Binding Choice: A Romantic Thriller

by Jessica Dale

  “You want to come in,” she said softly, “for a glass of wine?”

  “Another time.” I smiled to soften the rejection. Because it wasn’t a rejection at all, only a delaying tactic on the part of my heart.

  She tilted her head and gave me a devilish grin. “You sure?”

  More stirring down below, which I ignored.

  “Next time. I promise I’ll call you. Tomorrow, if that’s okay?” She’d already given me her number.

  “Okay, but don’t forget.”

  “Trust me, I won’t.”

  I was humming as I walked back to my car.

  <<>>

  Erica

  I woke feeling like I had a hangover—a queasy stomach, a dull throbbing in my head, a dry desert hanging out on my tongue—but it couldn’t be a real hangover since I’d only had one glass of wine at the party. Well, and one when I got home. All by myself, since I couldn’t entice Jules inside.

  I grabbed my terrycloth robe and stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. After downing half a bottle of spring water in one pull, I felt somewhat better.

  Why was my head aching? I caught myself frowning, tightening the muscles in my forehead, as I wondered how I could so easily break my vow—to not go at breakneck speed ever again with a new man.

  Duh, that’s why my head aches. I willed my forehead to relax.

  The queasiness was easier to diagnose. Worry. Would he call? Or had I scared him off by moving too fast? Or would he call because he thought I was a slut? An “easy lay” as my mother would say.

  Grief sideswiped me, leaving my throat tight, my eyes stinging and my nose dripping. I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose, then got the coffee maker going.

  Rounding the corner into the living room, I sank down on the sofa and let myself wallow a bit in the sadness. I rubbed a hand over nubby beige fabric. The sofa had been an apartment-warming present from my mother, when I’d gotten my first place.

  “I miss you, Mom,” I whispered out loud. The blank TV screen stared back at me.

  She and my father had divorced when I was fourteen, and after that Mom and I had been best buds. Even when I’d graduated from college, had a good job, moved into my own place, we’d still talked two to three times a week.

  We were the southern Virginia version of Lorelei and Rory of the Gilmore Girls, unfortunately sans the rich relatives. And then Lorelei got sick...

  I’d fled Virginia soon after her death, thinking I could leave the painful memories behind. But all I’d left behind was what little bit of a support system I had left.

  Which was mainly Amanda, who’d been my friend since second grade. My father hardly counted. We were barely speaking.

  And of course Nick was gone. Selfish Nick with whom I’d once talked about marriage, who’d offered only token support and saw my ailing mother as competition for my attention.

  The coffee machine beeped softly, announcing the brewing cycle was complete. I trudged back into the kitchen wondering why no one had yet figured out how to mainline caffeine.

  So what about Jules? I certainly wasn’t falling for him. I hardly knew him. I mean he seemed sweet and he was a good kisser.

  Okay, he was a great kisser, and I was definitely attracted to him.

  But things didn’t have to get any deeper or more complicated than that, right? If men could have casual flings just to satisfy their needs, well, so could I.

  That is, if he called as promised.

  I took my coffee back into the living room. My cell was on the coffee table. Compulsively, I checked voicemail, and then my text messages.

  It pinged in my hand, making me jump a little and slosh hot liquid onto my fingers. I carefully placed my mug on a coaster and read the new text.

  My phone hadn’t recognized the number but I knew who the message was from.

  Is it too early to call?

  I grinned and typed in my reply. No, I’m up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Erica

  I’d been seeing Jules for a little over two weeks now—we weren’t dating, mind you, just seeing each other.

  We’d spent three evenings together, had four weekday lunches and talked on the phone almost every night. And yet he still resisted my efforts to get him into bed.

  The closest I’d come was a long session of some rather serious kissing on the front stoop of my townhouse a few nights ago. I’d found the bulge pressing against my thigh reassuring. At least he wasn’t gay.

  He’d finally pulled away and took my keys from my hand. My already racing heart kicked into overdrive. But after unlocking the door, he’d kissed me quickly on the forehead, then turned and walked to his car, leaving me breathless and craving so much more.

  Yes, I’d sworn off relationships, but I was horny as hell.

  And Jules was so nice. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. In that respect, his going slow had reassured me.

  I definitely wasn’t going to fall in love, but I had to admit that I was already deeply in lust.

  Tonight, I was going to have my way with him or have it out with him, I wasn’t sure which.

  I had cooked dinner, beef burgundy in the crockpot I’d inherited from my mom, along with her cookbooks.

  I mixed in the noodles and set it on warm, until time to serve it. A salad in the fridge, along with two slices of gourmet cheesecake from the local bakery. Good to go.

  I had on the sexy red dress I’d worn the night we met, along with the killer heels. At the moment, they were mostly killing my feet.

  Hey, I told my screaming toes, one sometimes has to make sacrifices for the greater good.

  I was ready for anything. The meal would keep, in case I managed to get him into bed sooner instead of later.

  It didn’t quite go down that way. The doorbell rang and I flung open the door.

  There he stood, looking yummy in a black silk tee shirt and blue jeans. He held out a bouquet of white roses and daisies.

  I grabbed the flowers in one hand and him with the other, dragging him across the threshold before he had a chance to so much as whimper.

  Kicking the door closed with one stiletto heel, I pecked him on the cheek. “We’re having dinner here.”

  To his credit, he recovered quickly. His surprised expression morphed into a smile. “Smells delicious. But I should call the restaurant and cancel our reservation.”

  “You do that while I put these in water.”

  If I hadn’t been wearing those damn shoes, I would’ve skipped into the kitchen.

  I heard murmuring as I popped a loaf of Italian bread into the preheated oven. I’d already set the table, complete with lit candles. I put the crystal vase of roses and daisies off to one side, so it wouldn’t block our view of each other.

  We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. I paused for a sip of red wine, the best bottle my local liquor store had to offer.

  We both started talking at once. “I would–”

  “There’s more–”

  We laughed.

  He pointed a fork at my glass. “I would have brought some of that, if I’d known we were eating in.”

  I grinned at him. “I wanted to surprise you. Would you like some more bread?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  After that, we conversed with ease. Somehow we got on the subject of families. He mentioned a brother and older sister. They sounded like a close-knit bunch.

  “I’m an only child,” I said.

  “Yeah, Drew mentioned that the other day.”

  “Drew? How’s he know that?”

  “I guess Brandi told him. He’s been seeing her lately.” Jules stabbed a piece of beef and popped it into his mouth.

  “Oh.” I’d never mentioned that I was an only child to her, but I did have a picture of myself and my mother on my desk at work. It was one of those fancy frames with the word family in all different sizes and fonts all over it. Mom had given it to me for my birthday two years ago.

  “When did you talk to Drew?�
�� I asked, mostly to keep the conversation going.

  He chewed and swallowed. “We had lunch a few days ago.”

  I almost swooned. Even his Adam’s apple was sexy. “I didn’t realize you were friends,” I managed to get out in a fairly normal voice.

  “Well, we are and we aren’t.”

  “What’s that mean?’

  “We were fraternity brothers in college, so we sometimes hang out together.”

  Jules put down his fork. “What about your folks? Do they live near here?”

  I shook my head. “My mother and I lived in Virginia, a little bit south of Blacksburg. She died four months ago. Cancer.”

  His face sobered. “Oh no. I’m sorry. What about your dad?”

  I shivered a little, even though a fire crackled in the fireplace and the room was quite snug. I really didn’t want to get into the whole thing—the creepy uncle with the hands that wandered up a twelve-year-old niece’s skirt, the father who’d taken his brother’s side and refused to believe his own daughter, the ensuing divorce.

  My throat closed. My mom had stood up for me, and now she was gone.

  I shook off the grief. Not tonight.

  “He still lives in Virginia, in Richmond, with my stepmother. We don’t talk much.” As in, almost never. “Hey, you ready for dessert?”

  He mock groaned. “Can we wait awhile? I’m stuffed.”

  I grinned. “Most definitely.” We would have each other for dessert instead.

  “Let’s move to more comfortable seating.” I stood and headed for the living room without waiting for a response.

  I’d purposely piled some books in the one armchair in my living room, so that he couldn’t readily sit there. I sat down toward the middle of the sofa and demurely tugged on my dress hem.

  He could’ve sat a few inches away, at the very end, but he didn’t. He eased down beside me and laid an arm across the back of the sofa. I rested my hand on his thigh, just above the knee.

  Suddenly I was scared, and fear tends to make me stupid. “I’m curious,” came out of my mouth. “Why have you been so resistant to...” I trailed off, not at all sure how to delicately say what I was thinking.

  “To making love?” he said in a gentle voice.

  I nodded. “Are you gay or something?” I wanted to smack myself. Why did I say that? I knew he wasn’t gay. And what the hell was “something” supposed to mean?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  He chuckled.

  Relief washed over me.

  “No, just sensitive to certain things.” He sighed, dropped his arm down around my shoulders. “My sister...”

  “Lisa?”

  “No, I had another sister, Amelia.”

  I gulped. Past tense. This couldn’t be good.

  “She was nineteen when she killed herself,” his words rushed out, “after being date-raped. By a boyfriend she’d trusted.”

  I must have had too many glasses of wine. I couldn’t quite make the connection.

  “It’s made me very aware,” he said, “of how vulnerable women are.” He paused, glanced away, off toward the fireplace between the living room and dining area. “And in a weird way, it undermined my trust, as if I was the one who was betrayed.”

  Months later, I would look back, and realize that was when I’d fallen in love with Jules.

  If only I’d realized it then.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jules

  Another fraternity brother, Jake Robinson, had once told me, “Here’s how you love a woman. Start at one end or the other. It doesn’t really matter which. And then kiss your way to the other end. She’ll be yours to do with as you please.”

  I kissed Erica’s forehead.

  She looked up at me and shook her head, a please-I’m-not-your-sister expression on her face.

  I moved down to her ear, then grazed her cheek on my way to her mouth. I lingered there for quite a while, before moving on.

  She sucked in air when I nuzzled the curve where neck joined shoulder. My lips curled into a smile. I’ve always thought of that as the “sweet spot.”

  I nipped her there, then moved on. She groaned softly.

  My hands had started their own exploration of possibilities. They’d found her nipples, and thumbs flicked across them outside of her dress.

  The groans grew louder. She leaned into me, her eyes closed, mouth open.

  I resisted the temptation of those luscious lips and moved instead to the swell of breasts above the neckline of her dress. Gently nudging aside fabric and bra strap, I moved slowly south, encountering the top of her bra cup.

  It was low cut, black and lacy. My lips curled against her silky skin. She’d planned carefully for this moment.

  But so had I. I flicked my thumb again across a nipple.

  She groaned louder and arched her back, pushing against my palm.

  I slowly peeled away the bra cup from her left breast and moved my mouth to the nipple. The pressure of my erection was distracting, but I managed to ignore it.

  She gasped, arched hard against my mouth.

  Suddenly her hands were tugging at my belt, my zipper. “Please,” she whimpered.

  I dropped a hand over hers. “Shh,” I whispered against her chest. “We’ll get there, eventually.”

  She groaned.

  I slipped my fingers inside the cup of her bra on the other side, tugged it down below her breast.

  Eyes closed, she made an odd little rasping sound, deep in her throat.

  My mouth covered her breast and sucked, slowly pulling outward until only her nipple was between my teeth. I held it there for a long moment, then sucked a little harder.

  Her whole body quivered. Her breathing was ragged.

  Yes!

  I gave the other breast equal attention. Then I pulled the knit fabric of her dress down off her shoulders, rolling it past her ribs, trapping her arms.

  My lips trailed not far behind, down her center to her belly button. My tongue swathed it in hot tribute.

  Again she groaned and arched her back as much as our cramped positions allowed. Her dress was now down around her thighs, along with her panties, her bra a flattened strip across her middle.

  My control was slipping some. I slid off onto the floor and knelt in front of her. One hand massaged a breast as the other lifted her hips off the sofa. My tongue burned a path across her abdomen until it found its mark.

  She writhed and pulled my hair and breathed out my name between moans and gasps. A low keen erupted from her lips, rose to a crescendo.

  Finally she went limp.

  I raised my head and grinned at her. “Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”

  She gave me a lazy smile and gestured with a limp hand in the general direction of the stairs.

  I helped her up. We meandered across the living room and up the steps, shedding clothing as we went. Once in the bedroom, we fell sideways onto the bed.

  We never did eat the cheesecake that was supposed to be our dessert.

  .

  The next morning, I woke up feeling at peace.

  I immediately registered the significance of that emotion—I hadn’t felt that way since Mellie’s death.

  I rolled over and watched Erica sleep. Her mouth hung open and she snored like a stevedore, but I didn’t care.

  She was beautiful.

  A good ten minutes went by and suddenly she stopped snoring. One eye opened. It rolled in my direction.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Mormguh.” She worked her lips for a second, then tried again. “Morning.”

  I raised up a little on my elbow, head propped on hand, and grinned down at her.

  She gave me a look I couldn’t decipher and threw back the covers. “Gotta pee.” Stark naked, she bolted for the bathroom.

  Gawd, she’s gorgeous!

  She was in there a long time. When she came out, she had a flimsy red kimono wrapped around her. It stopped at mid thigh, showing off her luscious legs.


  I patted the empty bed beside me.

  She shook her head slightly and sat down in a wooden rocker halfway across the room. She crossed her legs and my groin stirred.

  I smiled. “Come back to bed.”

  She shook her head again. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  My stomach clenched but I kept the smile plastered on my face.

  “We’re not dating, okay? I mean, we’re going out and all. And last night was wonderful.” A dreamy smile curved her lips. “But,” her face sobered again, “I don’t want you expecting more than I can give.”

  Was this the universe’s cruel joke? These were usually my lines.

  “See, I’m really crappy at relationships.” She paused, dropped her gaze to her lap. “So I don’t do them anymore.”

  “Okay.” Those two syllables cost me, because I really wanted to argue that what we had was worth the risk. But what did we have, if she wasn’t on board with it?

  My gut said I needed to give her time.

  And apparently my gut was right. She visibly relaxed and gave me a flirtatious smile.

  With an exaggerated yawn, she said, “I do believe that I’m not quite rested enough to start my day.”

  In less than a second, she’d shed the kimono and was in bed beside me again.

  This time, I began with her toes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Drew

  Shit, it was hard to be so patient. But I’d managed to wait three weeks.

  That nitwit Brandi had helped to pass the time. And it didn’t take much to get her talking about her job, and her coworkers.

  Plus, poor dumb Jules had kept me informed. Oh, he’d tried to be discreet, but I knew how to read the signs. I knew when he’d fallen in love with her. And I most definitely knew when he’d started fucking her.

  I’d run into him at the mall yesterday, and asked about Erica. “Oh, she’s fine,” he’d said and then nervously changed the subject.

  Yes, it was time to bring my plan to fruition.

  Her phone rang in my ear.

  <<>>

  Erica

  On Wednesday evening, I was daydreaming of Jules and his lovely tongue when my phone rang. Caller ID said Andrew Thompson.