Bound to be Dirty (12 page)

Or letting him tie you up or blindfold you . . .

“Sure,” Marielle said. “A woman needs to know she can look after herself, but sometimes it's cool to just, like, let the guy handle stuff. In bed and out. Change the flat tire, fix the plumbing, buy the dinner—”

“Have you heard of feminism?” Lily interrupted.

Marielle winked and continued. “Buy you chocolates, give you multiple orgasms.”

Lily grinned. “Well, okay, I wouldn't say no to chocolates and multiple orgasms.” Yes, the climaxes Dax had given her the past couple of nights had been exceptional.

“We were talking about feminism this weekend,” Kim said. “Mom and Betty Ronan are that generation, the real women's libbers. Anyhow, they say being a feminist doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself.”

Like when Dax had fixed the kitchen faucet and saved Lily the trouble of doing it.

Kim went on. “It means you know you're equal and you're treated as equal.”

“Equal? Oh come on,” Marielle said teasingly, “we all know women are superior.” She took a battered red-pepper ring and said to Lily, “What do you think of the book?”

“It troubles me. But it seems that's true for all of us. We haven't made up our minds yet.”

“If you didn't have to read it for book club,” Kim said, “would everyone keep reading? I would, because I want to understand Cassandra and Neville better.”

“Same,” Marielle jumped in. “Plus, I figure it'll give me some ideas.” Her exaggerated wink made it clear what kind of ideas she was talking about.

“I don't like it,” George said, “but I'd read on because I'm trying to understand why this kind of book appeals to so many women. Lily?”

Lily tapped her finger against the side of her nearly empty glass. “I'd keep reading.”

“To analyze why these books are so popular?” George asked.

“Right.” No way would she mention that the book had some weird connection to her and Dax's relationship and that, as Marielle said, it was giving them some sexy ideas.

“Are you okay?” Kim asked.

“Yes, of course.” In fact her headache was gone.

“You've hardly eaten anything.”

“Dax and I are going for an early dinner. By the way, if we're finished discussing the book . . .” She glanced around, collecting nods. “Can anyone recommend a restaurant? Smallish, not too fancy, but nice ambiance and food.”

“What kind of food?” Marielle asked.

“Doesn't matter.”

“Book club's been to some good places,” George said.

“I feel like going someplace I've never been before.” A place that had no memories attached, so it'd be just her and Dax, starting fresh.

“Do you like Greek?” Marielle asked. “There's a cute place on Davie, Takis' Taverna.”

Marielle typically liked pubs and clubs where other twentysomethings hung out, so Lily said, “No offense, but it's not too clubby, is it?”

The brunette laughed. “Nope, the opposite. Cozy. Greek photos and stuff. Yummy food. The owner's from, um, I think it's Cyprus. I went there with a Greek guy who knows him.”

“I've walked past it,” Kim said. “She's right. It looks like a nice neighborhood restaurant.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks.”

Kim cocked her head. “I'd have thought you'd prefer something classier.”

“Hawksworth is excellent,” George put in.

“I've been there.” With her family, on her mother's last birthday. “It was great, but that's not the ambiance I'm looking for.” Lily had enjoyed Hawksworth but Dax would probably think it was snotty. She wanted a place where she'd be comfortable in jeans and where conversation might flow more easily.

She turned curiously to Kim. “Why did you think I'd want something classy?” Yes, she'd grown up well off and had inherited a small fortune from her grandmother, but she never shared that information and she always tried to be unpretentious.

Kim said, “You always look so, you know . . .”

“Boring and conservative?” Lily asked wryly.

Kim's lips kinked. “Well, I do like artsy. I just meant, you have this upper-class vibe.”

Damn. This was why guys like Dax never paid attention to her in high school. She didn't like it and honestly didn't have a clue how to shed it. “My mother taught me all these rules about clothes and appearance, and I don't have any confidence in my own judgment so I follow those rules.”

“If you're ever in a rule-breaking mood, give me a call,” Kim teased.

“And me,” Marielle said promptly. “I'm the expert on breaking rules.”

After they all chuckled, George said, “What are you doing these days anyway, Marielle? Are you still working at the liquor store?”

“No, it's holiday season so I'm taking a holiday.”

Lily didn't know how much Marielle made at her constantly changing jobs, but she always had enough money to live the way she wanted to.

The waitress cleared the empty plates and they paid their bill.

“I have to go,” Lily said, sliding off the bench seat. “Dax is picking me up here.”

“Ooh,” Marielle said, “we get to see the hubby.”

“Gee, Marielle,” Kim said, “I was going to surreptitiously sneak out after Lily rather than be so blatant about it.”

Suddenly, the other three were rising. The four of them walked over to the door and clustered inside, getting into coats and scarves.

Through the pub window, Lily saw the silver Lexus pull up at the curb. Her husband climbed out of the driver's side. “That's Dax.” She felt the usual thrill of excitement. He looked lean, strong, and a little dangerous in jeans and his battered brown leather jacket, worn unzipped over a black sweater. His longish black hair was damp; it wasn't raining out, so she knew he'd just showered.

“Oh, man,” Marielle said, staring through the window. “You girls definitely know how to pick them.”

“Very hot,” Kim said, “though I've never been big on black-haired guys.”

“That's lucky for Ty,” George commented. Kim's rancher boyfriend had light brown hair with a sun-streaked look. “Lily, you and Dax are the perfect opposites, him so dark and rugged, and you so fair and elegant.”

“Oh yes,” Lily muttered, “we're opposites all right.”

Twelve

A
pretty young woman with wavy dark hair and coffee-colored skin came out of the pub and strode toward Dax, her hand extended. “Hi, I'm Lily's friend Marielle.”

He shook. “Dax Xavier. Pleased to meet you.”

“Hey there,” he said to his wife as she and a couple of other women joined him and Marielle.

“Hi, Dax.” She reached up to press a kiss on his mouth too quickly for him to respond. Then she introduced Kim, a petite Asian with short, color-streaked hair, and George, a slender redhead.

Each of Lily's friends was attractive in her own way. His wife was the most understated, in her tailored camel-colored coat and jeans, yet with her pale blond hair, fine features, and regal bearing, she drew the eye. Or, at least, she drew his eye, as she always had.

To Kim, he said, “You're the umbrella artist. I like your work.”

“Thanks.”

“And you're a helicopter bush pilot,” Marielle said. “I bet you have some fascinating stories.”

“Maybe one or two.” He wondered what Lily had told these women about him. Usually, she was reserved about sharing her private life, but then he'd never known her to have close friends before.

“It sounds dangerous,” Marielle said.

Nothing like flying in Afghanistan, but yeah, he'd had his close calls. Those were stories he never shared with Lily. She'd worried enough about him when he was in the army. “Not so much,” he said.

“He's an excellent pilot,” Lily said. Then, “We should head off.”

“Nice to meet you all,” he said. “Anyone need a ride?”

They all said no then exchanged good-byes. He opened the passenger door for Lily, then went around and climbed in. “I feel eagle eyes watching me.” He started the car.

“I haven't said much about you or our marriage.” She glanced over. “They think you're hot. No surprise.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, he instead said, “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

“Marielle recommended a Greek restaurant on Davie. What do you think?”

His mouth watered. “Greek sounds good.”

He drove through the sparse traffic. Rather than park in a two-hour curb slot, he pulled into a flat outdoor parking lot across from Takis' Taverna.

When he and Lily walked inside, he was relieved to see it wasn't the kind of fancy place his in-laws went for. Tables lined each side of the long room, and the décor was simple and attractive: white walls with bright blue accents, blue tablecloths set at an angle over white ones, bench seats and cushions in shades of gold. A white brick archway strung with Christmas lights added a welcoming touch, as did plants, Greek photos and paintings, and old-fashioned lamps. “Looks nice.”

“It does.”

At ten to six on Boxing Day, the place was almost empty. At a table by the window, a gray-haired couple chatted over an appetizer platter. Farther back, a youngish woman in a Beavers jersey sat alone with a glass of red wine and a tablet device.

Lily murmured, “See the jersey? George's fiancé is captain of the Beavers.”

“Oh, yeah?” He caught a hockey game now and then, and had seen the Beavers win the Stanley Cup this year.

A middle-aged blond woman in a blue top came, smiling, to meet them. “Pick your table, folks.”

Dax left the choice to Lily, and she selected a table for four near the back. It should be quiet there and give them a bit of privacy. When he'd suggested dinner, he'd remembered the early years, long meals filled with conversation and flirting. Lily'd never been big on public displays of affection, but flirting had been great foreplay. Tonight, he hoped they could recapture some of that relaxed fun.

Lily took the bench seat against the wall, peeling off her coat to reveal a sand-colored cardigan over a matching round-necked sweater. In her ears were the small gold studs she wore for work. She looked great, as always, but not exactly touchable.

Dax slung his bomber jacket on the chair across from her and sat down, shoving the sleeves of his lightweight wool sweater up his forearms.

“What would you like to drink?” the waitress asked.

“Martini for the lady, with a lemon twist. I'll take a bottle of beer. Got something Greek?”

“We have Mythos.”

When the waitress had gone, Lily raised an eyebrow. “What if I didn't want a martini?”

“You always like a martini at the end of the day.” Or had that changed too? “Don't you?”

“Well, yes, but . . . Am I really that predictable?”

He shrugged.

She frowned. “When was the last time I surprised you?”

That answer was easy. “This weekend. Your reaction to the things I did.” His body heated at the memory.

She flushed, and when he tipped her a wink, her color heightened. “Other than that,” she said primly.

“The books you've been reading, the umbrella.” The pretty shirt in her closet, which he figured Kim must have made. “And they're all due to your book club,” he pointed out.

The waitress served their drinks then left them alone with the menus.

“When's the last time you surprised yourself?” Dax asked. “Aside from this weekend.”

She toyed with her martini glass. “All right, I get it. Book club's about the only thing that shakes me out of my routine. I try different foods, read books I wouldn't normally buy.” A smile flickered across her face. “We went to a rodeo and a country and western bar.” Then, seeing his expression, she said, “And that surprised you, didn't it?”

“Totally.” Intrigued, he cocked his head. “How did you like the rodeo?”

“It was fun. Quite earthy and raw. Exciting. Those guys are crazy, doing what they do.” She sipped her drink. “It was fun hanging out with other women. Kind of like high school, where the girls giggled over what guys were hot. That'd be you, by the way, though at the rodeo it was Ty and Blake.”

“Ty and Blake?” Jealousy put an edge in his voice.

“Blake was Marielle's one—no, two-nighter. Ty is now Kim's fiancé, and they live together.”

“Wow. Some rodeo.”

“And bar, after. But yes, it was a fun day. We just, I don't know, acted like girls.”

She was always a beautiful woman, but when her face softened like that, she took his breath away. “It's nice to see you making some friends.”

So much for the softness. Stiffly, she said, “I have friends.”

She did? He'd never met them, or even heard her mention them. She really did shut him out of her life. “Like who?” Again, his voice had an edge.

So did hers when she said, “No one you've met.” Then she sighed. “Why are we like this? I feel like you're criticizing me, and I'm being defensive.”

“Not criticizing,” he said gruffly. “It's just that you don't include me in your life.”

“Oh.” The word sat there for a long moment before she said, “There are a few colleagues I have a drink with at medical conferences and events. You're right, I don't really have friends. When I went to premed in Toronto, I lost touch with my girlfriends from school. Since then, I've been too busy to make new ones.”

“But now you have book club.”

She nodded. “When I saw Marielle's poster in a coffee shop early in the year, it called out to me.”

“All work, no play?” She'd always been disciplined and goal-focused, but she used to take time out to play with him, when they managed to be in the same city at the same time.

“Well . . .” She smiled. “I thought it would be highbrow literary conversation, but it really has become an hour of play each week. Discussing books got us talking about our views, values, experiences, and we've come to know and like each other. And I'm reading and thinking about things I wouldn't otherwise.”

Like kinky sex. The woman sitting across from him, looking so proper in her sweater set and gold earrings, had let him tie her up, blindfold her, rub ice cubes over her body. Bring her to climax again and again. His cock swelled and he shifted position to try to ease the strain against his fly.

His body language or expression must have given him away. She rolled her eyes. “Other things than that.” She picked up her menu and perused it.

Dax did the same, trying to think about food rather than sex. “Want to share a couple of appetizers? Maybe calamari?”

“Sure. And dolmades?”

“Done. Think I'll have the kleftiko for my main course.” He closed his menu.

“What? Oh, the roast lamb. Sounds good. I'll have chicken souvlaki.”

He glanced toward the waitress, who picked up on the cue and came to take the order. Dax added a request for a basket of pita bread and tzatziki, and they were set.

“It's so nice to have all these food options, after being in the bush,” he told Lily.

“See,” she teased, “there's something about Vancouver that you like.”

“Touché.”

They shared a smile then she said, “Did you have many flights today?”

“Yeah, I was busy. It worked out well, me being in town. One of their pilots had wanted to take a holiday, but the company didn't want to turn customers away.”

“People really want scenic flights in winter?”

“It's pretty spectacular. Ocean, mountains, snow.”

“If you can see anything for the rain.”

“The satellite photos give a good idea when visibility will be the best. And if it's raining or foggy, well, that's West Coast ambiance.”

She studied him curiously. “You like flying tourists?”

“I like flying. I like the ocean, the mountains. The tourists”—he shrugged—“sometimes they're great, sometimes they're awful, but they're not in my life for long. Same as anyone else I fly, on whatever job I'm doing. Geologists and engineers, fishermen and hunters, loggers and firefighters, doctors, lawyers, and First Nations chiefs.”

“There are awful doctors?” she joked.

“Hard to believe, eh?”

“Do you fly doctors on holiday, or are they working?”

“Both. I've flown docs into remote mining or logging camps to do checkups and deal with minor illnesses and injuries, though if there's something urgent I'll fly the patient to a hospital. A few times, I've flown doctors to accident sites to patch up people enough that I can fly them out, if what's needed is beyond the scope of my paramedic training.” He and Lily had never talked much about his work. When he'd been in the army, those stories hadn't been for sharing with his worried wife. It had become a habit, he guessed, for him not to tell and her not to ask. Now her interest warmed him.

She nodded thoughtfully. “What kind of accident sites?”

“Plane crashes, skiing or hiking accidents, snowmobile crashes. Often in places that can't be reached by ground transport, or where that'd take too long. A heli doesn't need much space to land. That's the beauty, compared to a small plane.”

“I remember you saying that when you were in basic flight training.”

Their appetizers arrived on a platter and they served themselves. Dax tasted, and sighed with satisfaction. Lily ate a calamari ring, which for some reason struck him as a sexy act, making his cock throb again.

“It's been four years,” she said, “since you started your own business.”

Dax swallowed a bite of pita and tzatziki. “Right.” When he left the army, he hadn't suffered from PTSD, but his head had been kind of messed up and he hadn't slept much. He hadn't been comfortable around people, even Lily, and she'd eyed him warily—when she wasn't occupied in growing her Well Family Clinic. Feeling unsuited for a regular pilot job, a regular life, Dax had craved the peace and purity of nature, the independence of making his own way in the world.

“You did well right from the beginning.”

He shrugged. “I knew some guys. Being ex-Forces didn't hurt. Means you know what you're doing up there, better than someone who's taken a basic flying course and put in his hours on Mickey Mouse flights. More offers come my way than I can handle.”

“You could hire other pilots to work for you.”

He snorted. “Don't want to be a boss. Want to fly helicopters.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” she said with a touch of bitterness, and sliced into a stuffed grape leaf.

Now what was up with her? “It is,” he said evenly. “You have a problem with it?”

She ate the bite slowly. “There aren't many people who can go off and do whatever job they want, exactly the way they want.”

Huh? “You're upset about my job? Lily, you've always encouraged me to be a pilot. You told me about ROTP. And when I was finishing my last tour of duty in Afghanistan, we discussed what I'd do next. I thought you supported the idea of doing bush flying.”

“I do, Dax, honestly. You have a job that makes you happy.” Her mouth twisted in a slight grimace. “At book club a few months back, we were talking about how some people have a special thing that they feel they were born to do. And how great it is if they can make a living doing it. You're doing that.”

“So what's the problem?” Then a light dawned. “You mean because I'm away so much?”

She drained her martini glass. “That's one thing. It makes it hard to have a proper marriage.”

Just like her devotion to the clinic did. But he'd long ago realized he and Lily would never have a traditional marriage. He was about to say so, but she was going on.

“The other thing is, it sounds so easy for you. You want to fly helicopters and don't want to be a boss. By which you mean not doing administrative tasks, managing people, and so on. Right?”

“You bet.” He was trying to follow her, but wasn't clear what she was getting at.

The waitress came by to ask if Lily would like another martini.

“No, thanks. Could I please get a glass of red wine? Whatever you'd recommend.”