TangledBound (5 page)

“Thanks. That was very gentlemanly of you.” Melanie pushed
up off the lounger, grabbed her mp3 player and towel, and sauntered off toward
the hotel.

Empty bottle dangling from his fingers, Sam settled in to
watch her retreat and mourn the unfairness of it all. In a perfect world, he
would have finished his beer in the sun and emptied his balls in her hot, tight
little pussy.

He was starting to lose sight of the reasons why he couldn’t
do exactly that.

Chapter Four

Sam was still beside the pool when Melanie returned forty
minutes later, freshly showered and ready to explore the Strip. She smiled when
she saw him and decided not to let it bother her that he scowled in return.

“Everybody went to dinner without me,” she said, coming to a
stop beside his lounge chair. “Looks like they went without you too.”

Sam wasn’t listening. Gaze glued to her thighs, he asked,
“Don’t you own pants?

“I don’t like them. The crotch rubs up against everything
and they make my legs look shorter than they are. Anyway, we’re in the middle
of the desert. Too hot for pants.” The cotton sarong she’d knotted between her
breasts was much more suitable for the hundred-plus-degree heat.

“Spread your legs,” Sam ordered.

Melanie blinked. “What?”

“Take a big step out until your feet are wide apart.”

Heart suddenly racing, Melanie stood still for a moment,
weighing her options. She could refuse him, obviously. Free country, he wasn’t
her father, grown woman, blah blah blah. Intellectually, she knew all the
reasons why she could say no and he couldn’t do a thing about it. Instinct was
a different matter. Instinct told her to do as she was told. At least by
this
man.

Pussy already damp for him—pretty much a constant state
now—she obediently moved one foot to the right.

Sam’s scowl darkened. “If I can see your underwear,
everybody else can too.”

Flushing, she readjusted her stance and pressed her thighs
together, self-defense against his black look and the interest pulsing between
her legs. The edges of her sarong fluttered back into place, covering
everything from mid-thigh up. “I don’t plan on walking around with my legs
spread, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be scandalizing anybody.”

Instead of responding, he directed his attention to the
pool. Hotel guests still splashed in the water but most of the kids were gone,
leaving behind a more subdued adult crowd. The sun hung low in the sky, its
reflection coloring the water gold and orange. Pretty, but Melanie wasn’t
interested in any scenery except the man half-reclined in front of her.

Jovanna’s warning not to play nagged at her, but Melanie
ignored it. Sam’s foul mood could be directly traced to sexual frustration, a
problem she was only trying to remedy. Since she knew an invitation wouldn’t be
forthcoming, she helped herself to the edge of his lounger. His body heat
practically reached for her.

“Would you tie me up?” she asked after a moment, partly to
break the silence and partly because she was dying to know.

Sam cursed beneath his breath.

Melanie rushed to clarify. “I mean, hypothetically speaking.
You created such a vivid fantasy for me on the plane, but I’ve been wondering
whether it was only fantasy or whether you’re actually interested in bondage.
Um, tying me up. Well, tying someone up. Would it be a line item in your
contract? Like, ‘submissive must be willing to be tied to the bed’?”

He sat silent for so long, she began to wonder whether he’d
decided to pretend she wasn’t there. Melanie was scrambling for a new tactic
when he finally answered.

“An agreement doesn’t read like that,” he said. “It’s not a
document that dictates what one party must do. The goal is to establish needs
and boundaries and goals for the purpose of fulfillment, respect and
achievement.”

“How would we start negotiations?”

“We wouldn’t,” he said flatly.

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Fine, how would Dominant man S and
submissive woman M start negotiations?”

Sam leaned his head back against the lounger, a pained
expression crinkling the corners of his closed eyes. “S wouldn’t even talk
about contract negotiations until he got to know M.”

“Got to know her how?” She twisted to better face him and
placed her hand on his thigh. Sam flinched and she jerked her hand back.
Melanie winced. “Sorry, I—”

“Interests,” he bit off, aborting her apology. “S would find
out what M is interested in. Hobbies, charities, what she wants to do with her
life. What she’s currently doing with her life. He’d find out what she sees as
obstacles to achieving her goals, and if he thought he could help her become
the person she wants to be—the person he believes she can be—and then he might
start talking about entering into an arrangement.”

“That sounds very…businesslike.” Melanie laced her fingers
together to keep herself from touching him again. “S doesn’t sound like he sees
M as anything except a student. Isn’t he attracted to her?”

“Not every power exchange relationship has sex as its
foundation. Successful long-term arrangements take into consideration every
aspect of a person. Of both people.” He lifted his head and opened his eyes to
frown at her. “You know damn well I’m attracted to you. You also know neither
of us knows a single thing about each other beyond our names.”

“We could find out more,” she ventured. “I mean, we’re both
right here. Why not be right here together? We could have dinner and try to get
into a Cirque du Soleil show. Er…I guess unless you just don’t want to know
more about me.”

Mortified that the possibility hadn’t occurred to her, she
stood abruptly. “Oh God. You really don’t and now I’m harassing you. I’m
so
sorry. You should just pretend I—”

“Stop,” he interrupted. He swung his feet off the lounger
and planted them on the damp concrete pool deck. “Just stop talking. I’m in
Vegas partly on business and I have a dinner meeting tonight. Do you want to go
with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Louder, she said, “But if you don’t
want me—”

“Believe me, honey, want isn’t the problem.” Standing, he
cupped her elbow and urged her toward the hotel.

* * * * *

“We’re early,” Sam said half an hour later as he held the
door for her at the Ceasar Palace mall entrance.

During the cab ride, they’d both avoided any conversation
remotely related to sex. Sam had directed her attention to different landmarks
while Melanie had perused the Ceasar’s Palace section of her Las Vegas
guidebook.

Now she stopped several feet inside, her attention caught by
the cream and gold architecture. When Sam’s fingertips brushed her bare
shoulder blade, she flushed. He stood really, really close, his body heat
beckoning her even closer. If she wanted to keep with the no-sex-talk streak
she was on, she had to step away.

Moving away from him? Sucked. But she did, walking deeper
into the mall to stare at a directory of shops. “Do we have time for
chocolate?”

“Do you want truffles or pastries?” Sam came up behind her
again, so close his deep voice tickled the back of her neck.

“I was thinking of Vosges Haut Chocolate,” she said,
pointing at a spot on the directory. “It’s not too far from where we are.”

“So, truffles.” He slid his hand over the bend of her waist
and steered her away from the directory. “Do you prefer milk or dark?”

“If it melts in my mouth, I prefer it.” When she spotted the
small boutique store front ahead, she grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him along.
The rich aroma of melted chocolate warmed her as soon as she entered the shop.

Sam immediately headed over to the glass-enclosed array of
truffles, where the clerk engaged him in conversation. Melanie listened to them
while she explored the offerings displayed on the glass shelves that lined the
shop’s walls.

“This is one of our newest collections, perfect for a
bourbon connoisseur,” the clerk said.

Sam rejected the suggestion. “No, that’s too masculine. I’m
looking for something cheerful and delicate.”

Melanie glanced over her shoulder to find him looking at
her. The clerk was speaking again but Sam didn’t break eye contact. When he
beckoned her to join him, Melanie didn’t even think of refusing.

“We have a selection of floral flavors. This one is a
combination of dark chocolate and champagne, dusted with rose powder.” The
clerk scooped a pink-powdered truffle from the case and placed it on the
counter. “If she enjoys rose water, the limited edition Persia Truffle is
another to consider.”

“Do you like roses, honey?” he asked, still holding her
gaze.

Melanie nodded. Sam finally looked away long enough to
acknowledge the clerk. “She’ll try both.”

While the clerk presented the second suggested candy, Sam
picked up the first.

“Close your eyes,” he said as he lifted the morsel to her
lips. “Some experiences are best had one sense at a time.”

Swallowing, Melanie decided not to tell him about how her
various senses were functioning at peak performance in that moment. With her
eyes closed, some of those senses became acute. For example, as Sam brushed
rosebud dust across her upper lip, she was acutely aware of the salesgirl’s
stare.

“You’re supposed to inhale first,” the Vosges employee
offered helpfully. “The same way you’d taste wine.”

Sam didn’t say anything, for which Melanie was glad. She
wasn’t sure she could handle the low timbre of his voice, not while battling
the memory of the last time he bade her close her eyes. If he’d rubbed cinnamon
on her lips instead of rose dust, she would have been a useless mess of
shivering arousal. Bad enough that she was already well on her way, and she
wouldn’t be able to smell a velvety red rose ever again without associating the
crimson petals with Sam.

While the clerk stood by, he nudged her lips with the
chocolate. Self-consciousness heated her face but she couldn’t exactly ask for
privacy in the middle of the Forum Shops even if eating from Sam’s fingers felt
as intimate a thing as sex. Hoping to hurry through this, she opened her mouth
wider. His fingertips touched her tongue, salty and masculine beside the
drugging flavor of the rose powder. When she bit into the truffle, the rich,
berry-toned champagne filling blended with the more bitter chocolate. Melanie
moaned out loud.

“It’s a very sophisticated combination,” the clerk
explained.

“Do you want to try another?” Sam’s voice held a rough edge.

“I don’t think so.” Melanie licked a trace of rose powder
from the corner of her mouth. “This is the one. Definitely the one.”

“Try one more.” He pressed another cool piece of chocolate
to her lips.

She shook her head, rejecting the herbal fragrance of the
second truffle, and opened her eyes to look at him. “I don’t need to try any
others. I know which one I want.”

Sam’s nostrils flared but he held her gaze. “You’re not
making an informed decision.”

“Information’s for the head. Choices like this should be
made with the heart.” She dropped her eyes and picked up the truffle she’d
bitten into. Scooping the remains of the filling onto her fingertip, she
reached up to paint Sam’s bottom lip with the sticky, shiny stuff. Before he
could lick it off, she rose on tiptoe to kiss him.

He made a low, strangled sound but didn’t push her away or
deny her access. Instead, the wet heat of his mouth welcomed her in. Not
expecting such easy passage, she froze. Sam didn’t suffer from the same brand
of performance anxiety. He cupped her nape and applied pressure at either side
of her neck, urging her to tilt her head back as he claimed the sugar lingering
on her tongue.

“So…the rose chocolate,” the clerk said, a slight pitch of
desperation in her tone.

Sam squeezed her nape briefly before breaking their kiss. He
didn’t physically let her go, but his words…

“She can’t have the rose chocolate. Wrap up a dozen each of
the others.”

She turned away from his words before the stinging sensation
behind her eyes became tears.

Sam handed his credit card to the saleswoman, ignoring
whatever she said about price and storage and product expiration dates. Melanie
had his complete attention and too much of his gut as she stood just outside
the shop. She kept her back to him but he hadn’t missed the hurt written on her
face. Even if he’d been too slow to notice before she turned away, he’d see it
now in the way she leaned against the glass hugging herself.

Her upset pained him, not only because he was the cause of
it but also because every instinct he possessed demanded he draw her back and
heal the hurt. Angry with his inability to resist the temptation she presented
and keep his hands to himself, he slashed his signature across the credit card
receipt without seeing the numbers. The price printed on the paper was
irrelevant. He hadn’t refused the chocolate of choice as a matter of cost—at
least not monetary cost. He’d refused because Melanie had assigned a much
higher value to the bit of sugar and fat, and as much as he enjoyed the idea of
possibility with her, she clearly wanted more than the idea.

Praying he’d done enough to push her away, he collected the
shopping bag and receipt. Dinner would be torturous but at least he had
business to hold his focus and stand as a buffer between him and the vulnerable
woman he couldn’t seem to keep himself from touching. He tried to recount the reasons
why he had to stay away from her but couldn’t remember most of them anymore.

A strange weariness settled in his bones as he joined her
outside the store and offered the Vosges package. “This is for you.”

She glanced at the purple shopping bag and shook her head.
“No thank you.”

“Melanie—”

“Please keep it. I’ve decided I don’t really like chocolate
after all and I’d rather you didn’t buy me gifts.”

The few times Sam had found himself face-to-face with a
woman’s sullen stubbornness, he’d known exactly how to deal with the problem.
Since he couldn’t command her to communicate with him or suffer discipline for
withholding her words, he stood beside her silently, mentally working through
his remaining options.

“We need to go if we’re going to make dinner on time,”
Melanie said with a particularly frustrating neutrality, staring at something
in the middle of the corridor.