Bound For Me(8)

By: Natalie Anderson



Like her father who’d gambled literally everything away.

It was so long since she’d allowed herself to enjoy any kind of intimacy.

And she wasn’t going to now either. She was here only for payback. To hunt out the Hughes men and let them know just how much they’d hurt her family.

He was watching her closely, shaking his head a little. “What you need,” he lectured, gently persuasive. “Is satisfaction. And then you can enjoy that sweet dreamless sleep.”

Dreamless. Yes. Please.

She hadn’t had a decent, dreamless sleep in so long. Hadn’t come in over a year. Not even on her own. But how did he know she suffered that restlessness at night?

“You know what else I don’t agree with?” he said.

She shook her head, unable to speak, still trying to process—and control—her reaction to him.

He lifted his hand and very lightly traced the tip of his bound forefinger along her cheekbone. “You’re not a bitch.”

He was so wrong.

He smiled. “And I sure as hell don’t believe you’re frigid.”





Chapter Two





Savannah Nash didn’t know who he was and Connor Hughes knew he’d better tell her. Except she didn’t want to know and oddly he didn’t want to do anything she didn’t want him to. Odd—because Connor generally did whatever he wanted.

Okay, so he didn’t want to tell her. Not yet.

How he’d so quickly gotten over the tiredness and anger that had been hounding him all day, he didn’t know.

“I need to finished clearing that up.” She strode away from him and bent to finish sweeping the glass fragments into the dustpan.

Okay, he did know. In her long, sleek black skirt and her starched white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to expose slender wrists, Savannah Nash looked like a strict school ma'am from last century. Sexiest school ma'am ever. He’d checked her hands, wrists, neck, and knew she wore no jewellery.

No ring, no chain. No claim.

She was single, of that he was certain. But whether she was available was the unanswered question.

He shifted on the bar stool, trying to ease the way his cock was straining tightly against his clothing as the beautiful bartender straightened.

Stand. Touch. Take.

His body screamed at him. He tried to fight back with his brain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He ought to be home and checking the day’s notes from his stand-in manager. There were a zillion things he ought to be doing instead of sitting like a mesmerized fool just watching a woman.

But man, what a woman.

Well, if he was going to stay, then he should talk to her. Find out her agenda. But other things were distracting him from that purpose. Her brown eyes for one. Velvety, deep, secretive. And her long dark hair. He’d have thought it’d be easier for her to have it tied back somehow, out of the way while she worked. Instead it hung in a glossy curtain down her back, immaculate and smooth. In her appearance, and in her work, she was all cool, perfect precision.

But something simmered within her.

He knew why those jerks couldn’t resist trying to bait her. She was beautiful. And cold.

She was also tired. And perhaps, not that cold at all. When he’d watched her take down that tall asshole a few nights ago, Connor had stood, stepping in close, in case she’d needed help.

She hadn’t.

She hadn’t remembered he’d been there until he’d just told her. Until then there’d been nothing in her eyes but cool defiance. A denial of any need.

But there was need.

Very, very slowly he sipped his beer. He needed it now more than when he’d first walked in riled from the day and keen to question her motives. He knew she was Savannah Nash and that she came from Belle, Louisiana and that her father had attended several of Rex’s talks. Only he’d been spectacularly dissatisfied once he’d put Rex’s throw-away ideas into action. And he’d wanted to complain.

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