Donovan Dynasty: Bind Part 9

There were no emails or texts from Connor. While that didn't surprise her, she admitted it did disappoint her, even though she hadn't given him her number. But it reinforced his point. He was a man of his word, something he felt essential to building trust.

As she towel-dried her hair, she recognized she was playing games with herself. The fact she'd been disappointed that he hadn't reached out to her forced her to realize that she wanted to see him. She'd liked being in his arms, liked his teasing introduction to the s.e.x they would have.

Still, she desperately needed some semblance of control. Instead of letting him send his driver, she planned to take her own car. And she wasn't going to show up at eight.

She keyed in her message and sent it before she could change her mind and do things his way.

Less than thirty seconds later, he responded with his address and a code for entry to the parking garage.

That was it? She stared at the phone, waiting for something more. Anything. But her screen remained blank.

Seriously?

She'd expected him to object, insist on sending April, or at least remind her that he was a big bad Dom and that he'd suggested eight o'clock. And he'd given her no arguments. The confounding man made it difficult to get frustrated with him.

After dropping the phone onto the counter, she hurried into the bedroom.

She chose her favorite bra. It was a nude color and covered with black lace. She'd paid a small fortune for it at a lingerie shop, and she wore it only on special occasions. Then she grabbed a pair of black underwear, something modest. Not that it mattered, she told herself. She wasn't intending that Connor would ever see them.

Then she went into her closet to search for the right outfit. Something that said this was a discussion, not a prelude to his seduction. Something that kept her covered up.

After sorting through all of the hangers and digging through her drawers, she selected a sleeveless maxidress. She added platform sandals and a little jacket that covered her shoulders.

Her hair was the next big decision. Up? Loose? She sighed, remembering the way he'd held her when he'd kissed her.

She opened a drawer and took out a couple of clips to pull it back. Lingering dampness from her shower caused strands to curl around her cheekbones. She pushed them away, hoping they'd stay in place.

After a minimal brush of mascara and a touch of lipstick, she studied herself then wiped off the lipstick.

She left her house at seven-thirty and found his place with no delays, meaning she arrived right on time. So she drove around the block several times.

By the time she entered the parking garage, the clock read eight-oh-five.

She pulled in and saw him standing near a car that she recognized as the sedan from earlier. He was lazing against a concrete wall, one booted foot propped on the wall behind him.

He wore a tight, long-sleeved charcoal T-s.h.i.+rt. The s.h.i.+rt had three small b.u.t.tons, and he'd left the top two open. As if that weren't bad enough, well-worn blue jeans hugged his legs.

Lara had to force herself to concentrate. It was impossible to believe she'd asked this man to marry her.

Her heart did a slow thud in her chest as she imagined coming home to him every day. This just wasn't possible.

She took her time parking, aware of him there, arms folded, watching her. She even stalled for a few seconds, gathering her purse, unfastening her safety belt, checking that she had everything.

Evidently he grew tired of waiting. He pushed away from the wall and strode forward to open her door.

He offered his hand. She slid hers into his. His touch and strength simultaneously made her feel protected and overwhelmed. Never had she experienced anything like that. "You scare me just a little," she admitted.

"Good."

Her heart skidded to a stop. "That response made things worse."

"I want you clear on what you're getting into." He drew her hand to his lips. "I'm glad you came."

"I wasn't sure I was going to." And she still wasn't sure she should stay.

He smiled. "I like bravery."

If he hadn't added the end part, she might have turned and run like her feminine intuition was urging. Instead, she extricated her hand and he closed the car door.

"Shall we?"

Before she lost what remained of her brain cells, Lara tucked her keys into her purse. Once she was situated, he placed his fingers at the small of her back and guided her toward an elevator.

She'd never had a man do that before. She found it a little intimate and, d.a.m.n it, a bit s.e.xy.

He pushed the b.u.t.ton for the thirtieth floor, and she took a step to the side to put some distance between them.

They exited into a hallway and he indicated she should precede him to the end.

His loft was considerably more modest than she'd expected for a man of his stature. Though there was no doubt that his furnis.h.i.+ngs and the few decorations were pricey, nothing was ostentatious.

A small but functional kitchen was off to the right. Everywhere she looked, bricks and beams were exposed, giving the main living area an industrial feel. He had several large paintings all hanging from a picture rail. Each was accentuated by individual lighting.

The loft's furnis.h.i.+ngs were spa.r.s.e, making the s.p.a.ce seem large and airy. A low-slung leather grouping was arranged in front of the fireplace, creating an inviting area for conversation or relaxation. Windows offered a view that was all city, with its vibrancy. Somehow it suited him.

"Feel free to make yourself at home," he encouraged. "After all, I'm hoping you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here."

She didn't respond to that.

"You're welcome to put your purse over there." He pointed to an interesting piece of furniture. It was crafted from mahogany and had a tall back with hooks placed at various intervals and a bench opened for storage.

She laid her purse on it, near an iPod and his fitness watch.

"Shall I show you around? Nothing's off limits to my potential bride."

"About that..." She turned back to face him.

He waited.

"We need to talk."

"That's why you're here," he agreed.

d.a.m.n. He was devastating.

This evening was the first time she'd seen him without a suit. And he was no less appealing for it. His s.h.i.+rt could have been custom-made, the fit was that good. She noticed his biceps were well formed. She'd previously guessed that he was a runner or biker, but she now knew his slender physique was a result of a tremendous amount of exercise.

The ends of his hair were damp, but he obviously hadn't shaved. The stubble on his jaw was masculine. As if that wasn't enough, he smelled of danger laced with an undercurrent of invitation.

"Something to drink? Wine?" he offered. "Red? White?"

"Water," she replied. "I need to keep my wits about me."

"Bottled? Or maybe some mineral water?"

"That would be wonderful." She gave a polite half smile.

The loft was open, so she could watch as he went into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle from the fridge. Then he grabbed a lime, a knife and a cutting board.

He cut the fruit into precise pieces and dropped one into the bottom of a thick gla.s.s before adding the sparkling water. He nicked another piece of lime to garnish the rim.

"That was more work than you needed to go through," she said as she accepted the drink.

She took a sip then toyed with the lime piece as she watched him pour a gla.s.s of wine.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I feel like you're being polite. Overly polite, maybe."

"Are you waiting for my evil twin to show up?" He grinned, and she felt completely disarmed.

"Sounds ridiculous that way."

"But?"

"Yes."

"You're wondering when I rip your clothes off and beat you? How the whole BDSM experience fits with your expectations of marriage and what I mean when I ask you to submit to me?"

Her finger slipped, and the lime piece splashed into the mineral water.

"The answer to the first question is the moment you ask me."

Her mouth dried. "I think I made it clear earlier. I'm afraid you've got the wrong woman if you think I'm going to ask you to rip my clothes off and beat me."

"Perhaps." He walked into the living room and invited, "Join me?"

She took a chair near the fireplace, her back to the window. Her choice was meant to keep as much distance between them as possible.

As she'd planned, he sat on the couch. "Tell me what you were hoping for when you came here."

"I don't know. What happened this afternoon bothered me."

"In a good way? Bad way?"

"Both." She placed her drink on one of several coasters that were scattered across the gla.s.s coffee table. "And truthfully, I want to appeal to your business sense and reiterate-"

"You have."

She closed her mouth.

"Let's start where we agree. Having me on BHI's board will provide you with needed support and give the company some valuable feedback and direction."

She nodded.

"Further, both companies benefit."

"Yes."

"So your hesitation is due to the fact I'm a Dom."

"It is. I'm willing to make some arrangements with you. Maybe you could go to clubs, get your needs met that way?"

"I'm open to discussion, to explaining, to moving slowly, to introducing you to my world a step at a time."

"That's not how negotiation works, Mr. Donovan. I'm supposed to ask for something, you're supposed to counter with something else. Then we meet somewhere in the middle. You don't get everything you want," she said dryly.

"You're exactly right. That's how it's supposed to work."

Did he have to be so d.a.m.n agreeable? The man undid her.

"You want marriage," he continued. "My condition is your submission." He extended his left arm across the back of the couch then propped an ankle on the opposite knee. With his winegla.s.s in his right hand, he looked totally in charge and completely at ease.

"If I say no, is the discussion over?"

"You're considering running away before finding out what I mean, want I want, what I demand. And you're a.s.suming you'd hate it. Did you hate what we shared this afternoon? Were you frightened by the way I kissed you? Maybe by the way I played with your nipples?"

Memories scalded her.

He leaned forward to put down his gla.s.s before leveling his gaze on her. There was no quarter in those gray eyes.

"What's it to be, Lara?"

Chapter Four.

Lara hesitated.

He didn't press, didn't say anything further, allowing the silence to become its own force.

A battle waged inside her, self-preservation versus desire. "No," she confessed. "I wasn't scared. Nervous, yes. But a kiss can hardly be considered submission."

"Oh?"