Bound and Determined (4 page)

going about it the wrong way.” He took a step toward Sterling, his expression

closed off and forbidding. “Back off,” he said distinctly. “Now.”

And, for once in his life, Sterling took a deep breath and did what he'd

been told. He didn't speak, he didn't push the issue. He lowered his head and

looked at the sidewalk, forcing his shoulders to relax. He was aware of the

picture he made with his blond-tipped hair and his erect cock plainly visible,

and he could only hope that Sawyer would like what he saw.

“Better,” Sawyer said indifferently, casually, his anger fading as if

Sterling's show of obedience had calmed him down. Sterling took a quick,

hopeful breath, waiting—and Sawyer turned and walked away, disappearing

around a corner before Sterling could find the words to stop him.

12

Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

Chapter Two

Owen shouldn't really have been driving when he was this keyed up, but

right then he just wanted to go home. He pushed his emotions aside to be dealt

with later and concentrated on the road, navigating the familiar route between

the club and his house with his hands gripping the wheel tightly to stop them

from shaking.

Carol and that goddamned boy…an ending and a beginning side by side if

he wanted it to be that way. Did he? He wasn't sure—and that indecision

troubled him more than his failure with Carol.

He'd left a light on, and it made the empty house look welcoming as he got

out of his car in the driveway and walked up the narrow, twisting path to the

front door. The path was edged with low bushes of lavender, aromatic in the

damp September air, and roses, some still with a few tattered petals clinging to

the thorny stems. Owen had inherited the large 1900s house from his parents,

who'd moved into it after he'd left for college and partially restored it. It was

only now, three years after their deaths in a car accident, that it was beginning

to feel like his home, not theirs, a change that brought with it some guilt as he

painted over walls they'd decorated and disposed of furniture they'd chosen.

He got inside, kicked off his shoes, and headed for the master bedroom,

walking slowly up the curved wooden stairs. This room was the first that he'd

made his own, unable to bear the thought of sleeping in his parents' bed for

even a single night, the shock of their loss making logic and reason disappear.

He'd slept on the couch for a week until the redecorating was complete and his

own furniture had arrived, waking stiff-necked and cramped each morning. The

pale rose walls and cream carpet that his mother, Anne, had chosen and his

father had endured, had been painted over and torn up respectively, and the

room, with its high ceilings and long, narrow windows, was now hunter green

with a hardwood floor in a rich chestnut wood. Against the deep, traditional

colors, the black metal frame of his high bed could have looked

uncompromising, but the way the metal was worked into an airy design, simple

but visually interesting, saved it from that.

Or so the salesman had told Owen, who had been more interested by the

linked double posts in each corner, rising up a few feet above the frame, and

the numerous places on the frame that would take a cuff or a tether.

He showered, keeping his mind deliberately blank, and pulled on a

disreputable but warm navy robe that dated back years over a short-sleeved T-

shirt and shorts. It was still early, barely ten, and he went back downstairs to

Bound and Determined

13

get a drink. The bottle of Lagavulin looked almost empty, but tipping its

contents into a glass ended up giving him a lot more than he would usually

have allowed himself as a nightcap.

Shrugging, he swallowed a third of it before going to sit in the wide, low

leather armchair by the fireplace. A discreetly modern and effective heating

system meant that he rarely went to the trouble of kindling a real fire, but he

wished that there was one burning to chase away the chill that the hot shower

and whiskey couldn't touch.

With no more reason to put off the inquest, he pictured Carol's face as

he'd last seen it, anguished and contrite. Did he feel even a flicker of interest in

her? He had to admit that he didn't. She was beautiful, not that it mattered to

him as much as other factors, and she was exquisitely responsive, but God,

she was so boringly predictable. Too many small flaws marring her

performance too, flaws other Doms had let her get away with because of that

shining fall of hair, those wide, beseeching eyes, and full, lush mouth.

Owen had taken her on because she'd begged him to and because he'd

seen her potential, but she just didn't get it, none of it. The physical pleasure

she got from what he did to her—that, yes, but she was incapable of

understanding why something worked for her, and trying to coax anything

other than a rote, “I like anything you do to me, Sir,” from her had proven

impossible.

He didn't feel too sympathetic or regretful. She'd find someone else before

the marks he'd striped her back with had faded, and they hadn't formed a real

connection. She'd enjoyed being seen with him because he had a reputation for

being choosy, but she hadn't been interested in him beyond what they did at

the club.

Owen raised his glass in an ironic, silent toast to her, took a sip of

whiskey, and forgot about her.

He wished that young Mr. Baker was as easy to ignore.

* * * * *

again. The weather was gray, the sky threatening rain that Owen felt confident

would hold off until the afternoon, and he was still keyed up enough after the

weekend that he felt the need to burn off some of his nervous energy. He liked

to run—had since he'd been a teenager—and mornings seemed the best time to

do so if he wanted to lose himself in the rhythm of the exercise.

He definitely preferred the track to running in his own neighborhood; for

him, the whole point was to be able to concentrate on putting one foot in front

of the other, not to have to worry about whether cars or errant dogs might

make him a target. Before noon, few students seemed to use the college track.

Tightening the laces of his fairly expensive running shoes, Owen stretched

a little and started to run. He kept it slow at first, easing into it, and made two

complete laps, a total of half a mile, before he sped up. As he did, starting the

14

Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

third lap, someone else joined him, pacing him. He glanced over and saw, more

surprised than he should have been, that the someone was Sterling Baker.

“Hi,” Sterling said.

Owen had been using the track for months, but he didn't recall seeing

Sterling do anything more athletic than tapping his pencil against his desk

until Owen's fingers had itched with the need to spank the brat out of him. It

was a second surprise to see just how fit Sterling looked, his long, muscular

legs emerging from a pair of clinging running shorts that showcased an ass

usually hidden under overly baggy shirts. Owen didn't pay much attention to

the sporting side of the university, though; for all he knew, Sterling could be a

star of track and field. Once the young man had left Owen's class at the end of

his freshman year, their paths hadn't crossed often.

Now it seemed they were about to cross frequently unless he swatted this

persistent bug with enough force to drive his message home. Telling Sterling to

go away wasn't an option given their location; Sterling had every right to be

here. Retreating was equally impossible; it went against Owen's natural

inclinations, and he was only partway through his run.

Sterling was watching him with just a little anxiety in his eyes, very

different from the cool arrogance he'd shown Owen so often in class, but there

was a tilt to his chin that didn't look at all meek.

“Good morning,” Owen said pleasantly, glad that he wasn't at all out of

breath. “Should I e-mail you my schedule for the week so that you don't miss

any opportunity to accidentally bump into me, or can we end this game right

now?”

“I don't want to end it,” Sterling said just as pleasantly. “We're just

starting. So yeah, feel free to e-mail me your schedule. Or not—I'm stubborn.

I'll figure this out either way.”

Younger and apparently just as fit, Sterling kept pace with no apparent

effort—not impressive yet, not when he'd just started, but if it continued… If it

continued, Owen
would
be impressed, and that wasn't part of his plan as to

how this would go, not at all. Owen put on a bit more speed, testing, and

Sterling sped up too.

They ran side by side in silence for a while, their paces perfectly matched,

their feet striking the surface of the track in an insistent rhythm. Not good, and

Owen, determined to break the unwanted synchronicity, fell back with an

abruptness that left Sterling forging ahead for a few paces until he realized that

he was running alone.

Owen gave him a bland smile and continued to jog at an easy,

undemanding pace, frustratingly slow for him and, he was sure, maddeningly

so for someone as athletic as Sterling. Now Sterling had several choices; he

could match Owen's speed, following his lead, demonstrate his strength and

endurance by sprinting off, or continue at his present pace. Or give up. Owen

didn't really care what Sterling did; any choice he made would reveal

Bound and Determined

15

something about him, and that was what Owen wanted. Know thy enemies…

Sterling wasn't an enemy, but the theory was sound.

At first Owen thought Sterling had chosen to continue at the same speed

they'd been at, but slowly, almost casually, he slowed down until he was

running beside Owen again. He flashed Owen a friendly smile, somehow

managing to keep any hint of pride out of it.

“I'm still an English major,” Sterling said.

Owen refrained from rolling his eyes. “Am I supposed to consider that an

accomplishment?”

“After the hard time you gave me in your class? I'm surprised I didn't

transfer schools.” Sterling's tone was light, joking.

“And miss the chance to repay the favor by giving me a hard time when

I'm
not
in class?” Owen didn't give Sterling a chance to reply; he wanted to run,

feel the pleasant ache of tired muscles vanish in an endorphin rush as he

pushed his limits. “Two laps,” he said, and allowed a hint of challenge to

roughen his voice. “Show me what you've got.”

It was a strange relief that Sterling was left behind in Owen's metaphorical

dust, even if it was only for a few seconds. At least it reassured Owen that the

boy wasn't perfect. It was stupid of him to think otherwise, of course—but God,

Sterling was so young and beautiful. And quick too—he caught on and caught

up in less than thirty seconds, long legs matching Owen's speed stride for

stride.

It felt good, running so fast. The world passed by in a blur of color, Owen's

nostrils flaring like he imagined a horse's would as he went faster and then

even faster. He was aware of Sterling beside him, arms and legs pumping.

Owen wasn't running at top speed—this wasn't about winning, it was about

discovery, and he wanted to know what Sterling was capable of. A hell of a lot

more than he was himself, if this was any indication. Owen was sixteen years

older and, while fit by almost any standards, no match for a twenty-year-old

with a chip on his shoulder.

He shouldn't be doing this—not the running, which was exhilarating, but

what it implied. Sterling was barely more than a kid, a kid who had no idea

what he was getting himself into. Or trying to get himself into. It'd be okay,

though, because Owen would set him straight.

The second lap was almost over when Owen broke from a position that

had given him an excellent view of Sterling's ass for the last few minutes and

poured everything he had into the last few hundred yards, soon passing

Sterling, who'd run a valiant race at a speed just a fraction too much to sustain

over the distance.

As he'd expected, he heard a grunt of sheer determination from behind

him, Sterling's breath sobbing in his dry throat, and he could almost
feel

Sterling straining every muscle to regain the lead. Did the boy think winning

would give him what he wanted, whatever that was? And what would happen if