Bound by Brenda Rothert Read Free Book Online Page B

muscles.
    I needed a cold shower and a slap across the face. This was my new boss.
    “Hey,” he said. “I’d open your door, but . . .” The Jeep’s doors had been taken off, and I could see it would be a breezy trip since the top was off, too.
    He backed out of the driveway and I caught a flash of blonde hair in the front window as we left. I’d relinquished my adulthood when I moved back home.
    The whipping wind made conversation difficult. I gathered my long hair and tucked it under my shirt to keep it from slapping my face. At every stoplight, Ryke drew the attention of women in neighboring cars and on the sidewalk, though he seemed not to notice.
    He parked in a downtown garage and we both climbed out of the Jeep to walk.
    “You smell good,” he said when we met up.
    “Thanks.” I was so out of practice at receiving compliments. I considered telling him he looked crazy good, but it seemed a bit much.
    “So, is there a dry cleaner you prefer to use?” I asked.
    “Uh . . . no. Whatever you think. I leave all the decisions to you.”
    “All of them? So do I even get to choose who you go out with?”
    He laughed lightly, glancing at me. “I don’t go out with anyone. That’s one thing I need you for, to be my date at some of the functions I have to go to.”
    “Surely you don’t have trouble finding dates,” I said suspiciously.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Because you’re . . . you know, a hockey player.”
    “That’s the problem, though. I’m not into puck sluts.”
    “And those are . . . ?” I knitted my brows together.
    “Hockey groupies. Women who just want to pull a hockey player.”
    “Oh. ”
    We’d approached the tables laden with produce, and Ryke studied a basket full of dark purple plums.
    “You like?” he asked, holding one up. Why did it matter if I liked them? We were shopping for him.
    “Yeah, those look good,” I said. “So, you don’t date at all ? You’re a hockey player slash priest?”
    Amusement danced in his caramel colored eyes when they met mine. “Uh. I don’t date, but no, I’m not celibate.”
    “Right.” My cheeks warmed. “So the, um . . . puck sluts must be good for casual sex, then.”
    “That’s all they’re good for. And most of us think a one-night stand with those chicks is still several hours too long.” He handed over some money for a bag of plums. “I think I’ll grill tonight, I’ve got friends coming by. What should we make?”
    We? I wasn’t prepared to cook dinner for a bunch of rich guys who pr obably ate fancy food every day and wanted to fist-bump over their latest sexual conquests.
    “Um . . . maybe shish-ka-bobs? I’ll help you shop and get set up, but I have something I have to do tonight.”
    “Yeah, that’s fine.”
    I had to keep this professional. Not only because the thought of sex made me sweaty and nervous in a way that was more sickening than hot, but also because I needed this job. No more conversations about puck sluts. That was his deal, and mine was keeping him organized.
     
    ***
     
    Ryke
     
    I stepped out of the shower and rubbed a towel over my face, reaching for my watch on the counter. 8:10. Kate had gotten here at eight yesterday, so she was probably in my kitchen right now. I wrapped the white towel around my waist and considered walking into the kitchen for coffee that way.
    When I’d come in the apartment yesterday afternoon and pulled my sweaty t-shirt off over my head, she’d flicked her eyes away and a slight flush had colored her cheeks. I’d thought about it all evening after she left. I wanted to make her blush again, and I was sure walking out in just a towel would do it.
    But then I remembered Mimi. That might be awkward since she’d never seen me any way but fully dressed. My walk-in closet was right next to the bathroom, so I went in and dressed in the first shorts and old t-shirt I saw. And briefs, since working out in boxers wasn’t an option.
    I hadn’t even gotten to the kitchen