Resplendence Publishing, LLC

www.resplendencepublishing.com

Copyright ©2008 by Melinda Barron

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Binding Gillian

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

Handcuffs and Lace

Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

* * * *

Binding Gillian

By

Melinda Barron

Copyright © 2008, Melinda Barron

Published December 2008

by

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

Edgewater, Florida

All rights reserved

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Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

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This is for the one who got away...

If you reserve the limo, I'll provide the imagination

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Chapter One

"Is there a lot of sex in this book?"

Gillian York paused, pen in mid-stride, and glanced up at the woman standing on the other side of the table. She guessed the woman to be about forty, maybe forty-five.

"Would you like there to be?” She moved the pen away from the title page of her latest novel and tried not to burst into laughter. This was the first time she'd had someone ask her a question like that about one of her mainstream books. Her romance books had sex, yes, and her erotica was filled with it.

But, those books were written under a different pen name; and she tried to keep the different personas separate, for readers who might object to the more sensual side of her writing.

"Well, sometimes sex is good,” the woman replied. “But I just like to be prepared. I've read some of your—” the reader glanced around, then leaned forward as if she were imparting a state secret, “erotica."

"Thank you very much. I'm glad to hear that,” Gillian said. “I think they were some good stories."

"Oh I agree, very much. They were lots of fun to read, and my husband always liked it when I read them to him.” The woman blushed, then leaned closer. “So, is this story sexy?"

"No.” Gillian put down her pen. “If that's what you're looking for, then this story isn't for you."

"Oh no!” The woman looked horrified, then looked around again. “I love to read anything, and I think you're very talented. I just want to know what I'm getting myself into, and having read your other stuff, I wondered if maybe..."

Wondered, or hoped? “I'm sorry to disappoint you. This is the story of two friends who had a misunderstanding, spent a great deal of time apart, and then came back together. I do have an erotica tale coming out in a few months, though, called Sissy's Seasons."

"Terrific.” The woman's face brightened and Gillian returned her smile. “I want this one, too. Like I said, I love your writing."

"Thank you very much. That means a lot to me, to hear people say that. What was your name again?” Gillian inscribed the book to Nancy, made a nice comment about how it was wonderful to have such a faithful reader, then signed it with a flourish. She handed the book back and turned to the next person in line.

It was gratifying to see at least fifteen people waiting to get her autograph. That was a great kick to her ego. Three years ago she was lucky to have ten people show up at a book signing. Today there had been a line at the beginning, and participation had been steady.

Her agent, Sandy, stood by, talking with a woman and grinning from ear to ear. More people in line meant more money for her, Gillian thought as she signed a book for a woman named Martha, who stood quietly waiting. Of course, Sandy wasn't just in it for the money. Sandy was her friend and had been by Gillian's side from the beginning.

She'd helped Gillian advance her career to where it was now, and for that Gillian was very grateful. She signed another book, as she glanced again at Sandy, whose grin seemed to grow. Something was up, Gillian was sure of it. Sandy wore her emotions on her sleeve, and it was never hard to tell when she was excited, sad or mad. Right now, it was the former. Something big had just happened and Gillian was sure she would like it.

She signed a few more books, answered more questions about both her mainstream stories and her erotica, then glanced at the clock. It was almost time to close up shop for the night and brave the Manhattan traffic back to the hotel. Gillian loved New York. It was fun to be among the teaming hordes of people on the streets, brush up against humanity in that way. But, sometimes it got to be too much.

Rush hour traffic was just such a time and Sandy, who lived in New York, had insisted they drive to the shop, which was about thirty blocks from Gillian's hotel. That meant a thirty block trip back with Gillian clutching the arm of her door and hitting an imaginary break when someone pulled in front of them.

It wasn't so bad, she supposed. She had one more book signing tomorrow, and from there it was straight back to the airport and a flight home to Texas. Austin was crowded, yes, but driving didn't bother her there, when she knew where she was going.

When she got home she'd have two weeks to decorate her house for Christmas, buy a few presents for family and friends, enjoy some holiday cheer at parties, and then settle in with a few good books until after the first of the year.

She'd already told Sandy her computer would be off from December 20th until January 3rd. She had no pressing deadlines, and didn't plan to do anything but reading, eating, and enjoying a few glasses of eggnog with friends.

New Year's Eve would be quiet, as always, sitting at a friend's house, watching the ball drop from the comfort of her living room. Sandy had tried to convince her to come to New York, promised to take her out on the town that night so they could watch the ball drop live. Gillian had considered it—for all of about two seconds.

She'd rather not fight the crowds for New Year's Eve in New York City. Sitting with a few friends would be just fine. It didn't matter that all her friends were married, and at the ripe old age of thirty-two she felt like an old maid, with no one to kiss on the important holiday. Kissing someone on New Year's wasn't that important, was it? She'd have a drink and eat her obligatory spoonful of black-eyed peas, a dish she hated but tasted every year to follow the Southern tradition that eating them on the first day of the year brought you luck.

Then she'd go home and more than likely fire up her computer. It would keep her company for the rest of the morning. She said a silent prayer that her mother, or her friends, wouldn't try to fix her up with someone. There was no room in her life for a man. She was happy with things they way they were.

It wasn't so bad, really. She'd sold her first erotica a scant six months after graduating from the University of Texas. After that she'd become an online staple, selling to several different romance houses and making enough money to support herself, very frugally. About three years after the online publishing started, though, she'd signed a contract with Sandy, who had pushed her to finish a mystery book Gillian had been working on.

Sandy had sold it to a New York house immediately, and the money had picked up. Nothing to write home about, but it helped her buy a small house, and keep it from being foreclosed on.

Three years ago she'd written a mainstream fiction novel that had sold very well, and two more had followed that. The one she was signing today had made her a tidy sum of cash, which made her one happy camper. In the ten years she'd been out of school, she'd managed to meet one of her goals: to be a published author who worked for herself, and loved what she was doing.

Now, if she could just find a man to help share her life, things would be fantastic. She'd had a few dates over the years, true, but nothing that stood out. Nobody had stood out since college. She closed her eyes briefly, willing an image of a handsome man from her mind. It wouldn't do to start thinking about him now, just because she was in New York. It was a huge city, and the chances of meeting Brad were pretty slim.

She wasn't the only one who was successful. Brad traveled the globe, interviewing foreign leaders and international celebrities. When she heard about one of his interviews, she always made sure she tuned in. Seeing his bright green eyes flashing on the screen always reminded her of how they'd looked when he'd been above her, sliding in and out of her wetness, telling her how she belonged to him and no one else.

Yeah, right. That had lasted. She shook her head to try to clear it of the images of Brad as he'd kissed her, caressed her, made her climax over and over. It was a tough image to shake, though, and had been buried in the back of her mind for a good long time. There was no use crying over long-ago spilled milk, though. Maybe today she would have done things differently, and they'd still be together.

But who knows what really would have happened? They'd been young, barely a week apart, and at twenty-two years old they were sure they had the world in the palm of their hands. But, it hadn't worked out that way, and there was no sense trying to change things. From what she'd heard, he spent quite a lot of time in London now, so he was probably over there for the holidays.

Just concentrate on your work, Gillian. Don't even think about him.

The line was slowing down now, and Gillian was happy to see that. Maybe when this was over, she'd talk Sandy into going shopping with her. They would visit a few pricey stores and she'd find some fun, unique gifts for her nieces and nephews, and for her two sisters. Her parents always asked for “no gifts,” saying they had everything they wanted with their happy family. Each year Gillian sent them a fruit basket, complete with a few pounds of pecans, which her father loved. That seemed to thrill them more than any other gift would.

When she signed the last book, she glanced up at Sandy, who beamed as if she'd swallowed a ray of sunshine. Yes, something was definitely up. Sandy hurried over, taking a seat next to her and pushing a book across the table.

"Sign this for the store manager, please. It's for his wife. Her name is Ashley.” Gillian took a few moments to think of something witty to say about books, came up with nothing, then scribbled a note about how happy she was that Ashley's husband was “bringing his work home with him.” She signed her name and pushed it back to Sandy.

"How about some shopping tonight? I'm a little psyched from the crowd, and would love to stay out for a while, buy a few presents, maybe eat some large, gooey slices of pizza later. What do you think?"

"We'll have some time to shop, yes, but I've made dinner plans for us. It's a surprise, a huge surprise that I think you're going to go gaga over."

"You going to present me with a check for a million dollars as an advance for my next book?” Gillian wagged her tongue in appreciation, which made Sandy laugh.

"Not that kind of gaga, sorry. But I'm not going to tell you anything more about this. This is a huge coup, and it just shows how well your books are doing.” Gillian perked up at Sandy's words.

"Who are we meeting?"

"Someone big that you're going to love, but it's a surprise, I told you. You'll find out at dinner tonight. This won't change your plans for travel. We have today and tomorrow, and then you leave for sunny Texas, and you'll be smiling, I promise."

* * * *

Gillian handed her coat to the man standing at the door of the restaurant, then fidgeted with the strap of her purse. They'd done quite a bit of shopping, and she'd bought some fun presents for her family and friends, ones that she would have had to order had she been at home. She'd had most of them shipped, since it was still two weeks until Christmas. To assure they arrived in time she'd paid for expedited shipping. The other upside was she didn't have to lug the packages through two airports.

"Tell me who we're meeting."

"No.” Sandy's look of triumph made Gillian laugh.

"Come on, we're almost there. It won't be a secret for much longer."

Sandy shook her head, as they waited for the hostess to finish whatever she was doing, then lead them to a table. “If he's not here yet, then it will ruin the surprise. I want him to be here. I want to see your face when you see him."

"Him, huh? Well that narrows it down a little.” Gillian rolled her eyes, hoping her sarcastic tone let Sandy know exactly how little the fact it was a man narrowed it down.

It was probably someone from the publishing house, someone high up. Maybe they wanted to give her sales numbers, surprise her with how well her new book was doing. She wouldn't find out until they got to the table, though. Sandy could keep a secret like the best priest after a confession, so there was no way she was giving up the ghost until she was good and ready.

The fact they were in an Italian restaurant boded well. Gillian adored Italian food, and her curvy figure reflected her love of pasta. An appreciative sniff left her know this place probably had fantastic bread, which was a plus. This would turn out just fine, she was sure. A nice glass or two of wine, some ravioli and a slice or two of pizza. That would cap off a perfect day.

A man appeared and inclined his head toward them. “Ladies, if you'll follow me, please. Your party is waiting."

Gillian fell into step behind him as he wove through the dining room, heading to the large booths against the wall. She glanced over his shoulder, to see whether she recognized anyone sitting in a booth waiting for them. For Sandy to be as excited as she was, Gillian would probably recognize the person on sight. Or she hoped she would. She couldn't get a glimpse of anyone, though, except people that looked like everyday New Yorkers enjoying their dinner.

The Maitre'D stopped at a table and pulled out a chair. The man sitting with his back to them stood and turned, and Gillian's mouth fell open.

"Brad,” she whispered, staring at him as if he'd just sprouted horns.

Sandy stepped forward, extending her hand. “Mr. Claymore, I'm Sandy Hinton. I'm thrilled to meet you. We're so excited you're going to interview our Gillian and present her books to the viewing public. Gillian, this is Brad Claymore."

"Yes, we've met.” Did she just say that, or did she think it? Her brain wasn't exactly working the way she thought it should. Half of it was back in 1998. Images of Brad's naked body straining over hers rolled through her mind and memories of his hands stroking her body as she struggled against the bonds that held her in place for his sweet torture made her nipples tighten and dampness form between her thighs.

"What? I don't believe this.” Sandy put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “You've known Brad Claymore all this time, and you didn't tell me?"

"Actually, Gilly and I went to college together. I didn't tell you, Sandy, because I wanted today to be a huge surprise. We haven't seen each other in about ten years."

Ten years and one hundred two days, Gillian thought to herself, but who's counting?

Sandy turned to Gillian, her mouth open. “You went to school with Brad Claymore?"

Gillian wanted to scream at her to stop making such a big deal out of it, to stop saying his name. It made it all too real. Yes, I went to school with him. Actually, I almost married him. He used to tie me to the bed and do wicked things to me. And I loved every second of it. “Yes, I did.” She looked down at the table, noticed the huge bottle sitting in the middle of the table. “I think I need a glass of wine. A really big one."

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Chapter Two

Gillian put her napkin in her lap, then smoothed her hands over it. She got to the edges, gripped them tightly in her hands and pushed the napkin together, praying the panic she felt didn't show on her face.

Brad looked cool as a cucumber, and Sandy talked a mile a minute, her excitement evident in her voice. And who could blame her? Scoring an interview with Brad was a huge plus in the Sandy column. Gillian wasn't sure what it meant for her. Good publicity yes, but would viewers know she really wanted to tear his clothes off?

"How did you know I was here?"

"It's been all over the papers, lots of book signings,” Brad said, pouring her a glass of wine. “Is Lambrusco still your favorite?"

"Yes.” She took the glass, swallowed a huge dose of it, then fought the urge to drain the glass and ask for a refill. She needed to get hold of herself before Sandy starting asking questions that Gillian didn't want to answer.

"This is hugely exciting, I have to tell you.” Sandy took a dainty sip from her own glass. “Samson Books has believed in Gillian from word one, and they're thrilled to know will be on your program. It will bring a great boost to her sales."

"Well, Friends Forever is already in the Top Ten list,” Brad said, pulling out a newspaper. “The information was reported in a story today that promos tomorrow's signing."

Gillian stared at the paper as Sandy snatched it out of Brad's hand. “Top Ten?"

"That's right, Gilly, Top Ten. I'm proud of you.” He topped off her glass, his gaze holding hers while he worked. He set the bottle down, never breaking his gaze, or spilling a drop of the red liquid on the table. “I've ordered all your favorites. A spinach salad, ravioli, a cheese pizza, light on the sauce, and cannoli. I called ahead and had them make the cream filling with a touch of lemon, just for you."

Gillian's already rapid heartbeat sped up. He remembered her favorite foods. All of them. The jerk. Please don't be nice to me. Please don't make me want you.

"Thanks.” She glanced at Sandy, who was engrossed in the article she was reading.

"You're welcome.” He also glanced at Sandy, then looked back at Gillian, mouthing the words. “You look beautiful."

Gillian brought her glass up to her mouth and swallowed the liquid inside in one gulp. It burned going down her throat and made her very light headed as it soaked into her body. She pushed the glass toward Brad, who refilled it.

"This is so great,” Sandy said, wiggling the paper. “I knew you were going places, Gillian, and this interview will push you there even faster. When are we doing it?"

"Tomorrow,” Brad said, smiling as the waitress set salads in front of all of them. She put a basket of steaming bread in the center of the table, then faded away.

"I can't tomorrow,” Gillian said. “I'm leaving for home after the last book signing."

"Nonsense,” Sandy turned a horrified look on her, giving her an expression that clearly said, don't screw this up. “I've already rescheduled your flight to later tomorrow night. The book signing is from eleven to one, and the interview is at two. That gives you plenty of time for the flight, which I changed to nine. It's perfect, all the way around."

"Great.” Gillian reached for the loaf of bread, pulling off a large hunk. Then she nibbled on it, her stomach suddenly not wanting to accept food.

"How are your parents?"

"Oh they're just fine.” Every time Mom sees an interview you've done she calls me and says you're on TV. Then she repeats the words I hate. ‘I just don't know what happened there. He was such a nice young man, and look at him now. I bet he's loaded. You should call him.' “What about yours?"

"Retired and living in Galveston. They fight the hurricane season every year, but I think my Dad loves the thrill of it."

"I could see that. Your Dad always was the active, wanting-to-be-on-the-spot type of guy."

"Yes, he was, and is. They ask about you a lot. Mom says she's read some of your books."

Gillian's eyebrows shot up, and she stared at him. He gave her an even smile. “I've read them all, but Mom's only read the mysteries and the mainstream. She loved Forever Friends. I promised her I'd get you to sign a copy when I saw you tonight."

"You two really have a history,” Sandy said. “I can't believe you had this resource at your disposal, and you didn't..."

"Exploit it?” Gillian turned to her. “I haven't seen Brad in years. Ten years to be exact.” And one hundred and two days.

"And I'm doing the exploiting,” Brad said. “Gillian's the hot writer right now, and lots of interviewers would jump at the chance to have her on their show. I'm the one who wants to exploit her to boost my ratings."

"Well exploit away.” Sandy laughed, then jumped as if she'd been goosed. “Sorry, my cell phone. That's my husband, I'm sure. I'll be right back."

She hurried from the table and Gillian trained a hard stare on Brad. “What are you doing? You can't interview me. We were lovers."

"It was the only way I could think of to get near you without you running.” He held up his glass. “And I can interview you, and it will be great."

"It's a conflict of interest."

"Well, I suppose you could say that, because my main interest is to get you back into my life. But, the fact that I shouldn't do it won't stop me. I want you, Gillian. I miss you."

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “You're kidding me, right?"

"I didn't sleep with her?"

"Excuse me?” She leaned toward him, clutching her wine glass in her hand, resisting the temptation to throw what little bit was left at the bottom in his face.

"Ramona, I didn't sleep with her."

"You're about ten years too late with that little denial. I don't believe you.” She picked up the bottle and refilled her own glass. “Besides, it doesn't matter anymore."

"It does matter. When you accused me of it, I was too angry to deny your statement. I was hurt that you would believe her lies. What's the old saying, pride comes before the fall? Then, when I realized how much I missed you I tried to call, several times. You wouldn't talk to me. After a few weeks your father told me to stop calling, so I did. I kept hoping your mom would answer the phone. She always liked me."

"She still does.” She put down her glass and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't believe you."

"It's the truth."

Gillian noticed Sandy heading their way. Her agent stopped at a table, talking to a group of diners, and Gillian cleared her throat. “It was a long time ago, and it doesn't matter anymore. It's over and done with. Case closed."

"No. It's not closed. I want you back in my life, and I'm going to fight for you. I'm giving you fair warning."

"You're warning me?” She laughed. “What do you plan to do, kidnap me?"

"Gilly, I still love you. I realized that long ago, but I thought there was no way you'd let me back in your life. I see your trip here, at the same time I'm in New York, as fate. We belong together. We've wasted ten years, let's not waste another second."

Gillian's head spun, and the table seemed to move. She grasped at the wooden surface as his words soaked into her body. He loved her? There's no way. He would have tried something before now. He wouldn't have waited so long to prove it, would he?"

"I don't love you.” Even she could hear the lie behind her words.

"I don't believe you. I can see it in your eyes, the same way you could see the truth in mine, if you would only look at me. Really look at me."

Gillian kept her gaze focused on the table, then she slowly looked up, focusing on those green orbs that she loved so much. She'd never thought to see them again, except on a TV screen. She could see the truth behind his words, but that didn't mean she was just going to roll over and accept everything he was saying at face value. Too much time had passed. Way too much time.

"I'll take you home after dinner, to your home, I mean, the hotel. We'll talk then. You can kick me out whenever you want, and I promise I'll go."

"No, what would Sandy think?"

"Then I'll come by after she's gone, save your reputation.” His quirky, trademark grin made her clit twitch, remembering how his tongue would circle it, driving her insane with need. “I know you're at the Brown. What room are you in?"

She wanted to scream it was none of his business that he should just let it go; and he should tell Sandy something had come up, that he couldn't do the interview tomorrow. Instead, she found herself whispering, “twelve nineteen."

"I'll be there at eleven."

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Chapter Three

Gillian paced the floor, trying to convince herself she shouldn't ignore the knock on the door she knew was about to come; it was three minutes to eleven now, and Brad was never late.

Dinner had been fine, considering she couldn't really make herself eat much of the food that was placed in front of her. Brad's words had played over and over inside her mind, taunting her, making her wonder what would have happened if she'd actually taken his call, if she'd actually listened to him tell her that Ramona had been lying about sleeping with him.

How could she have been so stupid? She'd taken the lying little witch at her word, never once considering that Ramona was a drama major, and could probably lie her way out of a paper bag. Her performance had been beautiful. She'd even told Gillian about the birthmark Brad had on his right thigh.

Only tonight did she realize that Ramona could have seen it at the pool where they all went to swim laps and work out. To test Brad's words about calling her house, she'd picked up the phone and talked to her father, who confirmed that Brad had called, repeatedly, until he'd told the “little asshole,” to leave his daughter alone.

If Brad was telling the truth about that, he was telling the truth about Ramona, she had no doubt of it. But what would happen now? It had been so long ago, and they were different people now. Both of them had new lives, and good careers.

She knew Brad had women in his life because she'd seen photos of him in magazines with starlets on his arm, attending various movie premieres or dinners. Those photos had always made her more than a little jealous, and they'd made her hate him just a little bit more. She'd always wondered if Brad wouldn't have strayed if she'd been a skinny little thing, like Ramona, like the actresses he took to various events.

Did it matter now, though? She certainly wasn't thinner than she'd been in college. If anything she was about five pounds heavier, the scourge of a writer's lifestyle, sitting behind a computer all day, eating and writing. She tried to go for walks as often as possible, but sometimes it just didn't work, and she'd end up working all day, realizing too late that she'd only gotten up to get lunch, or take a bathroom break.

Her writing friends described it as “book weight,” similar to “baby weight.” It was hard to get rid of, but she tried between writing deadlines. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes she didn't. And the extra five pounds she carried right now was five less than it had been six months ago. That was one good thing.

It wasn't just the weight, though, it was the differences in their lifestyles now. Brad traveled the world, doing segments for the cable station he'd worked for since his graduation from college. Gillian was a homebody, sometimes taking a research trip alone to scope out a new city where she was setting a book. Most of the time, though, she used travel guides to get to know an area. Or she would ask some of her online friends if they knew the city or knew someone who lived there.

Brad went to movie theaters and saw premieres—she stayed home and waited for a movie to release on DVD. Brad had dates—Gillian hadn't had a real date in six years, since she'd broken up with the last jerk, Jack, who had bugged her once too often about how much money she really made as a writer. Brad lived in New York—she lived in Austin.

The list could probably go on and on. She realized she probably should have done just that: written out a list to use when he started his “We need to get back together” speech. He had to realize it was a bad idea, didn't he? Sure the sex had been fantastic between them.

Brad was an alpha male by nature, and she responded very well to that. They'd played around with bondage and both of them had loved it. Since that time, she'd written erotic stories about domination and submission, and had been fascinated by the research she'd done. The books had been engrossing, and the people she'd contacted online had been very forthcoming. She'd even ventured out to a bar one night, not letting any of her friends know where she was going until it was over. They'd thrown a fit about her taking the chance on her own. She'd let them know she could take care of herself, and “Those people,” as her friends had referred to them, were normal people who wouldn't force their lifestyle on anyone.

She wondered about Brad. Had he continued to dabble in that world? Did he do more than a little bit of bondage now? He was the only man she'd ever allowed to bind her, and she couldn't see herself trusting anyone else to engage in that particular activity with, either.

But did Brad? He'd enjoyed it as much as she did. Did he continue to bind his sexual partners? Who knew how he was now, or how they would work together. She needed to tell him that things couldn't go back to the way they were. It was different now, and they couldn't pick up the pieces and put them back together again after ten years apart.

A firm knock on the door made her shiver. She glanced at her watch. Two minutes after eleven. She expected nothing less from Brad. She opened the door to find him holding up a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I thought I'd save your reputation further by not having to call room service. That way they wouldn't know you had company.” She motioned him inside, and he entered slowly, keeping his gaze on her as he walked. When she'd shut the door he turned to her, extending the wine.

"I want to kiss you, but I know that you wouldn't go for it, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't.” She took the wine and smiled. “We're going to have to call room service anyway—no cork screw..."

Her words faded as he reached into his pocket and removed a silver object. “Leave it to you to think of everything."

"Yup."

"I bet you brought condoms, too.” Please have brought condoms. Please.

"I did.” His rakish look made her nipples harden. With a soft laugh, she realized that wasn't quite true. They'd been hard ever since she'd seen him at the restaurant. Now they were harder. “What are the chances of us using one of them tonight?"

She thought about saying zero, but when he handed her the glasses, took the bottle and started to open it, she said, “fifty-fifty."

"I like those odds.” He popped the cork, the poured them both a glass. The heady scent of Lambrusco filled the air and Gillian inhaled deeply before taking a sip. It was the same brand of wine they'd drunk at the restaurant, and it made her smile.

"You know me too well."

"Do you believe me? What I told you about Ramona?"

She exhaled deeply before nodding. “I know you tried to tell me that, and I know I didn't believe you. Maybe that meant something, though. Maybe we weren't meant to be together, Brad."

"No way. Every woman that's ever been in my life I've compared her to you. They've all fallen short, too. They weren't the real thing. They weren't you."

A silence grew between them, and she took a large drink of her wine. She hadn't had that much to drink at dinner, after the initial shock of seeing Brad at the table had worn off. So even if she drank a glass now, she couldn't blame the alcohol if she surrendered and went to bed with him. The only thing she could blame was pure lust, the desire to feel him inside her again.

And if she did that, what would happen afterward? Tomorrow he'd interview her and she'd go home to Austin. He'd stay here in New York, and she would use this one night as fodder for masturbation fantasies, or as inspiration for sex scenes in one of her erotic stories.

Was that so bad, really? People had one night stands all the time. She looked down into her glass, then swallowed hard. She could lie to herself all she wanted. If she slept with Brad tonight, it wouldn't be a one-night stand. It would be the beginning of a painful time for her, and it would be tantamount to losing him again, just as she had ten years and one hundred and two days ago.

"I can't sleep with you tonight.” She glanced up at him, wondering exactly how he would take the news. His expression didn't change, and for a minute she thought he would argue. Instead he just nodded, then pointed to the couch. It took her a few seconds to realize she'd said can't, and not won't. He knew her too well, knew they'd end up in bed.

"Let's sit and talk."

"You need to know right now, up front that I'm not changing my mind. Please don't try to seduce me.” Don't listen to my words, please seduce me. Please. I need you inside me.

"If I remember right, the first time we made love, which was two days after we met, the seduction was mutual. Do you remember that?"

Her body tensed, and she nodded. Oh yes, she remembered. Very well. She'd been a virgin until she met Brad, and she'd known the minute she'd laid eyes on him that he was the one for her. They'd met in journalism class, both of them transfer students to UT from smaller community colleges. They'd sat near each other and doing more glancing back and forth than paying attention to the lecture. Afterwards they'd gone for coffee in the student center, and talked for hours.

Two days later they'd done the same thing, only coffee had turned into sex in her dorm room. The next year, when they'd been able to move off campus, they'd taken an apartment together. Both of them had been twenty-years-old and thought they knew everything about the world.

"My father hated you. He always said you were bad for me."

His laugh made her smile. “I'm sure he still does."

"Yes,” she nodded. “Tonight I asked my dad about you calling. He referred to you as ‘the little asshole.’”

"Nice to know some things never change.” He took a sip, then pointed at the couch again. “We were going to sit?"

She crossed the room without answering. It was stupid to play little games, she knew, so she sat down, not surprised when he sat down right next to her, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat from his body, the desire that seemed to leak from his pores.

Her body reacted exactly as she knew it would—with equal desire. The wetness between her thighs now stained her panties, she was sure. She was also sure Brad knew it, could probably smell it. She glanced down at the crotch of his tailored pants. They were slightly tented, so she knew he had a hard-on, just for her.

"I want to say something.” She kept her voice low, and when he trailed his fingers over her shoulders she shivered.

"Go on."

"I hated you for so long, hated you for sleeping with her. Now that know you didn't do it, it just ... it just ... I don't know what it does, but well, yes, I do, it freaks me out. Everything I believed was a lie, and now I'm mad because you didn't tell me."

"I tried to, but you wouldn't listen. I told you that.” He increased the pressure of his touch and Gillian shivered, closing her eyes and savoring something she'd never thought to feel again. “Gilly, I'm so sorry."

"If you were sorry, you would have called me before now. You would have found some way to let me know the truth before ten years passed."

"Would you call someone you thought hated you?” His laughter was more of a snort. “I call world leaders, and interview actors who make more money than I'll ever see in a lifetime, but calling your agent took more courage than anything I've ever had to do before. It took me three days of picking up the phone and putting it down, picking it up and putting it down. I felt like a high school boy asking a girl out to the prom."

He moved closer, his thigh pressing into hers. “Tonight, while I waited for you, I kept telling myself to cut my losses and run, to call Sandy and say something came up and I couldn't do dinner. I was scared to death you'd hit me with the wine bottle."

She pressed on his thigh, relishing the feel of his hard body. “You, scared? I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it. It's because I didn't want to screw it up. I knew I'd get one shot at it, and if you ran that would be the end. And I couldn't handle that. I want you, Gilly. I want to make love to you right now. Hell, I want to fuck you, just like we used to do. Do you remember? Rough, hard sex? Do you remember the first time I tied you to the bed?"

Gillian stood quickly, moving into the center of the room. If she stayed next to him, she'd be begging him to fuck her. Right now. “Stop it."

"You were so wet, the way you are now. I caressed you with the feather, do you remember? I traced it over your breasts and that sweet pussy, teasing you, stroking you. And then, I pinched that tight clit and you came, and came and came. Remember I'd put a gag in your mouth because the walls of the apartment were so thin and we both knew you'd be screaming? Remember how I'd tied your hands together so I could turn you over, fuck you hard? All I had to do was untie your legs, flip you over?” He crossed to her quickly, pulling her into his arms, his erection pressing against her buttocks. “I pounded my cock inside you, filling you totally, and you were so tight, so warm. I was so hard for you, Gilly, as I am now. I've been this way since you sat down at the table tonight. He recognized you, he wanted you. Do you still like it doggy style, Gilly? Do you?"

He grasped her hips, grinding himself into her. “Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me to quit and I'll go home. Otherwise, you're mine for the night. Make your choice. Right now."

Brad released his grip and she felt great pain at the loss. He stepped back just enough so that they weren't touching anymore. She could still sense his body, though, feel the need pouring off him. Need that matched her own. She wanted him so badly. She'd been so sure she could say no, but she knew now that wasn't going to happen. But the feel of his body, the sound of his words, the memory of them being together, was too much.

Who was she kidding? She'd known at the restaurant they'd end up in bed together tonight. And it was just sex, right? There didn't have to be any emotion involved in it. She wouldn't say make love to me. That would be too intimate. But sex, she could do sex. He could ride her hard, the way he used to.

She turned to him and put her hand on his cock, squeezing gently. It pulsed under her touch, growing even harder. She remembered the length of him, the width. He fit inside her perfectly, filling her as no man ever had since. Taking him inside her was like welcoming home a missing piece of her. And she couldn't turn it down. Wouldn't turn it down.

Brad's sharp intake of breath emboldened her. She fumbled for the zipper on his pants, locking her gaze with his. “Fuck me, Brad. Make me scream again."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

His eyes narrowed into dark slits of need, and Gillian thought she would come right on the spot.

"Take off that dress. Slowly.” He stepped back, his gaze raking over her body.

"Brad, I..."

"Now. I want you naked.” Chills ran up her spine, but she didn't reach for the fastenings of her dress. “I can promise you, Gilly, if I do it, you'll be missing some buttons. Take it off."

The deep, commanding tone of his voice had always made her want to obey, and right now was no different. She undid the first button, then the second, savoring the feel of his gaze following her fingers as they worked.

She undid all the buttons, then shrugged the dress from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and pool at her feet. Then she mentally thanked whatever deity had been with her when she'd dressed that morning. She'd put on her lacy bra and panties, with thigh high stockings.

Brad's gaze brought a shy smile to her face. He licked his lips, then lifted his gaze to hers, his intense look of satisfaction washing over her like a tidal wave.

"Everything but the stockings. Bra first.” They'd played this game when they were younger, with her slowly stripping under his command. It had excited her then, and now it thrilled her. Her folds were soaked, staining the satin of her panties. Part of her wished she hadn't taken off her heels earlier.

It took a few seconds for her shaking fingers to undo the hooks on her bra. When it fell away, she put her hands up over her shoulders, holding it close, staring at him. Then she let it fall slowly, freeing her breasts to his view. She didn't think it was possible for him to look any more turned on than he'd been moments ago, but she saw now it was.

Brad's eyes were dark pools of lust. He didn't move as she slowly lowered her panties, stepping out of them carefully. His grin made her smile.

"You still shave your pussy. I like that."

"Actually, I wax now."

"Ouch.” He drew his brows together, but she could tell the idea fascinated him.

"Yes, a little, but the staying power from waxing is much better than from shaving.” She knew she was babbling, but her nerves were kicking in. She was naked. Naked in front of Brad. What was she doing?

He stepped toward her, putting a hand on her hip, caressing back to her ass. She arched into his touch, wanting to deepen the sensations he induced. “Spread your legs, clasp your hands behind your back. Lower your gaze."

Those words answered the questions she'd had earlier. Only an experienced Dom would put her in this submissive position. Brad had definitely dabbled in BDSM since their time together. His tone of voice was forceful, and he expected her to obey. She did, her movements pressing her breasts out.

He looked her over again, then gazed around them. He walked to where she'd taken off her shoes and picked them up. Returning, he crouched next to her, patting her thigh. She lifted it instinctively and, with one arm holding her steady, he slid her shoe into place, then repeated the action on her other foot.

Gillian's chest rose and fell in excitement as he stepped back and looked her up and down yet again. When his hands went to his tie, undoing it quickly, she gulped. He pulled it from his collar, wrapping one end around each hand, pulling the silk taut. Then he crossed behind her and wrapped it around her wrists.

The silk caressed her skin as he bound her wrists expertly, just tight enough so she couldn't get free, but not tight enough to hurt. When he was done, he patted her behind.

"Perfect. Like an early Christmas present, all wrapped up for me.” He put his lips on her ear, his breath hot as he spoke. “Walk to the bed. Slowly."

She crossed the room, taking care to keep her balance, very aware that Brad watched her. She felt sexier than she had in years; truthfully, since the last time she'd been with Brad. He had a way of making her feel desirable.

The edge of the bed hit her knees, and she stopped, aware he was still in the sitting area of the hotel. “Stay right there. Don't move."

"Yes, Brad.” Desire swelled inside her. Damn him for being so calm. But, he'd always been that way, always been the one in control. She heard him shrug out of his suit jacket, heard the further wrinkling of clothes. She wanted to turn and watch as he undressed, wanted to see his perfect form again.

But, he'd ordered her not to move, and she would obey. Tension filled the room; it almost felt like an entity, wrapping itself around her, escalating the yearning she felt. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of him from times past, the pulse of orgasm as he played her expertly, just as he was doing now.

She wondered if he had a dungeon at his home, if he would bind her hands above her head and fuck her until she begged for mercy, then fuck her more, make her his.

"Oh, yes.” She shivered as he caressed her hips. Had she been so deep in her fantasy that she hadn't noticed he'd come up behind her? She needed to watch herself, take better control of her emotions. She needed to remember this was a one-night thing.

"You have no idea how hard it is not to push you down and bury myself inside you right now.” His fingers traced circles on her hips, the sensations shooting straight to her clit, making the hard nub pulse with need. “But I want to see you come first. I want to see whether you still get that look of utter bliss when I pinch your clit."

Thank the stars above for that. Gillian wasn't sure how much more she could take. Just his words were driving her crazy.

"Turn around.” She moved slowly, hampered by her heels and her bound hands. When she faced him, he patted her thighs. “Wider."

She spread her legs as wide as she could, feasting on his body as she did. He hadn't fully undressed, and it made him sexier than seeing him naked. His shirt hung open, exposing his rock-solid chest. His belt buckle was undone, hanging open over the pants he still wore. The trail of hair from his bellybutton disappeared inside his pants, and she wanted to lean over and lick it, taste it as she'd done so many times before.

He stroked her bare mons, his touch light. “So soft, but then again you always were. So perfect."

His index finger dipped into her folds, spearing her, making her groan. He touched her slowly, sliding his finger up and down, making her shiver. “And so very wet for me. Do you want to come, Gilly?"

"Yes."

Brad leaned closer, his lips inches from hers. “How much do you want to come? Tell me what you want me to do to you.” The tip of his finger gazed over her clit, and she inhaled sharply as pleasure shot through her.

"Touch me."

"What else?"

"Pinch my clit, make me come."

"Nasty little girl. Tell me what else.” He hunkered down in front of her, using both hands to spread her mons and then leaning forward, inhaling deeply, the soft wisp of his breath on her wet folds making her shiver.

"Fuck me."

"Where can I fuck you, Gillian? Here?” His fingers traced her opening, and she stumbled just a bit, glad for the saving grace of his free hand, which held her upright.

"Yes."

Both his arms moved around her, cupping her buttocks. “What about back here? Can I fuck you here, Gilly? Would you open your ass for me?"

"Yes.” She'd never done it with anyone but him, but she would do it now, love every second of it.

He stood slowly, his hands slowly trailing up her body, caressing different parts of her until they were face to face again. His fingers, still wet with her juices, traced her lips. “What about here? Can I fuck your mouth?"

The soft timbre of his voice drove her insane. Why was he teasing her like this? “Yes, oh Brad, please."

He dropped his hands to her breasts, taking her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, twisting gently, pinching just enough to make her wince in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He teased her slowly, tugging and pulling until she groaned, then stopping and starting again until her hips bucked into his.

"Brad, I'm begging you. Please."

He dropped one hand to her pussy, keeping the other one at her breast, his fingers moving from nipple to nipple. He found her clit expertly, lightly rubbing it, his gaze trained on her face. She wasn't sure how much more she could take. Her body was on fire, her need higher than any emotion she'd ever felt before.

"So beautiful. All it will take is this.” He tugged her clit and she came, biting her lip to keep from screaming out. He pinched harder, and the feelings intensified. She bucked into his hand, riding his fingers which continued their assault, the pressure magical.

When the feelings subsided he pushed her back. She bounced on the soft bed, then watched as he undid his pants, the belt clinking as he moved. He unzipped slowly, revealing his hard cock in measured lengths that made her mouth water. She didn't remember him being so big, so thick. He stroked his fingers up the length, cupping the head before sliding back down.

Then he let go, grasping her legs and pulling her back, flipping her expertly. She heard the tear of a package, and then he was on her, the pulsing tip of his dick poised at her moist entrance.

"Beg me."

How she loved those words. “Please, Brad. Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

"You can do better than that.” He pushed the tip inside, then pulled it back. “Beg me, Gillian."

She fought against her bonds, wanting nothing more than to reach back and grasp the hard length of him, guide him inside her.

"Please, I need you inside me. Fuck me. Fill me. Make me yours.” Her pleading tone turned into a sharp gasp as he pushed in, slowly, stopping to let her adjust to him, then pushing against as she moaned and wiggled under him.

He felt more perfect than she'd remembered, thrusting in and out until he was totally sheathed inside her, his cock throbbing against her tight walls.

"Mine.” And then grasped her hips and began to move, his pace hard and punishing, and the most glorious thing she'd ever felt. He climbed on top of her, the soft feel of his pants rubbing against her stocking-clad thigh made her feel sexy and nasty. He rode her hard, and she was totally at his mercy, surrendering to the building bliss as he put his hands on her shoulders, his body fully pressed into hers.

"Gillian,” he growled out the word as his cock moved inside her, sliding over her core over and over. “Come with me."

He angled up, slammed harder inside her, and Gillian spiraled out of control, clasping him tighter as her orgasm took over.

"Brad! Oh yes."

"Fuck yes."

Her sore pussy protested his deep intrusion even as it grasped him, felt him throb as he released. He collapsed on top of her, rolling them to their sides, holding her close.

"You're mine, Gillian. We belong together, and I'm not letting go this time."

She closed her eyes as he held her, knowing he didn't mean what he'd just said. The flush of release made many men say anything, and she was sure that in the light of day, Brad would see they were two totally different people now. They couldn't make it work before, and it wouldn't work now.

Fantastic sex didn't make a relationship work. In the morning, she'd tell him that. Her eyes drooped as she felt him fumble with the tie, releasing her wrists. His weight left the bed and she crawled up it, pulling back the heavy covers and snuggling inside.

He was back in seconds, totally naked and spooning up behind her, holding her close. She didn't complain. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell him this was it. Life wasn't a fantasy; life was real. And they lived too differently to think anything permanent could come of this.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

Gillian groped for the phone, her hand finding nothing but pillow. Behind her, Brad pulled her closer, which took her further from the ringing instrument of torture.

"Let go,” she said, trying to reach again.

"That's not what you said last night.” Brad let her go, though, lying down on his back as Gillian picked up the receiver. Sandy's bright, cheery hello made her blink.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm running late. It's a good thing I got us some extra time, because traffic this morning is a real bitch. You should check out when we leave. We can leave your luggage in my car, do our stuff, and then I'll take you to the airport after the interview."

"What time is it?” Gillian sat up, looking down at Brad, who winked at her.

"Gillian, are you still asleep? We have a book signing in two hours, and with the congestion this morning, it's going to take us at least an hour to get there, and I won't be at the hotel for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Please tell me you're up, and ready for action."

"Of course I'm up, I'll be ready when you get here. I promise.” She hung up the phone and jumped out of bed, running to her suitcase.

"Now that's a sight I like,” Brad said from the bed. She turned to see him propped up on his elbows, his erection tenting the sheet. “A beautiful naked woman. Come back to bed."

"I can't. Sandy's going to be here in thirty minutes to take me to a book signing, and she wants me to check out from here so we can go directly from the hotel to the interview. With you."

"Oh yeah, we are doing that today.” His feigned surprise made her laugh.

"Yes, we are. We need to get up.

"I am up.” He pushed back the sheet, revealing his naked, hard cock. “Come help me take care of it."

Gillian salivated as he started stroking himself, his hand moving slowly over his glorious hard-on.

"Stop that. I don't have time."

"We'll make time. Call her back. Tell her you'll take a cab to the store. She can get there first, and I can drop you off on my way to the studio.” He continued to pump, the movement making his cock grow. Gillian's mouth continued to water, and she stepped toward the bed.

"It would have to be a quickie."

"Shower sex,” Brad groaned out the words. “You, me, soap. Call her Gillian, right now."

Gillian's promise to herself of one night of sex flew right out the window. She called Sandy, assuring her she'd be at the store before the signing, even if it was a little later than what Sandy had planned.

"I'll keep them happy until you get there,” Sandy said, her voice very soft. “Is everything all right? Did you get lucky last night?"

"Of course not,” Gillian said, hoping she sounded convincing. “I can't believe you think I would pick somebody up."

"I'm talking about Brad, you know, your former lover that you didn't tell me about."

Gillian stared at the phone, not surprised when Sandy said triumphantly, “I knew it! Oh my God. I can't believe it. Yes! He's still there, isn't he? Oh man, this is so great.” There was a loud blast of a car horn and Gillian wondered if it was Sandy pounding on her steering wheel, or someone next to her angry because Sandy was talking and driving.

"I'll talk to you when I get there. Goodbye.” She hung up then turned to the sound of the shower running. The bed was empty. Okay, she thought. One night and one morning. What can one more fantastic encounter hurt?

Her body pulsed with the idea even as it ached. She wasn't used to having sex, and the sex they'd had last night had been rough, and oh so fantastic.

"Gilly! Come on baby.” She closed her eyes, letting the sound of her name on his lips soak into her. Tonight, when she was alone in her little house in Austin, she would remember that sound. Her body would grow tight with the need of him, and she would probably cry a little. But, she would also remember this with great joy, using it to arouse herself while BOB was in play.

She hurried to the bathroom, crossing to the stand-up stall and pulling the door open. “Table for two?” She stepped inside then dropped to her knees, the tile slippery under her. She may be too sore to take another pounding like he'd given her last night, but she wasn't too sore to do this, one of her favorite activities where Brad was concerned.

Gillian never did understand her friends who said giving head was nasty. She loved it, savored the feel of hard cock inside her mouth, filling her. It made her feel powerful, in control. Simultaneously it made her feel as if she were serving him, giving herself to him completely. She'd one prided herself on being able to deep throat Brad's cock when they were together. He'd taught her how, and she'd only ever done it with him. It would be impossible from this position, but there's been many times she'd lain on the bed, taking him as far down her throat as she could, reveling in his groans of pleasure.

The tip of his cock bobbed in front of her face, and she reached out, flicking her tongue over it. She sucked in just the head, nibbling gently as he groaned.

"Hungry, baby?"

"Yes, Brad, very hungry.” She sucked him in more, groaning around the fullness.

"That's it, oh yeah baby Gilly.” His hands were in her hair, stroking her scalp, tugging her closer her closer. “Suck me."

Water cascaded down his chest and over her face as she took as much of him as she could, feasting on him, nibbling and licking his cock. She used one hand to work the part of his shaft she couldn't take, the other to stroke his balls, sometimes gently pressing against the area where his balls ended, tracing the ridge back to his anus.

His deep, guttural moans let her know she hadn't lost her touch. He was enjoying every minute of it, and so was she. She sucked him in further, flattening her tongue to restrain the reflex to gag. When she did, he grasped her hand, holding her still while he pistoned himself into her mouth.

"Yeah, you want me to fuck your mouth, just as I said last night, right?"

She said yes, though it came out garbled. His deep growl of satisfaction made her shiver and within seconds he flooded her, his hot cum sliding down her throat. She swallowed greedily, wanting to get every last drop.

Her hands went to his buttocks, trying to hold him close. He thrust harder, the tip of him hitting the back of her throat, increasing the thrill she felt. “Fuck Gilly, yeah baby, that's it. Oh fuck, so good."

His softening cock slipped from her mouth, and he helped her to her feet, kissing the tip of her nose before kissing her softly. “I'm so glad to see you're still a nasty girl. Of course I've read your books, all of them. Tell me, when you're writing them, do you dream your hero is me and that you're the heroine?"

She hated to admit it, didn't want to tell him the truth. She looked at the tile. The water was growing colder, and she knew time was flying by. “We need to go."

"I've made mental notes of them all, Gillian. I'm going to tie you up like those heroes in your books do, I'm going to spank your little ass right before I fuck it, and I'm going to make you mine in every way possible."

His hands were on her clit now, pulling on the sensitive nub, which had seen more action last night than it had seen in years. She cried out, partly from pleasure, partly from pain.

"Sore?"

"Yes."

"Good. That means that all day you'll be thinking about me, thinking about us together.” He pushed her clit into her soft flesh, and she came.

"Brad!” She grabbed at his shoulders, holding on for dear life as waves of pleasure rolled through her. It was as if he knew exactly what button to push, remembered every inch of her body and what brought her pleasure. He continued to stroke her as he nibbled on her lower lip.

"You think of me when you write, don't you? The sex scenes, I mean. I'm the model for all of them. I know it. I can see it in every romance book you've published.” He grasped her lower lip between his, sucking on it before letting it pop free. The sensation was incredible. “Am I right?"

She wanted to tell him no, wanted so badly to tell him that just wasn't true, but he knew her too well.

"Yes, it's true.” The look of triumph on his face made her shiver.

"We're going to reenact every scene. You wrote them; they must hold some interest for you. You want to be naughty with me, don't you Gilly?” When she didn't say anything he pulled her face right next to his. “Answer me."

"Yes, yes I want it. I want all of it.” She closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking her nipple in deeply. Wanting and getting were two different things, she wanted to scream. She couldn't allow herself to stay with him. When it ended this time, she was sure it would kill her to lose him. Right now, she could just see it as a fling. If they spent anymore time together, her heart would be involved, more than it already was. She just had to find the right time to tell him.

* * * *

Gillian resisted the urge to look at her watch. The interview was almost over, and it had gone very well, with Brad asking questions that most people asked about the life of a writer, about what they did with their days and their nights and how they came up with their ideas.

They'd both been very relaxed, him slightly more so than she. She'd become more relaxed as the questions had progressed, and been very nondescript. From the way he sat up straighter, though, she had a feeling that was about to change.

"I know this is probably a trite question, but do you ever base your characters on people you know? Or are they total figments of your imagination?"

Gillian wanted to reach across the table and slap him. She couldn't believe he'd just asked her that question, with three cameramen, two lighting people, and lord knew how many other techs standing around, watching the interview. The first image that popped into her mind was this morning, standing in the shower with him, totally naked. They'd already discussed the fact she used him as her muse for all her sex scenes.

We're going to reenact every scene. Her nipples hardened against her satin bra, and she moved slightly, hoping her now rock hard nipples wouldn't show on camera.

"Well, sometimes I use traits from people I know, but I've never used a person totally. I don't think my friends like to think of themselves as characters in one of my novels.” Except for you, maybe. You figured it out pretty quick, didn't you?

"Your work is pretty eclectic, ranging from erotica to mainstream. Now that you're picking up sales with your mainstream books, do you regret your earlier work, the more erotic ones."

"Not at all. In fact, I still write them, and I'm not ashamed of them. I think they're a fantastic way to explore people, the way they act and how they interact with others. I know some people may not appreciate erotica, and think I should give it up, but for me, it's part of who I am, and I like myself."

"That's always a very positive thing.” He gave her his trademark smile, then leaned forward in his chair. “Is there one thing about yourself you'd change, if you had the chance?"

Gillian thought about her answer, this was the perfect way to let him know what she'd been thinking about all day long. The ache from their encounter had been present all day, a pleasant reminder that parts of her that hadn't been used in a long while had received quite a workout last night, with her favorite workout partner no less.

And while her body craved more of what they'd done, her mind knew it would never work, that she'd end up alone, again.

"I don't think you should ever regret things you've done in your life, unless they were illegal.” She laughed just a little. “What we've done in the past is part of who we are today, part of what forms the person we are. Moreover it's hard to revisit the past. You can't go back and do things over and expect them to come out differently. You live with what you have, and what you've done and experienced, and you make the best of it, no matter what."

She saw realization dawn, and she felt terrible for letting him know this way. There had been no other chance, though, after their morning shower session she'd rushed around getting ready and packing her things. She'd tried to bring it up in the car, but the break in the conversation, where he told her about work and some of the people he'd interviewed, had never come around.

She'd thought about it all morning long while she'd been signing books and meeting new people. Gillian knew telling him there was no future for them would be hard, but she also knew it had to be done, and she'd just done it, as gently as possible.

"What about your book, Forever Friends? Isn't that a story about two women who have a horrible misunderstanding, spend years apart and then come back together, their friendship stronger than ever?"

"Yes, it is, and in a perfect world it would be possible. But in the end, it would just be fiction. Unfortunately."

He cleared his throat, then took a sip of water. “You see, I disagree with you. I think the book you wrote is beautiful, and I think it can happen. You know what they always say, truth is stranger than fiction."

Gillian laughed softly, then glanced over to catch the stricken look on Sandy's face. Gillian had just dissed her own book, basically, and Sandy was freaking out. She'd better do some back peddling, very fast, or they might be having to call EMS for her friend.

"I wrote Forever Friends with the idea that two friends who had spent a lot of time apart after a huge fight could come back together. My version of what happened is what I would love to see happen for people who have experienced that type of situation."

"Did you have a particular friend in mind when you wrote the story?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” She locked her gaze on his, then licked her lips slowly. “We'd all like to believe things can change, but in the end, we all know they can't. What's done is done, and sometimes too much time has passed for things to go back to the way they were. In Forever Friends the ladies had only been apart three years. That was the time frame I thought best. Actually, while I was writing the story, I debated on the estrangement being between three to five years. The wounds are still fresh then, and friends can make things up, or so I think. Anything after that is just unrealistic."

"Is it? What about those couples who were together in high school, marry someone else, and then when they're single again as senior citizens find each other, and live their golden years together, very happy? You hear stories like that quite a lot."

She shifted in her seat again, a twinge in her pussy reminding her of the way he'd taken her last night, of the pleasure he'd brought. “Yes, you do. But, those are more than likely couples who simply parted ways, probably as friends. If you have a bad break up, if one of the parties is hurt very badly, then it's hard to piece things together again."

"But isn't that what your book is about, putting the pieces back together again?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Gillian could see Sandy bouncing on the balls of her feet, shaking her hands in front of her chest, trying to get her attention. They were way off base now. This was no longer an interview but a personal discussion. Gillian was letting Brad know that she'd enjoyed last night very much, but last night was over, and there was no chance of reconciliation for them.

"When you write something, anything can happen. In real life, it's not that way, not always."

Brad nodded slowly, fixing a keen gaze on her. “Would you, if you ran into a former lover, be willing to take a second chance at a relationship?"

"No.” She said the word very softly. “Mostly, I'm a very conservative person. If my heart was broken once, I'd do everything in my power to protect it a second time around, including backing away from the situation before things got out of hand."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. I thought you had more spine than that."

Gillian bristled, sitting up straighter and staring just over his shoulder. “It has nothing to do with spine, and everything to do with self-preservation. Sometimes you have to know when to say no. I think the situation you proposed would be one of those times."

"I see. Does that mean your book doesn't provide a happy ending?"

"On the contrary, the friends in my book are very happy at the end. Writers are lucky in the fact that they can craft situations and outcomes as they want them. It doesn't happen that way in real life. That's why we read, though, as an escape factor, and as a way to explore situations that we probably wouldn't find ourselves in. That's the fun of losing yourself in a novel, seeing what happens next."

She wanted to pass him some type of signal to let him know they needed to wrap it up. This line of questioning was making Sandy very nervous, and really it had no business going on the air. She needed to make sure she talked with him about that after this was over.

"That's the fun of real life, too.” Brad crossed one leg over the other. “You never know what's going to happen, but you take the chance anyway, you open yourself up to the things that could be real in your life, the things that could mean something."

"Or the things that could leave you in emotional ribbons, torn to shreds.” She gave him a sad smile. “Self-preservation is a very important trait in people."

"Does all this mean you don't believe in true love?"

Gillian weighed her answer carefully. She looked down at the floor, then fixed her gaze on Brad. “True love is a wonderful thing, but sometimes real life gets in the way. When that happens it's hard to recapture true love. Once you have that emotion in your hands, it's best to hold onto it, for dear life, or it could be gone forever."

The silence grew, not a soul moving on the stage. And then suddenly, Brad stood and held up a finger. “That's it. I think we have enough to make a nice little segment."

"You have more than enough,” Sandy said, rushing toward them. “Please tell me you're going to edit that last part out. Nobody wants to hear about a romance writer who doesn't believe in romance."

"I didn't say that,” Gillian said.

"Basically, you did,” Sandy replied. “The powers that be would freak, and your readers would do the same. They don't want to read things when the writer just told them it was a load of hooey, or from a romance writer they think is blowing smoke up their ass."

There was no use defending her statements. Sandy knew they were meant for Brad alone, and so did he. He would edit them out; she was sure of it. Or she hoped he would.

"Well, I have bad news,” Sandy continued before Brad could talk. “Your flight's been canceled."

"What? Why?"

"Snow storm in Chicago,” Sandy replied. “Nothing going out until tomorrow. They're expecting you back at the hotel. I've tentatively booked you on a flight leaving here at seven tomorrow morning. I'll arrange a car to pick you up at the airport around five."

"Five? No way."

"Yes, five. It's either that or tomorrow evening. Make your choices.” Gillian could tell by the sound of Sandy's voice that her agent was very upset with her about the interview.

Gillian thought about her options, then sighed in frustration. “Let's make it later in the afternoon. If flights aren't leaving now, there's little chance they will leave at five in the morning. I'll book a later flight. You don't have to worry about it, Sandy."

"It's no bother."

Gillian snuck a look at Brad, who watched her intently. “I think later in the afternoon would be better, though, and I'll make the plans myself. You go home and spend some time with your family.” She pulled her agent into a hug. “Have a Merry Christmas, and I love you."

"I love you, too,” Sandy whispered in her ear. “But what you just said stinks. Please talk your boyfriend into canning that part of the interview."

A smile lit Gillian's face as she pulled back from Sandy. She supposed her friend didn't realize that some journalists used the phrase, “in the can,” to mean an interview was over. If she asked him to can it, he might think she wanted him to use it. “I'll talk to him."

Sandy stuck out her hand. “Mr. Claymore, it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for the interview."

She left in a hurry, and Gillian was sure she was cussing her client under her breath. If something came out on the air that showed Gillian didn't believe in true love, it probably would hurt sales of her romance novels.

"Give me a few minutes,” Brad said. “I'll wrap some things up, take you dinner and then back to the hotel."

"I'm not up for dinner right now. But thank you."

"Later then. We'll drive around and see some Christmas lights, maybe take a hansom cab ride through the park. It'll be good for you.” He seemed somewhat distracted. Not cold, or angry, but thinking of something else. It made her think that maybe he was just trying to be nice. He knew he had no shot at a permanent thing with her, though he'd made it clear he wanted it. She wondered exactly what he was thinking right now.

"Brad..."

"I'm not taking no for an answer. Go back to the hotel, check in again and relax for a bit. I might bring several ties tonight, just to make sure I get it right this time.” He looked pointedly at her wrists and ankles and Gillian shivered.

He held up his hand to ward off her answer, then pointed toward the door. “The station has a car that will take you to the hotel. I'll see you around eight."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

It was cold out, that was for sure. Gillian traced her fingers on the hotel window. Ice formed on the outside, and she couldn't see more than a blur of lights through it. She prayed it didn't snow here tonight, forcing her to stay in New York even longer than she'd anticipated.

Not for the first time since the interview, she cussed herself for being so rigid. Maybe she should give Brad another chance; maybe it would work this time. There was no Ramona to lie to her and tell her she'd slept with her boyfriend, several times.

She closed her eyes, willing away the painful memory of Ramona's hateful words. “He's forceful in bed, isn't he? Makes a girl all gooey inside.” At the time, Gillian had thought those words proof of Ramona's claims. After all, who would know about Brad's dominant nature in bed but someone who had been there?

Now, though, she remembered marks on her wrists from a particularly heavy bondage session. Someone in their crowd had made the comment about Gillian being tied to a bed and she hadn't denied it. That right there was proof to everyone that Brad was forceful in bed, that he liked to restrain Gillian.

Why hadn't she thought about these things ten years ago? Why had she taken everything Ramona said at face value, and thought Brad was lying to her? She wasn't sure why, but the fact that she had proved to her that something was flawed.

Yes, it might have been, but you ran instead of trying to fix it, didn't you? Don't make that mistake again, Gillian. Let him know you'll consider a second chance. That probably wouldn't work, though. She'd really screwed it up this afternoon. There was no way she and Brad could get back together after so long and have things be as they were.

Who says they have to be exactly the same? You're two different people now, but there are still feelings there. Don't be a putz.

A knock broke her self-recrimination. She opened the door to find Brad standing there, looking handsome in jeans and a heavy sweater. A leather jacket gave him a rough look, and it made her toes curl. She glanced down at his hands. No ties.

Damn it.

"Come in."

He shook his head. “Let's just go on down. I've arranged for a limo to take us around town. We'll go see the tree at Rockefeller Center, the one on Broadway and at Lincoln Center. Then, I thought we'd go out to the Bronx and see the zoo lights. They're pretty spectacular."

Brad sounded happy to be here, but there was an underlying current of tension that she knew would flare up sometime during the evening.

"This afternoon..."

"I got your message, loud and clear. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy each other for one more night, does it?"

"No, I suppose you're right. A limo, huh? I feel like a star."

"You are.” He extended his hand. “Come on, I've got food and all sorts of stuff out there."

Gillian grabbed her coat, and then Brad led her through the lobby. She tried not to laugh at the idea that people recognized him, that handsome Brad, her former, and current now that she thought about it, lover was well known as a TV personality.

He handed her into the large, white limo waiting at the curbs, then stuck his head inside. “Give me a minute. There's someone I need to speak with before we leave. Pour yourself some champagne."

He shut the door, and Gillian settled against the seat. A small table sat in front of her, filled with two glasses, a tray of cheese, crackers and sausage, and some tiny tarts. She brought one of the tarts to her lips and tasted it, closing her eyes in pleasure as the taste of lemon filled her mouth. Damn him for the little things like this that reminded her of how well he knew her. Her resolve was already weakening. Gestures like this put bigger holes in it.

The glasses set in a little indentation to keep them steady. She took the already-opened bottle of champagne from a bucket next to the table and filled them both, tasting one as she waited.

This could prove to be a fun evening. They could have sex in the limo, something she'd always fantasized about. She shook off the image, knowing that would make it that much harder for her to leave tomorrow. They just needed to make tonight a fun time between friends.

After about five minutes Brad came back. The driver put something in the trunk, then took his place behind the wheel.

She handed Brad a glass, and he took a healthy swig. “Shall we stay warm and toasty and see the sights, or would you like to do the hansom cab ride? We have all night, and can do anything you want."

Anything? “Let's stay inside where it's warm. Driving around New York in a limo at Christmas time is a treat."

Brad picked up a phone and gave instructions to the driver to “follow the prearranged plans,” which made Gillian frown. Pre-arranged? Then she remembered the mention of different locations of famous trees and the zoo lights.

She settled back into the leather as the car smoothly headed into traffic.

"I'm sorry about this afternoon,” she said after a few minutes. “I hope you understand my point. I think..."

"Hush. No talk of today, or of trying to analyze things and figure out this or that.” He slipped his hand between her legs and pressed against her pussy. “We're going to sightsee, and then we're going to fuck. Hard."

Gillian's breath caught in her throat. Her hands tightened on the glass in her hand, and she feared it would shatter from the pressure.

"Relax, baby, it's going to be fun.” He leaned over and kissed her, his lips gentle. The taste of champagne was on his lips, and she licked it, wondering about her sanity. Tonight shouldn't happen. This would really make leaving harder.

"Brad, I..."

"One word about how our spending the evening together is a bad idea and you're coming over my knee. Understand?"

"Here, in a moving car?"

"If need be.” The tone of his voice showed he would follow through on the threat and Gillian wasn't sure if it made her mad, or turned her on. Probably a bit of both, she finally decided, lifting her glass to her lips again.

"Can we at least talk about the interview this afternoon?"

"No.” He put his glass on the table then wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Tonight is for us. I won't want to talk about the interview until later. What I want right now is for you to promise me you'll let go and enjoy yourself. While we're in the limo, you'll be good and obey me, you'll follow my lead. Promise me. We'll discuss the interview later."

"Later? When?"

"Promise me."

Despite her misgivings, Gillian nodded saying, “I promise,” when he prompted her again.

"Look out there.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and her eyes widened at the site of Rockefeller Center, all lit up with Christmas lights. The driver found a spot to park and Brad reached for the door. “Come on, let's go watch ice skaters for a little while."

They walked through the crowd with Brad leading the way, her hand clutched firmly in his. She watched his jean-clad ass through the cloudy breaths that escaped her lungs. It was strange to watch pedestrians stop and stare at him, or point at him and whisper behind their hands.

He really was famous, and that made her smile. Who would have thought, years ago, they would both be where they were now?

He stopped at the edge of the ice skating rink, putting her in front of him and stepping behind her, putting his hands on the railing and effectively trapping her in his arms. It was a delicious prison that she wanted to stay in for a while.

They watched in silence for a few minutes, and then he leaned over and kissed her earlobe. “Do you remember our first Christmas together, after we moved in?"

"The tumbleweed tree? Who could forget it?” They hadn't had enough money for a tree, so they'd gone to the countryside and collected several tumbleweeds, a Texas staple. They'd piled them in a corner of the living room, decorating them with ornaments and tinsel they'd found at a discount store.

Brad had been afraid of fire so they hadn't put lights on it, instead hanging two strands from floor to ceiling on either side. The holiday lights cast a glow on the ornaments when the room was dark, giving the tumbleweeds a glowing effect.

"It was so creative,” she said, watching the skaters go round and round, laughing and falling and being pulled up by loved ones.

"It was your idea, if I remember right."

"It was our idea.” She closed her eyes as memories of making love on the floor in front of the “tree” flooded her, making her heart go pitter-patter. He'd taken her from behind that night, pounding into her much as he'd done last night, making her scream.

"The neighbor came,” she said, blushing.

"He wasn't the only one."

She turned and slapped at him playfully. “You know what I mean. He came over and pounded on the door because it was seven o'clock in the morning and I was screaming. He thought you were killing me. I was so embarrassed."

"It was fantastic, baby. He laughed, and later that day he asked me what my secret was for making a woman scream. Do you know what I told him?"

"What?” She inhaled sharply as he nibbled on the end of her nose, his hands gently caressing her hips.

"I told him he had to know his woman, really know her. You can't make a woman scream if you don't know what makes her tick.” His hand moved up to her cheek, stroking her in small circles. “I know what makes you tick, don't I, Gilly? Even after all these years."

"Yes, you do.” She clasped his jacket as he lowered his lips to her neck, kissing her gently.

"Our gifts that year were so simple. You gave me that leather binder, so I could use it to take notes during classes."

"And you gave me the personalized pen. I remember that one very well.” Especially since I still have it, still use it.

"Gifts for writers.” He held her close, and she knew they were attracting attention, could hear the whisper of “who is that woman Brad Claymore is with,” from the people around them. His mention of the first gifts they'd given each other reminded her of how much they had in common. It was what had brought them together in the first place, the fact they both wanted to work with the written word, and it was what had brought them back together right now.

Things had changed yes, since Brad worked with television, and she worked with fiction instead of news, but it was still their common denominator. It was still the glue that bound them to each other.

She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her. “Cold?"

"I was a minute ago, but you're warming me up.” She didn't want to tell him that the main reason she shivered was because of the memories being with him at Christmas time brought back. Thy were good memories, so much better than the years that followed, when she'd missed him so much it hurt. She knew a bit of that pain would come back tomorrow when she left. But, she hoped this time it would be easier. There would be no anger over Brad sleeping with another woman. She knew this was just the way it had to be now.

"I'll keep you warm all night,” he whispered. “We have a few more stops to make, but I can guarantee you that by the end of the evening, there won't be a cold bone in your body."

* * * *

Once they were back in the limo, she found the champagne and food tray gone, replaced by a large coffee urn.

"Hot chocolate, with a little bit of raspberry mixed in.” Gillian swallowed hard, fighting back tears. He really did remember everything she liked, right down to the last detail. He poured her a cup, added a few mini marshmallows, then held it up to her lips.

Steam rose up, warming her cold cheeks. She inhaled, savoring the scent of chocolate and raspberries, then took a small sip. “Delicious.” She grasped the mug in her hands, heat spreading up her arms. He poured himself a cup, then they settled down onto the leather seats.

Once again Gillian felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and belonging.

"Where are we going now?"

"Dyker Heights in Brooklyn. It's a great neighborhood that decorates to the nines every year. I thought you might enjoy a tour around the area. I know how much you love Christmas lights."

Gillian grinned, then leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you."

"My pleasure.” He dipped his finger in his coffee mug, then traced the finger over her lips. She sucked in the tip, licking at the chocolate taste mixed with the salt of his skin.

"You know what made me think about Dyker Heights?"

"What?” She licked at his finger, assuring she got every last drop of chocolate. When it was all gone, he dipped again, offering her more.

"I remembered the first time we went to the Trail of Lights back home. Your eyes lit up like a little kid and you oohed and ahhed at everything. You wouldn't leave until we rode the train and listened to several bands that were playing."

"Seeing that huge tree was fun,” Gillian said. “Add to that the fact you held my hand, and kept me warm all night, and it was just magical."

"Do you remember where we made love that night?” His voice had dropped a few octaves, and Gillian thought she would come on the spot. How could she forget? They'd snuck into a local botanical garden and Brad had spread out a blanket, undressing her slowly and then laying her down before stripping himself.

They'd made love in the cool Texas evening, their hands moving over each other slowly, teasing and stroking until they were both breathless. He didn't take her until after she'd come the first time, when she'd been writhing on the blanket, her body shaking, her mind reeling from sensation.

He'd flipped her onto her knees and claimed her body much as she'd claimed it last night, making her scream and claw at the blanket as she's spiraled out of control. To this day, she couldn't go to that garden without having to come home and break out her vibrator.

"Don't tell me we're going to make love outside. It's much colder here than it is back home."

"I could keep you warm.” He fed her more chocolate. “In fact, I could make you boil, I'm sure. But that wasn't the plan, at least for right now. I want to feed your addiction to bright lights and overdone Christmas decorations. And we're about there."

He pressed the button for the sunroof, stood and offered her his hand. They both stood, resting their arms on the room as they took in the scene around them. The limo had joined a long line of cars slowly moving down a residential street.

Gillian gawked, then burst into laughter.

"What are you laughing at?” Brad leaned over and placed a few bills in a bucket held up by a person who was bound in a coat, muffler, hat and gloves and still shivered. Gillian waved at him and he nodded before trotting back to the next car to accept the donation, the price of admission to the popular attraction.

"Well, for lack of a better thing to say, the entire city block is lit up like a Christmas tree."

Brad joined in her laugher, then pressed against her. Her body tingled at his touch, and she leaned toward him and kissed him softly.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, now pay attention."

"Yes, sir.” There was no hiding the humor in her voice, and she tried to concentrate on the houses, but it was difficult. There was a wide assortment of lights dangling from almost every surface of every house.

Large, blow-up statues of cartoon characters, Santas, nativity scenes, and nutcrackers decorated each lawn. She thought she might get whiplash straining to see each ornament, each arrangement.

The heavy traffic on the road kept their pace slow, which was a good thing. The sidewalks were also teeming with people, many of them stopping to snap photos of their friends in front of Santa, or gathered around fiber-optic reindeer.

When they made the end of the block, Gillian thought she'd seen more Christmas lights than she'd seen in all her life. And she loved every second of it.

"I liked the tree with the giant presents all around it, didn't you?” They wiggled back into the car, closing the roof. The cold had invaded the car and she shivered, cuddling down next to him. “We need to turn up the heat."

"I'll keep you warm.” He pulled her close, kissing her temple.

"Why do you like the wintry weather so much?"

"Making love in chilly temperatures provides a great range of sensations. You're cold, but you're hot, and the differences clash and provide interesting vibrations inside your body.” He stroked his thumb over the palm of her hand. “Remember the night in the park? How hard you came? All the conditions were right: the two of us touching, feeling, loving, and conditions that made us hypersensitive. If I remember right, you flew to the moon that night."

"And tonight? Could you fly me to the moon tonight?"

"Or maybe to Mars, it's your choice."

"As long as you accompany me, I don't care where we go."

A smile of pure satisfaction spread across his face, and Gillian thought her insides would melt from the heat that smile produced. She knew exactly what he was saying about conflicting temperatures, about the balance of conditions it took to produce just the right emotions for lovemaking. He'd done it tonight, just as he'd done it that night long ago in Austin.

Gillian knelt in front of him, caressing his knees, their gazes locked. “Then be my pilot."

When he looked at her, her body ached with need, nipples tightening, her folds swelling as they grew wet. He pressed the button to open the moon roof again, the cold wafting in, wrapping around her, making her shiver. Or maybe it wasn't the cold, maybe it was him making her quake with need.

"Let's pretend you're a naughty character in one of your books. Take off your clothes.” He leaned back, his legs spread out in front of him.

Gillian knew exactly the scene he had in mind, from one of her erotica novels. There was only one where the heroine had sex in the back of a limo, and she'd been thinking about Brad when she wrote it. Of course, they'd already established that she thought about him when she wrote all her sex scenes.

She glanced around, looking for the props they would need and spied a duffle bag sitting near the far side of the limo. It hadn't been there before, she was sure of it. She wondered if the driver had put it there while they'd been at the ice rink.

That meant the man knew exactly what they were doing. Instead of embarrassing her, a shot of excitement zinged through her body. Brad's words wrapped around her, “be bold and nasty with me."

She sat on the floor, pulling her sweater over her head. She undid her bra slowly, freeing her breasts, cupping them and holding them up for presentation, savoring the hiss of delight that escaped his mouth.

Icy fingers of air slipped inside the moon roof to grip her, causing goose bumps on her skin. Yet, her burning insides kept her hot and aroused.

"Pinch them.” She closed her eyes and captured each nipple between a thumb and forefinger, rolling the already rock hard nubs around, the pleasure shooting straight down to her clit.

"Lick them.” She opened her eyes to look at Brad, who sat fully dressed, one hand on each jean-clad thigh. “Do it now."

Her body buzzed at his words, and she lifted a breast to her mouth, leaning down to touch tongue to nipple. His moan of approval encouraged her, and she licked it again, blowing on it lightly, tightening the sensitive nub even more.

"That's it, my naughty girl. You have no idea how sexy you look right now.” She felt sexy, too, knowing the car was moving through the streets, stopping and starting at lights, knowing people were scant feet from the vehicle where her lover watched her as she touched herself. It was like something out of one of her books, and the fact that Brad watched made it all the more erotic.

"Get naked for me.” Gillian quickly obeyed, lying prone on the floor of the limo to pull off her jeans and panties. She kneeled in front of him, her legs spread, her hands behind her back.

"Oh Gilly, you have no idea what the sight of you in that position does to me.” He ran his fingers over his crotch and Gillian licked her lips, hoping she looked as seductive as she felt.

"I have some idea.” She gazed down at his crotch. “Do I get a taste of that treat, too?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I have other plans for you. You'll have to wait and see.” His gaze cut to the bag. “Open it."

Her hands shook with excitement as she undid the zipper, the sound loud in the otherwise silent vehicle. She wondered where they were now. In the city? Out in the country? Would someone be able to see through the tinted windows, see her naked and kneeling before Brad?

She doubted it, but the idea of being caught out was titillating. She reached into the bag, removing the contents and fighting back a laugh.

Ankle and wrist cuffs, attached to straps. The leather was cold in her hands, and she turned her gaze to Brad.

"Put them on. Very slowly. I want to take pleasure in every second of this activity."

You and me both. Gillian sat back, wrapping the leather around one ankle, then the next. The straps on those were much shorter than the ones on the wrist cuffs, and she wondered if this was some type of specially equipped limo, if it came complete with places for lovers to anchor bondage ropes.

The wrist cuffs were next, the clink of the buckles competing with the sound of their breathing. When she was done, she held up her hands.

"Very nice.” He ran his hands over his crotch again, and she could tell he was fighting not to free himself. Imagining his hard cock, captured under his jeans, kicked her breathing up another notch. She wanted to see that cock, play with it. Suck it. “The ankle cuffs have a lanyard hook and a ring. Hook them together."

The metal clicked as she attached them. She spread her legs as wide as she could, the leather pulling taunt when her legs were about three feet apart.

"Perfect. Now, come to me.” He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him, and she took it eagerly, keeping her body rigid, her breasts on full display for him. For a moment they just stared at each other, desire evident in both of them.

Time seemed to stretch as they stayed still, emotions flowing between them, joining with the craving they both felt. Gillian desperately wanted to touch herself, to touch him, to join them together.

She waited for instructions, though. This was his plan, and she wanted it to play out exactly as he'd expected. When he finally moved, it took her by surprise. He grasped one of the leather leads on her wrists, attaching it to the handhold hanging from the passenger side of the limo. He tied it tight, then moved to the other side, repeating the movement so that she was stretched between the two. Then he sat back down and licked his lips.

"Mount me.” Gillian moved awkwardly, pulling herself by her wrists and using her knees and ankles to move onto his body. A delicious feeling of surrender coursed through her as he clasped her hips, helping her to climb onto him. The leather around her ankles gave her just enough leeway to spread her legs around his thighs. It settled behind her, her feet resting just above his knees.

When she was in place, he tested the restraints on the handholds, pulling and nodding with satisfaction. “Perfect."

He traced his hands up her sides, his fingers barely touching her. She sucked in a moan at the tickling sensation, trying to move to increase the pressure. Her bonds kept her in place, though, and he continued to tease her, lightly touching each breast, rubbing on her nipples until she groaned and then pulling away.

Despite the frigid air flowing in through the open moon roof, Gillian's body was on fire. He teased and stroked, lightly nipped and licked, touching her everywhere except between her legs, the one place that would probably send her soaring with one soft rub of his finger.

She pulled on her bindings, wanting the use of her hands to touch him. “Please, Brad."

"Shush.” He slapped her ass, and she jerked, her head falling back, as he cupped her hips and pulled her forward. “You're my toy, right?''

"Yes."

"Maybe I should have put a bow on you, wrapped you up and put you under a tree. Would you like that?"

She nodded, her body swaying this way and that as he continued to tease her. The pressure inside her built, her body tense with desire. When he finally stroked over her mons, his fingers delving inside to circle her clit, she cried out.

"Brad please!"

"Please what?” He put one hand on her neck, holding her still as his finger continued to tease her clit, the touch not hard enough to make her climax.

"Please make me come, fuck me, take me."

"Make you mine?"

She looked down at him, inhaling sharply at the look of love flowing from his face. “Yes."

"I love you, Gilly.” He lightly flicked his finger over her clit, then pressed it hard, sending her soaring. She undulated above him, her binding pulling as she rocked against his fingers. They kept her tethered above him, though, kept her right where she knew she needed to be.

He'd done all this for her, reminded her of the wonderful things they'd had together in the past, showed her the wonderful things they could have in the future if she'd just open herself to him. She'd never stopped loving him, truly. But, she'd allowed herself—convinced herself—that she would never have him again. She'd been so wrong this afternoon.

"We need to redo our interview. Some of my answers have changed.” No matter what had happened in the past, a person could let go, allow themselves to feel again, to be with the one person they knew could complete them. “Love you so much,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, flicking open the lanyard that held her legs bindings.

Gillian watched as he undid his jeans, opening them just enough to free his cock. “Take me inside you, ride me."

She wiggled over the length of him, lowering herself as he steadied her with one hand, the other wrapped around his cock. She took him slowly, relishing the feel of him inside her, wanting to prolong it, yearning to make it last as long as possible.

When she was finally fully seated, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, one hand pulling her head toward his, his lips almost brutal as they claimed hers.

Gillian didn't wait for instructions. She started moving, slowly at first, picking up speed as he continued to kiss her, her arms still stretched the length of the limo, held in place by the leather.

The ridge of his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside her again and again. She clenched him as tightly as she could, soaring over the edge. He groaned into her mouth as his warmth flooded her, parts of him filling her at both ends.

While their breathing settled, he held her close, his fingers tickling her spine.

"Ms. York?"

"Yes, Mr. Claymore."

"Will you do me the extreme honor of becoming my wife? I don't care where we live: here, Austin, or anywhere in between, as long as we're together."

Gillian gazed down at him, his warmth wrapping itself around her, pulsing inside her. “Yes, I will."

Tears fell from her eyes, and he stroked her cheek. “What's wrong?"

"I was just thinking that by binding me, you freed me. You reminded me of what we meant to each other, of what love can mean. Thank you."

"I'll have to remember this reaction, and make sure I bind you to the bed at least once, maybe twice a week. How does that sound?"

"Like a trip to heaven and back. As long as I'm bound to you, life is perfect."

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About the Author

Melinda Barron loves to explore Egyptian tombs and temples, discover Mayan ruins, play in castles towers, and explore new cities and countries. She generally does it all from the comfort of her home by opening a book.

Melinda loves to lose herself between the pages of a book. The only thing she loves more is creating stories from the wonderful heroes and heroines that haunt her dreams and crowd her head. She believes love is for everyone, not just those who are a size 2. Her books are full of magic, suspense and love, in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

Mel currently lives in the Texas Panhandle, with two cats, and a file stuffed with new ideas to keep her typing fingers busy, and your heart engaged.

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Handcuffs and Lace

Resplendence Publishing's Erotic Romance Line of Law Enforcement Themed Stories

Ticket Me More by Tia Fanning

Hailed by the bridal flower world as an artistic genius, Meli works long nights making bouquets for women lucky enough to find love, while she herself lives a life of solitude. She yearns to share her heart and body with someone other than Bob, her Battery Operated Boyfriend, but acute shyness keeps her from engaging the “living” world.

However, Meli's quiet and predictable existence takes an unexpected turn when she is pulled over and ticketed by the most gorgeous cop she has ever encountered—Officer Michael Johnson. Though he does not seem to notice her as anything more than a traffic violation, Meli makes plans to overcome her timid nature and seize the police officer's attention ... using any speed necessary.

* * * *

Cuff Me Lacy by Demi Alex

Three months is way too long to wait for some simple, low-down, straight forward sex. It's not like Officer Chrissie Hansen is asking for prince charming to offer her the love of a lifetime. All she wants is a good orgasm that she doesn't have to work for alone.

At least with “The Bull", she knows what to expect. But when Patrick MacKlick returns to her life and tempts her with new options, she discovers that lace can imprison a heart better than handcuffs can.

* * * *

Search Me Baby, One More Time by Melinda Barron

Wren Thornberry's life isn't going according to plan. She let her father talk her out of marrying Bryan Stockard, the man she loves, and moved halfway around the world. Now she's back home in Texas, babysitting her grandmother while grandma and her boy-toy work through their list of sexual exploits, making themselves the talk of the town.

But what Wren doesn't know is that things in her hometown are about to heat up even more, and it will have nothing to do with her grandmother. It seems that Bryan Stockard is still around, he wants to get back into Wren's life—by any means necessary, and now he has just the tools to do it: A police uniform, handcuffs, and the authority to make Wren ... assume the position.

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Melinda Barron's Desires of the Lamp Tales are at

www.ResplendencePublishing.com

Wish Me Up, Rub Me Down

With no love life to speak of, BBW Anya Bartholomew lives only for her job. This dedication has paid off. As a successful advertising agent, she has risen in the ranks of her firm to be the top moneymaker.

But at the insistence of her two best friends, who claim she needs a break from work, Anya takes a weekend vacation to the small town of Pleasant, Maine. While shopping at an antique shop, she rubs a lamp that looks as if it could belong to Aladdin himself.

Things will never be the same.

Back at work on Monday morning, Anya finds that her boss has given her a new account ... for a lamp factory. However, her clients—two very handsome, very sexy men—are more than what they seem.

They're pleasure Djinn. And they have come to fulfill five of Anya's most secret sexual wishes.

* * * *

Aliya Baban and the Cave of Pleasure

Advertising agent Aliya Baban is beautiful with a capital B. Unfortunately, she's also a witch with a capital B. In her twenty-eight years of life, she's managed to offend almost every woman she has ever met.

But she doesn't care, really. That's just the way life is.

When her boss tells her to get the Cave of Pleasure account, or else get a new job, Aliya takes her party invitation—and the strange lamp she's received—and attends the nightclub's grand opening, ready to do battle for her livelihood.

Matuse is more than just the owner of the Cave of Pleasure ... he's a pleasure djinni. And Aliya has rubbed his lamp. For the next thirty days, she belongs to him. Though he intends to bring intense pleasure to her body, it's also his job to make sure his “she-devil” changes her wicked ways.

Will Matuse be able to help Aliya overcome her painful past? Or will Aliya fail to make the five heartfelt apologies she needs to make to the five women she has hurt the most.

* * * *

To Rub, Honor and Obey

Moreen McGee is a perfect example of how poor decisions made in youthful rebellion can haunt someone for life. Now on probation for ten years, she serves her court-ordered community service at a center for troubled teens, in the hopes of stopping other kids from taking the wrong path.

But when one of her young charges pickpockets a wallet from her high school nemesis, Aliya Baban, Moreen decides to put the illicit skills she learned as a teenager to good use ... by breaking into Aliya's apartment to return the stolen wallet, thus keeping the kid who stole it out of trouble and out of jail.

However, once she's in the opulent Manhattan flat, Moreen can't resist the urge to take one small token from the woman she still blames for her own downfall—an old, neglected oil lamp that she's sure Aliya will never miss.

Moreen accidentally summons a gorgeous demon-turned-pleasure djinni named Paran ... and he's not too thrilled with the theft of his property. Moreen has rubbed his lamp, the contract is sealed. For the next thirty days, she belongs to him. And Paran intends to use this time to help his little felon learn some important lessons, including the true meaning of the words honor and obey.

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Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

Made for Mischief by Regina Carlysle

All she really wanted was one naughty night before returning to her life as a sheltered country spinster! Crawling beneath a bed in London's most notorious brothel was beyond the pale, even for known eccentric Arabella Spencer. Little did she imagine that lust, desire, and yes, love was just within her grasp.

When Grayson St. James, Lord Mercer, newly returned from fighting Napoleon, dragged a squirming, dusty bluestocking from beneath his bed, he was ... well ... aghast! She wanted adventure, did she? She wanted to learn about sex, did she? He was just the man to teach her.

* * * *

A Dusting of Syn by Melinda Barron

As the seventh son of a duke, Keran of Bristol never thought to have his own lordship. So when King Edward IV offers him a bride and a castle near the Scottish border, he is ecstatic. However, when he arrives at the country keep, he finds that His Majesty's court is not the only place where intrigue resides.

Syndra of Mardoon knew that after her father's death, her stepmother would never allow her to be anything more than a servant in her own home. Threatened with the death of her friend if she doesn't cooperate, she hides in the shadows while her younger half sister is introduced to the new lord as his intended.

With the scheming ploys put forth by her stepmother already in play, Syndra is reluctant to believe that the handsome new lord can set things right at Mardoon. But one touch of Keran's lips convinces Syndra otherwise, and she finds herself surrendering to him ... mind, body and soul.

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Table of Contents

Binding Gillian

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

Handcuffs and Lace

Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

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