Bound to Me (The Harbour Series Book 1) Read online

  “I require a very large drink after that horrible experience.”

  “Well, if I’m going to buy you a drink I need to know why?”

  She laughed shaking her head. “I met him a few days ago, and he seemed incredibly nice, but it was a terrible date. He came back from the bathroom with white powder under his nose, and then downed two gin and tonics in less than twenty minutes. When he fell out of his chair, I knew it was time to go.”

  “Sorry to hear that. The drugs and booze must have had some effect on him. What’s your poison?” I asked dodging through the crowd like Frogger trying to find an unoccupied space at the bar.

  “Thanks. I’ll text him later to make sure he arrived home safely. Vodka and soda, but I need to check the brands first. I need to make sure they have the ones I prefer.”

  I rolled my eyes. Here we go, just what I needed another high-maintenance girl. Just my fucking luck.

  She laughed. “I saw that. It’s not what you think. I am not being pretentious; I have issues with gluten. No wheat for me.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders tensed. “Sorry.”

  I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge, recognizing my own standards. This place didn’t exactly have any of my preferred scotch brands. It was certainly a far cry from the comforts of the Skyline Club.

  Pointing to the bottle of Ciroc, she shrugged. “It’s not too awful, just annoying at times.”

  I gave her a smile and motioned to the bartender, “Scotch and soda for me, and for the lady, Ciroc vodka and soda, with a twist of lime. She has a gluten allergy. I suggest that you take the proper precautions.”

  “You’re quite assertive.”

  I shrugged. “Comes with the job.”

  “Oh,” she said casually. My eyes traveled up her legs once again, as I waited for her to ask the question, but it never came.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about my job?” I replied handing her the glass that I hoped contained the correct vodka. I didn’t want her to be sick.

  She moved through the crowded bar with ease, yelling over her shoulder, “No, I don’t even want to know your name.”

  Perplexed by her answer, I felt the need to inquire further. “And why not?”

  We found a table that was mildly clean, just a few water rings and a dirty glass. Being a gentleman, I pulled out a chair for her and took the seat to her left.

  Taking a sip of her drink, she replied, “I don’t want to be myself tonight. Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else, even if it’s just for an evening?”

  This girl. Who was she? The fact that she wanted to hide her real identity from me gave me a fucking hard-on. Like some perverted weirdo, I was oddly fascinated by the opportunity of role-playing. The red straw passed between those luscious lips, and I wondered if she liked games or if she was really hiding something. Shit. I could be sitting next to a serial killer. This pretty young thing could have poisoned zombie boy and I just helped get rid of the body.

  Serial killer theory aside, I understood what she was talking about. Today of all days, I wanted to be someone else. The memory of Sasha’s death weighed heavily on my mind. More recently, my affair with Amanda had left my life in complete disarray. When she decided to make a life with Vince, and I found out the baby girl she was carrying wasn’t mine, I started to unravel. My business was crumbling as quickly as my relationship with my brother. Unable to concentrate on my clients and their cases, I had to get away from the toxicity infiltrating my life so I could refocus and move forward. Coming to New York was the fresh start I needed. At the moment, escaping reality sounded pretty fucking great.

  “I guess I can entertain the idea. If that’s how you want to play it tonight.” I smirked, before taking a drink.

  “That is exactly how I want to play it. Tonight we reveal no real names, jobs, or anything remotely close to our genuine existence.”

  I nodded and my new blonde friend held up her drink offering a toast to our momentary departure from reality. The words sounded like something you’d say before getting black out drunk or dropping acid. Bottoms up.

  “Tell me how you see this scenario playing out?” she asked, licking a bit of lime juice off her finger.

  What I wanted to say was, “If my chances are good I’ll have you back in my hotel suite with those legs coiled around me, driving you to your third or fourth orgasm.” Instead I offered, “With any luck, I see the two of us having fun getting good and drunk.”

  With a wink, she replied, “The moment I saw you, I knew you were a good time guy.”

  Three drinks and two shots later, the bar was nearly empty and all I’d learned about her, is that her name is not Kate, she is not a member of the British Royal family, and she did not go to college for Art History. What I have learned about her true identity, is that she’s allergic to gluten, loved her tequila, she had an infectious laugh and as much as she tried to hide it, the more drinks she consumed, the more pronounced her English accent became. Her words were smooth and soft, like being covered by a warm blanket.

  “Threat and risqué . . . access . . . assessments.” Her words came out a little broken, slurring slightly at the end. “Have you assessed tonight’s threats, not William?”

  We opted that my fake name be William for the evening. She thought it would be “terribly hilarious” to see how people reacted when we introduced ourselves as Will and Kate. Little did she know that William was my middle name.

  Smirking, I replied, “Risk Assessment. Yes, and I’ve observed that you are much in need of a bottle of water.”

  Leaning over her glass, her eyes twinkled. “Can you ask them if they have sparkling water, please? By the way, the tap water here is positively dreadful.”

  I nodded and headed to the bar, returning with a bottle of Perrier and a straw. Again, I watched as her sinfully sweet lips wrapped around the straw and every ounce of blood in my body went straight to my dick. Never in all my life have I wanted to fuck someone as badly as I wanted to fuck her.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said sliding off her chair.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, placing my hand on the small of her back and leading her out the door.

  “You’ve been looking at me all night as if you were undressing me in your mind.”

  I laughed. “Didn’t realize that I was that transparent.”

  “That’s quite all right. I think I’d quite fancy a shag with you.”

  When we stepped outside, her teeth began to chatter. I pulled my jacket off and put it around her shoulders. Times like these I wished I’d had access to a town car. I should work on that arrangement.

  “You should wait inside while I hail us a cab.”

  “No.” She shook her head in protest looping her arm with mine. “I want to wait with you.”

  “My hotel or yours?”

  “Yours.”

  Six blocks later, we arrived at The York Hotel. I’d booked one of the guest suites, on a private floor with a balcony, for the week. The place would do while my house in the Hamptons was being renovated. I would be buying a place here in the city soon, preferably something with office space in case I needed to work late. Tomorrow, I had a few locations I was going to be checking out, after the meeting with my new client.

  I opened the door to the place I had called home the past four days and “not Kate” slipped off her heels and dropped her handbag into a chair in the sitting room.

  “Would you like another drink?” I asked motioning to the bar.

  She took off my jacket, and tossed it over a barstool. “No, where’s the powder room?”

  “Through that door to your left.”

  She didn’t look back when she walked away, I watched every inch of her saunter down the hallway towards the master suite. I flipped on a few lights, scanned my emails from my phone, and then grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. When I turned back she was standing there wearing one of my dress shirts and I damn near fell over my own two feet. It was the
sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen in my entire life.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  I moved a step closer, my hands reached to hold both sides of her face. Her blue eyes met mine. I studied her red lips for a moment. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip in anticipation. I ached to kiss her. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. My lips traced the outline of hers. Her hands moved underneath my t-shirt, and her fingertips skimmed across my abs. As if that was the signal I needed, I pressed my lips against hers. At first it was tender, and she melted against my body. Her mouth opened, and my tongue slid across hers slowly. Her hands smoothed up and down my back, the kisses came faster, firmer. Wanting more I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. All too soon, our lips separated, I was panting and she was gasping.

  “Kiss . . . kiss me again.” Her words came out breathy.

  She didn’t have to ask twice and I did the thing I’d thought about all evening, I picked her up and those sexy as hell legs locked around my waist. Fuck yes.

  My hands on her ass, her tongue sliding against mine, her hands in my hair—it was a miracle I was able to get us to the bed. I desperately wanted to ask her for her name but I’d agreed to the rules for the evening.

  The rules.

  “Can you do me one favor?” I asked, easing her down onto the bed.

  “Maybe.”

  “Can you not shout out the name William when I give you the most earth shattering orgasm you’ve ever had?”

  “Sure,” she laughed. “Would it be okay if I just yelled out God?”

  “For tonight, I’ll play by the rules, but tomorrow morning I might need to know your name. I have a feeling you’ll definitely want to know mine.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she teased, pulling me closer for another kiss.

  I smirked. “Trust me, sweetheart. You might have yelled out God a time or two before, but you’ll definitely want to separate those memories from the ones associated with me.”

  I WOKE UP AROUND four in the morning and “not Kate” was not beside me. My hands reached for her side only to find the sheets completely cool.

  “Ughh,” I sighed rubbing my eyes, bringing more focus in the darkness. There was no sign of her anywhere, except for the pillow on the bed. Her scent lingered and I took a deep breath, getting my fill of vanilla and sweet orange. How could I convince housekeeping to never wash this pillowcase?

  I checked the bathroom, the living room and sure enough her purse was gone. My shirt, the one she’d worn, was draped over the back of the chair. It smelled like her, it was goddamn intoxicating. Housekeeping can have the pillowcase, I’ve got my shirt.

  I should have checked her purse for her wallet and looked at her driver’s license or a credit card at least. Okay, that’s not creepy at all. My tired legs barely carried me back to bed. I should never have agreed to her silly game. But if I hadn’t, I would have missed out on the most incredible sex of my life. I sound like a fucking girl.

  With a groan, I turned on my side and tried to go back to sleep. I mumbled into my pillow, “I am so fucked.”

  After a hot shower, breakfast and a quick read of the morning paper, I was ready to get this new day started. Once again my eyes drifted to the unmade bed. Images of a naked blonde swirled in my mind. I’d give anything to see her again. I’d give anything to be deep inside her again.

  Why did she leave? It wasn’t the sex, because it was phenomenal. She initiated the last two go arounds. Smiling confidently, I straightened my tie in the mirror.

  I grabbed my wallet and keys and walked down the hall towards the door, but not without looking back at the bed for the millionth time. Opening the door, I hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. I’d call for clean towels when I returned from my meeting. Even though I had my shirt, I wanted to have one more night with that intoxicating scent in bed with me.

  By the time my third meeting rolled around, every tall blonde I passed caused my heart rate to pick up just a bit each time in hopes it was her.

  Focus needed now. New client. New job.

  I studied the name on the folder: Ella Connolly. A few weeks ago, I received a call from Dean Winters, head of security for actor, Ronan Connolly. In a story of how small the world was, Liam Frost had given my name to Ronan. Apparently they were old friends and Dean asked if I would be interested in looking out for Ella while she was in the city. Liam was married to Ashleigh, the same Ashleigh who happened to be Emily Greene’s best friend, and Emily was acquainted with my pal Ethan Carlson. It was all very six degrees of separation.

  Opening the folder, my eyes scanned over the details. I barely remembered reading any of this information, but then again I’d shoved this in a drawer and didn’t pull it out again until this morning. That could have something to do with it.

  No up to date photo. The basics told me that Ella was twenty-seven, owned a clothing boutique and was looking to expand here and that was the reason for her visit. Dean had mentioned that she was recognized by the UK paparazzi on occasion. At one time it used to be an issue, but that seemed to have cooled over the last year.

  I hadn’t worked personal security detail for a while. In a long while actually, but I was a professional. I’d always been a protector. It was the way I was wired, from looking out for the guys in my squad to keeping an eye on my younger sister, Amy. Background checks were a regular routine where her dating life was concerned. Luckily, I’ve never had to severely injure any of her suitors. Slipping into this role was as easy as riding a bike.

  For the past several years, my company, Robertsen Security, had dealt with private clients exclusively. Working for my brother’s company, and with local and state law enforcement was a good cover. In actuality, my company provided advanced special operations, services that no one else could or would do. My team was good. We took our jobs very seriously, one wrong step, any miscalculation and people could die. No errors permitted. This is what I trained my guys to do, and I was held to the same high standards. My system was simple: Assess each situation with a keen eye and sharp mental awareness. If a situation becomes intense, remove the threat by physical force. Each of my men was taught to study the probability, the impact, and the effect of every known risk on the project. The “project” being a person, a human life—a life that they would be inseparably connected with and trusted to protect at all costs.

  Checking my phone again, I looked up the address where I’d be meeting Dean. My email instructed me to go to The Avondale Conference Room on the 17th floor. The lobby of the building was relatively quiet. The only stirrings were a few staff mingling around the reception desk, a postal carrier shoving mail into boxes, and a young couple talking over coffee near the fireplace. I stood near the elevators and waited as a young redhead with three white poodles exited. She was bobbing her head up and down obviously enjoying the tune coming through her headphones. She flashed a flirtatious smile my way, and I nearly tripped over one of the tiny pups who seemed to want to get back on the elevator with me.

  Turning to press the numeric keypad, my eyes shifted to the screen of rotating ads. While watching the ads, I tapped my fingers on the wall under the melodic spell of the sound of “Suicide Blonde” piping through the speakers. I smirked, and I thought about her again, and the way she smiled the moment I saw her on sidewalk last night.

  The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor, and a group of “Ladies Who Lunch” stepped in carrying their Louis Vuitton and Prada bags. I hated that I was so familiar with designer handbags; it only reminded me of Amanda’s expensive shopping trips. Gabbing away, they stepped off at The Palm Court for, no doubt, what would entail several martinis and tiny garden salads.

  No judgement, those particular women were regulars in my parents’ world. Country Club luncheons, extravagant summer parties at the family lake house, and fundraising dinners in the grandest hotels. It was all a day in the life of the Robertsen family.

  The car came to a halt, and I quickly popped a breath mint. Stepping out
, I took a moment to straighten my tie in the hallway mirror.

  The room was immediately on the left, and the door was propped open. I recognized Mr. Winters from our initial meeting a few weeks ago. He stood as he saw me approaching.

  “Come on in, Alex.”

  “Good to see you again, Mr. Winters.”

  “No need for formalities, Dean is just fine,” he said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “This is Ronan Connolly.” He nodded towards the man in the suit.

  “Mr. Connolly,” I stated, holding out my hand for another shake.

  “Alex, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He gestured to the leather chair on my left. “And please, call me Ronan.”

  “Thank you for meeting us, you’ve been briefed on the job, I assume?” Ronan asked.

  I nodded, and held up the folder. “Dean tells me that you’re in need of personal security for your sister, Ella.”

  “Yes, you can never be too careful with the safety of family.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

  “Your job is just a precaution while she’s in the city. What I’d like more specifically is for you to escort my sister around the city during her activities, day and night. There’s no need for twenty-four-hour protection, unless the situation surrounding Miss Prescott elevates.”

  Dean slid a black and white photo of a man with dark hair exiting the Warwick Hotel and Residences on 53rd. I’d been briefed on the situation regarding Ronan’s girlfriend, Holliday Prescott. It was a highly sensitive and private matter.

  I studied the photo, taking in all of the details and burning everything to memory.

  “If you see this man, alert us immediately,” Dean instructed, holding my gaze.

  “I will.”

  “My sister has just arrived,” Ronan announced looking up from his phone.

  I stood, buttoning my jacket and then adjusted my cuffs. Before I could utter a word, my eyes landed upon the sexiest set of legs I’d ever seen.

  Wait one damn minute.