Bound Hearts Page 5

  However, if she reacted the way he hoped she would? The erotic possibilities for the two of them together were endless.

  “It’s basically shrimp with a bunch of spices and vegetables over pasta. I have salad and bread as well,” he continued, realizing he’d been staring at her without saying anything more in response to her question.

  “Do you like to cook?”

  He shrugged, pulling out fettuccine to test before replying. “I like to eat. But cooking for one can be kind of a pain.” He looked up. “It’s nice when it can be shared, though.”

  He drained the pasta in the colander sitting in the sink while she transferred the salad and dressings to the dining room table. He brought in some dark bread on a cutting board with an entire side of butter. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She seated herself, but waited to serve until he returned, bearing a huge serving bowl with puffs of steam streaming up towards the ceiling.

  “What are you waiting for? Dig in,” he ordered, serving himself some salad while waiting for her.

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.” He smiled at her. It was clear she was uncomfortable and doing her best not to display it. Her discomfort mystified him. In his experience, beautiful women knew exactly the trade they bartered in, their confidence generally skimming on arrogance. They took men’s attention for granted. Men of all ages, nationalities, education levels and jobs. They recognized their effect on men and knew that most men, married, committed, or single, would happily give them the attention they craved and believed they were entitled to.

  Calleigh’s distinct awkwardness endeared her to him, but he also wanted to rid her of any uneasiness. How much was he responsible for treating her as he had in the past? If she’d been any other woman, he would have taken her up on her prior offer, pleasured them both until they couldn’t walk, and called it a day. Instead, he’d treated her like shit, said all the wrong things, and was now trying to rectify the situation in a way both foreign to him and strange to her.

  As they settled in at his square table, Calleigh didn’t take more than a few bites worth of the pasta and shrimp. She ignored the bread and loaded up on the salad, but spared herself any dressing. Great. She had food issues. That would partially explain why she was always wound so tight. She was probably perpetually hungry.

  Chapter 4

  The first bite of the spicy shrimp was a symphony in Calleigh’s mouth. The plump shellfish had soaked up some serious heat and were tempered in just the right way with whole grain fettuccine. The creamy sauce, full of bell peppers and spices, made her wish she’d worked in a couple extra miles after work.

  Instead, she’d spent most of the afternoon fretting over the night to come.

  She could only distract herself for so long with online shopping. In retrospect, her angst seemed silly now that she was sitting across from the big, bad wolf. He couldn’t be that bad. In fact, the meal was so civilized, he seemed practically harmless.

  Almost.

  “Would you like some more wine?” he offered.

  She would love another glass of wine. But discipline honed through years of denial took control. “No thank you. One glass is enough for me,” she responded, wiping her mouth with the napkin and sitting back in her chair while he continued packing it away, clearly no concern about the calories or fat content tearing through his mind the way the thought terrorized hers.

  “Tell me. What brought you out to Portland? You’re not from here, right?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Right. I’m originally from Montana, went to school there and started working in Missoula after college. After a few years, I decided that if I was ever going to be taken seriously in the NFL for management, I needed an MBA. So, I went to Stanford and after graduation, started working for the Dolphins in Miami. After a few years in Miami, I received a better offer from Buffalo and then eventually, the Tide was looking for a GM. I threw my hat in the ring, and I received a call from the Tide. I came out here, interviewed, and next thing I knew, I had an offer.”

  “Sounds like you’ve led a charmed life.”

  He shrugged, digging in for another helping, loading his plate high before responding. “I don’t know about charmed. I think my name hit the Tide’s radar at the right time.”

  “Are you a believer in fate?” she asked, curious. In her experience, most men took complete responsibility for their accomplishments. Employers hired them because they were the best fit for the position. They scored the game winning goal because they’d practiced it a thousand times before. They were high achievers because of their efforts, not because serendipity or destiny had any hand in their accomplishments.

  He cocked his head before replying. “I don’t know. Maybe. Was I fated to come to work for the Tide? I don’t know. All I know is that the timing and the fit were right. It was the perfect storm of factors at the right time. The team didn’t have a lot of money to expend on a more seasoned, proven general manager and I hungered to prove myself at the top level.”

  “Is the Tide a top level team?”

  “Yes and no. We’re a strong team and becoming stronger every season. What I meant by ‘top level’ was that I was anxious to be the top executive for an NFL team,” he clarified.

  “Tired of being an assistant?”

  He nodded. “Exactly. The whole point with being an assistant is to gain the critical skills necessary to run your own team someday. If you’re a perennial assistant who is never offered a GM job, then you’re not doing something right.”

  “Do you know Michael Santiago?”

  He angled his head and narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course I know him. He’s one of the starting defensive ends. Why do you ask?”

  She took a final sip of her wine before answering. “No particular reason. It’s just that a good friend of mine is dating him. Mary, a woman I work with.”

  “Dating?” David’s skepticism was delivered coolly with a whole boatload of judgment behind his words, causing her spine to straighten and her resolve to harden.

  “Yes, dating. Is that hard to believe?”

  “Only if you believe in Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, sweetheart.” He rose and began clearing the table which left her no choice but to follow him into the kitchen.

  “Why? Because Mary isn’t a porn star with a huge rack of fake boobs and an IQ the equivalent of your shoe size?” She was outraged, not only on Mary’s behalf, but on behalf of all womankind. She never should have let her guard down with Shalvington. He was as much a jerk as she remembered. He’d proven the guy he was throughout the entire year she’d known him. Why on earth had she ever thought he’d changed? Why was she so willing to believe that maybe there was a different guy behind the iron mask he wore?

  Served her right for letting her guard down, even temporarily.

  § § §

  After placing their dishes in the sink, David turned towards her before delivering his response. God, he loved it when she was pissed off, all angry fire directed at him. He, who only tangled with submissive females, was hardening with each increasing second. Although he didn’t think Calleigh would appreciate his erection at this particular juncture in their fledgling relationship.

  “Mary is a beautiful, loving woman and any man, including Michael Santiago, would be lucky to have her,” she thundered, visibly outraged by his remarks.

  “This isn’t about your friend, Calleigh. It’s about him. Santiago. NFL MVPs don’t date average women. They date Victoria Secret models. Actresses. Porn stars. Pop singers. Average chicks? Come on. It’s a fucking fairy tale. Maybe he’s fucking her, but he’ll never marry her,” he opined, not wanting to hurt Calleigh, but come on. How did a woman this naïve actually survive in the real world?

  “Plus, Santiago’s an arrogant asshole. One of the worst on the team, which is saying something.”

  “Maybe Michael’s different. Besides, how well do you know him? Do you really know anything about his personal
life? ”

  “I may not know him well, but I know men, particularly professional athletes. Men like him. Their relationship, whatever it is? It’s not going to last. At best, it’s easy and convenient. At worst? He probably hasn’t been able to pull the trigger. It’s the beginning of the season. He probably hasn’t dumped her yet because of the timing. A lot of pros don’t like to rock the boat mid-season.”

  She looked like she wanted to throw something at him. Probably right at his head.

  “Wow. I knew I was cynical, but you’ve got me beat by a mile. Thanks for dinner, but on that note, I think I better go before I say something I’ll regret.” She turned away, out of the kitchen and back to the living room where he’d placed her leather jacket over the back of the couch.

  “Calleigh, wait.” He followed, regret flowing through him. His careless words upset her. A lot.

  “Don’t leave like this,” he pleaded as they arrived at the door and she jerked her arms into her jacket.

  “Like what? Pissed off? Because honestly, if that’s what you really think about women and more importantly, my best friend, who you’ve never even met, by the way, there’s no way for me to not be pissed off. No simple apology will suffice, so it’s probably best that we call it a night.”

  “Come on. I didn’t mean to offend you and I’m sure your friend’s a perfectly nice woman.”

  She turned around to face him and put her hands up. “Stop. Right. There. You aren’t fit to kiss the bottom of Mary’s feet, let alone speak her name in your patronizing tone. She’s a lot more than a ‘perfectly nice woman’ and men like you would never have the opportunity to know that because you and others like you write her off immediately because she’s not some over-botoxed Amazon with triple-ds, collagen implants, and nothing more than a GED.”

  After a heartbeat, he said, “I’m sorry.” He expelled a breath as he placed his arm in an arc over her in the doorway.

  “You know what? I’m sorry too. For awhile tonight I forgot what a jerk you are and now I’m reminded of it again.”

  She opened up the front door and stormed out, leaving him watching her as she left, clenching his jaw and his fists.

  Fuck. It fucking figured Santiago would fuck up his date tonight, he thought as he turned to return to the kitchen after watching her peel out of his driveway.

  Don’t blame Santiago for your remarks about her friend. Things had been going well. Calleigh was gorgeous, the green sweater she wore accenting her eyes and her body was sublime, built exactly the way he preferred. Beautifully proportioned, natural breasts. Long legs that were designed to wrap around his waist and take his cock. An ass that he envisioned making rosy before soothing the hurt.

  And she was wicked smart about a wide variety of topics, another turn-on. She was well-read and dialed in to current events, both national and international in scope. Dumb women bored him, in bed and out of it. Most of his subs were all Type-A personalities who were business owners, accountants, lawyers, doctors, and CEOs, a personality trait Calleigh shared. Always on time. Always in control. Perfect clothes. Perfectly manicured nails. Even her fucking soccer cleats were pristine prior to every game. The woman was wound tighter than a wide receiver with cracked ribs.

  The night ended prematurely and in a way he hadn’t intended. He had intended to coax her with kisses and maybe more. Now, would he ever have to the opportunity to do so and if he did, could she willingly give up control to him? Would she want to? If she wasn’t into it, where would it leave them? He knew what he was into and what worked for him. He never questioned it and accepted it as soon as he recognized that he was only sexually satisfied when he dominated his partners. He loved giving orders and he loved the control. He craved the release promised at the end of every session. BDSM provided another outlet for his domineering personality and love for inventive positions. The toys, the accompaniments, all of it combined allowed him freedom, a freedom he’d never expected when he’d first started down the path. Twelve years later, he couldn’t imagine returning to vanilla sex. For Calleigh, would he have an opportunity to make an exception? Could he?

  Or would she be willing to explore her darker side with him at the reins?

  § § §

  Calleigh loved to sweat, loved feeling the physical impact of her vigorous workouts, but was happily contemplating an upcoming shower following her long, sweaty soccer game, when her buzzer zinged letting her know someone was waiting downstairs to see her. It was probably Lauren who she’d been actively avoiding for the last couple of weeks for no real reason other than the fact it took a lot out of her to withstand Lauren. On any level. Walking over to her security pad, she pressed the key, asking “Who’s there?”

  The deep voice that haunted her dreams since their last encounter carried through the intercom system loud and proud.

  “It’s me.”

  During the game, she’d steadfastly ignored him every time he’d tried to capture her attention, a relatively easy feat given their respective positions on the team and the number of their teammates. Despite the way their dinner had ended, she was happy to hear him and even happier that he’d followed her back to her loft after the game.

  Not entirely caving to her enjoyment, she smiled to herself and decided to fuck with him a little. After their dinner, he deserved it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know any ‘me.’ Do you go by any other names? Aliases perhaps,” she taunted.

  “Knock it off, Calleigh and let me up. Otherwise, you’re never going to get to see the presents I brought you.”

  His words rendered her momentarily speechless. He’d brought her a present? Something for her?

  “Presents as in plural?”

  “You’re never going to find out if you continue to play twenty questions. Let me up now or I’m leaving.”

  Her curiosity overtook her and she buzzed him up. Figured he’d come over to see her when she was damp with sweat, still in her sweat pants and sweaty t-shirt with armpit rings.

  David’s heavy knock rattled her walls. Those of her loft, too.

  Opening the door, she checked him out to see what the presents were, only to realize his hands held a single, small, brown paper bag.

  “Is that it?” she accused, her lips turning up in disappointment as she checked the rest of him out. He still sported his soccer gear, his navy Adidas pullover looking like he’d used it for more than just window dressing, the cuffs worn and frayed. Matching warm-up pants completed the athletic ensemble.

  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth?” he chided, coming into her loft without waiting for an invitation, orienting himself around until he found the kitchen.

  “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.” He opened up her drawers and cupboards like he owned the place, as though it was his kitchen.

  “Is there something I can help you find?” she asked, watching him while he continued his assault on her kitchen drawers and cupboards.

  “No. Why don’t you go ahead and open up your presents?”

  “My presents are in there?” she grimaced, pointing towards the plain paper bag.

  “For all you know, it could be a Tiffany’s pendant,” he rebuked.

  “Ha! Last I looked, Tiffany’s didn’t use brown paper to wrap up its esteemed gifts.” She waited a beat before continuing. “Are my presents really from Tiffany’s?”

  He laughed and removed two bowls from the cupboard above her refrigerator.

  “No.”

  Not able to stand it any longer, she ripped open the bag and let loose a short guffaw.

  “Well, I guess I should be reassured you can at least count. Even if you enjoy misleading vulnerable young women.”

  “If you were a man, I’d say thems are fightin’ words,” he said, a smile turning up his lips as he studied her.

  “But I’m not. You lied to me.”

  “How did I lie to you? Are there not two pints of Ben and Jerry�
�s right in front of you?”

  “Yes, but it’s only one type of present.”

  “It’s two individual presents.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do you have an ice cream scoop? I found the spoons, but I can’t seem to find one in any of your drawers.”

  “No. Sorry. You’ll have to use a serving spoon.”

  David looked up at her. “What do you mean? Aren’t you going to join me? You’re not going to let me eat both the Chubby Hubby and the Cherry Garcia all by myself are you? It’s my peace offering.”

  “Is this your apology?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made the remarks that I did about your friend the other night. I don’t know her and I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, what about the ice cream?” he asked, motioning to the pints.

  Trust this man to know her complete and utter weakness for sweets. And not simply any kind of sweets, but Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Her taste buds started watering while thinking about the sweet, sweet treat in front of her, but then Lauren’s famous words, cut through. A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, Calleigh. Men don’t like fat women. You eat like that, and you can count on being single for the rest of your life.

  She offered him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Sorry, but I didn’t play soccer for two hours tonight only to ruin it with ice cream.”

  “What’s the point of playing sports if you can’t eat what you want? Besides, you probably burned between six hundred to a thousand calories as much as you ran tonight. A single bowl isn’t going to come close to using up all those calories.”

  Spoken like a man in his physical prime who’d never questioned his looks and never worried about attracting members of the opposite sex. Never worried that anything more than a thousand calories a day would result in Armageddon.

  “Come on, Calleigh. Live a little. Come over to the dark side,” he goaded, spooning a heaping serving into the second of the two bowls and pushing it towards her. “Otherwise, it’s going to go to waste. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”