Tie Me Down Tight (Breaking the Rules)

by Cathryn Fox

  He exhaled slowly. “So I take it you’re not a veterinarian.”

  Her brow furrowed and she looked down as if she was remembering something. A moment later she lifted her head, her eyes filling with understanding. “Oh God,” she whispered.

  He grinned and, wanting to lighten things up, he winked and said, “There you go, using the wrong name again.”

  She pressed one palm to her forehead and shook her head. “My friends didn’t hire you, did they?”

  Planting his elbows on his knees, he leaned into her, and when he caught her sweet scent, visions of taking her up against this boardroom table raced through him. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know who hired me. The truth is, last night was a one shot deal. I was filling in for someone.”

  “I thought you were my birthday present.”

  “Last night was your birthday?” She nodded and grabbed her cell phone from her purse. “So you’re not moving to Texas?”

  “No. I thought my friends hired you. I haven’t had a chance to talk to them yet.” Her fingers raced over the screen.

  “Maybe they did. All I know was I was supposed to go to Westwood Hotel, suite four, at nine sharp.” He thought back to the note his cousin had left him, and that’s when it hit him.

  Was that a four or a nine?

  “Fuck me,” he said, running his hands through his hair as he sank back into his seat.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I think I went to the wrong room.”

  The color drained from her face. “And danced for the wrong girl.”

  He shook his head. “No, Angel. It might have been the wrong room, but I was definitely with the right girl.”

  She closed her hands over her face. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “Hey.” He captured her hands and closed his around them. “I told you. There is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  She glared at him like he was dense. “You went to the wrong room. Danced for the wrong girl. And I threw myself at you. You! Dylan Brooks, Hollywood’s hottest bad boy.”

  He angled his head. “You think I’m hot?”

  “Oh God.”

  “I think you’re hot, too.”

  “Last night,” she began. “I don’t do things like that.”

  “Me neither.”

  She looked down, her long lashes veiling her emotions. “Do you mean the dancing or…” Her words fell off like she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “The sex,” he said, cupping her chin to lift it. Heat moved into her eyes and his cocked jumped, begging for an encore performance.

  “Yeah.”

  He could tell her he didn’t do brief affairs, but she wouldn’t believe him. He knew his reputation. And of course what he was about to say next would cement her belief he was just another player. But his depth of desire for her was beyond his comprehension. All it took was one taste for her to become an addiction. Like a junkie in need of a fix, he had to have her again.

  “I’m not going to apologize for the mix up,” he said.

  “No?”

  “No. Actually, I’m glad it happened. In fact, I want it to happen again.”

  Her back went poker straight. “Are you saying you want to have sex again? With me?

  He looked around the room. “I don’t see anyone else in here.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “You have to admit it was good.”

  Her lips fluttered as she exhaled. “Yeah…”

  “So then what do you say? One full week of sex. Lasso optional.”

  She sucked in a quick breath. “This is all happening so fast. I…I have to think about it.”

  “Pass me your phone.” He gestured for her to give it to him.

  She put the phone in his hand. “Why do you want my phone?”

  “Do you like pie?”

  She crinkled her nose. “Pie?”

  “Yeah, do you like it?” He was supposed to go to Sanctuary with Chase tonight, and while he could ask her to go with him, his gut told him it wasn’t her kind of scene. It wasn’t his either. A slap and tickle was one thing, not to mention a little rope play, but if she said yes to what he wanted, the kink they explored would be on the softer side.

  “Of course I like pie. Who doesn’t like pie? But what does that—”

  “I just put my number in your phone.” He placed her cell back into her hand. “If you text me and tell me what kind of pie you like, then I’ll take it your answer is a yes.”

  Chapter Three

  Camped under an umbrella at the alfresco café near the studio where they all worked, Angie took in the three sets of eyes staring at her.

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” Maria said, elbows braced on the table, palms open to the sky. “You slept with Dylan Brooks. The Dylan Brooks. Hollywood’s ‘It’ boy, who showed up this morning on the set to do a cameo?”

  “Yup,” Angie said. “I slept with The Dylan Brooks who showed up on set to do a cameo.”

  “He was the cowboy who danced at your party last night?” she asked.

  “A cowboy I thought you girls had ordered for me.” She took a sip of tea and set the cup back on the saucer. “There goes your basket of thank you cookies.”

  Eden shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Oh my God, Angie. This is insane.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Of course, delicious, mind-blowing, and orgasmic were a few more adjectives she could toss out there. She touched her shoulder. The muscles were tender, sore, a sweet reminder of the way her cowboy had taken her—hard. Her body tightened, heat charging straight to her nether region. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and reached for her tea.

  “And what does pie have to do with anything?” Janie asked, dragging Angie’s thoughts back. “I don’t get it…unless.” Her eyes widened to the size of salad plates. “Maybe he’s a kinky bastard.”

  “Maybe,” Angie hedged. Desperate to busy her hands, she pushed a slice of celery around on her plate, keeping the naughty details to herself, even though her friends could read her like a book.

  “Holy hell. He is kinky,” Janie shrieked, practically vibrating in her seat. She leaned forward and planted her palms on the table. “I want to know all the details. Like did he tie you up with that lasso of his?”

  When heat moved into Angie’s face, her mind going back to the way he roped her, her fingers tightened around the fork. She stabbed the celery and popped it into her mouth to give her jaw something to do before she blurted out private details. Honest to God, she was still trying to process this unexpected turn of events, and while it was too good not to share, it was also too good not to keep to herself so she could savor it a little bit longer.

  “Oh my God, he did!” Janie said. “He did tie you up, didn’t he?”

  “Shh…” Angie looked around the crowded café. “I don’t want the world to know. I’m sure he doesn’t either. It’s not the kind of thing he does often, or ever really. He was just filling in for a friend, and things sort of…happened.” She tapped a restless finger on the table and looked at her phone, zeroing in on the number he’d punched in earlier. “And now he wants them to happen again,” she squeaked out.

  “And of course you’re going to tell him yes, right?” Maria said eagerly. Of the four best friends, Maria was currently the only one not having great sex. Before Dylan came along, Angie was in the trenches with Maria, and the two had been living vicariously though their friends.

  Angie gave a non-committal shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Eden asked. “Clearly it was one hell of a night. I can’t ever remember the last time you were late for work.”

  “And you were walking a little funny on the set this morning,” Janie teased.

  “I was not!” Angie said, then covered her mouth when a group at the table next to them turned their way. She laughed and shook her head. “You are so bad.”

  Janie puckered her painted lips and winked. “That’s becaus
e there’s no fun in being good.”

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  Last night she’d stepped out of character and had the time of her life. So why shouldn’t she do it again? Why shouldn’t she just take what he was offering? One whole week of no-strings sex with the hottest guy in the universe. So what if he was a player who was totally full of himself? She wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d want to pursue a relationship. Besides, past experience told her she didn’t have what it took for long term, anyway. So why not get in, have some amazing sex, and get out?

  She looked at her phone again. So what was her favorite kind of pie?

  “Cherry,” Janie said, like she could read Angie’s mind.

  Her gaze darted to her friend. “What?”

  “Type in cherry.”

  “That’s not my favorite kind of pie.”

  Janie rolled her eyes like she was dense, and snatched her phone. Her fingers raced over the screen then she handed it back. “Apple is boring. Cherry is sexy and gives out the right kind of message.”

  “And what kind of message is that?”

  “Do I have to spell everything out to you?”

  “Apparently.”

  She pointed a manicured finger at the keyboard. “Just hit send.”

  Her gaze went around the table, taking in all the encouraging nods. She sucked in a fueling breath, put her finger on the send key and pressed it. She let the air out of her lungs and was about to put her phone down when a message came in.

  Mine too, Angel.

  “Oh God.” She showed her friends the phone.

  “He calls you Angel?” Eden asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I like him,” Maria said quickly, and the other two nodded in agreement.

  Another text came in.

  Seven o’clock. What’s your address?

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Angie picked up the phone and sent him her address.

  Janie dropped her fork and pushed from the table. “Come on, we need to go shopping.”

  “What for?”

  Her wicked grin made Angie nervous. “You’ll see.”

  She climbed to her feet. Ever since Janie had submersed herself into the BDSM lifestyle, she’d been buying the most outrageous outfits—ones that were way over the top.

  Angie grabbed her purse off the back of her chair. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

  “Girlfriend,” she said, a confident look on her face as she did some head-bobbing thing and snapped her fingers. “Tomorrow you’ll be sending me a basket of cookies.”

  Thirty minutes later, after a quick shopping trip with Janie, she found herself back on the set. Her character, who went to great lengths to get what she wanted, was to have a one-night stand with Dylan.

  Only problem was, he was throwing her off her game. Every time she tried to run lines with him she fumbled, the sexual tension between them shutting down her brain cells.

  Tomorrow, they’d have to act out the bedroom scene, and she wasn’t sure how she’d make it through the day. Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon went by in a rush. He had left with Cameron, and she spent most of the time in her dressing room thinking about cherry pie, and where he planned to take her. What the heck was she supposed to wear for a night out with a Hollywood heavy weight? The lacey merchandise Janie had insisted she purchase at the nearby boutique wasn’t for public viewing. She did a quick search on the internet and found a bakery near her condo. Perhaps that’s what he had in mind. It looked casual enough…so, casual it was.

  She hurried home after work, still shocked that she was doing this. Nothing could come of it, but the sex was hot. And she’d had fun. Big fun. Pun intended. Plus, Dylan was nice, much more so than she would have expected. It wasn’t every day she got to hang out with a man who starred in more than one of her fantasies, so why the heck not?

  She showered and dressed, and her heart leaped as she gave herself a once over in the mirror. God, why was she so nervous? Oh, because this is Dylan Brooks! As a former entertainment attorney, she’d worked on contracts for numerous heavy hitters. Why was this any different?

  Because you got your kink on with Dylan.

  Ah right!

  One last swipe over her lips with her favorite lipstick, and she headed toward her door. A shaky hand went to her dress to smooth it, then she twisted the handle to find Dylan on her stoop. Looking laid back in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, he stood there holding a brown paper grocery bag.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at her. “You are gorgeous.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she teased.

  He arched one brow, his grin naughty, so sexy. “You think I’m a cliché?”

  She supposed she did. She had her own preconceived notions of him, just like he probably had his own about her. “Maybe.”

  “Just so you know, I only say it when I mean it.” He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. She looked past his shoulder to see if any of her neighbors had seen them. “And you, my sweet Angel, look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the compliment for what it was. She gave her clothes a once over. “I wasn’t sure what to wear for pie.”

  “It’s perfect.” They stood there staring at each other for a second longer, then he said, “Can I come in? This is getting heavy.”

  “Oh, sure.” She stepped back and waved her hand.

  “Kitchen?”

  “Straight ahead,” she said.

  She followed him down the long hall, passing her living room on the right, and bedroom and bathroom on the left. It wasn’t a huge place, but it was warm and comfortable and suited her fine. To him it probably felt like a Cracker Jack box. But she couldn’t think too much about that right now, not when he was walking ahead of her and she could focus on his ass.

  He went straight to the working side of her oversize granite island, set the bag down, and started pulling out groceries.

  Facing him from the other side of the counter, she dragged one of the stools toward her, but before she sat, she stopped to look over the supplies. “Uh, what are you doing?”

  “Making pie.” He flashed her an academy award-winning grin. “Cherry. Your favorite, right?”

  She stepped back. Okay, stumbled. Was he for real? She shook her head, perplexed. “You want to make me a pie?”

  He nodded his head eagerly, and it made him look boyish, adorable. “Sure. For your birthday.”

  “But my birthday was yesterday, and cake is for birthdays, not pie.” She glanced at the bag of flour, stick of shortening, and can of cherries as he reached into the bag to pull out more ingredients.

  “Well, I figured you’d had your cake already.” His hand paused in the bag and he looked at her. “You did, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He went back to emptying the bag, then pushed it aside. “Plus, when I was growing up, my dad always wanted pie for his birthday. It’s kind of a Brooks’ family tradition. We had our own apple, peach, and cherry trees on the property. Mom used to surprise dad with a different kind of pie each year. I was always happy when it was cherry.”

  She shook her head. This guy was all kinds of surprises. Maybe she’d been wrong to judge him so quickly.

  “This is a secret family recipe, passed down from generation to generation. It won many country fair baking contests, so you can’t share it with anyone.”

  “And you’re trusting me with it?”

  He eyed her. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  She laughed. “No. Your secret is safe with me. I promise.”

  “Good, ’cause mama would kick my ass.”

  She took in the warmth in his eyes, the melancholy in his voice as he talked about home. “You miss them,” she stated.

  A beat and then, “Yeah. I was at my cousin’s yesterday, and looking at the pictures on his mantle made me feel a little home sick.” He waved a finger at her and shook his head
at the same time. “Don’t tell him that, though. I’d never live it down.”

  Her heart squeezed a little at his admission. “I think it’s nice, actually.” Being close to his family said a lot about his character and the way he talked about them made her long for one of her own.

  “So this is the recipe.” He reached into his pocket, grabbed his phone, and set it on the counter. He pulled up a picture and showed it to her. “Mom texted it to me earlier today.”

  “Your mom texts?”

  “Yeah, yours doesn’t?”

  At the mention of her mom, and the reminder that she had no one outside of her three best friends and her brother Nick—who she rarely saw—the smile fell from her face. “I don’t know my mom.”

  “I’m sorry, Angel,” he said, his voice soft and low as he reached out and put his hand over hers.

  She forced a smile and, not wanting to spoil the mood, she said, “So you’re really going to make me a birthday pie?”

  “That’s the plan.” With his big hand still closed over hers, he looked her in the eye, his mood shifting. Expression serious, he said, “I hope you don’t mind that we’re not going out.” He gestured toward the window over the sinks and frowned. “It’s hard to talk out there. Everywhere I go, people will want pictures, autographs—”

  She laughed. “What a hardship.”

  He briefly looked down, and when he finally lifted his gaze to hers, there was a sadness in it that took her by surprise. “I like my fans. I really do. I wouldn’t be anything without them, but sometimes…sometimes it’s nice just to be me, you know?”

  She took in his posture, the way his shoulders weren’t quiet as tense as they were today on the set. She had her fair share of notoriety, the papers making her out to be a diva and linking her with numerous men, but she was no Dylan Brooks—hounded and hunted by the most relentless paparazzi.

  As his thumb lightly brushed her wrist, she imagined what it would be like to live a day in his shoes. It had to be difficult to handle his level of fame. His life wouldn’t be his own. No matter where he went he’d be harassed, chased even. Heck, it wasn’t long ago that a stalker had almost killed Janie.

  She’d called him cliché, but truthfully, so far he seemed to be anything but. In fact, he seemed sweet and kind, a good old homeboy who hadn’t been destroyed by Hollywood yet and just wanted a little peace and quiet.