His Contract: Legally Bound, Book 1 (2 page)

Chapter Two

Jack pulled his glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes. It was only midweek, and he was already exhausted. He’d spent the day refreshing his memory for the upcoming week’s lectures. There’d been a “welcome back” faculty luncheon that afternoon, but he’d avoided it, not wanting to deal with the sad smiles from his co-workers. He’d seen enough of that last semester when he picked up two of his classes after a year and a half off.

A year and a half. That was all it took for the cancer to claim Eve, spreading like a brush fire.

Now for the first time since before she got sick, Jack was back to teaching five classes. It was the last “first” of the many he’d had to endure: the first Valentine’s Day not celebrating his anniversary, the first summer sunset at the Cape without her by his side, the first Christmas he hadn’t bothered finding a tree. And a few weeks ago, he’d spent New Year’s Eve home alone, congratulating himself that he’d made it through a year without her.

A sharp stab of loss cut through him. He pressed a hand to his chest to try to force away the pain, but it didn’t help. Deciding he’d had enough for one day, he threw on his coat, trudged outside and drove to the campus athletic center. He was early for his weekly tennis match, but he had nothing left to do, and staying in his office any longer didn’t sound like he was adjusting to his “new normal”.

The court he reserved every Wednesday was empty. A quick change and some practice serves later still left him with too much time on his hands. Jack sat down on the bench by the net, pulled out his phone and called Josh. Once again, he was answered by the blank void of his son’s voicemail.

“Hi, it’s Dad again. Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Give me a call.”

He dumped the phone in his bag. A month had passed with nothing more than a few short emails. Josh was working hard, but Jack didn’t think it was schoolwork stopping his son from returning his calls. Not that he blamed Josh for not wanting to deal with the loss of his mother. Jack and denial had become close friends too. He hadn’t been to Eve’s grave once since the funeral.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Jack looked up as his childhood friend, Patrick, strode onto the court. “I left on time, but opportunity knocked on the way over.”

“By opportunity, you mean getting phone numbers from unsuspecting females.”

Patrick pulled a few business cards from his pocket. “Willing, not unsuspecting, my friend.” He flashed a lewd grin from behind his goatee, his hair as dark as it always had been, with no signs of gray. They were the same age, but Jack had started to feel decades older.

“You’ll have slept with the entire female population of Boston if you keep this up. What will you do then?”

“Move.”

Jack huffed out a laugh. “No one would know there’s a good guy under all that bullshit.”

“I’m insulted. Why would you say that?”

“You know why.”

“Because I’m the one who locked up your liquor cabinet and hid the key? That makes me sound like a dick, not a good guy.”

Jack studied the white paint outlining the edges of the court, remembering the hole he’d fallen into after Eve died and alcohol became his closest companion. “You’re not, even though you act like one half the time.”

“Don’t tell anyone. You’ll blow my cover.” Patrick dropped his bag on the bench next to Jack. “How’s work going? You sure you’re up for a full course load?”

His tone was light, but Jack knew the real question behind it. “I need work. Not more time off.”

“Gotchya.” Patrick retrieved his racket and spun it around. “You ready to lose?”

“Keep dreaming.”

A short time later, however, Jack watched his last shot fly into the net and bounce uselessly toward the other balls pooling at the mesh wall base.

“Out,” Patrick called gleefully and jogged to Jack’s side of the court. “I win, sucker.”

Jack would’ve punched him in the face if he weren’t his best friend.

Hell, he wanted to punch him a little bit anyway.

“How do you have so much energy?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be worn out with all your extracurricular activities?”

“Sex gives you energy, man. You should try it some time.”

Jack ground his jaw and rubbed the vacant space on his finger where his wedding ring used to be. He’d had that kind of drive before, had craved the nights when he and Eve would go out, her collar a silver line across her throat, a secret they’d held close with quiet smiles and knowing glances. They’d return home to nights filled with sex so passionate he was sure it would burn them both alive. But that part of his life was gone now, reduced to nothing but cinder and ash.

Patrick spoke first. “Sorry. But I think it’s time you got back in the game.”

“Don’t start.”

“Come on, Jack. It’s been a year. You’ve got to get out of the house at some point.”

“I know how long it’s been. I’m not ready. And I can’t do what you do.”

“Can’t what? Talk to a woman?”

“No. I can’t just meet someone and bring her home for a night. Don’t you find that kind of empty by now?”

“Do you think I’d keep doing it if it was?” Patrick grinned and folded his arms, the picture of confidence Jack used to possess. “These women know exactly what they’re getting into—a night of dirty, hot sex, no strings attached. That’s not you. But no one’s talking one-night stands here. Just a date.”

“Dating at forty-four. I’m not exactly a great catch.”

“Are you kidding? You’re a good-looking, single, law professor. The chicks’ll be lining up to buy you a drink.”

“Widower, not single. There’s a difference. And even if they were…” Jack tapped the net with his racket. “It wouldn’t work out.”

Patrick smirked. “There’s plenty of kinky women out there, trust me. I’ve had a few ask me to tie them up myself.”

Jack grimaced. “I really wish you didn’t know about this.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you guys didn’t clean up after yourselves. What’s a drunk best friend supposed to do when he finds wrist restraints hanging from the guest room bed? Other than tease you about it?”

The memory from years ago tugged at Jack’s heart—the night Patrick discovered the bedroom in their vacant basement apartment was actually a playroom. They all had a good laugh about it, and then he and Eve had sworn him to secrecy.

“If you’re not comfortable at a bar,” Patrick continued, “there are other options.”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

It wasn’t the first time Patrick suggested Jack join a local BDSM group, but he’d never been interested in opening up his personal life to strangers. Part of the excitement had been in hiding the devious other life he and Eve had. Dozens of boring events had been made more exciting by the invisible mask of their roles. No one had any idea. It was something she always understood, accepting his need to claim her as well as his need for privacy, never once questioning why he wanted to keep both sides separate.

He was a professor. At Harvard. If word ever got out that he got his kicks smacking his wife around, Jack’s credibility would be shot to hell.

“But—”

“No. I didn’t want to before she died, and I don’t want to now.” It was worse than that, though. He wasn’t sure he was a Dominant at all anymore without her.

Patrick grew quiet, his face taking on an uncharacteristically solemn expression. “It’s what she wanted, right?”

Jack’s vision blurred. He closed his eyes and waited for the moment to pass, wishing he’d never confessed Eve’s final request during a moment of weakness over a bottle of scotch.

“Can we get back to the game?”

“Fine. But I’m sick of your moping. We’re going out Friday night. We’ll hit that pub Brady’s always blabbing about.”

“He’s turned out more like you than me,” Jack muttered. His younger brother, Brady, had worshipped Patrick since he and Jack met in the ninth grade, following them around like an eager puppy in the form of a hyper five-year-old. Little had changed since then.

“Brady’s a family man. We couldn’t be more different.” Patrick cracked his knuckles. “It’ll be a nice change of pace. It’s been a while since I worked the Fenway scene.”

“I’m really not up for this.”

“What if I promise to help? I’ll be your wingman. I won’t talk to a single woman until I’ve snagged one for you.”

“Patrick,” Jack warned, but it was pointless.

“We can watch the Celtics game there. It’ll be exactly like watching it at home. Only with bigger TVs. And more beer.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He didn’t plan on thinking about it at all, but Patrick’s idea lingered as he got home and searched through his fridge for something edible. He was sick of frozen dinners, but he had no desire to cook, and he’d already eaten the meals that Brady’s wife, Samantha, had brought over, something she’d done often during the past year.

He slammed the fridge shut and ordered a pizza. When it arrived, he retreated to the den, turned on the TV and flicked through channels. The silence surrounding him was oppressive.

Jack closed the greasy box and dropped his head against the couch. Things weren’t like this before. Once his kitchen was well-stocked. He and Eve would prepare lavish meals that sometimes were forgotten when he got lost in wanting more than just food. Now his only company was the ticking clock in the kitchen. The house was empty, devoid of life, with nothing greeting him every night, save for the exterior post light set on its timer. He needed companionship, but he hadn’t so much as noticed another woman, let alone found one attractive since Eve passed. And the thought of being in a noisy, crowded bar, of trying to make small talk with a stranger…

Jack preferred the ticking clock.

He stashed the rest of the pizza in the fridge and went upstairs, his eyes immediately falling upon Eve’s nightstand. It was a practiced move, really. He often looked at it, sometimes opening the jewelry box inside when the loneliness became stifling.

He pulled the drawer open and ran his fingers across the box’s lid, pausing before flipping the top up and brushing his thumb over the cool metal of her ring. Her collar was still looped through it.

“It will keep you bound to me for the rest of your life. I don’t want that for you.”

Jack let out a heavy breath. His solitude was slowly killing him, and Eve saw that coming, even with death staring her in the face.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “So much.”

Unable to fend off the grief that tugged him down like quicksand, Jack sank onto the bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, sunlight was streaming through the windows. He’d never even undressed.

Groggy, he rubbed his eyes, sat up and pushed himself through the motions of another day.

Chapter Three

“You’re my submissive, slut. Tell me what that means.”

She was trapped face down, her legs splayed open, arms bound, a blindfold over her eyes. She couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.

He slapped her rear, and what had been pleasure erupted into pain.

“It means you can do whatever you want to me, Sir.”

“Correct.” He slipped a hand between her legs and laughed. “You’re wet.”

Shame made her eyes burn. Why did she like this?

She shouldn’t like this.

“Right here, Lilly. This is why you keep coming back to me.” His other hand gripped her hair, jerking her head up. “This is why you’re mine.”

Lilly woke up startled, a cold sweat lacing her skin. Shaking, she pulled the covers back and tried to catch her breath. Rumbles cuddled closer, and she scratched his fur, attempting to ground herself in the present.

Thursday. It was Thursday, and she needed to get to work.

She was still unsettled when she got off the T. She walked quickly, the air frigid despite the rising sun. The cold seeped into Lilly’s bones, clutching her with icy fingers that held on as tightly as her nightmares did.

She pulled off her headphones at the corner and looked at the towering wall of glass in front of her. The law offices of Forrester, Schaeffer and Pierce were located in the tallest building in Boston. Appropriate, given it was the city’s biggest firm. Cassie was waiting at the coffee cart out front. She motioned Lilly over and handed her a cup as they walked inside.

“We’ve gotta move. Forrester wants us in the conference room.”

“Us? Meaning me too?”

“Apparently.”

That couldn’t be good. They needed to get up there fast, or their boss would be sending out a search party. Or having security dump their things in the lobby.

They hurried into the elevator, and Lilly’s phone chirped with a text. She read the message and dropped the phone back in her bag.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just Nick reminding me I can’t back out of going to the pub tomorrow night.”

“How about I go too?” Cassie suggested with a bright smile. “I’ll stick by your side and make sure no cocky third years try to ply you with tequila shots.”

“So protective. Must be the Latina in you.”

“Half,” Cassie reminded her, the same way she corrected Gabe when he poked fun at her for lapsing into her mother’s native tongue. She pushed Lilly’s hair away from her face, the mothering gesture part of the role she’d taken on when they became friends, even though she was only ten years Lilly’s senior. “You can’t stay home forever, you know.”

“I know.” She knew she couldn’t. It was just so much easier that way.

Gabe was waiting when the elevator door opened. Lilly yanked off her coat as they raced toward the glass-enclosed conference room.

“What’s Forrester on the warpath about this morning?”

“A new case,” Gabe replied. “And from the way he’s acting, it’s a big one.”

Lilly slid into a chair and pressed her fingers against her hot coffee cup. William Forrester entered the room a moment later, his forehead lifting with the ever-present accusing tilt of his eyebrows.

“Holbrook Laboratories. Our newest client.” He dropped a thick maroon folder on the table. “Simon Holbrook is a scientist who’s discovered a new way to test blood, making pre-screenings for diseases more accurate. However, his former employers at Giordano Diagnostics claim he stole the formula from them.”

“Giordano?” Gabe asked, reaching for the folder.

“Salvatore and Francesca Giordano. Alleged members of the Lombardo family.”

“Lombardo,” Lilly repeated. “As in Antonio Lombardo? The Godfather of Boston mafia?”

Forrester nodded. “He’s their uncle.”

Gabe grinned so wide that Lilly had to stifle a laugh. He loved mobster movies. This case was right up his alley.

“Mr. Holbrook is concerned,” Forrester continued as he began pacing around the room. “He claims he didn’t steal the formula, and contacted us after receiving a cease and desist. But he doesn’t have a great deal of money.”

“Then he probably can’t afford us,” Gabe said. “Why are we taking this on?”

“Because I decided this was a noble cause and offered our services at a discounted rate.” He halted at the window. “And because Giordano Diagnostics is represented by Charles Mahoney.”

“There it is,” Gabe sang.

Confused, Lilly leaned toward Cassie and asked quietly, “Who is Charles Mahoney?”

“He’s Forrester’s arch nemesis from law school,” she whispered back. “We’ve never lost a case to him.”

That explained it. Pro bono work was not exactly the firm’s top priority.

“We’re starting on this immediately. Ms. Sterling—” Lilly immediately straightened up as Forrester pivoted around to face her. “I want you to work closely with Ms. Allbright and Mr. Hartley on this.”

It was a good thing their boss was focused directly on Lilly. It meant Gabe’s eye roll at the use of his and Cassie’s last names went by unnoticed.

“There’s a great deal of information to sort through,” Forrester added. “I have a feeling your knack for detail will be a valuable asset.”

“Of course,” she replied. It was the first time he’d acknowledged her skills. This was going to be her trial run, a chance for her to prove she’d been worth hiring. “Thank you, Mr. Forrester. I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t. I have a meeting now, and I’m sure you’re all eager to get started.”

Forrester left the room without another word. Gabe rubbed his hands together.

“Get your game faces on, ladies,” he said. “We’re going to the suitcases.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes at him. “The line is ‘the mattresses’, Gabe.”

“Suitcases, mattresses, potato, potahto.”

There was pure joy on his face at Cassie’s scowl. Intentionally screwing up movie lines was Gabe’s favorite way of irritating her.

Lilly shook her head and reached for the file.

They were still sitting there hours later. Gabe leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I’m starving. You two want to grab some lunch from that new Italian place?”

“Has the paint even dried at this one yet?” Cassie asked with a shake of her head. “You’ve really missed your calling as a mob-movie-obsessed food critic.”

“You ladies know I’m a slut for innovative cuisine.”

“Dirty fucking slut.”

Lilly winced, suddenly nauseous. She took a shaky breath and stared at the floor.

Cassie moved in front of her, making a show of reaching for her purse. “Why don’t you go ahead and get a table, Gabe. We just need to freshen up. Meet you there in a bit.” When he’d left the room, she bent down next to Lilly’s chair. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” There were a lot of things Cassie knew about her past. The word that had been used to demean and humiliate her wasn’t one of them.

Cassie didn’t budge. “Damien hasn’t tried to find you again, has he?”

L
illy’s stomach lurched, the same way it did last November when Damien’s name appeared in her personal inbox for the first time in months. Staring at the message as if it were something poisonous, she’d deleted it without reading, then immediately ditched her account and opened a new one. She made sure he was blocked on Facebook, checking her privacy settings for the umpteenth time. And even though she’d changed her phone number once already, she did it again. Cassie was the one who found her in the office bathroom afterward, splashing water over her tearstained cheeks.

The simple question of “Who was he?” had opened the floodgates.

She’d given Cassie the highlights, needing to confess it to
someone
. Cassie hadn’t known the lofty expectations Lilly had grown up with, and hoped her new friend wouldn’t judge her too hard for her failure.

She hadn’t said a word, only dried Lilly’s tears and told her she understood. Now Cassie was the single person who knew why Lilly hadn’t taken the bar, and exactly what she and Damien Brooks were to one another.

“No,” Lilly admitted quietly. “Not since the email on my birthday.”

“Okay. Just checking.” Cassie stood and nodded toward the door. “You want to eat? Italian does sound good.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll grab you something and stash it in the fridge?”

Lilly nodded and forced a smile until Cassie reluctantly left the room. Then she took a deep breath and went back to work.