Bound to Please Read online

  Copyright © 2009 by Lilli Feisty

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Forever

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  www.twitter.com/ForeverRomance

  Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: May 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-446-55198-4

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  His lips touched hers briefly before she opened her mouth and slid her tongue toward his.

  Desire hit her like lightning, shooting through her veins in a hot bolt. His hands held her steady as he explored her mouth. She groaned against his lips. The fingertips of his right hand moved from her shoulder to trail the outside of her breast, down her rib cage, and over her hip bone. He reached into the neckline of her low-cut dress and found her nipple. She gasped into his mouth as he pinched, twisted. The pain shot through her, straight to her sex. She was getting wet.

  “Come to the show tonight, Ruby,” Mark said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll leave a pass at the door. I want you to find a spot to the right of the stage and wait for me there.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “If any men approach you, I want you to ignore them. If you don’t do as I say, I won’t be happy.”

  A shudder ripped through her body. How would he respond if she displeased him? Her pulse jumped with excitement. A part of her wanted to find out what he’d do. Would he punish her? She’d never been punished like that…

  For my mother.

  Acknowledgments

  Kate Pearce and Robin Rotham, thank you for encouraging me when I was just starting out. Crystal Jordan and R.G. Alexander, you keep me going. Nicole, you’ve been with me since the start and I love you. Red Garnier, you inspire me in so many ways. Dana, thanks for the tough love. Gemma Halliday, you are an amazing CP (yeah, you’re one of mine now, sorry). You rock for ignoring your kid to critique my revised manuscript in three days. I also want to thank Gwen Hayes, Karen Erickson, Shelli Stevens and Lacy Dances for being damn good, understanding friends. Jax and every single member of Romance Divas, you all are my lifeline.

  Eden Bradley, you’re the other half of my brain. I could never survive without you.

  Without a doubt, I need to thank my amazing editor, Amy Pierpont, and the most wonderful agent in the world, Roberta Brown.

  Bona, thank you for always inspiring the crazy best friend who inevitably starts out as a transvestite at the beginning of my books. Pam, thanks for wearing that vintage seventies dress and sharing lap dances with me.

  Robin and all the other folks who frequented the Power Exchange in San Francisco, thank you for being part of some wonderfully naughty memories.

  And thanks to the Babettes, the most insane, supportive book club ever. You know what you’ll be reading for our May 2009 selection. And Marty, Vanessa, and Robyn, thank you for being my adoptive family for over twenty-five years.

  I also appreciate Jason Quever from the Papercuts and Pan American Recording Studio for answering all of my questions. Jason, you are not allowed to read past this page.

  And J. You’re the best friend a girl could ever have. I love you.

  Chapter

  One

  Have you ever been spanked?”

  Ruby Scott choked on her chocolate martini. “P-pardon me?”

  Meg, her best friend, business partner, and apparent perv, jerked a few nods. “You know. Spanked, flogged, whipped. Whatever.”

  Ruby blinked. Sure, they’d talked about sex in their ten years of friendship, and it wasn’t like Meg didn’t know Ruby had a kinky side. But she’d never gone there. Until now.

  Meg gave her a little push on the shoulder. “Come on! I really want to know about it. About S and M.”

  Ruby glanced around the room, checking that the night was running smoothly. It was. She was, after all, known for being a highly organized and efficient event planner. Tonight was no different: Waitstaff scurried by, bartenders polished oversized martini glasses. Music blared from invisible speakers at the perfect volume. Guests hadn’t started to arrive yet, but Ruby could feel everything falling into place for tonight’s party.

  Instead of enjoying the buzz around her, Ruby turned back to her friend and took a rather large swallow of her drink. “Um… first of all, don’t call it S and M. You can call it SM, BDSM, D/s—”

  “Can we discuss the lingo later? I just want to know what it’s like. To get spanked.” Lowering her voice, Meg leaned in closer. “Or to spank someone else.” Meg’s cheeks were downright flushed with titillation.

  “Why the sudden questions, anyway?”

  Leaning back, Meg tucked a lock of ebony hair behind her ear. Looks-wise, they were polar opposites. Ruby’s hair was black, but naturally so. Meg had an olive-skinned, curvy shape while Ruby was pale, and her body was, for lack of a better word, skinny. And despite their shared interest in vintage, Ruby was the only one who actually wore retro dresses. Meg still shopped at the junior department; it was really quite handy that punk rock was back in style.

  Now Ruby’s post-punk-rock friend’s brown eyes sparkled behind layers and layers of black makeup. Tonight her outfit consisted of a short black dress, black wrist-length gloves, and shiny patent pumps with buckles on top. Meg was not about to go gently into that goth night.

  She crossed her legs, which were enclosed in spider-print tights. “I was just thinking of ways to spice things up a bit between me and Emmett. Do something different. You and Ash used to be,… you know. Into that stuff. Kinky stuff.” One of the bartenders had moved a bit closer and Meg whispered the last word, as if stuff was more acceptable than S and M. “I just thought you could give me a few pointers.”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?” Ruby asked. “The band’s going to be here any minute. And”—Ruby waved a pointed finger—“I think I need to check on those hors d’oeuvres.” She slid off her barstool.

  Meg wrapped her hand around Ruby’s shoulder in a death grip. “Just one tip?”

  “Yeah. Stay away from artists and musicians.”

  “Are you nervous to see him tonight?”

  By “him” Meg meant her ex, Ash, who was supposed to show up to this little shindig, but, knowing him, if he came at all he’d be late. Ruby wanted as many hot names at this party as she could get, and the fact was, Ash Hunter was about the hottest name in the San Francisco a
rt scene right now. Kinky sex was definitely en vogue, and the übercool were snapping up Ash’s shibari rope-bondage photographs as fast as he could produce them. Thank God Ruby had posed for him before he’d become famous, and he’d promised to keep those images private.

  “I’m actually not nervous to see him. I’m glad he’s doing so well.” Ruby smoothed her pencil skirt, a purchase from Meg’s now-defunct vintage clothing shop. “Really.”

  Meg raised a brow. “C’mon, Ruby… you haven’t even dated anyone since Ash. Are you sure you’re over him?”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded vigorously. “I’m sick of these artistic types. I need a man with a real job, a man who wants a wife, not an accessory. I want a man who wants a stable, normal life.”

  Meg raised her glass and took a sip. “Good luck with that.”

  “What? You have it with Emmett. I want what you have.”

  “Anyway.” Meg crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You’re really not going to tell me anything about the kinky stuff? What it’s like?”

  Ruby shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. We didn’t… I mean, we never…”

  Meg’s eyes went wide. “But what about all that bondage? The photographs? Come on, you can tell me!”

  Ruby gave a frustrated sigh. “Ash was only into bondage. There was never any… spanking.” She felt her neck heat, which was ridiculous considering she and Meg used to share everything, including the details of their sex lives. But that was before Meg married, before Ash. With a start, Ruby realized they hadn’t talked like this in months.

  She touched Meg’s hand. “Hey, honey. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah! Definitely.” If Meg’s smile was a bit too bright, Ruby ignored it for now. “I was just, you know. Curious.” Meg shrugged. “We’ve been married a while now. It’s normal. Right?”

  “What’s normal?”

  “To want to spice things up in the bedroom.”

  “Sure. Absolutely.” Ruby nodded furiously, but what did Ruby know about being married?

  Still, the idea that Meg’s marriage was less than perfect made Ruby uneasy. Not quite sure how to reassure her friend, she said, “Ash never spanked me, flogged me, paddled me, or anything like that.” The words came out in a rush. She inhaled. “He just tied me up.” Secretly, she’d wanted Ash to do those other things to her, but she’d never been able to voice her desires and she couldn’t bring herself to tell Meg now, either.

  “So he tied you up and then had sex with you?”

  The sound of glass breaking whipped Ruby’s attention to a bartender who had just picked up, and obviously dropped, their empty glasses. With a scowl, Ruby grabbed Meg and led her to a small round table in the center of the room. “Listen. To be honest, the sex itself was pretty vanilla.”

  “Vanilla?”

  “Traditional.”

  Meg’s shoulders drooped. “Oh.”

  Bizarrely feeling as if she’d let her friend down, Ruby wanted to say more. But just then the first of the guests came through the door, and she gave Meg’s hand a squeeze. “I promise we’ll talk more about it later. But this is a big night for Emmett, and I want everything to be perfect.”

  For tonight’s party, Ruby had booked a monochromatic bar across from the building where Emmett and Meg lived and where Emmett had his recording studio. For the food, she’d selected an array of Mexican-Vietnamese-Italian fusion appetizers, and the bartenders had been instructed to keep everyone happy with the latest rage in cocktails, the chocolate martini. Ruby’s connections in L.A. had told her ’80s hair bands were back in style in a retro-kitsch way, so she herself had created a play list that lent an absurdity to the whole event.

  Or maybe that was just her perspective.

  Regardless, it was her job to make it work, and she’d done her job well. She always did.

  Ruby followed Meg’s gaze to Emmett. He was walking through the door with a small group of people. Two men, one gorgeous redheaded female. The detached air about them shouted “rock band,” and Ruby barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Why did all artist types have to be so aloof? Was it in their DNA?

  Whatever. Luckily, this was an early event, and she could be home in a few hours with nothing but a nice bottle of wine to keep her company. Heaven. But now she had to work.

  And reassure Meg about her sex life.

  Her friend was still staring at her husband, the tallest, lankiest one in the room. “Emmett really wants to record the Riders. Says they’re amazing, the most talented group he’s seen in a long time. He’s become good friends with Mark, the head of the band, and says he’s not just a good guy, but one of the most talented musicians he’s ever met.”

  Ignoring the amazing band, Ruby focused on her friend. “Emmett’s the best at what he does. I can’t imagine they’d choose another producer.”

  “This could take him to the next level, not to mention make him happy. I really hope this happens.” Meg did a quick wave around the room. “Anyway, you did a fabulous job with the pre-party. As usual.”

  Compared to the productions Ruby had been planning lately, this was a small party. But it was for her best friend’s husband, so Ruby had put a lot of extra energy into it. After all, they were selling San Francisco itself because if the band did choose to record with Emmett, they’d be living here for as long as it took to make the record. She wanted tonight to be flawless, hip, and cool.

  But more than that, she wanted her best friends to be happy. “Listen, sweetie. If you want to know more about kinky stuff, I’ll help you. I’ll tell you everything I know.” Which isn’t much. “I’ll take you to the sex store. We can look at floggers, paddles, whatever your little heart desires!” Ruby beamed and nodded in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, despite the fact that she really had no idea what she was talking about.

  Ignoring the way her pulse skipped at the thought of going back to the fetish shop, she went on. “I can be your tour guide into the wonderful underworld of kink! Where every perversion is at your fingertips!” She punctuated her sentence with a quick snap!

  That snap seemed really loud because Meg had gone oddly quiet, looking over Ruby’s shoulder. Ruby slowly turned to follow Meg’s gaze, and for some reason the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Emmett was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head. And beside him was one of the most gorgeous men Ruby had ever seen. Tall, lean, with a bad-boy gleam in his deep brown eyes. He’d obviously heard her, but the only thing that gave him away was the nearly imperceptible tilt at the corner of his luscious mouth.

  Tour guide into the wonderful underworld of kink!?

  Fuck. A. Duck.

  Chapter

  Two

  Ruby, meet Mark St. Crow. He’s the head of the Dark Riders.” Emmett gave her a look that she knew meant Kiss his ass.

  And her first thought was Okay! If you insist. Because the man standing before her made her heart race. Made her feel all tingly and they hadn’t even spoken yet.

  His head was shaved and gleamed in the dim light, clean and shiny. She’d never been with a bald man; she wondered how the skin would feel beneath her fingers, if she’d be able to trace the bones of his skull. Her fingers curled at the thought.

  She uncurled them and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.” Their palms met and her pulse jumped.

  She took her hand back.

  Young. He looked so very young. But, at thirty-seven, it seemed everyone got younger every day.

  He gazed at her through black-rimmed glasses. Damn. She’d always had a thing for glasses on a man. She’d had a serious crush on an art history professor in college who wore them. At night, she’d study nineteenth-century Italian paintings, then go to bed and think of him as she used her hot-pink bullet vibrator.

  For fuck’s sake, don’t think about that!

  “Ruby. Do you know there are at least forty songs with your name in the title?” Mark asked.

  “Um, actually I didn’t. So you get points
for an original twist on an old line.” She cringed. Why had she said that? She could almost feel Emmett’s censure, but when she turned she discovered he, along with Meg, had vanished.

  She looked back to see Mark raising a brow over those bloody glasses. “So are you saying I’m not original?”

  “I don’t know yet. Can you name all the songs?” Was she flirting? That sounded like flirting.

  “Probably. But I want to get paid for my talents. Fortunately, I work cheap. A beer ought to cover it. I’ll even get it myself.”

  She raised a hand to protest. “That’s really not necces—”

  “Be right back.”

  She watched him walk away. Tall and sinewy, his black T-shirt showed off a solid torso, and the short sleeves gave her a nice view of well-defined, tattoo-covered arms. Faded, low-slung jeans—not too tight—wrapped around long legs that carried his form with a confidence that drew her attention. He looked too young for that kind of confidence. So young he could get away with leather bands circling both his wrists and make it look hot.

  In fact, he had a lot of leather on his body. Bracelets, belt, boots. All black, all worn. The sight of all that leather sent a thrill through her, which she quickly stomped down.

  Now he was walking back across the room with his gaze fixed on her. Like she was some kind of target, like he was some kind of predator. Hell, he probably was. Young, gorgeous, talented. She’d go down like a gazelle under a lion’s attack.

  He handed her a chocolate martini, and she could swear she smelled the leather from his bracelets. Which made her remember the wall of leather at the sex shop. There was a specific smell to this type of leather. Woodsy, freshly cut. Sexy.

  No, no. Don’t think about that…

  But of course she did. She thought about the time she’d gone with Ash to the fetish store to purchase suspension equipment. Ruby had been drawn to the wall of floggers and paddles and other mysterious implements; her palms had dampened as she approached all that leather. Nervous and excited just to see the tools, all lined up in neat, erotic rows. She’d wondered how the leather would feel striking her skin. Would it sting a lot? Or a little? Would she like it? Her hand had trembled as she ran her finger over the soft strands of a buckskin flogger.