wasn’t
getting her anywhere.

She needed distance to figure things out. To decide if she was willing to accept this
from him or if she was stronger than that. And maybe only once she’d gone—gone of
her own accord and not because Mick needed space—maybe then he’d realize what was
at stake.