Bound to You (8 page)

The gym equipment beckoned me in the morning. No matter how sore I was from the day before, or maybe how much I hadn't slept from coding all night, I still got up like clockwork at 5:30
A.M.
to work out. Old habits from high school and college died hard.

I found fresh water bottles and organic green tea in the fridge and chuckled. Miss Ashton had said she'd take care of me. For the past two days I couldn't stop thinking about our evening at the opera. I'd even tried to call her last night…That night at the theater, my steadfast resolve had crumbled away. Every nerve ending in my body was sparking like crazy until I couldn't suppress the need to possess her. I'd only meant to reach for her once. A brief brush against her leg. But every time she looked at me, I fell into the depths of those pretty hazel eyes. That night I wanted to give in to temptation.

I made my way from my studio to the gym, a bit concerned at my lack of self-control. At least I could work my frustrations out on the equipment for an hour or two—even if I did feel a bit stiff today. My back was good, but my right leg protested on the way. No matter the pain, routine was routine.

Out of nowhere, I thought of Rosalie's laugh when I got out of bed early.

“I think you might love your gym more than me,” she used to say. She always said that before she left for work. Her job was her first love, while I happened to be the man who satisfied her desire to submit on the weekends. I was a fool even back then, giving in to her every wish. In return, I assumed she'd fall in love with me if we spent more time together. A painful lurch in my chest I hadn't felt in a long time twitched. Little did I know time was something we didn't have. Memories flashed through my mind of hospitals and specialists and I pushed them back where they belonged—in the past. After Rosalie's giant cell myocarditis diagnosis, everything changed in a way I never saw coming. I went from a casual sexual relationship in which I thought I was falling in love to being a support system for a woman with a fatal autoimmune disorder. After being with Rosalie, maybe I hadn't learned my lesson.

Once inside the gym, I nodded to the other few guys who came in early. Fellow fitness enthusiasts.

“Morning, Xavier.” The sole guy at the treadmill threw a nod my way. Every time I came, Bob the Headhunter, as I called him, worked out on the treadmill next to mine when I did my run.

He didn't break a beat in his stride, casually sprinting for about an hour before he got off to get ready and head to work.

“Looking good, man.” He always said that first. “How's the hunt going?”

“So far so good.”

“Like I told you, if you need an executive-level job, I'm your man. Been finding gigs for folks like yourself for years now.” He looked me over as if he could see every secret or flaw I had. When I first got here I'd thought he recognized me. “I bet I could get you a job with a firm in Philly in a day or two. You like insurance?”

Apparently, he didn't know the face of the guy who constructed the electronics on his phone.

“I'm good, thanks.” I smiled as I always did and refused any offers. After I finished running, I went through my workout routine.

Once I got in the zone, it was easy to forget about my troubles. Every time I completed a set of weights, I tried to focus on the present, but the past seemed to creep back in. I began a set of pulls, then muscle memory kicked in and I fell into an old habit of seeing myself and filling my thoughts with an unyielding drive. During each pull, I saw myself growing stronger as the exercise tore apart muscles that would then be built back up.

In high school and college, every workout was an endeavor toward a greater goal of becoming a better athlete. That meant no sleeping in as I left my house while my parents slumbered. Most of the time, the only other person who was awake at the same time was Marcus.

When I exercised, he went to the part-time job at one of our family resorts he'd had since he was old enough to drive. At an early age, Marcus put as much effort into his work ethic as I did to sports. Time and time again, I heard Dad talk—when he thought we weren't listening—about how Marcus didn't have a lick of talent.

“The boy can't figure his way out of a paper bag, but at least he knows a hard day's labor,” Dad used to say when we were in high school.

Shit like that always bothered me because I looked up to Marcus. As my older brother, he was the one who kicked my ass when shit went down and I didn't give a damn.

To this day, I wonder if Marcus was happy being the family savior after I fell from grace.

In the middle of the set, a loud noise jarred my attention and I paused. The burn in my arms felt good and memories of long sessions came to mind, but that wasn't me anymore.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I'd been at it for longer than usual. It was practically seven and any overseas VPs for Silver Sparrow Systems hadn't poked me yet.

The message was from Sophie:

Great news. Be ready this morning for a golf outing. Got an invite from Watanabe.

So golf today, eh? I typed in reply:

do you know how to play?

Kind of…

Now that made me chuckle. I rested my sweaty forehead on the wall below the bar and found it hard not to imagine her lying in bed at such an early time in the morning. The delicious thought made my cock jerk with approval, but I squashed the idea. That wasn't the Sophie I'd come to know. She'd most likely be dressed in a suit, her hair already in place.

At least she wasn't mad at me or anything. We'd parted poorly. After she spoke to those three Japanese women, the spark in her seemed to fade. Her bright smile faltered and she clasped her hands as if intimidated. I'd wanted to spend more time with her afterward, but it didn't seem appropriate at the time.

So I waited patiently and now Sophie had thrown another opportunity to meet Nakamura my way.

Another message:

We'll meet at the Country Club at 9:30
A.M.
sharp.

Nine thirty seemed rather early. Perhaps I was supposed to meet them at ten and she didn't want me to be late.
Very clever, Miss Ashton,
I thought.

Another text message came in:

I've already made arrangements to have a set of your preferred clubs available and a caddy.

She made no mention of her participation, but there was one thing I was certain of: soon enough I'd be able to see her again, and I had a question about a little message I left on her phone last night.

The clouds appeared to threaten our plans with rain, but once I met Xavier in front of the main building on the golf course, the skies cleared. An opportunity like this was perfect. Nakamura would be golfing with us.

I arrived early with a game plan and waited for Xavier in front of the vast, three-story clubhouse painted in bright yellow. History emanated from everything and I could almost imagine gentlemen and ladies from the 1800s sitting outside in the sunshine, sipping lemonade before the men did a round on the course.

This was my second time visiting the old golf course and I looked forward to getting out of the house. Jesse had done well with the client load I had left him, but sitting around the apartment watching Lana study or go to class wasn't my style. I liked to keep busy and meeting people meant finding future clients.

Two days away from Xavier had been good for me—until he'd called me last night and left a message.

“Any valuable intel before we reach the course?” he asked me. Just hearing his smooth voice did things to my insides in a way I didn't like.

Avoiding him or looking toward the crowd did no good. He was far taller than most of the people around us. He didn't have to work hard to look good, either. He made a dark blue polo shirt and brown slacks look so stylish.

Compared to the opera, this time I was fully prepared. No emergency shopping necessary. My golfing clothes were professional and fit in with what everyone else wore, even if they were my only set.

What I did wish was that what I had were shorts or slacks. My skirt revealed far too much of my legs. Xavier seemed to be looking at me every time I stole a glance his way.

“Intel, Miss Ashton?” he asked.

I'd spaced out again. “Our caddy, Luke, is already waiting for us over there. Your requested clubs are in place—”

“That I already know. What about Nakamura?”

Eager as always for the prize. “A few of Watanabe's associates will be here, but, like before, you're not here to engage Nakamura.”

He slowed down a bit and I enjoyed walking side by side with him. A gentle breeze brought the scent of his cologne and I practically wanted to bathe in it. Every time I smelled him, my mind drifted back to when I'd sat on his lap at the opera house.

“Your job today is to
lose,
” I added.

“Excuse me?” Amusement shined in his eyes. “Now this should be good.”

“Don't get me wrong! I don't want you earning the worst stroke record for the course, but I don't want you to repeat what you did a few weeks ago.” Yep, I had done my research with his assistant Ian and learned he was just as competitive with sports as he was with his businesses.

A tall, lanky man I recognized as Luke greeted us at the entrance to the course. Watanabe's party met us there, too. Five men, three Japanese and two Americans, stood outside the door.

Everyone mingled, exchanging bows and handshakes. This time Xavier bowed and shook hands properly with everyone. This was the real test. So far, so good, once our parade of carts reached the first hole. Nakamura was a bit stiff, keeping to himself, but he had greeted everyone. Most of the time he spoke Japanese with Watanabe and the two other Japanese men.

At the first hole, Xavier was to go last.

Before he played, he leaned toward my ear. My first instinct was to shift away, but I held myself in check.

“So this is where I miss a few times?” He cocked a wicked grin.

“No.”

“Wild swing into the trees?”

“Don't do it.”

“The water then?”

“Mr. Quinn.”

“I rather like seeing you flustered. I'm going to have to do it more often.”

My cheeks warmed as I watched him move to the hole. He prepared his stance and practiced his swing.

I watched the muscles in his back flex as he swung. He was powerful, practically beautiful with his technique. His first stroke went pretty far. The others murmured encouragement and remarked on his touch with the green.

As we returned to our cart, I asked, “Whatever happened to starting slow and building up?”

The look he gave me made my heart stutter. “When there's something I want, I'm relentless from start to finish.”

As much as I was trying to impress Nakamura with my skills, or lack thereof, spending time with Sophie was pleasurable. The morning went by quickly. Our conversation was casual and easy on the way to the eighth hole.

“Why aren't you playing?” I asked her when she got quiet.

“None of the assistants are playing.” Her reply was nonchalant while her gaze fixed on the rolling hills of green and bunkers.

I very well knew the answer to that question, but I liked hearing her voice. She crossed her slim legs and my hungry gaze swept over them. What I wouldn't give to feel those legs wrapped around my waist, her arms linked around my neck.

“True, none of them are playing,” I said, “but I wonder if you're any good.”

She pursed her lips. “You're not missing anything.”

“I'd like to see. You seem to be good at everything you do.”
Good at driving me crazy.

“You'd be surprised by what I'm not so good at doing.”

“Humor me.”

She sighed, her fingers slowly intertwining in her lap. “I'm horrible at sewing, couldn't catch a ball if someone threw it into my hand, and I have this uncanny ability to run into rabid wildlife.”

She smiled a bit.

“Is that it? Most people aren't good at that.”

“I've sewn an arm sleeve closed before.”

“I find that hard to believe. You look like the kind of woman who is good with her hands.”

She rolled her eyes and snorted.

I continued. “I also find it hard to believe you didn't call me after I left that message on your phone,” I added.

We approached the eighth hole as her mouth formed a straight line. “I thought it wise not to answer the call.”

We pulled to a stop and joined the others. “Or listen to the message I left?” I said.

She didn't miss a beat. “I deleted it.”

A grin spread into my cheeks. Oh, yes, I loved a challenge
.
Watching her walk ahead of me toward the others filled me with a familiar hunger that hadn't been satisfied since I'd gathered her in my lap at the opera house.

My eyes roamed up her long legs to the point where the hem of her golf skirt ended. While Nakamura lined up to do his shot, I stood next to her, taking in the fierceness in her eyes. Her stance was assured, but I'd glimpsed the real Sophie when I'd kissed her at the opera house. That woman looked at me with the kind of hunger that left me hopelessly hard and unable to sleep.

“So you deleted my voicemail…I rarely call women and leave messages like that,” I whispered to her, but she ignored me.

I continued. “You're a professional, Miss Ashton. You'd never chance it if I had something important to say.”

“I didn't delete it,” she admitted.

“So did you listen to it?”

She didn't take the bait and remained silent.

“How about a friendly wager, then, to get things moving? If I get the shot within five paces of the hole, you'll listen to the message. If I don't, then you can delete it for real.”

She bit her lower lip, most likely considering my score versus Nakamura's. I was in a solid third place—a respectable gap between myself and Nakamura's second. If I seriously reduced the strokes needed to finish this hole, I'd mess with her plans.

She crossed her arms. “No deal.”

I grinned, grabbing the club my caddy extended my way. “So you think I can do it.”

“I didn't say that.”

I loved seeing her squirm. “What kind of assistant wants to see her boss choke?”

“Fine,” she whispered, “but you better adjust your score later
if
you make it.”

I'd never played this course before, but golf is all about strategy and control. Those are things I excel at. I took my time with this one and studied the approach. When I caught Sophie frowning at me, I couldn't help but smile.

I feigned concern, but I didn't do it for long. I hit the ball and it landed where I expected it to: four paces from the hole. Not five like I wanted, but hey, I won the bet.

While Watanabe and even Nakamura spoke with approval, Sophie remained silent and with crossed arms. She didn't have anything to worry about, though. The next couple of holes I earned an eagle, while on some I caved into Sophie's request and underperformed. I even tossed in a bogey on the sixteenth hole.

When I fetched my ball from the sixteenth, I caught her flashing me a wide grin. Seeing her pleased expression felt good.

By the time we finished the match, though I'd never had a chance to speak to Nakamura personally, something amazing happened.

“Good game, Mr. Quinn,” Nakamura said to me outside of the clubhouse. “You made me work hard today.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “This course has a few tricky spots.”

“I'll be keeping an eye on you” was all he said after that.

After handshakes and goodbyes, he entered the clubhouse with his friends. That was it. There were no invitations to discuss business or even share a meal. It took everything I had not to broach the subject, but I had to trust in Sophie.

Speaking of Sophie, she'd just finished chatting with my caddy and returned to my side.

Time to collect my reward.

“I believe someone lost a bet back there?” I said to her.

I'd lost the match, but I'd won something far more valuable.

With a sigh, she turned away from me to place her phone to her ear. I waited patiently, knowing very well what she was hearing.

Once she was done, she didn't look my way, striding past me toward the path that led to the parking lot. “The message was…unexpected.”

“And?” I caught up with her.

She paused, but kept walking. “The answer is no, Mr. Quinn.”

“The reason being?” If she'd said yes to going out with me, that would've been too easy.

“It's for the best that we keep things professional. You're here to conduct business with Nakamura. Not go on dates with your assistant.” Her arms were crossed—almost as if she'd placed a barrier between us—but her breath had quickened. It took self-control on my part not to watch her breasts rise and fall.

Before she left my side, she had the parting word. “I do appreciate the offer and you'll be hearing from me soon on our next plan of action.”

I watched her retreating back, not a bit concerned about how things were playing out so far. By the time I was done with her, she'd have absolutely no reason to say no to me.