Lorelei James - Bound

His rough-tipped fingers were under her chin, forcing her focus higher. “Eyes off my asset.”

After he’d driven her home, he insisted on walking her to the door in the alley she used to reach her loft. “I had an amazing time tonight, Ronin.”

“Same here.” He kissed her fingertips. “Unfortunately I’ve got things scheduled, so we can’t do it again this weekend.”

She masked her disappointment and chastised herself for expecting to spend more time with him over the weekend anyway. They’d had one date. One . She needed to keep her enthusiasm in check. “I’ve got plans myself.”

“Doing what?”

“Catching up on work. Dinner with friends. Hitting the movies. The usual. How about you?”

“Nothing as enticing as what you’re doing,” he said with a smile. “Would that work have anything to do with designing a new logo for Black Arts?”

“Could be. A few drafts are almost done and ready for you to look at.”

“Would Monday work for you to meet with me and a couple instructors to show us what you’ve got?”

She did a mental check of her schedule next week. “Sure. What time?”

“Ten. The dojo offices are on the second floor.”

“Any crazy security measures I need to be aware of?”

“No.” His mouth landed on hers hard for a quick kiss. “See you Monday.”

“SO, you’re having a nooner with Master Black?” Chaz asked with a straight face.

“Why are you here bugging me? You never work on Mondays.”

“Because you didn’t fill me in on what happened over the weekend. I knew if I asked you about it over the phone, and something did happen, you could lie and I wouldn’t know. Face-to-face, I can always tell when you’re lying, so spill the deets, ma chérie .”

Amery refilled her coffee. “We went to a bar after work Friday night, he fixed me dinner at his place, and I came home. No mattress mambo for us, if you’re wondering—but not because the chemistry’s not there. I worked on Saturday until Emmylou dragged me to this truly horrible piece of performance art at some dive bar.” She shuddered.

Chaz tsk-tsked. “I warned you about that weird shit she’s into. I won’t be surprised the day she comes in here wearing a collar and chains. She’s destined to be somebody’s bitch.”

“Funny, Emmylou said the same thing about you,” Amery shot back.

“Please. I own up to being anyone’s bitch, anytime, anyplace. I’m not in denial.” He wandered back to his work area.

Amery followed him. “What masterpieces are you creating now?”

“Three actually. This one is for a gay manga collection.” He shuffled through the papers and pulled out a sheet.

She examined it closely. Yes, it was over-the-top erotic, but the artwork was phenomenal and incredibly detailed. “This is fabulous.”

“I know. Which is why they’re in negotiations with my agent for another big project.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m so proud of you!” She hugged him. “What else?”

“In addition to the straight manga contracts I already have? This guy I know has written a gay superhero series and he’s asked me to illustrate it. He wants to present the finished package to a new, edgier comic book line that’s building some good buzz.”

“This guy . . . do I know him?”

Chaz spun in his chair. “Nope.”

Then she knew. “Dammit, Chaz, you’re sleeping with him already?”

“Yep.”

“What about Andre?”

“What about him?” Chaz said breezily. “I’d be up for a threesome, but as it stands, boy A don’t know about boy B and maybe I’d like to keep it that way.”

Then maybe you should keep it in your pants.

Chaz glared at her, even though she hadn’t said a word. “About to go all holier-than-thou on me? No wonder you didn’t get laid this weekend.”

“Really? I get that snap judgment snark from other people, Chaz; I don’t need it from you, so piss off.”

Amery stormed into her office and slammed the door.

She hated that Chaz could be so mean. He knew about her screwed up her childhood as the daughter of a fundamentalist Christian minister. She’d been shamed by her body, shamed by her need for physical intimacy, shamed for just about everything. Threatened by eternal punishment from God for every little transgression, but the punishments from her dad were always way worse. And her mother had just stood by and let the man of the house rule. Watching as her husband belittled and shamed Amery until the day Amery left for college.

So it wasn’t any surprise the first real relationship after she’d dated casually for a couple of years had been fucked up from the start. Tyler, star athlete, self-professed Christian boy, had played on her insecurities, manipulated her, and used her until he hadn’t needed her anymore.

Chaz had been the one to pick up the pieces. He’d always been there to bolster her when she needed it. And for him to be so harsh toward her now? She didn’t deserve it from him. She wasn’t judging him. She just wanted him to be careful. Mixing business with pleasure wasn’t a good idea.

And yet here you are, about to do a presentation for a man that you hope to get naked with very soon. Maybe you were pulling an attitude on Chaz.

But there was nothing she could do about it now—she didn’t think she had anything to apologize for. Besides, they both needed to cool off.

Amery grabbed her portfolio and her laptop and left through the back door.

Parking wasn’t any easier to find around the dojo during the day. She ended up hoofing it three blocks, so she was sweaty and wrinkled when she entered the main entrance ten minutes late.

The elevator dumped her on the second floor into one long corridor. No reception area. She followed the hallway midway down until she came to a door. BLACK ARTS was etched in the frosted glass, along with by appointment only .

Did she knock? Or walk in? Was the door locked?

After thirty seconds of indecision, Amery knocked rapidly four times and opened the door. “Sensei Black?” she said loudly as she stepped into an empty waiting area.

The big blond instructor exited from a door halfway down the hall. He beckoned her closer. “We’re in here, Ms. Hardwick.”

Amery plastered on a smile. Her heels clicked loudly on the tile floors and she wished she’d worn different shoes.

He bowed slightly and offered his hand. “I’m Knox Lofgren. We met briefly the night you signed up for the self-defense class.”

“I’m hoping you won’t hold my behavior that night against me, Shihan.”

“No. But you did manage to get under Sensei’s skin, which is as rare as it is amusing.” He pushed open the door. “Come in and get settled. Ronin is on a conference call and he’ll be in shortly. Would you care for coffee? Tea? A soda?”

“I’m good, thank you.” They’d entered a large meeting room lined with windows and a U-shaped conference table in the center. Another guy stood when she came in.

He looked . . . mean. Bald head. Tattoos decorating his arm from wrists to elbows. Tattoos peeking out from the V in his T-shirt. His eyes were the lightest blue—almost translucent. He wasn’t tall—not as big as Ronin and definitely not as big as Knox—but he was built like a cement block. Solid. Probably solid muscle. She guessed he was somewhere around her age.

“Ms. Hardwick, this is Deacon McConnell.”

Deacon also offered her a slight bow before extending his hand. “Ms. Hardwick, it is a pleasure.”

Oh, wow, he had a honey-thick Southern drawl that softened his I’m-a-badass vibe. She smiled at him. “Please, both of you, call me Amery. And I have to ask, what is your official title, Deacon?”