The Bondage Club

by Alexandrea Weis

  Standing in front of her door, he held up his hand to knock and then hesitated. Was he doing the right thing? He could dismiss their previous intimate encounters as lapses in judgment, but tonight was going to cast them headlong into that dreaded tangled web called a relationship.

  Brushing off his rising panic, he knocked on the door. “It’s just a date, idiot,” he chided. “Not a lifetime conjoined at the hip.”

  When the door opened, the first thing he noticed was the bright yellow dress hugging her curves, and then his eyes rose to her devastating smile.

  “I’m ready,” she asserted. “I just hope you are.”

  Shaking his head, he entered her apartment. “Keep talking like that and I may have to make a run for it.”

  After patting Sex Kitten on the head, and escorting her back to his car, Hunter settled behind the wheel.

  “So where are we going?” she asked, securing her seatbelt over her shoulder.

  “I have a special G-rated evening planned. There are going to be no bondage clubs, ultra-hip urban crowds, or any shiny metallic devices to tie me to any more bedposts.”

  She scrunched her eyes together. “Where exactly are we going?”

  He put the car into gear. “Just think…Disney World.”

  * * *

  After a short drive to the Lucky Marietta District, Hunter pulled his car into a parking lot next to a stone and red-bricked building that sat adjacent to the grounds of the Centennial Olympic Park. Cary eyed the Hilton Garden Inn across the street, and then the cozy shops on the first floor of the structure next to them.

  “What are we doing here?”

  He opened his car door. “Our evening starts with a quick dinner.”

  Cary was about to open her car door, when Hunter stopped her. “Wait, I’ll get it.” He jumped from his car seat and went around to her side. After opening her door, he held out his hand. “If this is a date, I should at least try to act like a gentleman.”

  Cary took his hand and climbed from the roadster. “You a gentleman? That would be a nice change of pace.”

  “Believe it or not, my mother raised Chris and me to be gentlemen. She would always be scolding us about how to act, what to say to a lady, our manners…you know, the usual.”

  “Where were all these good manners hiding before tonight?”

  He led her across the parking lot. “Since this is a date, I figured I should be on my best behavior to impress you. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

  She gazed down at their intertwined hands. “Just feels a little weird, you trying to impress me. I think I prefer it when you are just being your ornery self.”

  “You think I’m ornery?”

  Glancing up at the ten-story building ahead, she grudgingly conceded, “Well, you’re not always pleasant.”

  “I promise to make a concerted effort to be different tonight.”

  She dissected him with her suspicious eyes. “Why tonight?”

  “Come on.” He started toward the building. “I’m starving.”

  When they climbed the white stone steps to one of the first floor shops set behind a stone archway, Cary examined the sign hanging from above.

  “Frazier’s Ice Cream & Coffee Bar?” She turned to Hunter. “I thought you said we were going to dinner.”

  He opened the glass front door for her. “We are. My mother always said the best dinner is just dessert.”

  A smattering of white iron tables and matching chairs filled a red-tiled room, with posters of coffee houses in Europe hanging on the walls. A long deli counter displaying a variety of pastries, along with a frozen yogurt and ice cream section, stood beneath a wide blackboard mounted above advertising all the specials being served. The aroma of fresh baked bread and coffee hung in the air, making Hunter’s stomach growl.

  “Do you come here a lot?” Cary browsed a row of decadent chocolate cookies beneath the glass counter.

  “When I’m hankering for some time away, yeah, I like to come here.” He took a turn of the room watching a few couples gathered about the tables, while a handful of children enthusiastically licked their ice cream cones. “It grounds me.”

  “Grounds you? How?”

  “It shows me how the world really is. Parents, kids, families, things I don’t get to see too much every day. I don’t know a lot of people like this.” He turned to a family of four sitting at a table together.

  “What about your family? You must have cousins and distant relatives.”

  “My mother’s family lived in California, and we were never close.” His eyes gleaned the chalkboard above. “My father never really had much family. His parents died when he was young and his only brother, Uncle Marty, died when I was a kid. So it was always just the four of us.”

  “There are advantages to what you have, Hunter. I have six nieces and nephews, and every Christmas I go broke buying presents; and then there are all the birthdays I have to remember, lectures I get from my mother when I don’t go home for the holidays, phone calls about assorted family dramas…consider yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with all of that.”

  A young girl with ash-blonde hair working behind the counter smiled at them. “What can I get you folks?”

  Hunter turned to Cary. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yeah, I trust you.”

  Hunter faced the young girl and held up two fingers. “Two hot fudge sundaes.”

  “Two hot fudge sundaes, got it,” the young blonde replied, and then turned toward the ice cream section of the counter.

  “You like to live dangerously,” Cary imparted with teasing grin.

  “I think you already know the answer to that.” Hunter paused as the young woman behind the counter piled scoops of ice cream into two long glass dishes. “That guy, Winter, you mentioned…do you mind if I ask what happened?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, sighing lightly. “With Winter St. Cyr things got…complicated.”

  Hunter eased his hip against the counter. “Was he the first guy you ever loved?”

  “Loved? I’m not sure I ever loved Winter. We were good friends, had a lot of the same interests, but I wasn’t absolutely shattered when he told me he had found someone else.” She folded her arms over the front of her yellow dress. “I was relieved.”

  Hunter’s eyebrows went up. “What woman doesn’t want to marry a doctor?”

  “The kind of woman who wants to live her life before being tied down by his. My mother kept reminding me that when I married a doctor I had a duty to act a certain way, look a certain way, and I would have to consider his needs before mine.”

  “And is that why you didn’t want to marry him?”

  Cary waited as the attendant brought two glass dishes filled with vanilla ice cream, fudge, and topped with whipped cream and cherries to the counter.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the young woman inquired.

  Hunter reached for his wallet in his back pocket. “You want anything else?” he asked Cary.

  She shook her head. “No, that should put me into sugar coma for a while.”

  He handed the young woman a twenty dollar bill.

  Taking their ice cream sundaes to a nearby table, they had a seat and as Cary pulled her pink plastic spoon from the center of her sundae, Hunter decided to pursue the topic of her ex. “So why didn’t you want to marry the Winter guy?”

  She carefully dug her spoon in the center of her sundae, making sure to get a hefty amount of whipped cream. “The moment he asked me to marry him, I saw my whole life flash before me, and I wanted more.”

  “Had you started editing then?”

  She nodded and swallowed the ice cream. “I was just getting a name for myself, but Winter didn’t want me to continue with my erotica authors. He was too embarrassed to tell anyone what I did.”

  Hunter dragged his pink plastic spoon over the edge of his sundae, scooping up a mound of hot fudge and vanilla ice cream. “Sounds like a jerk to me. What kind of name is Winter?”
>
  Cary strategically filled her spoon again. “A family name. He came from an old Southern family in Alabama where tradition was very important. That had a lot to do with why it never worked out. I’m not a very traditional woman”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Be thankful my brother didn’t.”

  “Chris did remind me of Winter in a way.” She twirled her spoon in her whipped cream. “They were both egotistical and insincere.”

  “How do you know I’m not the same way?”

  She glanced up from her sundae. “The other night when you sat down and went over my story line for my book, never once did you ask me about your book. You were focused on what I needed, and you’ve been willing to let me be who I am. A lot of men aren’t that…selfless.”

  “I’m not selfless, Cary. I promise you there are parts of me that are just like all the other men out there.”

  “Perhaps.” She held another spoonful of vanilla ice cream and hot fudge in front of her lips. “You ever almost settle down with someone?”

  “After Kathleen, I gave up thinking about settling down. For the last few years I’ve…well, I haven’t lived like a saint.”

  A happy burst of laughter came from two children at a table a few feet away. As Cary took in the children’s exuberance, Hunter admired the curves of her profile. When she turned back and caught him staring, Hunter blushed. Smiling sheepishly, she returned to her sundae.

  “You don’t have to eat all of that.” He gestured to her sundae. “I know a great little sushi place up the road if you want some real food.”

  “No, this is perfect. Your mother was right about the best dinner being just dessert.” She raised a large spoonful of the melting ice cream to her mouth. “What was she like, your mother?”

  Hunter put his spoon down and reached for the paper napkin next to his glass bowl. “A lot of fun. My mother made everything fun. We always had birthday parties, holidays, lazy weekends, and all of it was fun.” He wiped his hands on his napkin. “She had this great laugh. Mom was a real small woman, but she had this big, bellowing laugh. When I was a kid, I loved listening to her laugh. Unfortunately, as I got older, I heard that laugh less and less.”

  “Why was that?”

  “My old man. I think the years of his screwing around ate away at my mother. The last time, when she caught him at the office, I never saw her so torn up.”

  “That must have been hard on you and Chris growing up.”

  “Nothing is hard on Chris. He’s just as cold as Jim Donovan.”

  “And are you like your mother?”

  Hunter dropped his napkin on the table, considering the question. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  She dug her spoon into her sundae. “So what else do you have planned?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  * * *

  After finishing their sundaes, Hunter escorted Cary back to his roadster. Leaving the parking lot, he made a right on Baker Street and then drove the short distance to the largest aquarium in the world, the Georgia Aquarium. When he entered the parking garage, Cary peered over at him, a huge grin on her face.

  “You’re taking me to the aquarium?”

  He took a parking ticket from the toll gate. “Actually, it’s a special event; Donovan Books is one of the sponsors. I donate books every year to the libraries across the city, and this is their annual fundraiser.”

  “But we’re not dressed up,” Cary objected, glancing over her simple cotton dress.

  “It’s a family benefit. There will be children here, so it’s casual.”

  “You know I’ve lived in Atlanta for years, but I’ve never been here,” Cary confessed.

  Hunter stuck the ticket under his visor. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  After passing through the blue-metal and glass exterior that was meant to represent the giant arc of a wave, they checked in at a registration table just inside the main entrance. As Cary explored the ceiling painted with manta rays floating through a blue ocean, Hunter gave an older man at the table his name and then collected two name tags with Donavon Books printed on them.

  “I didn’t realize you worked with any of the local charities,” Cary reflected as she removed the adhesive back from her name tag.

  “If you run any business in this town, it’s a great way to get connected. I donate all the books I can’t move to libraries, hospitals, and nursing homes.” He patted his name tag over the right side of his shirt. “I like knowing our books get read by those who might not have access to them.”

  “That is a side of you I never expected, the altruist.”

  He clasped her hand. “I’m a businessman, Cary, and far from altruistic.”

  Stepping into a dark entrance with tanks on either side filled with shimmering silver fish, Cary squeezed his hand. “That’s not what I see, Hunter. I hope one day you figure out that you’re more of a writer than a businessman.”

  A jazz band playing a lively melody greeted them as they stepped in the blue neon lights of the atrium. All around guests were milling about in an array of fashions from casual to dressy, while children screamed and chased each other about the entrance to the different exhibits.

  Cary glimpsed the long blue-lighted sculptures of waves above adding to the soothing ambience of the grand atrium. Ahead in a seated dining area, people were hovering around several white-linen buffet tables offering a myriad of dishes. Black-tie waitstaff scurried back and forth serving drinks, while other guests walked in and out of the open exhibits surrounding them.

  “What do you want to do first?” Hunter eyed the different exhibit marquees. “We can see the dolphins, cold water aquarium, or—”

  “Where are the otters?” Cary cut in.

  Hunter surveyed the atrium. “Let’s start in the River Scout exhibit. They’re probably in there.” He guided her toward the brightly lit entrance to the exhibit.

  As they passed beneath Spanish moss strewn archways built to resemble thick trunks of cypress trees, a swarm of children eagerly ran past them. Checking the aquariums built into walls that were sculpted to look like trees, Cary and Hunter marveled at the many different types of fish found in the rivers of South America, Africa, Asia, and even Georgia. When they found an old cypress log with the words River Otters and an arrow carved into it, Cary tugged on his hand.

  “Come on,” she excitedly chirped.

  Set behind wide Plexiglas, the brown otters were slinking their way in and out of an octagonal pool, allowing visitors to watch in amazement as the animals skirted below the waterline, appearing more like fish than mammals. A rock-like surface climbed up the far wall, and a slide made to appear like natural rock came down from the top of the wall and into the water.

  “So you like otters,” Hunter remarked while the fascinating creatures dipped and played below the water’s surface.

  “Yeah, I love them. They are always so cool to watch.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t want to see the alligators. You know all those rough hides and such. Thought that might be more your style.”

  As Cary went to elbow him, a little boy, no more than three, squeezed between them. The dark-haired urchin pushed against Hunter’s trouser leg, shoving him aside.

  “Hey,” Hunter called as he moved away from Cary.

  The small human ran behind them to a couple standing a few feet away.

  “Sorry about that,” a tall man apologized, picking up the boy.

  For a moment, Hunter was amazed at how closely the child resembled the man. But when Cary turned beside him, he swore he heard a surprised gasp escape her lips.

  “Cary, is that you?” a throaty voice questioned.

  “Son of a….” Cary’s voice faded when the man put the child down and came forward.

  He had thick shoulders, jet-black hair, and a narrow face that gave him a sinister appearance. His dark eyes were the most disturbing feature on his pale countenance. Hidden behind a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses, they made Hunter feel as if the
man was not at all trustworthy. His wide brow, slender chin, and sunken cheekbones only added to his intimidating presence. Wearing a tailored gray suit, he appeared completely out of place next to the playful otters. Beside him was a petite blonde with wispy arms and perfect features, and as she drew near, Hunter almost felt sorry for the tiny woman, being paired with such a menacing-looking individual.

  “How have you been?” the handsome man inquired.

  “Winter, what a surprise,” Cary said in a uncharacteristically monotone voice.

  Hunter studied Winter with a newfound sense of dislike. He even looks like winter, he thought. Cold, distant, and utterly lifeless.

  “I was just telling Melissa that I thought that was you.” Winter kissed her cheek and motioned to the pale, mousy blonde holding the small boy’s hand. “Melissa St. Cyr, my wife, this is Cary Anderson.”

  Melissa uttered a faint “hello” as the child stood before her, grasping at the skirts of her green dress.

  “You still working on all those naughty books of yours?” Winter’s amused chuckle immediately grated on Hunter’s nerves.

  Cary waved to Hunter. “Ah, Hunter Donavon, this is Winter St. Cyr. Hunter owns Donovan Books.”

  Hunter and Winter briefly shook hands, while Hunter appraised the man’s firm handshake. “Is he yours?” Hunter pointed to the small boy.

  “Yes,” Winter beamed. “Winter St. Cyr the fourth.”

  Hunter smirked. “The fourth?”

  “Winter was the third,” Cary informed him.

  “It’s a family tradition,” Winter explained. “Every first born son is named Winter.”

  “What happens when you get to double digits?” Hunter joked.

  But Winter didn’t seem too pleased with the jest. “So, ah, Cary,” he went on, ignoring Hunter. “What are you doing these days?”

  “Oh, I’m still working on those naughty books as you put it, Winter.”

  “I had hoped you would have become more respectable in your old age. You always had so much potential.”

  Hunter’s anger stirred. “Actually, Winter, Cary is one of the most renowned editors in erotica. Everyone wants her services.”

  Winter pursed his lips together. “Editor? I thought you were—”