Bound to be Dirty

Excerpt from “Bound to be Dirty”

Chapter 1

“Isn’t it time we tried a little bondage?” Marielle asked.

Lily Nyland frowned across the table at her. “You’re not serious.” The four members of their book club occupied a corner of the Gerard Lounge in Vancouver’s elegant Sutton Place Hotel. Lily had chosen this week’s meeting place, and the fireplace and cozy shut-away-from-the-world ambiance were perfect on a chill December day. The topic of conversation, not so much. Lily caught the eye of the waitress and gestured that she’d like a second martini.

Marielle flicked her dark, wavy hair back from the scoop neckline of her coral sweater. “We need to try BDSM. You know, dominance and submission, bondage, spanking, all that stuff.” Her slight Caribbean lilt gave the words a sultry nuance that, to Lily’s mind, the subject did not warrant.

“Could you say that any louder?” Kim, seated on Marielle’s left, asked drily. Her spiky black hair was streaked in shades of green and blue, complementing the pattern on her hand-painted denim jacket. In the windowless lounge with its décor of brown leather and glowing wood, accented by red Christmas poinsettias and pine boughs, the petite Chinese woman resembled an exotic bird perched in the middle of an English gentlemen’s club.

Fortunately, the lounge was only half-full and no one sat beside them. Still, Lily found it surreal to be discussing BDSM here, at five o’clock on a Monday afternoon. She’d agreed to read—and even, surprisingly, enjoyed—the historical erotica and the sexy cowboy novel the other women had chosen earlier this year, but to her mind, BDSM bordered on abuse. Only this morning a patient had come in with a broken arm, bruises, and cuts, saying she’d tripped on the basement stairs. Twice previously, she’d come in with serious injuries she attributed to her own clumsiness, and her body bore testament to other wounds.

“All that stuff,” Lily stated firmly, “is demeaning to women, and can be dangerous.” For the third time, Lily had given her patient a brochure about domestic abuse, information about women’s shelters, and a referral to a counselor. “I see patients who’ve been abused by the men in their lives. Believe me, there’s nothing sexy about it.”

“Of course not,” Marielle said, “but BDSM is different from—”

Leaning forward, elbows on the table, Lily interrupted. “The idea of a man dominating a woman, tying her up, and hitting her sounds awfully close to abuse to me.”

George, seated to Lily’s right, put down her glass of red wine. “I agree, and that’s not something I want to read about.” A striking redhead, her real name was Georgia but only her fiancé called her that. In her sage green wool suit, yellow blouse, and patterned scarf, she fit the classy bar perfectly.

George Malone, a marketing executive, always came across as professional and feminine. Marielle Clarke, with her ever-changing jobs, was more casual and chose vivid colors that complemented her Jamaican coloring. Kim Chang, an artist and budding entrepreneur, created her own distinct style. The three women were very different, and all beautiful.

Once upon a time, Lily, with her short wheat-blond hair and light blue eyes, had felt attractive. Now, the oldest of the group at thirty-two, perpetually tired and stressed, she knew she looked older than her years. Her taupe pantsuit and tailored white shirt were classic, yet today they made her feel drab.

Marielle, never quick to take “no” for an answer, said, “I haven’t read any BDSM, but it’s such a hot—pun intended—trend. I’ve heard successful career women rave about these books. I can’t believe the authors promote anything that’s abusive or demeaning. Women don’t fantasize about abuse.”

“I don’t really know what BDSM is,” Kim confessed cheerfully. “Ty and I might be doing it, and I wouldn’t even know.”

“I’ve done it,” Marielle announced.

“Of course you have,” Lily said, torn between amusement and dismay. Vibrant Marielle believed variety was the spice of life, and liked her own life highly seasoned—in terms of drinks, jobs, and men.

“What did you do, Marielle?” Kim demanded, her near-black eyes dancing.

“I met this superhot cop. He strip-searched me, handcuffed me to the bed, and made me give him a blow job.”

“That’s sex play,” George said. Then, questioningly, “It was sex play, right?”

“Yeah, a really fun game.”

Lily and her husband had never done anything like that. It was ridiculous. And yet . . . the thought of Dax strip-searching her triggered pulses of arousal between her thighs. She’d always found his bad-boy side extremely sexy. Not that she’d seen it in a long time.

He’d be home for the holidays on Thursday, after two months at a mining camp. A bush helicopter pilot, he’d been away more and more over the past couple of years. Clearly, he’d rather fly in the remote wilderness than be with her. Even when he was home, they barely spoke, and not about anything important. That distance made her worry that he was cheating on her, but she’d been afraid to ask. Afraid their marriage might be over. Now it was time to face that fear. She had to know the truth.

Life without Dax . . . A pang of soul-deep sorrow stabbed through her. When the waitress approached with her second martini, Lily reached gratefully for it. “Thanks.” She took a long swallow. I won’t think about Dax right now.

She refocused on Marielle, who was expanding on the strip-search scenario. “George is right,” Lily said. “That’s sex play. BDSM is no game.”

“Oh, you’ve read those books?” Marielle’s chocolate eyes twinkled.

“Of course not. But as a doctor I’m aware of a range of sexual behavior. At least from the physiological standpoint.” And just how stuffy could she sound?

“But sex is about more than physiology,” George said. “It can be—should be—about emotion.”

Once upon a time, making love with Dax was the most blissful, erotic, loving act Lily could imagine. They’d become lovers when she was seventeen, a virgin. Her sexy bad boy had initiated her, taught her to experience passion. In the past couple of years, though, it was like he was phoning it in. They both were: going through the motions, climaxing, yet never truly connecting. With so many doubts and fears on her mind, how could she surrender to intimacy?

Roughness under her right index finger made Lily realize she was twisting her wedding ring, the band of small diamonds Dax had put on her finger a decade ago.

George was still talking. “Is BDSM just a different kind of sex between two people who care about one another, or is it abuse?”

“Look how pathetic we are,” Kim said. “It’s this hot trend and we’re not even sure what it is.”

“If you want to know, research it online,” Lily said.

Kim reached for her glass of designer beer. “Fiction’s more fun. We’re a book club and this is a popular trend. We should read it and discuss it.”

“Thank you,” Marielle said. “So you’re in. George?”

The redhead’s topaz and diamond engagement ring sparkled as she lifted her wineglass. “I see Kim’s point.” She sipped then said, “Yes, I think we should read it. We’ll have interesting discussions.”

Lily made a sound in the back of her throat.

“She snorted,” Marielle said.

“Sounded more like a growl to me.” Kim grinned, then sobered. “Lily, do you really hate the idea? You chose the last book.”

Marielle nodded. “It was good, but man, it was dense. I had to concentrate on every word, and re-read whole pages.”

Lily pressed her lips together. She’d enjoyed the prize-winning literary novel for exactly that reason. Reading it absorbed her totally; she couldn’t stress over her failing marriage or worry about her crazy-busy medical clinic.

The waitress arrived with the platters of appetizers the women had ordered. When she’d gone, Marielle raised her fruity cocktail like she was proposing a toast. “Come on, Doc Lily. Open your mind.”

“It’ll give us so much to discuss,” Kim chimed in.

“If I can give it a try,” George said, “maybe you could too?”

In the ten months since the four of them, strangers with an interest in books, had formed the club, the others had figured out her triggers. Yes, she believed in keeping an open mind, being flexible, and trying new things—even if she sometimes had to be reminded. But the few minutes she stole from her busy schedule to read gave her the only pleasure and relaxation in her life. And while it was true that the two erotic novels the club had read this year had given her most of the orgasms she’d experienced recently, she’d rather read anything other than BDSM. Oh well, it was only one book. If she hated it, she’d skim. “Fine. Pick a book.”

Savory aromas drifted from the appetizer platters. Starving—no, a diet of yogurt for breakfast and coffee for lunch was not something she’d recommend to a patient—Lily spread hummus on a piece of grilled flatbread and took a big bite. Mmm, garlic and spice.

“We should read that book everyone’s been talking about,” Kim said.

George, who was lifting a ring of calamari to her mouth, stopped her fork. “That’s a series. Don’t you need to read all three to get the full story arc?”

“Oh yeah,” Kim said. “That’s a bit much.”

“It certainly is.” Lily shook her head. “No way do I want that much BDSM.”

Kim gave a quick splutter of laughter and tilted her head toward the neighboring table.

Lily realized that, as they’d been talking, the lounge had filled up and the four of them had automatically raised their voices. At the table beside them, a couple of tailored guys with big black cases—lawyer bags, in all likelihood, as the courthouse was a block away—shot surreptitious glances in their direction. Her cheeks heated.

“One book,” Marielle agreed, spearing a buffalo-style hot wing. “After we eat, I’ll pull out my iPad and we’ll choose. By the way, are we meeting next Monday? It’s Boxing Day.”

Because the club members led such busy lives, they’d discovered they could never agree on one full evening a month. Instead, they met every Monday for an hour after work. For Lily, who ran a busy family practice clinic, it had the benefit of getting her out of the place early for once. They’d also found that weekly meetings let them discuss their impressions as they read the books.

“I like sticking to our routine,” Lily said, and the others agreed.

In the first months, all their chat had been about books, but over time it had become more personal. Now she turned to Kim. “Did your parents arrive safely?” They were flying in from Hong Kong for Christmas.

Kim nodded, her color-streaked hair flicking like a tropical bird’s wing flutter. “Yes. They’ve been in Vancouver the last few days, and I’m driving them out to the ranch tonight. And guess what? UmbrellaWings is official now. The name and logo are trademarked, the company’s incorporated, and the board of directors is Ty, me, Mom, and Dad.” Kim, who had degrees in business administration and fine arts, was launching a company. UmbrellaWings would make umbrellas and parasols with distinctive shapes and patterns modeled after the wings of butterflies, birds, and other flying creatures.

“But it’s your company, right?” Marielle said. “You won’t let your parents tell you what to do.”

“They can suggest,” Kim said. “After all, they’ve built a successful business. But no, they can’t tell me what to do. I think they’re getting the message.”

Lily swallowed a mouthful of tender calamari. “Good for you.” She wished her own parents—who always thought they knew what was best for Lily and her younger brother—would do the same.

“It was tough for them to accept that I’m not moving back to Hong Kong,” Kim said.

“And not marrying a nice Hong Kong boy,” George said, “but living in sin with a sexy rodeo star.”

Kim grinned. “We downplay the rodeo part. To my folks, Ty’s the responsible owner of a successful family ranch. This week my parents will see how impressive the ranch is. We’re going to try to get them up on horses.” Kim, who’d never ridden before meeting Ty, now owned a rescue horse named Distant Drummer that she’d helped Ty heal and train.

“I hope everyone gets along,” Lily said. Her parents didn’t approve of Dax, which created strain at family gatherings. She wasn’t looking forward to Christmas dinner on Sunday.

“Are your parents staying with you and Ty?” George asked Kim.

“No way. That’d put a cramp in our sex life. They’ll stay with Ty’s parents.” After Ty had bought Ronan Ranch with rodeo earnings, his parents had come from Alberta to help run it. They lived in the old ranch house, and he’d built another house down the road from them.

“Are your parents hinting that you should get married?” Lily asked.

“Hinting?” Kim rolled her eyes. “Does a steamroller hint? Ty and I ignore them. We’re enjoying being truly, madly, deeply in love, for the first time in our lives.” A bright smile split her face. “Isn’t that cool, that it’s a first for both of us?”

“It’s pretty cool when it’s the second time, too,” George said. The redhead was a widow and hadn’t believed she’d ever find another soul mate—until Canada’s Mr. Hockey, Woody Hanrahan, entered her life earlier this year and turned it topsy-turvy.

“Chee-sy.” Drawing out the word, Marielle rolled her eyes. “The hearts and flowers and throbbing violin strings are making me nauseous.”

They all laughed, and then Lily said, “George and Kim, love looks very good on both of you. And Marielle, variety suits you.” She reached for her martini glass again, finding it almost empty. No one said that ten years of marriage looked good on her. If they had, it would be a lie.

Once, she’d been positive Dax Xavier was the love of her life. Over the years she’d met loads of men: cultured, intelligent ones; sexy athletes; physicians who volunteered in third-world countries. Amazing, appealing men. She’d been attracted to a few, but never with the same magnetic force as she was to Dax. But did she still love him? She was too confused and conflicted to be sure. If he was cheating on her, if he no longer loved her . . . then she had to protect her heart.

Last year, when she’d first suspected he might be having an affair, she had protected her body. She’d lied and told him she’d gone off the pill for health reasons so he had to wear a condom.

How bitterly ironic, to be using both condoms and the pill when the thing she most wanted in the world was children. Since she was a little girl, she’d known she wanted to be a mom. Now that want had become a soul-deep craving. Every time she held her baby niece, her biological clock ticked faster.

Though she and Dax hadn’t discussed having kids in years, she’d assumed they’d have a family when the time was right. His genes should make wonderful babies; he was smart, courageous, strong, fit, and handsome. What he wasn’t was there for her. She had to find out how he felt, how she felt, what they were going to do about their faltering marriage.

Stop thinking about Dax!

She’d been listening with half an ear as Marielle talked about family plans and holiday parties. Now Marielle said, “How about you, George? It’s your first Christmas with Woody. He’ll be in town, right?” The redhead’s fiancé was captain of the Beavers, the Vancouver hockey team.

“Yes, thank heavens, what with home games and days off. We’re hosting Christmas at our place.” George had moved into Woody’s penthouse condo in Yaletown this fall.

“Is his mom coming?” Lily asked. Woody’s mother had almost died of cancer, but was now in remission. He’d bought her a house in Florida and paid for a live-in caregiver companion.

“No, her health is still too fragile for a trip north, but we’ll Skype with her. My mom and her guy Fabio will come over. We’re being hopelessly old-fashioned—the girls cooking dinner; the boys watching football. A few of Woody’s teammates will be there. And a couple of special guests from Manitoba. Sam was Woody’s best friend and hockey buddy as kids, and his father, Martin, was Woody’s mentor and coach. They had some issues for a while, but they’ve reconciled.”

“Nice,” Kim said. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

George turned to Lily. “How about you? Do you and your husband have any Christmas traditions?”

Arguing over whether they really had to go to her parents’ house, which they always ended up doing, which spoiled Christmas Day. “My parents have a family dinner at noon.” It was formal and more filled with parental fault-finding than with Christmas spirit. But she hated to say no to her parents. Bad enough that she, the daughter of a neurosurgeon mom and a cardiologist dad, had chosen the less prestigious field of family medicine and had married a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. She tried not to disappoint them in any other ways.

The waitress came by to offer more drinks. Longingly, Lily twisted the stem of her empty martini glass. She wasn’t driving, but two drinks were her limit. When the others all said, “No, thanks,” she echoed them.

Marielle pulled out her iPad and checked online for books. Kim, beside her, looked on. The two of them pointed, debated, and then agreed on one. Marielle turned her tablet to face Lily and George.

“Bound by Desire?” George said. “Okay, sure.”

Lily scanned the blurb.

International businesswoman Cassandra Knightley is at the top of her game, respected and even feared by colleagues and competitors. When it comes to her sex life, she picks, chooses, and discards men as frequently as she chooses the latest pair of designer shoes—because, ultimately, none satisfies her.

Billionaire Neville Winter guesses a secret that even Cassandra isn’t aware of. A man used to dominating in every area of life, including the bedroom, he initiates her into a new world of sexual pleasure. Though initially she’s intrigued by the notion of spicing up her sex life, it isn’t until she submits fully and puts her pleasure—and her pain—in Neville’s hands that she learns her true sexual nature. When she is bound by desire, can Cassandra find the true satisfaction that has always escaped her?

Lily barely managed to hold back one of those snort-growl sounds. “Whatever you want.”

“I’ll text you the deets,” Marielle said. “I need to get going. One of my friends has a staff party and invited me as his date.”

The staff party for Lily’s Well Family Clinic had been last week. She’d reserved a private room at a nice restaurant and arranged a sumptuous buffet. One of the receptionists, Jennifer, had organized a Secret Santa draw, which had livened things up. Lily had drawn Jennifer’s name and given her a gift certificate for her favorite cupcake bakery. She was very curious which of the doctors or staff had drawn her name and why they’d chosen a desktop Zen garden: miniature tray, sand, rocks, and teeny rake.

“I’m wrapping presents tonight,” George said. “Woody’s going to love the tee you made, Kim.” The redhead had asked Kim, who designed clothing as a hobby, if she’d create something unique for Woody.

Not having a clue what to give Dax for Christmas, Lily had seconded the request. The charcoal tee with its dramatic abstract design of a hawk would look perfect on her rugged husband. “And Dax will love the hawk one. Thanks so much for doing that, Kim. I know how much you have on your plate these days.”

“I thrive on it,” Kim said. “Life’s good. Speaking of which, let’s do gifts!”

They’d agreed to exchange gifts, but only small ones. Lily had found purse-sized notebooks with lovely Japanese-designed flower covers. Marielle gave lip gloss with fruity flavors, then Kim handed them each a roll of paper tied with a red ribbon. She’d done watercolor drawings of each of them, accurate but also flattering.

Lily gazed at the portrait of a short-haired blond with delicate yet striking features and wide blue eyes. “Wow, Kim, this is what I looked like ten years ago.”

“It’s what you look like now,” Kim said, “when you’re relaxed and having fun.”

George reached into her tote and handed them all packages, which turned out to be tank tops: hot pink for Marielle, vivid purple for Kim, and powder blue, the color of her eyes, for Lily. The cotton was soft and fine, the quality excellent.

“You went way over the fivedollar limit, girlfriend,” Marielle said.

“I didn’t spend a dime,” George replied. “They’re samples from my client, VitalSport. Part of the new spring line.”

“Great gifts!” Kim said. “Thanks, everyone. And now I have to run and pick up my parents. Ty’s mom is cooking up a feast.”

They all rose, and Lily thought about her own evening plans.

No feast to look forward to; she’d heat up canned soup to accompany a handful of rice crackers and a slice of Edam. No gift-wrapping; instead, an hour’s run along the icy cold seawall, a necessity if she hoped to sleep tonight. No party either. She needed to analyze the Well Family Clinic’s schedule. Her clinic’s priority—and her own true calling—was patient care, but the workload was expanding and she had to figure out a solution. Thanks to the book club’s new selection, she didn’t even have a good book to look forward to.

Also on the list of “not looking forward to,” there was Dax’s return home on Thursday, and the talk they needed to have. Maybe by the time Christmas dinner at her parents’ house rolled around, she’d be going alone. Alone, to be unfavorably compared to her perfect younger brother, the oncologist, with his perfect lawyer wife and the adorable baby girl who tugged at Lily’s childless heartstrings.

No, there wasn’t a single thing in life she was looking forward to.

Chapter 2

Dwayne Arthur Xavier—who’d gone by Dax since he was old enough to understand how geeky his given names were—stepped into the lobby of the condo building in Leg-in-Boot Square, just off Vancouver’s False Creek. An artificial Christmas tree decorated with silver balls stood in one corner. Dax shook his head, scattering raindrops. If you were going to have a tree, it should be a live one, its needles green and pliant under your fingers, its fresh scent bringing the wilderness into the room.

A six-pack of GranvilleIsland lager in one hand, he hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder and strode to the elevator. Would Lily be there? Likely not. Though it was the day before Christmas, it was also a Saturday. On Saturdays she volunteered at a health clinic in the Downtown Eastside. Besides, he was two days late. He’d swapped schedules with another pilot who’d had a family emergency. After all, it wasn’t like Dax had a lot to come home to.

He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor of the six-story building.

Home. Though he’d pumped a lot of his income—which was considerable, in his line of work—into paying off the mortgage, the two-bedroom condo didn’t feel like home. But then, when in his life had any place felt like home? Not the numerous rental apartments where he and his self-absorbed, drug-using parents had lived. Nor his mom’s parents’ house in ritzy Southlands, where she and Dax had gone for a few months after his dad was thrown in jail for killing a guy in a drug deal gone bad.

His grandparents had shunned his mom when she ran away to marry a bad boy whose parents hadn’t even set foot on the social ladder. But when, broke and desperate, she showed up on their doorstep with seventeen-year-old Dax, they took them in. That was how he ended up attending twelfth grade at the same school as Lily Nyland.

He unlocked the door to the condo, feeling, as usual, almost like an intruder. “Lily?” Nope, no answer. Hanging his battered leather bomber jacket in the hall closet, he made sure the damp fabric didn’t touch Lily’s coats.

Just like back in school, when their paths never crossed. The lovely, classy, brilliant blonde was busy with her studies, clubs, and equally wealthy, brilliant friends. Dax blew off school, drank too much, got in trouble, and hustled girls. Following in his dad’s bad-boy footsteps, as his grandparents said contemptuously. It had been the next summer, at CampSkookumchuck, when he and Lily had connected and his life had turned around. And now look where they were. Virtual strangers.

In the kitchen, he put his beer in a fridge that contained yogurt, skim milk, cheese, fruit, and a few condiments.

He walked into the living room. The only sign of Christmas was a pink-and-white poinsettia on the coffee table. The place was, as usual, immaculate. When Dax moved through the world of nature, he tried to never leave a trace. That was how Lily lived at home. She didn’t leave clothes, dirty dishes, or magazines lying around. When he first saw her family home, he understood where she’d learned to be so neat and unobtrusive.

When they took possession of this condo, he’d been heading off to fly for a logging company and had left the décor to Lily. Six weeks later, he’d come back to nutmeg-colored furniture, rugs with geometric designs, abstract art. It was comfortable, functional, and tasteful. Lily said she’d taken a decorator’s advice. He’d have chosen wilderness paintings and put a few pieces of First Nations art on the mantle, but what did he know about decorating? His parents had used thrift store junk, macramé, and ivy.

In this room, he saw no traces of the old Lily, the girl who’d gone a little crazy that summer at camp, away from her parents’ eagle eye. The one who’d snuck out from Heron cabin, where her young charges slept, to go canoeing at midnight or skinny dipping. Who’d made love on the beach with a boy her parents wouldn’t give the time of day to—a guy who worked with the construction crew that was building new cabins. The son of a killer.

Dax went into the home office, where he took his netbook from his duffel and put it on the bare surface of his desk. Lily’s desk held her notebook computer, her monitor, keyboard, and mouse, plus stacks of papers, all very neat and organized.

Over the years, she’d grown up and stopped playing. He’d forced himself to grow up too, to become responsible, to deserve the amazing woman he loved. He missed the kids they’d once been. The kids who’d fallen so head over heels for each other. Who’d made love with wild abandon, and spun dreams on moonlit summer nights.

[continued at top of right column]