Page 4 of Bound By Words

“No,” I shook my head. “My refusal to change my boundaries is why I haven’t been able to find something more.”

“I know that Mar wanted a baby, and you couldn’t provide that, but you’re not getting any younger, Nate. Screwing around for fun has got to be getting old.”

“That’s not an issue either.”

There’d been no screwing around. I’d lost the taste for vanilla relationships and one-night stands a while ago. I wanted someone who could fulfill all my needs, and if it meant I was celibate until then, so be it.

Besides, if I was going to do something reckless this weekend, I had a feeling it’d be with the dark-haired beauty down the hall. The momentary glimpse of red lace on her creamy skin that I’d gotten before the door slammed closed had been seared into my brain. Kelly Stineman was exceptionally gorgeous, and it’d taken all my self-control not to insist she let me confirm with my own eyes—and possibly my hands—that she was fine after the fall inside the door to her room.

She’d landed hard. Her legs splayed, and her soft pink lips dropped open in shock as I stood there like an idiot a few feet away. I’d been so distracted by trying to be a gentleman, averting my eyes when she’d clearly been embarrassed about getting her robe stuck on the door handle, that I failed to react to her falling. I had no idea how she managed to get trapped like that, but I’d found the situation a little humorous until she fell.

In the moment, I was torn between concern and raging attraction—and other raging things in my pants—as I took in all her barely concealed curves a few feet away.

A look of shock had marred her face when she saw me standing in the hallway when she peeked around the door, just before a flash of recognition gleamed in her eyes. She’d remembered me.

We’d only met once, at dinner while I was in Manhattan for a business meeting on a project for my firm, but she left a lasting impression. I’d thought she was adorable—while hilariously intoxicated—and felt comfortable with her all evening.

I’d initially thought it would be awkward, Chase and Evan extending a last-minute invitation when they’d heard I was in the city. However, spending time with their interns, Sam and Kristine, and Evan’s sister, Kelly, had made the evening enjoyable.

She was sarcastic and funny, teasing me without hesitation during the evening, and I found myself wishing Chicago was closer to Boston. We’d exchanged phone numbers at the end of the night, but when things got serious with Marisa, we lost touch. It’d felt like a betrayal to keep up long-distance casual texting with a woman I was attracted to.

“What the…?” Tal asked, tilting her head to look at me. “What’s that face? You look half constipated, half aroused. That had better not be about Grace.”

“No. It’s not about Grace,” I sighed, wishing she didn’t keep coming up as a topic of conversation. I knew that she was my toxic indulgence, but I also knew that they didn’t truly judge me for it. They just wished I’d search for another rope top. “Not everything is about Grace.”

“Thank fucking God,” Emory chuckled, leaning against the desk near my floor-to-ceiling windows. “I respect her place in the community, but sometimes she lets her influence over others go to her head.”

Snowflakes danced outside the window as I tried to figure out how to change the subject. I’d barely had a chance to admire the view of downtown Minneapolis from my window, but in a sense, it was just another city covered with snow. Boston had looked much the same when we left practically before dawn this morning.

It was too bad Chase didn’t want a destination wedding in February instead, which had my mind going to dangerous places, imagining Kelly in a bikini. Not that her lingerie choices had left much up to the imagination, but I knew exactly how gorgeous she’d look in swimwear. All luscious curves and sun-kissed skin. I bet she’d have sexy shoulder freckles that I’d like to trace with my tongue…

“What time do we need to be down there for the ceremony?” I asked, checking my watch. It was nearly noon back at home. I’d forgotten to change the time on my wristwatch on the plane. It was my grandfather’s old Tag Heuer, an old-school relic, but it was my go-to in formal situations. Everyone had a smartwatch nowadays, but you couldn’t beat the look of a traditional watch when you wore a suit. Which, for me, wasn’t very often.

Most of my days were spent in a pair of heavy-duty work pants, a button-up shirt rolled to my elbows, steel-toed boots, and a hard hat. As a commercial construction manager, my job meant I bounced back and forth between the main office with the architects and on-site with my project supervisors. I loved it. I’d always loved building things, but it was non-stop. It’d been hard enough to clear vacation time in my schedule to take Monday off to travel, but I hated spending less than twenty-four hours in a new place. Not that Minneapolis in the dead of winter was a vacation hot spot.

“I think by 4:00,” Emory responded, scrolling through something on his phone. “The ceremony is supposed to start at 5:00 p.m., and the reception is in the ballroom downstairs.”

“Then you need to tell me where you got those drinks so I can catch up.”

Unpacking was forgotten as Talia, Emory, and I sat in the hotel bar, nursing our drinks and catching up after we’d changed into something a little more formal. I even bit the bullet and shaved down my beard, my face feeling surprisingly naked, only covered in a light layer of scruff.

Sometimes, our lives dragged us all in different directions, and it felt good to spend time with them on neutral ground with none of the usual pressures of our lives.

“I have no idea how you do it.” I shook my head as I looked over at Emory. He had the patience of a freaking saint. As a professional photographer, his day job brought all kinds of men and women into his life––some with bratty tendencies, who were not my style. It’d literally kill me to put up with that much attitude and not let out my Dominant inner traits. “I’d want to bend every single one over my knee. And not for the fun reason.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s not easy,” he laughed as Talia playfully scowled in my direction at the implication Emory should bend a supermodel over his knee. Still, we both knew he was only interested in her. “But I like my job, despite the constant need for a mute button. I’ve honestly learned to tune it out. And I’m at a point where they know to keep the dramatic shit to a minimum. Most of the models are pretty chill and professional. But like anything else, there’s always the one person who leaves a poor impression of themselves. I’ve apparently got a reputation for being a hardass.”

“Imagine that,” Talia giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder. When they’d met, I’d thought they’d make an unlikely couple, but when she was in the right headspace, she was his perfect match in his playroom, even if she was a totally different person when they weren’t in a scene. But the truth was, they were both her, just different parts of the same person matching the different parts of his personality. Emory in Dom mode was a little more intimidating than the photographer in gossip mode.

That was what I wanted, a person that fit all the parts of me, and me with them––without judgment, without pretense, and without lying about ourselves. I wanted a partner, but I just hadn’t found her yet. Settling for less or compromising what I wanted would end up with me breaking someone. Like my father had broken my mother.

“So, as I was saying…” Emory continued before I interrupted him. “She’s standing there in five-inch heels, glaring at my lighting assistant, no idea that I’d already told the rest of the set to wrap for the day. She’d been so focused on him saying she needed to turn slightly to get the right angle, thinking he was calling her fat. The body image of some of these models is mind-blowing. Her shoes weighed more than she did soaking wet, but he tells her to move so she doesn’t have a glare on the side of her face, and suddenly she’s been fat-shamed.”

“Man, give me carpenters in hardhats with saws any day, and I will gladly take all their shit.”

“Alright, as riveting as this conversation about roughnecks and supermodels is, we should get in there. I don’t want to get stuck in the back,” Talia interjected.

“You love it when you get stuck in the back,” Emory quipped, wrapping an arm around Talia’s waist, and leaning down to growl into her neck.

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