Bound to be Dirty

by Savanna Fox

  In the first months, all their chat had been about books, but over time it had become more personal. Now she turned to Kim. “Did your parents arrive safely?” They were flying in from Hong Kong for Christmas.

  Kim nodded, her color-streaked hair flicking like a tropical bird’s wing flutter. “Yes. They’ve been in Vancouver the last few days, and I’m driving them out to the ranch tonight. And guess what? Umbrella– Wings is official now. The name and logo are trademarked, the company’s incorporated, and the board of directors is Ty, me, Mom, and Dad.” Kim, who had degrees in business administration and fine arts, was launching a company. UmbrellaWings would make umbrellas and parasols with distinctive shapes and patterns modeled after the wings of butterflies, birds, and other flying creatures.

  “But it’s your company, right?” Marielle said. “You won’t let your parents tell you what to do.”

  “They can suggest,” Kim said. “After all, they’ve built a successful business. But no, they can’t tell me what to do. I think they’re getting the message.”

  Lily swallowed a mouthful of tender calamari. “Good for you.” She wished her own parents—who always thought they knew what was best for Lily and her younger brother—would do the same.

  “It was tough for them to accept that I’m not moving back to Hong Kong,” Kim said.

  “And not marrying a nice Hong Kong boy,” George said, “but living in sin with a sexy rodeo star.”

  Kim grinned. “We downplay the rodeo part. To my folks, Ty’s the responsible owner of a successful family ranch. This week my parents will see how impressive the ranch is. We’re going to try to get them up on horses.” Kim, who’d never ridden before meeting Ty, now owned a rescue horse named Distant Drummer that she’d helped Ty heal and train.

  “I hope everyone gets along,” Lily said. Her parents didn’t approve of Dax, which created strain at family gatherings. She wasn’t looking forward to Christmas dinner on Sunday.

  “Are your parents staying with you and Ty?” George asked Kim.

  “No way. That’d put a cramp in our sex life. They’ll stay with Ty’s parents.” After Ty had bought Ronan Ranch with rodeo earnings, his parents had come from Alberta to help run it. They lived in the old ranch house, and he’d built another house down the road from them.

  “Are your parents hinting that you should get married?” Lily asked.

  “Hinting?” Kim rolled her eyes. “Does a steamroller hint? Ty and I ignore them. We’re enjoying being truly, madly, deeply in love, for the first time in our lives.” A bright smile split her face. “Isn’t that cool, that it’s a first for both of us?”

  “It’s pretty cool when it’s the second time, too,” George said. The redhead was a widow and hadn’t believed she’d ever find another soul mate—until Canada’s Mr. Hockey, Woody Hanrahan, entered her life earlier this year and turned it topsy-turvy.

  “Chee-sy.” Drawing out the word, Marielle rolled her eyes. “The hearts and flowers and throbbing violin strings are making me nauseous.”

  They all laughed, and then Lily said, “George and Kim, love looks very good on both of you. And Marielle, variety suits you.” She reached for her martini glass again, finding it almost empty. No one said that ten years of marriage looked good on her. If they had, it would be a lie.

  Once, she’d been positive Dax Xavier was the love of her life. Over the years she’d met loads of men: cultured, intelligent ones; sexy athletes; physicians who volunteered in third-world countries. Amazing, appealing men. She’d been attracted to a few, but never with the same magnetic force as she was to Dax. But did she still love him? She was too confused and conflicted to be sure. If he was cheating on her, if he no longer loved her . . . then she had to protect her heart.

  Last year, when she’d first suspected he might be having an affair, she had protected her body. She’d lied and told him she’d gone off the pill for health reasons so he had to wear a condom.

  How bitterly ironic, to be using both condoms and the pill when the thing she most wanted in the world was children. Since she was a little girl, she’d known she wanted to be a mom. Now that want had become a soul-deep craving. Every time she held her baby niece, her biological clock ticked faster.

  Though she and Dax hadn’t discussed having kids in years, she’d assumed they’d have a family when the time was right. His genes should make wonderful babies; he was smart, courageous, strong, fit, and handsome. What he wasn’t was there for her. She had to find out how he felt, how she felt, what they were going to do about their faltering marriage.

  Stop thinking about Dax!

  She’d been listening with half an ear as Marielle talked about family plans and holiday parties. Now Marielle said, “How about you, George? It’s your first Christmas with Woody. He’ll be in town, right?” The redhead’s fiancé was captain of the Beavers, the Vancouver hockey team.

  “Yes, thank heavens, what with home games and days off. We’re hosting Christmas at our place.” George had moved into Woody’s penthouse condo in Yaletown this fall.

  “Is his mom coming?” Lily asked. Woody’s mother had almost died of cancer, but was now in remission. He’d bought her a house in Florida and paid for a live-in caregiver companion.

  “No, her health is still too fragile for a trip north, but we’ll Skype with her. My mom and her guy Fabio will come over. We’re being hopelessly old-fashioned—the girls cooking dinner; the boys watching football. A few of Woody’s teammates will be there. And a couple of special guests from Manitoba. Sam was Woody’s best friend and hockey buddy as kids, and his father, Martin, was Woody’s mentor and coach. They had some issues for a while, but they’ve reconciled.”

  “Nice,” Kim said. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

  George turned to Lily. “How about you? Do you and your husband have any Christmas traditions?”

  Arguing over whether they really had to go to her parents’ house, which they always ended up doing, which spoiled Christmas Day. “My parents have a family dinner at noon.” It was formal and more filled with parental fault-finding than with Christmas spirit. But she hated to say no to her parents. Bad enough that she, the daughter of a neurosurgeon mom and a cardiologist dad, had chosen the less prestigious field of family medicine and had married a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. She tried not to disappoint them in any other ways.

  The waitress came by to offer more drinks. Longingly, Lily twisted the stem of her empty martini glass. She wasn’t driving, but two drinks were her limit. When the others all said, “No, thanks,” she echoed them.

  Marielle pulled out her iPad and checked online for books. Kim, beside her, looked on. The two of them pointed, debated, and then agreed on one. Marielle turned her tablet to face Lily and George.

  “Bound by Desire?” George said. “Okay, sure.”

  Lily scanned the blurb.

  International businesswoman Cassandra Knightley is at the top of her game, respected and even feared by colleagues and competitors. When it comes to her sex life, she picks, chooses, and discards men as frequently as she chooses the latest pair of designer shoes—because, ultimately, none satisfies her.

  Billionaire Neville Winter guesses a secret that even Cassandra isn’t aware of. A man used to dominating in every area of life, including the bedroom, he initiates her into a new world of sexual pleasure. Though initially she’s intrigued by the notion of spicing up her sex life, it isn’t until she submits fully and puts her pleasure—and her pain—in Neville’s hands that she learns her true sexual nature. When she is bound by desire, can Cassandra find the true satisfaction that has always escaped her?

  Lily barely managed to hold back one of those snort-growl sounds. “Whatever you want.”

  “I’ll text you the deets,” Marielle said. “I need to get going. One of my friends has a staff party and invited me as his date.”

  The staff party for Lily’s Well Family Clinic had been last week. She’d reserved a private room at a nice restaurant and
arranged a sumptuous buffet. One of the receptionists, Jennifer, had organized a Secret Santa draw, which had livened things up. Lily had drawn Jennifer’s name and given her a gift certificate for her favorite cupcake bakery. She was very curious which of the doctors or staff had drawn her name and why they’d chosen a desktop Zen garden: miniature tray, sand, rocks, and teeny rake.

  “I’m wrapping presents tonight,” George said. “Woody’s going to love the tee you made, Kim.” The redhead had asked Kim, who designed clothing as a hobby, if she’d create something unique for Woody.

  Not having a clue what to give Dax for Christmas, Lily had seconded the request. The charcoal tee with its dramatic abstract design of a hawk would look perfect on her rugged husband. “And Dax will love the hawk one. Thanks so much for doing that, Kim. I know how much you have on your plate these days.”

  “I thrive on it,” Kim said. “Life’s good. Speaking of which, let’s do gifts!”

  They’d agreed to exchange gifts, but only small ones. Lily had found purse-sized notebooks with lovely Japanese-designed flower covers. Marielle gave lip gloss with fruity flavors, then Kim handed them each a roll of paper tied with a red ribbon. She’d done watercolor drawings of each of them, accurate but also flattering.

  Lily gazed at the portrait of a short-haired blonde with delicate yet striking features and wide blue eyes. “Wow, Kim, this is what I looked like ten years ago.”

  “It’s what you look like now,” Kim said, “when you’re relaxed and having fun.”

  George reached into her tote and handed them all packages, which turned out to be tank tops: hot pink for Marielle, vivid purple for Kim, and powder blue, the color of her eyes, for Lily. The cotton was soft and fine, the quality excellent.

  “You went way over the five-dollar limit, girlfriend,” Marielle said.

  “I didn’t spend a dime,” George replied. “They’re samples from my client, VitalSport. Part of the new spring line.”

  “Great gifts!” Kim said. “Thanks, everyone. And now I have to run and pick up my parents. Ty’s mom is cooking up a feast.”

  They all rose, and Lily thought about her own evening plans.

  No feast to look forward to; she’d heat up canned soup to accompany a handful of rice crackers and a slice of Edam. No gift-wrapping; instead, an hour’s run along the icy cold seawall, a necessity if she hoped to sleep tonight. No party either. She needed to analyze the Well Family Clinic’s schedule. Her clinic’s priority—and her own true calling—was patient care, but the workload was expanding and she had to figure out a solution. Thanks to the book club’s new selection, she didn’t even have a good book to look forward to.

  Also on the list of “not looking forward to,” there was Dax’s return home on Thursday, and the talk they needed to have. Maybe by the time Christmas dinner at her parents’ house rolled around, she’d be going alone. Alone, to be unfavorably compared to her perfect younger brother, the oncologist, with his perfect lawyer wife and the adorable baby girl who tugged at Lily’s childless heartstrings.

  No, there wasn’t a single thing in life she was looking forward to.

  Two

  Dwayne Arthur Xavier—who’d gone by Dax since he was old enough to understand how geeky his given names were—stepped into the lobby of the condo building in Leg-in-Boot Square, just off Vancouver’s False Creek. An artificial Christmas tree decorated with silver balls stood in one corner. Dax shook his head, scattering raindrops. If you were going to have a tree, it should be a live one, its needles green and pliant under your fingers, its fresh scent bringing the wilderness into the room.

  A six-pack of Granville Island lager in one hand, he hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder and strode to the elevator. Would Lily be there? Likely not. Though it was the day before Christmas, it was also a Saturday. On Saturdays she volunteered at a health clinic in the Downtown Eastside. Besides, he was two days late. He’d swapped schedules with another pilot who’d had a family emergency. After all, it wasn’t like Dax had a lot to come home to.

  He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor of the six-story building.

  Home. Though he’d pumped a lot of his income—which was considerable, in his line of work—into paying off the mortgage, the two-bedroom condo didn’t feel like home. But then, when in his life had any place felt like home? Not the numerous rental apartments where he and his self-absorbed, drug-using parents had lived. Nor his mom’s parents’ house in ritzy Southlands, where she and Dax had gone for a few months after his dad was thrown in jail for killing a guy in a drug deal gone bad.

  His grandparents had shunned his mom when she ran away to marry a bad boy whose parents hadn’t even set foot on the social ladder. But when, broke and desperate, she showed up on their doorstep with seventeen-year-old Dax, they took them in. That was how he ended up attending twelfth grade at the same school as Lily Nyland.

  He unlocked the door to the condo, feeling, as usual, almost like an intruder. “Lily?” Nope, no answer. Hanging his battered leather bomber jacket in the hall closet, he made sure the damp fabric didn’t touch Lily’s coats.

  Just like back in school, when their paths never crossed. The lovely, classy, brilliant blonde was busy with her studies, clubs, and equally wealthy, brilliant friends. Dax blew off school, drank too much, got in trouble, and hustled girls. Following in his dad’s bad-boy footsteps, as his grandparents said contemptuously. It had been the next summer, at Camp Skookumchuck, when he and Lily had connected and his life had turned around. And now look where they were. Virtual strangers.

  In the kitchen, he put his beer in a fridge that contained yogurt, skim milk, cheese, fruit, and a few condiments.

  He walked into the living room. The only sign of Christmas was a pink-and-white poinsettia on the coffee table. The place was, as usual, immaculate. When Dax moved through the world of nature, he tried to never leave a trace. That was how Lily lived at home. She didn’t leave clothes, dirty dishes, or magazines lying around. When he first saw her family home, he understood where she’d learned to be so neat and unobtrusive.

  When they took possession of this condo, he’d been heading off to fly for a logging company and had left the décor to Lily. Six weeks later, he’d come back to nutmeg-colored furniture, rugs with geometric designs, abstract art. It was comfortable, functional, and tasteful. Lily said she’d taken a decorator’s advice. He’d have chosen wilderness paintings and put a few pieces of First Nations art on the mantel, but what did he know about decorating? His parents had used thrift store junk, macramé, and ivy.

  In this room, he saw no traces of the old Lily, the girl who’d gone a little crazy that summer at camp, away from her parents’ eagle eye. The one who’d snuck out from Heron cabin, where her young charges slept, to go canoeing at midnight or skinny-dipping. Who’d made love on the beach with a boy her parents wouldn’t give the time of day to—a guy who worked with the construction crew that was building new cabins. The son of a killer.

  Dax went into the home office, where he took his netbook from his duffel and put it on the bare surface of his desk. Lily’s desk held her notebook computer, her monitor, keyboard, and mouse, plus stacks of papers, all very neat and organized.

  Over the years, she’d grown up and stopped playing. He’d forced himself to grow up too, to become responsible, to deserve the amazing woman he loved. He missed the kids they’d once been. The kids who’d fallen so head over heels for each other. Who’d made love with wild abandon, and spun dreams on moonlit summer nights.

  He moved on to the bedroom, and into the walk-in closet where he unpacked, slotting the few clothes he’d brought with him into their allotted space. Her half dozen tailored suits and shirts, three or four good dresses, and few casual clothes looked almost interchangeable in the browns, grays, creams, and white that she favored. The only touch of vibrancy was that one rose-colored sweater he’d once given her. No, wait, what was this?

  Cautious of his rough fingers ag
ainst delicate fabric, he separated Lily’s shirts to reveal one he’d never seen before. It was pale yellow, the style soft and kind of floaty. Butterflies covered it, painted in beautiful shades of blue and green, with gold outlining them. It was a work of art, feminine and sensual.

  Sensual? He slammed the hangers back in place. Who the hell did she wear it for? And what would he do if he found out, for sure, that she’d cheated on him?

  He stripped off his clothes, chucked them in the laundry hamper, and went into the master bathroom, where he turned the shower on full force. He stepped under the spray.

  Infidelity . . . He had no proof, but over the past year or two his wife had changed. Her light blue eyes didn’t warm for him and she didn’t reach for his hand. When they had sex, she climaxed but didn’t show passion, much less joy. She’d told him he needed to wear a condom because she’d gone off the pill. Initially, he’d accepted it without question, but now doubts drove him crazy. There were other forms of birth control that didn’t require condoms.

  And then there were the books she read. Earlier this year, on one of his increasingly rare visits to Vancouver, he’d mistakenly picked up her Kindle rather than his own. When he clicked it on, he found a detailed, vivid, highly explicit sex scene. His wife had always read highbrow books. This book, The Sexual Education of Lady Emma Whitehead, was labeled an “erotic novel.” It seemed like soft porn to him, but what did he know about great literature? The next time he was back in town, he checked her reading material and found Ride Her, Cowboy, another “erotic novel.”

  His wife was reading erotica—and she sure wasn’t bringing any of that erotic passion into their bed. Was she sharing it with someone else?

  The pounding spray of the shower beat against his tense shoulder muscles but did nothing to relax them.

  Dax was a take-charge guy. Always had been, until now. No one who knew him—not in the army where he’d earned a Medal for Military Valour for rescuing injured soldiers pinned under Taliban fire and air-lifting them to safety, nor out in the bush where he’d fought forest fires and rescued fishermen in the middle of a storm—would ever call him a coward. But that’s what he was when it came to his marriage.