Bound and Determined

by Sierra Cartwright

  Viciously he encircled her upper arms once again. He dragged her onto her toes and against the solidness of his masculine body.

  His lips found hers, demandingly, punishingly.

  The latent passion, eight hundred years of anger, flared in an instant.

  A slow throb uncurled between her legs, just like the one during her earlier fantasies.

  He forced her mouth apart, and their tongues met.

  He was warm, insistent.

  She worked her hands between them and pushed against his leather-covered chest. The man was unmovable.

  He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She parried, as if they were sparring.

  But he was relentless.

  With his kiss, he dominated her.

  Her body betrayed her with a rush of desire.

  There was something between them, ‘twas as if they’d met before. She knew him. And he knew what she wanted.

  No other man had ever been so uncompromising with her.

  Her breaths became ragged as she fought her need to surrender. Abruptly, he ended the kiss and released her. There were no gentle nips. There was no softness, nothing to show that he desired her.

  Her emotions went arse end over tea kettle. She suddenly, ridiculously, felt rejected. She wanted more. What was wrong with her? They were enemies, had been for centuries. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands off me in future.’

  “With that body of yours? No fecking chance.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. As if that could protect her from him.

  “I’ve had a taste, Sinead, and I want more.”

  Even though there’d been no soft words, he wanted her in a carnal way that made her senses whirl.

  “And you want me.”

  “It’s cold in here. Hell must have just frozen over.”

  He raised a brow.

  “If you’re thinking I want you, hell froze over,” she added, just in case he’d obtusely missed her meaning.

  “Your mouth is far better used for kissing than talking,” he said. “Much sweeter that way.”

  He moved fast.

  He had her arms uncrossed and pinned at the small of her back before she could blink. He imprisoned both of her wrists in one of his callused hands. She fought, but she couldn’t get away. In fact, he brought her closer to his body.

  His strength was nearly overwhelming. His chest was solid. And his cock was hard, pushing demandingly against his jeans and against her belly.

  She shouldn’t want his possession, but she did.

  The small struggle had made the robe’s lapels part slightly. Her breasts were thrust towards him, and her nipples had hardened. Most upsettingly, her pussy had moistened with arousal.

  “Not much to say now, hey?”

  “Release me.”

  He relentlessly held her gaze. He wasn’t stupid; he knew she was having a physical reaction to his touch.

  He traced a finger into the V where the robe’s material overlapped.

  Her breaths became even sharper.

  “Tell me you don’t want my touch.”

  “I don’t.”. Even she barely recognised the sound of her own voice.

  “Tell me that convincingly.”

  “I…” Oh, aye, she wanted his touch. More than anything, she wanted to not want it.

  Still holding her prisoner, he tugged on the knot of her belt.

  “Unhand me, you unholy bastard.”

  The belt fell apart, the ends dangling at her sides.

  He wouldn’t…

  “Your skin is so soft, Sinead. Inviting.”

  “The invitation isn’t for you, Quinn.”

  “Oh aye; yes it is. I’m the only one here,” he whispered, his hoarse voice throwing her into a seduced trance. “Here with you. I can hear your breaths. I can smell that heat that comes off you. Pungent.”

  “You’re crass.”

  “The smell is all woman, Sinead. Like you’re in heat.”

  She was going to drown in a sea of her own mortification.

  “I’ll bet, when I part this robe, that your breasts will be full and your nipples hard. Any bets, Sinead?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Yes.That’s exactly the idea. I’ll fuck you. Then you can get on top and fuck me.”

  She wanted to tell him not to touch her, but her damnable body betrayed her. When he moved the robe back across her shoulders, her breasts were heavy, and her nipples were pebbled.

  “You have beautiful breasts,” he said. “And your nipples…”

  He cupped her left breast and gently squeezed.

  “How much pressure do you like on your nipples?” he asked.

  “Don’t…”

  “A little? Or are you as tough as you want people to believe you are? Is it only an act, Sinead?”

  This time she didn’t answer; she couldn’t find her tongue in order to speak. It had been so long since a man had touched her, she was hungry for anything, the gentlest of touches or something wild that ignited her.

  While he held her breast in his palm, he brushed a thumb across her nipple. It tightened a little more.

  “Maybe a bit more pressure?”

  She closed her eyes.

  He gave a gentle squeeze that he instantly released.

  “Oh God,” she whispered.

  “Too much?”

  She shook her head, even though she felt as if she were betraying herself to the enemy. She hadn’t known she liked this kind of intensity. Even the one man she’d been with who was more adventurous than the others hadn’t stimulated her nipples this much.

  Quinn did it even harder.

  She sucked in a breath, but she didn’t object. She’d never had a man apply that much pressure before, and damn, she liked it, the pain with the pleasure.

  He eased up a bit and she tried to move towards him. His hands and the way the robe had fallen back off her shoulders restricted her movements in a way that aroused her even more.

  “Ah,” he said. “Have you ever worn nipple clamps?”

  Through her haze she asked, “Nipple clamps?”

  “You’ll become intimately acquainted with them.”

  Then he squeezed her tortured little nipple hard and for a long time.

  Moisture pooled between her legs. If he’d known she was aroused earlier from her scent, there’d be no doubt now.

  She whimpered when he released her.

  Then, dizzyingly, he grabbed the nipple again, viciously pinched it and pulled it up and away from her body.

  “Definitely clamps,” he said.

  He released her nipple then moved so quickly he shocked her. He shoved a hand between her legs to cup her feminine mound. He tightened his grip against her cunt. She screamed out an instant orgasm. Still holding her wrists, he eased her towards him.

  Her legs were weak, and she offered no resistance.

  “I had no idea you were so perfectly responsive.”

  She drew a few shaky breaths before realising her cheek rested against his chest, against the leather jacket warmed from his body. He still held her pussy, and his thumb was possessively on her thigh.

  She was all but naked while he was fully dressed and demanding sexual responses to her.

  “Don’t fight.” He released her wrists and wrapping his right arm around her, holding her intimately still, as if she were a lover.

  She stiffened.

  Suddenly, no matter how much she’d wanted it, how much she’d willingly surrendered, she was angry…with herself, with him.

  She pushed away his hand and ducked out from under his arm. She moved towards the window, away from him as she frantically struggled back into her robe, trying to reclaim her composure as well as her dignity.

  The distance helped the haze of delirium to fade and she thought about what she’d done…what they’d done. “You took advantage of me.” She furiously knotted the belt and yanking the lapels over each other.

  She expected his outrage or upset or denial. In
stead, he laughed. The arrogant bastard had the nerve to laugh.

  “I took advantage of you?” he asked. “Are you implying that this is not your cum on my fingers or that you didn’t shamelessly grind your cunt against my hand?”

  “Don’t be so crass.”

  “That wasn’t crass.”

  He started across the room towards her. She involuntarily stepped back before freezing in place, refusing to be intimidated.

  He advanced on her. Despite her resolve, she retreated. He backed her up against the wall. He had her trapped. There was a purposeful gleam of intent in his eyes.

  “This,” he said, “is crass…”

  He trailed his still-damp fingers across her lips. She’d never tasted herself before, and while it wasn’t totally unpleasant it was outside of her experience. The man unnerved her.

  “We both know that you want me to finger-fuck you, right here, right now. But saying it aloud would be crass.”

  Damn, did he have to look so good, smell so good? And did the rough sound of his voice have to turn her on? “Didn’t your beloved máthair Chríona teach you any manners?”

  “None...None whatsoever,” he added cheerily. “Which means I have no qualms about kidnapping you.”

  “Doesn’t much matter what the country is, kidnapping is pretty much illegal.”

  “Pack your bag. You’re returning to Eire with me.”

  “You really don’t care at all about niceties.”

  “Not at all,” he agreed.

  “If you think I’m going anywhere with you after…after that, you’ve lost your senses. If you ever had any to begin with. Unlike you, I have responsibilities to my family. I intend to finish my tour first.”

  “Your part of the tour is over.”

  Infuriated by his arrogance, she reacted by shoving her forefinger into the centre of his chest. Not that that was such a good idea. She felt his strength. He was solid. All muscle and tendons and sinew…and man. This close, she inhaled the scent of sea and land and determination—close to a millennium of determination. “You see here, Mr High and Mighty, Lord of All He Surveys, I am going nowhere with you.” In her anger, she continued, “I know it’s completely impossible for you to understand, but my family needs the money I make on tour. Aye, I love playing with the band, but I do it mostly because I have to. I need to.”

  “Sinead, I’m not the monster you’d have me be. As my wife you’ll go short of nothing.”

  “This isn’t about me, you thick-skulled Neanderthal. This is about my family, my mother, my cousins and their children.”

  “I’ll see them short of nothing, either. Now pack your bag,” he repeated. “Else you’ll leave here in your robe”—he reached for the tie, fingered the end—”or, better, completely naked.”

  “Have you not heard a word I said?” Tipping her head back, she looked at him through narrowly slit eyes. “You really are an arrogant bastard.”

  “Right, then.” He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Within a few steps, they’d reached the door. He slid the safety lock open. Then he opened the door to step into the hallway.

  Her cheeks heated. Anyone could see her. “Stop!” Blood rushed to her head, making her dizzy. The world, the entire fecking world, had gone mad. His shoulder, softened somewhat by the buttery leather, dug into her. She grabbed hold of his belt loops to maintain her balance.

  The soft, sad keening came again. She shivered. She was well aware of the comb, ominously dominating the middle of the carpet. “Please.”

  “You’ll get dressed then?”

  She wanted to be back in Ireland. In spite of her mother’s reassurances, she wanted to be home. Truthfully she’d well and truly decided to abandon the tour. And this way, she wouldn’t have to pay the airfare. “Put me down this instant.”

  Time stood still. And so did the blasted Irishman.

  “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  She thought she was stubborn. But this man could out-stubborn a mule. “Yes. I’ll get dressed and pack my bag. Now put me down.”

  “You might want to be trying on some manners, Missy.”

  Or beat the hell out of his back, for all the good that would do her.

  “Put me down. Please.”

  Before he did, he flipped up the hem of robe and delivered a sharp slap across her bottom.

  She yelped with far more effect than the smack warranted and she tried to tell herself he hadn’t just fulfilled a fantasy. “You’re a complete arse, Quinn.”

  “Manners, Ms O’Malley, manners. Be lucky you didn’t get more. You earned it.”

  Through gritted teeth she said, “Please put me down.”

  He did, and not gently at all. Breath whooshed from her and her knees wobbled.

  Sinead made a mad dash for the bathroom, taking care to avoid the blasted comb.

  “Earlier, at the pub,” he called out, “you were generous enough to give me two minutes. Now I’m returning the favour.”

  She slammed the door behind her. Before she could turn the lock or smile triumphantly, he shoved the door open, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  “Happy to help, if’n you need it.”

  “Piss off.”

  “Leave the door open.”

  “I need a little privacy.”

  He allowed his gaze to sweep down her body. “I’ve already seen your lovely self.”

  “I need a few minutes’ privacy,” she repeated. “I have some personal things to attend to.”

  “Do it with me standing here or not at all. You’ll not be getting any privacy. You haven’t earned it.”

  “Earned it? How dare you?”

  He grinned, a man with the upper hand.

  “You’ll be getting no quarter from me, wife-to-be. You’ve given me the shrift through half a dozen American cities, and it was fecking hot in Chicago. I got drenched in rainstorm in Portland. I nearly got mowed down by a taxi in New York. You dashed out the back of a pub, and another of your bloody fans in the kitchen tried to hold me back with a knife.”

  She blinked. “He did?”

  “And that wide-eyed pup Brandon gave me a false hotel for you. If you think you’re shutting another door on me, think again.”

  The man might be infuriating, but he wasn’t stupid.

  “Two minutes, Sinead.”

  Saying nothing else, he looked at his watch.

  She sighed in utter frustration. She’d spent her adult life dreaming about being with a man who was her match, a man who wouldn’t put up with any nonsense, a man who was big and strong and capable. Now that one stood here, his foot positioned so she couldn’t slam the door a second time, she was finding the reality wasn’t nearly as appealing.

  She gathered her toiletries from the marble countertop and dumped them into an oversized cosmetic bag. If he seriously had his own aeroplane, she probably didn’t need to worry about making sure the liquids were kept in a separate plastic bag. And if they were flying commercial, he could bloody well wait while she dealt with security. “If you’ll excuse me.” She swept past him.

  She grabbed her suitcase from the floor and tossed it on the bed. She’d flown in earlier from Kansas City, and she’d played a couple of sets. She was tired, and she didn’t want to deal with this overbearing male. “Can’t we leave in the morning? This is ridiculous, starting a transatlantic flight so late at night.”

  “If that’s what you want,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she looked at him.

  “I am trying to be reasonable.,”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch,” he said. “The bed is perfectly big enough for both of us.” He shrugged out of his bomber jacket and dropped it on the edge of the mattress. “And the room is paid for.”

  “Never mind,” she said. In his tight black T-shirt, he was even more dangerous. And when he pulled the hem of that T-shirt up, she all but salivated. But, Christ, did he have a nice, tight-lo
oking abdominal area.

  “Never mind?”

  “We can fly tonight,” she said.

  “Or we can fuck in this big bed. Not saying you’d get much sleep.”

  She grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from her case.

  He picked up her discarded clothes from the floor where she’d left them scattered.

  She tried not to be embarrassed by him handling her bra and knickers. After all, he’d had his hand between her legs, and he’d brought her to a shattering orgasm. She grabbed her tartan and T-shirt from him, but he held onto her underwear. Could this day get any worse? “I can pack my own clothes,” she said.

  “I’d wondered,” he said quietly.

  She looked at him.

  “If you had on a bra beneath that T-shirt while you were onstage. I could see your nipples from halfway across the pub. Do you know how many men were lusting after you?”

  Their eyes met.

  “Aye, lass. Including me. I couldn’t wait to get my hands and my mouth on you.”

  While he put her laundry in the zippered part of her case, she pulled out a pair of black knickers and a clean bra. This whole situation was bizarre, surreal. Her enemy was packing her bag while she was pulling out fresh clothes. They stood close enough that their arms brushed and she inhaled that clean, crisp scent that was uniquely him.

  She thought of trying to wriggle into her knickers while she was still wearing the robe. Then she decided against it.

  She placed all the clothes she was going to wear on the bedspread.

  She tried not to notice that her hands shook as she fumbled with the belt. It took three tries to unknot the blasted thing.

  He collected her dance shoes from the floor and stuffed them into her case then yanked the zip closed before folding his arms across that broad chest and shamelessly watching her.

  She shrugged and allowed the thick terry cloth to fall to the carpet.

  “Lovely. You’ve the body of an athlete.”

  Under his appreciative gaze, her nipples had once again hardened. Her pussy was still damp. No matter how they fought or how much she intellectually hated him, her body responded to his masculinity.

  She grabbed the bra from the bedspread.

  His eyes darkened and he reached out, taking her by the shoulders.