Bound to Please

by Lilli Feisty

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

From Fantasy to Ecstasy Ruby Scott is a beautiful, quiet event planner who leads an oh-so-respectable life. Yet the things that go on in her secret fantasies are anything but. She has every intention of keeping her hidden desires under wraps-until she meets a gorgeous, hard-muscled man ten years her junior. Mark St. Crow is a gifted, up-and-coming musician who collects erotic art and loves to "play" women as much as his piano. After one night of uninhibited passion, Ruby realizes there's no turning back. But as she surrenders to her deepest needs and lets Mark control every forbidden thrill, her passion for him builds. Can the wild, intoxicating nights they share lead to a love that will last forever?

Release date: April 14, 2009

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 352

Sample

Have you ever been spanked?”

Ruby Scott choked on her chocolate martini. “P-pardon me?”

Meg, her best friend, business partner, and apparent perv, jerked a few nods. “You know. Spanked, flogged, whipped. Whatever.”

Ruby blinked. Sure, they’d talked about sex in their ten years of friendship, and it wasn’t like Meg didn’t know Ruby had
a kinky side. But she’d never gone there. Until now.

Meg gave her a little push on the shoulder. “Come on! I really want to know about it. About S and M.”

Ruby glanced around the room, checking that the night was running smoothly. It was. She was, after all, known for being a
highly organized and efficient event planner. Tonight was no different: Waitstaff scurried by, bartenders polished oversized
martini glasses. Music blared from invisible speakers at the perfect volume. Guests hadn’t started to arrive yet, but Ruby
could feel everything falling into place for tonight’s party.

Instead of enjoying the buzz around her, Ruby turned back to her friend and took a rather large swallow of her drink. “Um… first of all, don’t call it S and M. You can call it SM, BDSM, D/s—”

“Can we discuss the lingo later? I just want to know what it’s like. To get spanked.” Lowering her voice, Meg leaned in closer.
“Or to spank someone else.” Meg’s cheeks were downright flushed with titillation.

“Why the sudden questions, anyway?”

Leaning back, Meg tucked a lock of ebony hair behind her ear. Looks-wise, they were polar opposites. Ruby’s hair was black,
but naturally so. Meg had an olive-skinned, curvy shape while Ruby was pale, and her body was, for lack of a better word,
skinny. And despite their shared interest in vintage, Ruby was the only one who actually wore retro dresses. Meg still shopped
at the junior department; it was really quite handy that punk rock was back in style.

Now Ruby’s post-punk-rock friend’s brown eyes sparkled behind layers and layers of black makeup. Tonight her outfit consisted
of a short black dress, black wrist-length gloves, and shiny patent pumps with buckles on top. Meg was not about to go gently
into that goth night.

She crossed her legs, which were enclosed in spider-print tights. “I was just thinking of ways to spice things up a bit between
me and Emmett. Do something different. You and Ash used to be,… you know. Into that stuff. Kinky stuff.” One of the bartenders
had moved a bit closer and Meg whispered the last word, as if stuff was more acceptable than S and M. “I just thought you could give me a few pointers.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Ruby asked. “The band’s going to be here any minute. And”—Ruby waved a pointed finger—“I
think I need to check on those hors d’oeuvres.” She slid off her barstool.

Meg wrapped her hand around Ruby’s shoulder in a death grip. “Just one tip?”

“Yeah. Stay away from artists and musicians.”

“Are you nervous to see him tonight?”

By “him” Meg meant her ex, Ash, who was supposed to show up to this little shindig, but, knowing him, if he came at all he’d
be late. Ruby wanted as many hot names at this party as she could get, and the fact was, Ash Hunter was about the hottest
name in the San Francisco art scene right now. Kinky sex was definitely en vogue, and the übercool were snapping up Ash’s shibari rope-bondage photographs as fast as he could produce them. Thank God Ruby
had posed for him before he’d become famous, and he’d promised to keep those images private.

“I’m actually not nervous to see him. I’m glad he’s doing so well.” Ruby smoothed her pencil skirt, a purchase from Meg’s
now-defunct vintage clothing shop. “Really.”

Meg raised a brow. “C’mon, Ruby… you haven’t even dated anyone since Ash. Are you sure you’re over him?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded vigorously. “I’m sick of these artistic types. I need a man with a real job, a man who wants a wife,
not an accessory. I want a man who wants a stable, normal life.”

Meg raised her glass and took a sip. “Good luck with that.”

“What? You have it with Emmett. I want what you have.”

“Anyway.” Meg crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You’re really not going to tell me anything about the kinky stuff?
What it’s like?”

Ruby shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. We didn’t… I mean, we never…”

Meg’s eyes went wide. “But what about all that bondage? The photographs? Come on, you can tell me!”

Ruby gave a frustrated sigh. “Ash was only into bondage. There was never any… spanking.” She felt her neck heat, which was ridiculous considering she and Meg used to share everything, including the details of
their sex lives. But that was before Meg married, before Ash. With a start, Ruby realized they hadn’t talked like this in
months.

She touched Meg’s hand. “Hey, honey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Definitely.” If Meg’s smile was a bit too bright, Ruby ignored it for now. “I was just, you know. Curious.” Meg shrugged.
“We’ve been married a while now. It’s normal. Right?”

“What’s normal?”

“To want to spice things up in the bedroom.”

“Sure. Absolutely.” Ruby nodded furiously, but what did Ruby know about being married?

Still, the idea that Meg’s marriage was less than perfect made Ruby uneasy. Not quite sure how to reassure her friend, she
said, “Ash never spanked me, flogged me, paddled me, or anything like that.” The words came out in a rush. She inhaled. “He
just tied me up.” Secretly, she’d wanted Ash to do those other things to her, but she’d never been able to voice her desires
and she couldn’t bring herself to tell Meg now, either.

“So he tied you up and then had sex with you?”

The sound of glass breaking whipped Ruby’s attention to a bartender who had just picked up, and obviously dropped, their empty
glasses. With a scowl, Ruby grabbed Meg and led her to a small round table in the center of the room. “Listen. To be honest,
the sex itself was pretty vanilla.”

“Vanilla?”

“Traditional.”

Meg’s shoulders drooped. “Oh.”

Bizarrely feeling as if she’d let her friend down, Ruby wanted to say more. But just then the first of the guests came through
the door, and she gave Meg’s hand a squeeze. “I promise we’ll talk more about it later. But this is a big night for Emmett,
and I want everything to be perfect.”

For tonight’s party, Ruby had booked a monochromatic bar across from the building where Emmett and Meg lived and where Emmett
had his recording studio. For the food, she’d selected an array of Mexican-Vietnamese-Italian fusion appetizers, and the bartenders
had been instructed to keep everyone happy with the latest rage in cocktails, the chocolate martini. Ruby’s connections in
L.A. had told her ’80s hair bands were back in style in a retro-kitsch way, so she herself had created a play list that lent
an absurdity to the whole event.

Or maybe that was just her perspective.

Regardless, it was her job to make it work, and she’d done her job well. She always did.

Ruby followed Meg’s gaze to Emmett. He was walking through the door with a small group of people. Two men, one gorgeous redheaded
female. The detached air about them shouted “rock band,” and Ruby barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Why did all artist
types have to be so aloof? Was it in their DNA?

Whatever. Luckily, this was an early event, and she could be home in a few hours with nothing but a nice bottle of wine to
keep her company. Heaven. But now she had to work.

And reassure Meg about her sex life.

Her friend was still staring at her husband, the tallest, lankiest one in the room. “Emmett really wants to record the Riders.
Says they’re amazing, the most talented group he’s seen in a long time. He’s become good friends with Mark, the head of the
band, and says he’s not just a good guy, but one of the most talented musicians he’s ever met.”

Ignoring the amazing band, Ruby focused on her friend. “Emmett’s the best at what he does. I can’t imagine they’d choose another
producer.”

“This could take him to the next level, not to mention make him happy. I really hope this happens.” Meg did a quick wave around
the room. “Anyway, you did a fabulous job with the pre-party. As usual.”

Compared to the productions Ruby had been planning lately, this was a small party. But it was for her best friend’s husband,
so Ruby had put a lot of extra energy into it. After all, they were selling San Francisco itself because if the band did choose
to record with Emmett, they’d be living here for as long as it took to make the record. She wanted tonight to be flawless,
hip, and cool.

But more than that, she wanted her best friends to be happy. “Listen, sweetie. If you want to know more about kinky stuff,
I’ll help you. I’ll tell you everything I know.” Which isn’t much. “I’ll take you to the sex store. We can look at floggers, paddles, whatever your little heart desires!” Ruby beamed and nodded
in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, despite the fact that she really had no idea what she was talking about.

Ignoring the way her pulse skipped at the thought of going back to the fetish shop, she went on. “I can be your tour guide
into the wonderful underworld of kink! Where every perversion is at your fingertips!” She punctuated her sentence with a quick
snap!

That snap seemed really loud because Meg had gone oddly quiet, looking over Ruby’s shoulder. Ruby slowly turned to follow
Meg’s gaze, and for some reason the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Emmett was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head. And beside him was one of the most gorgeous men Ruby had ever seen.
Tall, lean, with a bad-boy gleam in his deep brown eyes. He’d obviously heard her, but the only thing that gave him away was
the nearly imperceptible tilt at the corner of his luscious mouth.

Tour guide into the wonderful underworld of kink!?

Fuck. A. Duck.

Ruby, meet Mark St. Crow. He’s the head of the Dark Riders.” Emmett gave her a look that she knew meant Kiss his ass.

And her first thought was Okay! If you insist. Because the man standing before her made her heart race. Made her feel all tingly and they hadn’t even spoken yet.

His head was shaved and gleamed in the dim light, clean and shiny. She’d never been with a bald man; she wondered how the
skin would feel beneath her fingers, if she’d be able to trace the bones of his skull. Her fingers curled at the thought.

She uncurled them and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.” Their palms met and her pulse jumped.

She took her hand back.

Young. He looked so very young. But, at thirty-seven, it seemed everyone got younger every day.

He gazed at her through black-rimmed glasses. Damn. She’d always had a thing for glasses on a man. She’d had a serious crush on an art history professor in college who wore
them. At night, she’d study nineteenth-century Italian paintings, then go to bed and think of him as she used her hot-pink
bullet vibrator.

For fuck’s sake, don’t think about that!

“Ruby. Do you know there are at least forty songs with your name in the title?” Mark asked.

“Um, actually I didn’t. So you get points for an original twist on an old line.” She cringed. Why had she said that? She could
almost feel Emmett’s censure, but when she turned she discovered he, along with Meg, had vanished.

She looked back to see Mark raising a brow over those bloody glasses. “So are you saying I’m not original?”

“I don’t know yet. Can you name all the songs?” Was she flirting? That sounded like flirting.

“Probably. But I want to get paid for my talents. Fortunately, I work cheap. A beer ought to cover it. I’ll even get it myself.”

She raised a hand to protest. “That’s really not necces—”

“Be right back.”

She watched him walk away. Tall and sinewy, his black T-shirt showed off a solid torso, and the short sleeves gave her a nice
view of well-defined, tattoo-covered arms. Faded, low-slung jeans—not too tight—wrapped around long legs that carried his
form with a confidence that drew her attention. He looked too young for that kind of confidence. So young he could get away
with leather bands circling both his wrists and make it look hot.

In fact, he had a lot of leather on his body. Bracelets, belt, boots. All black, all worn. The sight of all that leather sent
a thrill through her, which she quickly stomped down.

Now he was walking back across the room with his gaze fixed on her. Like she was some kind of target, like he was some kind
of predator. Hell, he probably was. Young, gorgeous, talented. She’d go down like a gazelle under a lion’s attack.

He handed her a chocolate martini, and she could swear she smelled the leather from his bracelets. Which made her remember
the wall of leather at the sex shop. There was a specific smell to this type of leather. Woodsy, freshly cut. Sexy.

No, no. Don’t think about that…

But of course she did. She thought about the time she’d gone with Ash to the fetish store to purchase suspension equipment.
Ruby had been drawn to the wall of floggers and paddles and other mysterious implements; her palms had dampened as she approached
all that leather. Nervous and excited just to see the tools, all lined up in neat, erotic rows. She’d wondered how the leather
would feel striking her skin. Would it sting a lot? Or a little? Would she like it? Her hand had trembled as she ran her finger
over the soft strands of a buckskin flogger.

“You like them?”

“W-what?”

Mark shook his wrist. “These. You were staring at them.”

“No. I mean yes. They’re lovely.” Lovely?

That damn brow of his went higher.

She felt hot. All over. Which compelled her to take a calming sip of the drink he’d handed her. As a rule, she didn’t drink
at her own events, but so far she’d broken her own rule twice in one night. First with Meg, now with Mark. Mark something St. Crow.

“Do you have a middle name?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Um. Just wondering.” Seriously, her legs were trembling.

“Let’s sit.” Was he reading her mind now?

He led her to a table in a corner. And the only reason she took the seat he offered was because of Emmett. Really, it was.
Emmett wanted to record this band, and, as his wife’s best friend, she felt an obligation to do whatever she could to help
out. And if that meant making small talk with a young man who wore black glasses and smelled like leather and looked at her
like she was the only woman in the room, so be it.

She stifled a shiver.

“You cold?”

“Nope. Uh-uh. Not at all.” In fact, she was burning up. Conversation. Make conversation. “So. You’re in a band.” Real clever.

“Yup. Sure am.” Why did he always seem to be holding back a smile?

She went on. “What do you play?”

“Everything. Piano, guitar. The Bazantar—”

“You play the Bazantar?” she said, her eyes wide.

“On occasion. You know what it is?”

“It’s a five-string double bass, invented by Mark Deutsch.”

He stared a second too long. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

“So am I. That you play it, I mean.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what else do you do?”

“I sing. I’m a bit of a control freak about performing, actually.”

She couldn’t help but find that interesting. Mark St. Crow was a control freak. He seemed the opposite of her, and yet she
often referred to herself with that same exact phrase. Well, everyone referred to her that way, didn’t they? “What kind of
music does your band play?” she asked.

“Rock and roll. Punk. Electronic. Everything.” Now he did smile before he tilted his beer bottle to his lips. She surmised
that, by now, he must have realized she had no idea who his band was. It didn’t seem to bother him.

Which was even more interesting. But she shook the thoughts out of her head. She really should be checking in with the caterer,
mingling. So she had no idea why she asked: “Didn’t we have a deal? Were you going to name forty songs with the name Ruby
in the title?” So now she was asking him to serenade her. Niiiice. Not flirting at all.

“This might not be in chronological order; I’m a bit rusty.”

“I understand.”

He coughed into his hand, cleared his throat. Made a show of it. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh at his silliness. With
all this charm, no doubt he had girls falling over him every night. The thought sobered her up, and she straightened in her
seat.

Suddenly she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched and she looked up to find the woman Mark had arrived with
staring at her. Tall, with a supermodel’s figure and sparkling green eyes, the redhead was stunning. And, judging from the
intense expression on her face, she disapproved of Mark talking to Ruby.

“What’s up?” Mark asked.

Ruby tried to shrug indifferently. “Your girlfriend doesn’t look too happy.”

“That’s Yvette, my singer. She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Are you sure she knows that?”

“Yeah. I already ventured down that road, and it didn’t work out so well. Hit a dead end so, to speak.” He chuckled, his laugh
was deep and husky and made her soften even more.

So, he’d been with Yvette. Who cared? Ruby had no idea why it mattered that Mark’s gorgeous, talented, soon-to-be-famous ex-girlfriend
was staring at them like she would be perfectly happy if a hole opened up and swallowed Ruby alive.

“Don’t mind Yvette. She’s just overprotective. We go way back.”

“I don’t mind,” Ruby said as Yvette turned away. “Not at all. It’s great to have good friends. Anyway, I should be going.
I have to check on… things.” As if she didn’t have every detail, down to the exact number of hand towels in the bathroom,
under control.

His hand on her knee made her pause. “But I haven’t finished my side of the deal yet. So sit back and listen, my darling Ruby.”

She flicked his hand away. “I’m not your darling anything.”

“I know. It’s a song. By Mossa.”

“Oh.”

“House music.”

“I don’t listen to house.”

“Understood. It’s not nearly as good as the hair-band music you have going on here.”

She bristled. “Eighties rock is back.”

“Sadly.”

She agreed but didn’t say it. And she really wished he would stop smiling like that. It did funny things to her stomach.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted. “So you’re on. List every song with Ruby in the title. And, just for fun,
how about you do it by genre?” She smiled innocently.

“A bit of a challenge, but I’ll give it a try. What should I start with? Not house. Rock? Alternative? Jazz—”

“Jazz.” Ruby loved jazz and was quite sure this young rock star would be stumped. Which, bizarrely, would please her.

“Jazz it is. Okay, then. A-hem. Of course we have ‘Ruby, My Dear’ by Thelonious Monk; ‘Ruby, I Need You’ by the Steel Brothers; ‘Ruby’ by Ambrose Akinmusire;
‘Ruby’ by Art Farmer; ‘Ruby’ by Jimmy Smith; ‘Ruby’ by Benny Carter—”

She froze. “You’ve heard of Benny Carter?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I am. Not many people know jazz.”

“How do you know so much about jazz, Ruby So Sweet?”

“My dad turned me on to it.” She just stopped herself from adding, before he left. “When I was a little girl. Not many people have heard of Benny Carter.”

“My father was a jazz musician. Upright bass. I’ll never forget the first time he caught me listening to the Ramones. I thought
he’d have a heart attack right there in my bedroom.”

Ah, yes, the Ramones. Their album had come out when Mark was what? Ten?

She asked, “Was he a successful musician? Your father, I mean.”

“In his time. Played with some of the greats. Monk, Brubeck, Hancock.”

She leaned back, studying the way he coolly listed some of the greatest names in jazz. “Impressive.”

He shrugged, and for just a second his eyes flashed with an emotion she couldn’t place. “At the time. He gave it up when I
came along.”

“Really? Why?”

His laugh was wry. “The usual. Mom didn’t like the late nights, the travel. The unpredictable income.”

“That’s understandable.”

He eyed her over his beer. “Maybe. Anyway, he taught me everything I know about music. So, Ruby baby. Shall I continue?”

Nodding, she settled into her chair and listened. And listened. And listened. Finally, she waved him to stop. “Fine! I get
it. There are a lot of songs with the name Ruby in the title!”

“As there should be.”

She rolled her eyes and bit back a grin. Yeah, he was a charmer, all right. And she’d fallen right into his trap. But why
her? Why had he picked her to flirt with? Glancing around the room, she saw half a dozen gorgeous young things, some of whom
she’d hired herself as eye candy. And that they were. In her vintage suit and high-buttoned shirt, Ruby felt downright dowdy
in comparison. At least her red peep-toe pumps were sexy.

Straightening her blazer, Ruby took a deep, calming breath. But then she looked up and her heart stopped. Because Mark wasn’t
just looking at her, he was scrutinizing her. She found herself pinned under his gaze as if he’d tied her to the chair.

He took a slow swig from his beer. “I noticed the tattoo on the back of your neck. It’s nice work.”

She wore her hair in a high ponytail, and her hand went to the cherry blossom tattoo at the top of her spine. “Thank you.”

If possible, his gaze became even more intense. “It looks familiar. In fact, it looks exactly like something on a piece of
art I bought recently. Here, in San Francisco.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. No. It couldn’t be. Ash had promised to never sell any of the photographs he’d taken
of her. He was a narcissistic, chronically late, tortured artist who, on occasion, cheated on his girlfriend. But he wasn’t
evil.

Was he?

Mark went on. “The thing is, this piece I bought? It’s of a woman, bound in rope. It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever
seen.” Still watching her, he took another casual swig from his beer. “Until now.”

She met his gaze, silent for a minute. Then she started laughing. High-pitched hysterical giggles that had him looking at
her with an expression of confusion.

Finally, her laugh died out. “So that’s what this is about.”

“What ‘what’ is about?”

She flapped her hand between them. “This. You talking to me. You think I’m easy because I posed—past tense—naked in erotic photographs. You think I’ll tie you up, let you worship my shoes or something.” She pushed herself to her
feet. “And this is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know it was me in those pictures. You let someone take a few nude photographs,
and the next thing you know, guys are begging you to spank them—”

A firm grip on her wrist stopped her midturn, midsentence. He was standing now and she jerked her chin up, confronting his
stare.

“Ruby, I’m never the one begging to be spanked. Trust me on that.”

He used two fingers to tilt her chin up just a fraction, and the scent of his leather bracelets assaulted her. His brown eyes
told her everything: There was nothing submissive about Mark St. Crow.

He said, “You’re vibrating.”

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

That smile again. “You are.” He slid his free hand into her blazer pocket like he had every right to do so, and the heat from
his arm made her shiver more than she already was. Releasing her wrist, he placed her phone in her palm. The phone that was,
in fact, vibrating.

“You might want to get that. Could be important.”

“Right. . . .