Bonds of Courage

by Lynda Aicher

  Why he’d submitted his application to The Den in the first place and was willing to take this stupid risk.

  The door clicked open without warning, and a sudden burst of dance music from the main club area shot through the quiet room. He launched to his feet, swiping his palms down the smooth material of his slacks to clear away the dampness. Shoulders drawn back, chin lifted, he turned to greet Seth Mathews, club owner and the man who held the key to Holden’s admittance.

  Only it wasn’t Seth who stood in the doorway. Not even close.

  The air rushed from his lungs in a quick exit before he tossed his head back, eyes closing to surround him in darkness.

  “Fuck.” The soft curse that slipped from his mouth held all the resignation and defeat that pushed on his chest. This can’t be happening. I’m so dead. I can get out of it. All of those thoughts rushed through his mind in rapid succession.

  The music ceased, and the quiet returned to emphasize the drumming of his heart. He’d been discreet. Hell, he’d been a goddamned choir boy since coming to Minnesota. Yet somehow the Ice Queen had found out.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Hauke?”

  The smooth-as-silk voice was edged with a steely line of authority that pinged at his twenty-plus years of conditioning from listening to coaches. Not to mention growing up with three older sisters and a mother who knew how to use both “the look” and “the voice” to perfection. He lowered his chin and met Vanessa Delcour’s gaze.

  She might not be his PR rep, but she was around the Glaciers enough that he knew who she was. Hell, all the players knew who she was. There was a never-ending stream of crude jokes running through the locker room about the pounding someone would give her hot little ass. As if she’d bend over for any of them. One steely glare from her could shrivel a man’s cock faster than an ice bath after a game.

  The slow curl of trepidation clenched his throat, making his words tight. “You tell me, Ms. Delcour.”

  Her sleek black suit hugged her frame and included swatches of leather that circled her waist and accentuated her slimness. Her slight size was negated by the impossibly high heels that drew his eyes down the length of her shapely legs before he jerked his focus back up.

  The knowing smirk on her lips, matched with the cocky arch of her brow, left no doubt that she’d caught his appraisal. “Are you done?”

  The starch in her words had the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Unfortunately, it had the same effect on his dick. Fucking A.

  He quirked his brow in a mock of hers and pulled a half smile that usually had the women fluttering their lashes with an offer of a quick fuck. Falling back on his default persona filled with the expected arrogance that went with his profession was second nature. “I’m not nearly done with you, babe.”

  Her sigh was loud, the eye roll obvious enough to fit a teenager. “Really? You’re going to play those games? I thought you might be past them. Obviously I was wrong.”

  “What games?” He wet his lips and stepped back until he was leaning against the large desk behind him. Sinking down onto the edge, he crossed his arms over his chest. He could bluff his way out of this. “I’m just meeting a friend here.”

  “Right.” She flicked her long black hair over her shoulder, the glossy strands shimmering in the light. “I’m not stupid.”

  No. She definitely wasn’t.

  “Why are you here?” he finally asked.

  The sudden thought had his brow wrinkling. She wasn’t his PR rep. Hell, he didn’t have a PR rep. She had no say in what he did. In fact, she’d barely spoken to him since he’d been on the team. Was she here as a spy for Segar, or would she use this to blackmail him later?

  “I could ask you the same thing.” She sauntered toward him, hips swaying with each step that made it impossible for him not to watch. She stopped right before him, scanning him in the same way he’d done to her earlier. Her appraisal halted, eyes leveling pointedly at his crotch, which was sporting a half woody under the thin material of his pants. “But then, I know the answer to that.”

  Jesus. The woman had balls bigger than most men’s. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had a pair hidden under her skirt. Hell, she probably did, and he bet they belonged to the last man who’d tried to challenge her.

  And damn, did that turn him on.

  His palms were instantly clammy, and try as he might, he couldn’t hold her stare. She saw too much. Way more than he wanted her to see. He looked down, covering the action by scratching his nose. He pushed away from the desk, which brought him close enough to catch a whiff of her smoke-and-spice perfume. “I’ll be going.”

  His side step was halted by nothing more than her voice. “I don’t think so, Mr. Hauke.”

  Damn. “Really?”

  She stepped closer. Stalked would be a good word, even though two steps was all it took for her to be inches from him. He could easily move around her. Walk away. Overpower her, even. But he couldn’t move. Breathing had become difficult on its own. Walking, too? That would be impossible.

  “Have a seat.” She pointed to the chair he’d been sitting in before she’d entered. “And we’ll talk about why you’re here. Trust me, you don’t want to leave.”

  “Why not?” His voice betrayed him. The rough gravel pitch could’ve been sexy if it wasn’t for the slight breathiness that went with it. Am I eighteen again? Apparently. His dick seemed to think so. The damn thing was responding like the horn-dog it’d been when his hormones had overruled his brain.

  She arched one of her perfectly sculpted brows before a sultry smile curled over her lips. “Because I can give you everything you desire.” She flicked her chin toward the door. “Or you can leave and end up buried in scandal when this need of yours gets too strong to contain.”

  Holy fuck. Was she serious?

  Even if she was, he couldn’t trust her. This was all too staged to be real. It stunk like a well-set trap.

  “You caught me.” The game had ended, and he was clearly the loser. His main goal now was to get out without injury. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “What I want...” She looked him up and down one more time, the predatory appraisal both hot and threatening. He swallowed but resisted wiping his palms on his pants. She ran a single finger down his chest, her blood-red nail leaving a trail of fire beneath his shirt. “I want to see you kneeling naked at my feet. Hands bound. Your sweet mouth opened wide around my gag with your ankles spread by the bar I put between them.”

  The gulp of air he inhaled gushed through the silence. The image was so clear. God, he wanted that too. So fucking badly.

  “Still denying?” she taunted before running her finger over the rigid line of his erection. “Then thinking of serving me however I wish shouldn’t make this harder.”

  His cock twitched, its state impossible to control or deny. It’d taken him ages to figure out what his needs were, and he was long past denying it to himself. Admitting them to her was another thing.

  A tap of her finger under his chin had him immediately lifting his head. She stared into his eyes, her expression calculating. A silent dare.

  Oh, fuck me. It didn’t help at all when he realized she probably would. Literally. If he submitted to her.

  He’d taken advantage of all the random fucks available from way too many willing women, talked smack and postured with his friends while never coming close to easing the unrest that constantly dogged him. Workouts, training and the exhaustion that came after a game used to help, but those had dwindled over time, ceasing to be enough.

  Yet that one picture of him bound to a spanking bench had almost killed his career. His game had been shaky last season, and there was no guarantee another team would pick up his contract if the Glaciers let him go. Not if he was tied to a sex scandal.

  But if he spun it right, this could be his cha
nce to get what he wanted without revealing how much he longed for it. Admit nothing, but persuade her to give him exactly what he craved.

  Now that he could do.

  If he could play this to make her believe he was in denial, then he was more than willing to let the Ice Queen prove he wasn’t a Dom.

  * * *

  Oh, he wanted to. There was no doubt in Vanessa’s mind. The bob of Hauke’s Adam’s apple, coupled with the tight clench of his hands, told her how close he was to running. It would only lead to more issues if he did. Ones that would eventually get him in trouble.

  She took a step back then moved around him to set her briefcase on Seth’s desk.

  “Before you run,” she said, her focus completely on him even though his back was to her, “you should know that I’m an owner of this club.” She waited for his response and was rewarded with his sharp inhale that sent an enticing shiver down her spine. “Seth sent me your application.”

  His low curse put a smile on her lips. He really would be gorgeous kneeling at her feet or, even better, tied in suspension in her playroom. But that was getting ahead of herself.

  She was already blurring the lines between her professional and personal life just by meeting Hauke here. Mixing her worlds together had every controlling inch of her revolting, yet she was here and would see this through.

  She slapped the file folder onto the desk. The sharp smack finally got Hauke to turn around, even if it was reflexive.

  “Have a seat.” She motioned to the chair again. “And we’ll talk about it.”

  His chest puffed out, and it took a bit more of her control than she wanted to keep from admiring the breadth of displayed muscle. “I’m not what you think—”

  “Oh, you’re exactly what I think.”

  “I’m not.” His denial was accompanied by a hard head shake.

  “Do you care to test that?” She lifted her leg to perch on the edge of the desk, noting the way his eyes tracked to where her skirt hitched up. The fatigue from her day was slipping away under the possibilities that stood before her. “You don’t even know for sure what I’m thinking.”

  His eyes narrowed, his inner struggled displayed on his open features. He’d ditched the playoff beard that was so prominent in the league now that the Glaciers’s season was over. The clean shave showed off the longer planes of his jaw and the scar at the end of his chin. With his bangs lifted away from his forehead by a slightly off-centered cowlick, her focus went to the dark swipe of his brows and the contrasting blue of his eyes until he pressed his lips into a thin line, drawing her attention there.

  “You just told me what you want. There’s no missing that you think I’m a sub...” He gestured toward the file she’d placed on the desk. “Didn’t you read my application? I’m a Dom.”

  She glanced at the manila folder then back at him. “I read what you wrote. But I trust what I see more.”

  “That picture, from the other club.” His nostrils flared on his inhale. “You know about that.”

  “Of course.”

  “That was just a one-time thing.” He ducked his head, a pale red tinting his skin before he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and met her eyes. “I was trying it out so I could be a better Dom.”

  A practiced excuse that could be valid, but she doubted it. “How did it make you feel?”

  “What?”

  “Being tied down like that. Giving up control. How did you feel?” She kept her voice even, her gaze never wavering from his.

  “I don’t know,” he said too quickly, a small huff escaping with his denial. A muscle jumped along his jaw, but he didn’t look away. The challenge gleamed in his eyes, darkening them.

  Desire rippled through her at his unintentional confirmation of her beliefs. A true Dom hated every submissive experience he or she tried. “Then I think an experiment is in order.”

  His brows lowered, his confident gaze wavering in his hesitation. “What kind of an experiment?”

  “Just a small one.” She scanned him slowly. “Something simple to test a theory.”

  He widened his stance, hands clenching his hips in a move that consumed space. “I don’t need to test your theory.”

  Vanessa looked up at him. His towering presence wasn’t intimidating at all, especially when it was all posturing. She was used to that given her profession, though it never ceased to amaze her that such actions worked on some people. “You do if you want to get into The Den.”

  “You know what?” he growled, turning away. “Forget it.”

  The sharp slice of disappointment that stabbed at her chest surprised her. She wasn’t sure if it was in him or in herself, and that unknown stalled her response. He was almost to the door before she spoke. “Are you so afraid of the truth that you’d run before you even know what I want?”

  He balked then spun around. “I’m not afraid of the truth.”

  Her laughter dispelled the tightness that had crept into her muscles. “I could quote a movie and say ‘you can’t handle the truth,’ but I think you can.”

  His scowl formed deep grooves on his forehead, but he didn’t move to leave. His indecision practically crackled over the space between them.

  “Don’t you?” she gently pushed. If he could take this first leap, she was certain he’d find his release in submission, not dominance.

  When he didn’t respond after a long, tense moment, she slipped off the desk and went to the cabinet along the wall. She wasn’t sure what Seth kept stocked, but she’d work with whatever was there.

  “What are you doing?”

  She swung the doors wide, allowing him to see the shelves full of BDSM supplies. Cuffs, a few floggers, a riding crop, collars in different textures and widths, leashes and blindfolds. She grabbed a set of wide black leather cuffs, a leash, and a carabiner clip before shutting the doors.

  The rumble of his throat clearing tumbled through the silence as she turned around. “What are you doing with those?”

  The curiosity in his voice held more excitement than fear and she fed off that. Let it blend with her confidence to simmer in her core.

  She held the items up. “Are you willing?”

  “What?” He rubbed his wrist and she doubted he realized it, but she noted it. He was already anticipating the sensation.

  She set the items on the desk before taking the hood from her briefcase. The plastic crinkled when she ripped the shipping bag open. Her attention was on him as she unfolded the material and set it next to the cuffs and leash. Made of black cotton fabric with mesh-covered eyes and mouth holes, it was basic and loose fitting.

  “Are those for you?” he asked, brows lifting. Her answer was a simple tilt of her head and a matching lift of her brows. The standoff lasted just seconds before he looked away. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Unexpected, another flare of her pulse pushed hot waves of desire through her in a ramp of pure longing. His layers weren’t complex, yet she suspected they ran deep and strong once uncovered.

  “I have a meeting at six. I want to take you with me.” She nodded to the items on the desk. “Wearing these.”

  He stared at the bondage items, his lips quirking in a grimace that switched to a frown before flattening into what could’ve been resignation or acceptance. But there was also a closing of his eyes where a flash of need was so visible she almost gasped at the rawness. Revealed for a second, the acute purity was unjaded by expectations or even hope. The openness left her stunned and reeling with the unaccustomed urge to claim it for herself.

  “Will you let me into the club if I do this?”

  The challenge returned to his voice and snapped her attention back to their discussion. She was getting distracted and th
at wasn’t acceptable. With a sharp mental reprimand, she stuffed her lust behind her control.

  “I can’t give you a guarantee,” she answered truthfully, still on the fence on that subject. “There’re still some things we need to discuss.”

  “But it’s a definite no if I don’t do this.”

  She moved up to him, enjoying the way his muscles tensed from the stiff rise of his shoulders down to the tight clench of his fists. “Not necessarily. But you want this.” She pressed her hand to his chest. His breath hitched, then she found the racing beat of his heart. It thundered against her palm to tell her what he didn’t want to say. “I won’t force you. It has to be your choice.” She waited a beat. “It’s a chance you might not get again. Do you really want to let it go?”

  He shook his head, but was it in denial or rejection? “Why are you so certain about this? Me?”

  “Why are you so afraid?” She gentled her voice, concern nudging at her conscience. Was she pushing him too hard?

  He scoffed and stepped back. “I’m not.”

  She let her hand drop, resisting the urge to rub at the heat that lingered on her palm. What was wrong with her? Why was she so off?

  “Are you agreeing then?” She kept her voice neutral, her emotions hidden.

  The play between them was different from her usual club submissives. Maybe that was it. The give and take, nudge and tempt brought an intrigue that spiked her interest beyond her increased pulse. It’d been years since she’d worked with an inexperienced submissive, let alone one in denial.

  He eyed the mask, wet his lips. “No one will know who I am, right?”

  “No one,” she promised, her voice level despite the anticipation that hitched her breath and flushed her skin. “But you’ll do everything I ask or safeword out. We haven’t talked limits, so there’ll be nothing sexual. This is purely a test of submission.”

  The air conditioning kicked on, the low hum adding to the tension that hung in the room. Sweat gathered at her nape, close to her hairline. She suppressed the urge to lift her hair and let the cool air whisk away the dampness.