by Lund, S. E.
UNRESTRAINED
Book 3 of the Unrestrained Series
S. E. LUND
Dedication
To Suzanne, my very first editor, whose honesty and enthusiasm helped me to strive always to become a better writer.
R.I.P.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my editor, Michelle, for your meticulous eye and willingness to put up with my very rough first drafts and for being a cheerleader and tireless promoter of my books. Thank you as well to my beta readers and first readers for your willingness to provide much-needed feedback on my first draft. Thanks as well to my family and friends for putting up with me during the writing and promotion process.
“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”
Maya Angelou
CHAPTER ONE
My first time in Africa was completely different.
Back then, Nigel was my guide and his approach to life was the opposite of Drake's. If one word could describe Nigel, it would be 'ebullient.' Nigel couldn't get enough of life and he faced every situation with a palpable hunger for new experiences. When we landed in the small airport during our trip to Mangaize, Nigel had a bull-in-a-china-shop demeanor. Born into privilege, and a television personality used to handlers and assistants, he expected people to cater to his needs chop-chop. Nigel was taller than everyone around, with a huge booming voice that commanded everyone's attention. He got it. All eyes were trained to him as we walked through the terminal that day over a year earlier.
If one word could describe Drake, it was 'restrained.' Calm and methodical, Drake anticipated everything. Getting our carry-on bags ready once the plane finished taxiing down the runway. Thanking the steward in a quiet respectful voice. Leading me down the off-ramp into the terminal, one hand holding mine, always slightly ahead as if to protect me from the onslaught of people waiting to greet loved ones. Glancing back at me with a soft smile on his face, his excitement visible but contained.
We stopped in the main arrivals foyer. Drake put our carry-on bags down and pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on the top of my head.
"We're here," he whispered, squeezing me. I hugged him back, my breath catching in my throat from my own building excitement. Then he tilted my chin up and kissed me tenderly. When he pulled back, he ran a finger over my bottom lip, touching the tiny scar. "I thought I'd be here by myself when I accepted Michael's offer back in December. I'm so glad you're with me, future Mrs. Morgan."
"I'm so glad you asked me."
I smiled, the newness of that idea – of being Drake's wife – still a bit strange to me. We stood for a moment in an embrace while people walked by, surrounded by the sounds of happy voices and laughter as families and friends reunited. I fingered the ring on my left hand and buried my face in Drake's shoulder.
"I guess we should get our bags," he said and ended the embrace. "Why don't you have a seat and wait for me. I'll get a cart. Michael and Claire should be here soon."
I nodded and sat in a chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching as Drake made his way to the baggage area, pushing a cart in front of him. While he waited, I observed him leaning against the cart. Dressed in a white linen shirt untucked over dark jeans, his black hair slightly below his collar, he looked as if he was posing for some high-end men's fashion magazine.
He stood out from the rest of the crowd in so many ways. The public Drake was a hotshot young neurosurgeon specializing in delicate robotic surgery, a philanthropist donating equipment and time in Africa, a guitarist for a retro-60s rock band. The private man, the secret side of him, was the sensual 'Master D' who loved bondage and dominance, who controlled his lover's sexual response and whose kink was leather. I was attracted to both sides of him, a thrill in my belly at the thought of his sexuality and of his need for control in the bedroom, a squeeze in my chest that he wanted me as his wife. Apparently, he'd overcome his reluctance to become emotionally involved with a woman again and wanted to marry me.
Still, it was hard not to let his dominant personality affect our non-sexual relationship. He so easily took control in everything, so self-contained, secure, and confident. He said he wanted me to be my own woman, but what did that mean? I was still finding out. This trip to Africa and our engagement would be a time of discovery. When I lived with him, what would I find?
He watched as the baggage began to emerge onto the carousel, and after several moments, he picked up a suitcase that I recognized as his own. He turned to glance where I sat and smiled as if to say it wouldn’t be long. When he pulled my bag off the line, and hoisted it onto the cart, I waited for his return.
It was then someone walked up to him and extended a hand – a tall African man in his fifties with grey peppering his short black hair, and a European woman, her dark hair streaked with grey and pulled back into a bun. As I watched, Drake embraced the man, and the two clapped each other on the back.
He had to be Michael Owiti, Chief of Surgery at the Aga Khan Hospital where Drake would work, and Dean of the Faculty of Medicine at the Aga Khan University Medical College where Drake would teach. The woman would be his wife Claire, a pediatrician who was currently managing the hospital's pediatrics program. Drake spoke to the man and then he embraced the woman. Drake turned and pointed to me, and the two of them looked in my direction, smiling as if excited to see the reason Drake decided to flee Manhattan.
I stood and smiled, waving hesitantly, anticipating the three of them joining me for introductions. Michael strode over to me with his wife trailing behind him.
"There you are, lovely Miss Katherine," he said in an-almost perfect British upper-class accent with a touch of the local flavor, his arms extended. "Welcome to Kenya!"
He didn't embrace me, but instead, took my hand, his huge hands enclosing my much smaller one completely. He shook, and smiled widely at me. I couldn't imagine someone with such large meaty hands doing delicate brain surgery on children but according to Drake, he was an artist.
"Nice to meet you," I said, my cheeks flushed. "You must be Dr. Owiti. Drake spoke so highly of you."
"Please, call me Michael. And Drake has spoken so highly of you as well," Michael said, wagging his eyebrows. "My wife Claire and I have been so excited to meet the woman who finally stole Drake the Rake's heart. We thought he might be a playboy forever after the divorce, but you proved us wrong."
"Drake the Rake?" I said and laughed, turning to Drake expectantly. Drake draped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him, grinning widely.
"That was his nickname for me when we worked together a couple of years ago."
I smiled at Michael, surprised he'd bring up something so personal, especially about Drake's past. Then, Claire walked up and smiled at me, extending her hand. Her smile was wide but it didn't seem to reach her eyes, as if she was evaluating me. We shook while Michael introduced Claire as his wife of nearly twenty-five years, whom he met in college in London.
"We met in a philosophy class on Heidegger," Claire said, her own British accent impeccable. "Back when Michael was still a rebellious son trying to be anything but a doctor, the way his father wanted and expected."
"Sounds familiar," I said, remembering that Drake had tried to avoid a career in medicine as well. "Drake studied psychology before he became a surgeon." I turned to Michael. "Philosophy is a long way from neurosurgery. How did you end up studying the brain?"
"The philosopher is obsessed with the theory of the mind; the neurosurgeon with the brain. It's actually a very easy jump."
I nodded and the four of us made our way to their car, which was parked outside the exit. While Michael
loaded our suitcases into the trunk of the black Mercedes, Drake opened my door. He leaned closer and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Drake the Rake, hmm?" I said quietly when he pulled away.
His eyes twinkled. "Michael's exaggerating of course."
"You must have been seen as a rake, for it to be your nickname, though."
He grinned. "I was notorious. But Michael had better stop telling tales or he'll scare you off."
"Not likely," I said. "Drake the Rake is pretty mild, considering the other nicknames you have."
"It is mild. And I'm the farthest thing from a rake now. I'm a committed monogamist soon-to-be newly-wed husband."
Once we were all in the car, Michael drove off, merging into the traffic on Mombasso Road expressway with an ease I couldn’t imagine ever developing.
"You know, Katherine," Michael said. "When I first heard that you'd broken poor Drake's heart back in December and he wanted to come to Kenya to escape, I was so happy for myself and for our hospital, although of course I felt bad for Drake. I'm very glad you two worked things out because I was feeling very guilty that my happiness came at Drake's expense."
"I'm glad as well."
Drake turned to me and squeezed my hand.
"How is that young son of yours?" Claire said, turning to face us from the front seat. "We were so surprised to get the news, and so worried for you about his diagnosis. Your last email said that he was doing well, that the graft was taking and he was improving."
"He's doing very well. I wouldn’t have left if there was any doubt, but they'll keep a close eye on him for the next weeks and months."
"We didn't expect that you were bringing Kate with you, you bad boy. You never told us that in your emails!" Claire looked back at me, a tight smile on her lips. "He kept the fact you two reconciled a secret. We only found out a few days ago. Imagine our surprise that you were back together."
Drake held my hand up. "And engaged."
Claire smiled, but I couldn't help but think the smile was forced, as if she didn't really feel happy about it.
"And engaged?" she added and hit Michael's shoulder. "Did you know this? Why didn’t you tell me?" She turned back to us. "How quick was that?!"
Drake smiled and shrugged. "Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about Kate, but I was pretty preoccupied with Liam for the past month so I wasn’t thinking about coming here," Drake said to her. Then, he turned back to Michael. "You didn't have to pick us up," he said. "We could have taken a taxi to the hotel."
"Nonsense," Michael said, shaking his head. "The driver would take you all over the place to extend his fare and then give you the wrong change. Claire and I are only too pleased to give you a ride to the hotel. I hope you're not too tired, because we have the new student – faculty mixer tonight at the faculty club. I thought we'd go, and Drake could meet the new students and a few of the residents, have a glass of wine and some appetizers. Then we'll take you out for some good street food, and give you a proper introduction to Nairobi."
Drake turned to me and took my hand. "What do you think? Are you up to it?
I smiled, trying to look pleased, but I was tired.
"Of course we can go. Don't want to keep you from your students."
Claire turned to face us from the front seat. "Oh, by the way, Drake, you'll never guess who decided to come back to Nairobi for specialization in pediatric neurosurgery."
"Who?" Drake said.
"Sam Cuttington."
Drake said nothing for a moment as if surprised. He cleared his throat. "When did this happen?"
"Only recently," Michael said from the front seat. "We contacted Sam at Christmas that you were coming to teach the robotic surgery class, but didn't hear back until now. Sam's a great student and wants to specialize in robotic surgery. We'll all work closely together."
Drake nodded, and then looked out the window. He was strangely silent. I squeezed his hand and he turned and smiled at me, but his expression was forced.
I wondered who this Sam was and why Drake seemed uncomfortable.
The trip to the boutique hotel, Hemingway's, was uneventful, despite the traffic on the expressway. We arrived at the hotel, which was on a large green expanse set in the middle of Nairobi. The hotel was new, but looked like an estate from the British raj where its namesake might have stayed. Surrounded by trees and lush green fields, the white colonial had a large outdoor pool and faced the Ngong Hills in the distance. Drake had kept it secret, wanting to surprise me.
The hotel was beautiful.
Our suite was larger than my apartment in Manhattan, with a top-of-the-line bathroom, all marble and glass, a canopy bed with thick pillows and duvet, and living room area richly appointed in British colonial style. We even had a butler who would take care of all our needs while we were staying at the hotel. He took us to our room and filled us in on the services available during our stay.
The views from our suite were spectacular and as the sun began to set, the orange-white light fell across the room in a large swathe. I could imagine waking up to the bright sunlight in the morning. Maybe a swim in the pool before breakfast. I could almost feel the stress of the past weeks in Manhattan, while we waited to hear Liam's prognosis, melt away as I gazed out the patio doors.
Claire and Michael waited in the living room while Drake spoke to the butler. I freshened up in the bathroom, changing into something a bit dressier, selecting a black sundress before fixing my hair. When Drake was finished, he joined me, having a quick shower. When he was done, he pulled a towel around his waist and came to me as I stood by the sink and fixed my makeup.
"So, what do you think, Ms. Bennet?" He took me in his arms. "Does the hotel meet your expectations?"
I slipped my arms around his neck. "It's fantastic. Looks like a place Hemingway himself would stay, except brand new."
He kissed me warmly. "Good. I want you in the lap of luxury while we find a place to live. You've been working hard at college for five years and now it's time to relax and do whatever you feel like. Paint. Sightsee. Go on safari."
"What about you?" I said, running my fingers through his still-damp hair. "You've been working hard at your surgical practice, your foundation, the business, and your band…"
"I only worked as hard as I wanted. I want you to rest, sleep in as late as you want. Stay up as late as you want, painting or writing. Whatever your heart desires."
I smiled. "I might like to do some wildlife art while I'm here. When I was in high school, I did a lot of bird paintings so it makes sense to paint wildlife since we're in Africa."
"I'd love to go on Safari," Drake said. "Maybe some weekend when I'm not on call. Claire and Michael will know some good places to go and good tour guides."
I pushed a hank of hair from his forehead. "I'm pretty tired. I hope we won't be out late."
Drake shook his head. "Don't worry. We'll go to the mixer, go for some local food and then come back early. I think I might like a late-night swim in the pool, though."
"Sounds good to me."
We kissed. As we stood in each other's arms, enjoying the connection, I remembered his response in the car to the news that Sam was coming to take his class.
"You didn't seem all that pleased that this Sam fellow was coming back to the college to work with you and Michael."
Drake shook his head. "Not a he." Drake brushed the backs of his fingers against my cheek. "Samantha Cuttington, one of Michael's former students."
I frowned. That could only mean one thing. There was something between them.
"Tell me," I said, a chill going through me as I fought my urge to feel jealous.
"I met her when she was a resident two years ago. I volunteered at the hospital for a couple of months. At Michael's request, I was here to help deal with a backlog of cases the foundation brought in from Somalia. It was before my father died. We," he said and shrugged. "Sam and I had a fling."
"A 'fling'? I didn't think you had flings."
&nbs
p; "I don't. Sam and I," he said and hesitated. "We went out a few times, had sex a few times. But she wasn't interested in anything to do with BDSM so nothing more developed."
I nodded, trying to stay calm while a surge of jealousy went through me despite my best efforts. Drake pulled on a white dress shirt and dark tie. I thought Drake had only been with submissives after his divorce and entrée into the world of kink. I played with the collar on Drake's shirt, straightening the tie knot. "So you broke up."
"There was nothing really to break. It was only a few times."
"How many is a few? Twice? Three times?"
He shook his head. "I can't remember exactly. I was here for almost two months. Maybe a dozen times." He finished fastening his cuffs and then focused on me, a frown on his brow. "There was nothing other than sexual release for me, Kate. She's not my type and was very upset at the thought I was into D/s."
"You must have liked something about her. I thought you only had submissives."
"I do, I did only have submissives. She was here when I was here, and well, it was just opportunity…"
"Did she feel that way? That it was just opportunity?"
He shrugged. "She wasn't happy when I left without continuing the relationship," he said. "She thought she'd be enough to tempt me to give up my kinky ways. She wasn't. End of story."
"You're not very kinky, Master D. She must be pretty vanilla."
"She's pretty dominant herself. We clashed."
"Not enough to keep you out of each others arms."
"Too much to keep me with her."
I exhaled. "Did Michael know about you two? Does he know about you being part of the lifestyle?"
"We tried to keep it private because I was in a supervisory role, even though I was only here for two months." Drake paused for a moment, frowning. "I don't think Michael knows about my lifestyle. I want it to stay that way, Kate. It's not that I think it would matter. It's not something I want getting around."