Bound For Me

  BOUND FOR ME

  By Natalie Anderson

  BOUND FOR ME

  NATALIE ANDERSON

  Copyright © Natalie Anderson 2014

  Cover by Mixing Ink Design

  First edition November 2014

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional, authorized edition for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Band-aid; Thor; YouTube; Facetime; Rubik’s cube; iPad.

  To contact Natalie, visit her website, sign up to her newsletter, find her on Facebook or Twitter, or email her.

  Read the other titles in the ‘Be for Me’ series by USA TODAY bestselling author Natalie Anderson

  Breathe for Me

  Beg for Me

  Bared for Me

  and coming February 2015:

  Broken for Me

  (Hunter’s story)

  Chapter One

  “Beer. Cold as it comes.”

  Savannah Nash suppressed a smile at the roughness in her new customer’s request. “It’s not cold enough out there for you?” she asked, bending to pull a bottle from the fridge behind the bar.

  It was currently less than fifteen degrees Fahrenheit in Summerhill, Colorado. Cold enough to freeze a polar bear’s ass and ice-up the hottest drop of mercury. And for Louisiana born and bred Savannah, it was almost intolerable.

  Her gravel-voiced newbie didn’t answer. Must’ve had a bad day. Clearly he’d had a long one, given it was only four minutes ’til she closed the bar. Almost all of her customers had left already. All but the worst.

  She turned back, beer in hand and glanced up at him.

  Oh sweet mother…

  She almost lost her grip on the bottle as eyes bluer than the clearest sky on the coldest winter’s day pierced her. Correction, they stabbed.

  Whoa—why?

  Startled, she stared right back at him, confused as to what was the cause of that anger. That accusation. Sure he might’ve had a bad day, but there was no need to look at her like she was to blame for all the world’s evils.

  Savannah swallowed and lifted her chin, refusing to break that fearsome eye contact. She wasn’t going to be cowed by a mere look. She flicked the lid off the bottle with a quick one-handed maneuver and set his beer on the impressive slab of polished wood between them with a definite snap.

  Who was she kidding. It wasn’t the wood that was impressive. Mr Broad-shouldered Bad-mood was impressive in that bright mountain safety-jacket and wearing a close-knit black wool hat that emphasised the razor-sharp angles of his jaw.

  All these details she absorbed by osmosis, because that look in his eyes?

  He wanted it as cold as it came. Well no freezer could make any beer as cold as his unblinking blue eyes.

  He didn’t pick up the beer. She didn’t ask for the money. For who knew how long, she met his chilly gaze. The emotion in his eyes didn’t lessen any, but gradually it did mutate. The anger eased, something else rose. Desperation? Exhaustion? Then… something else entirely?

  Weirdly, the bar suddenly got warmer. Or at least Savannah did. A lot warmer. Images spilled into her mind—the kind of images she hadn’t seen or thought of in an age. Intimate. Erotic. Inappropriate ones. She flashed so freaking hot she felt like breaking her rules and drinking on the job. She could do with some cold.

  And that look in his eyes wasn’t anywhere near frosty now. It was fiery and—startled?

  She blinked and looked down at the bottle, surprised by the urges rippling low in her belly. She never indulged. No drinking on the job. No men. Not even the strong, silent, arrogant as hell type.

  “Would you like a glass?” she asked with rigid politeness, refusing to meet his eyes a second time.

  Refusing to be intimidated.

  She was never intimidated. And she was never turned on by remote, overly-serious strangers.

  In answer he placed a bill on the bar and picked up the bottle.

  “Anything else?” she prompted, his stony silence spearing stupid amounts of irritation through her.

  The customer was always right and Savannah read customers better than anyone. If the man wanted space to enjoy a beer alone, good for him. She wasn’t a small-talk kind of bartender anyway, but she had a perverse urge to get something out of this sullen ski-field liftie, especially since he’d started with that ‘it’s-all-your-fault’ glare.

  Especially since he’d made her feel so prickly hot.

  But all she got was a barely perceptible shake of his hat-covered head.

  She took his money and went to the cash register. Now he was staring at her like she was some kind of uncooperative Rubik’s cube. She was used to being watched, but not with this kind of intensity. Maybe he was so deep in thought he wasn’t actually aware of what or who it was he was watching? No, he was too alert. She turned away from him but his gaze burned into her back. She stepped up and put his change on the bar, not looking into his face again.

  Because in truth, that swirling emotion in his eyes—that anger and isolation?

  She could relate to that. And that answering call of heat deep within herself scared the crap out of her.

  “You ever see such a frigid bitch?” A jeering stage-whisper carried along the bar.

  Oh, yeah. Savannah inwardly sighed. Her other remaining ‘customers’ of the evening were clearly pissed her attention had been snagged elsewhere.

  She didn’t flinch at the words. Didn’t want to let them know she’d heard. But they knew she had. They’d intended her to.

  She knew the all-alone guy had heard too.

  The three guys stood at the end of the bar, leaning against the wood. Jerk, Double Jerk and Ultimate Jerk-off. They’d been there every night for days. Had eaten the same thing for dinner each night. Drunk the same drinks. Talked the same talk. The worst—Ultimate Jerk-off—stood center as always; loud and obnoxious. She’d booted him out of the exclusive bar on the weekend for lighting up his cigarette in the no-smoking restaurant area—it had been his final number in a litany of loud-ass actions.

  He hadn’t forgiven her. And he was letting her know it. Letting the whole damn world know it.

  “You know what she needs?” he asked his friends with a snide laugh.

  “Yeah, me hard up her ass.” Jerk answered.

  Charming.

  “No,” Double Jerk answered. “Two at once.”

  In his dreams.

  “Three.” Ultimate Jerk-off, corrected them. “You guys can take front and back. I want her mouth.”

  Delightful.

  More jeering laughter.

  “Bet you I could make her want it.” Ultimate added, his stage-whisper turning into a brash boast. “She’ll want it from me.”

  Savannah lifted her head and looked right into the blue eyes of the unnaturally still, silent man opposite her.

  If she’d thought she’d seen anger in his eyes before, now there was naked fury. Incandescent rage of the a
pocalyptic, no-one-left-standing variety.

  The scary kind.

  She lifted her chin higher, clenching her jaw.

  No thanks.

  His gaze flickered from her lips back up to her eyes. His narrowed. Slowly he pulled the hat from his head and put it on the bar beside his beer. Savannah snuck a breath to clear her fogging senses. His hair was shaved ultra-close. It was barely longer than the stubble on his jaw. He looked like he’d just escaped day one of basic training only he was beyond training, he looked like a master of lethal moves—like he was superhero strong—not just in a physical sense, but in terms of resolve.

  “I’ll have her on her knees.” Ultimate Jerk-off elaborated loudly. “And I’ll pull her hair ’til she takes me so deep she chokes.”

  For a split-second Savannah’s spirit wavered and she wished the ferocious-looking loner would get up and say something. Step in and tell them to shut the hell up. Save her the trouble.

  But Savannah didn’t actually need anyone to save her. Never had. Never would. She took care of herself. She’d had to, so she knew how.

  She straightened, pulling her shoulders back and pinning a bland look onto her face. As she turned towards the jerks, the loner grimly lifted his bottle to his lips.

  Don’t let them see they’re getting to you.

  She’d heard worse. Been treated worse. People had acted like she was invisible. She could pretend they were invisible.

  Never show you’re upset.

  She knew bullies. Knew what they wanted.

  Never let them win.

  She walked towards the three men, letting the heels of her knee-high boots strike loudly on the wooden floor so they’d be heard over the low music from the sound system. The asswipes never commented when any of the other bar staff were within earshot, so it was unusual for them to talk like this in front of another customer. Clearly they didn’t think the liftie deserved a second thought. Savannah figured they were wrong. Just as they were wrong about everything else.

  “Is there anything more you need gentlemen?” she asked. “It’s closing time.”

  “Oh you know what I need, doll.” Ultimate leaned over the bar.

  “Yes, I do know,” Savannah answered coolly, resisting the instinct to back away. “But is there something more you’d like from the bar, or do you think you might have had enough already?”

  The two guys either side of him laughed. There’d be a cat call, wolf whistle or way worse any second.

  “I’ll never have had enough of anything you offer, darling.” Ultimate Jerk-off’s eyes narrowed on her. “But do you know what you need?”

  She didn’t answer. There was no point.

  Super-wealthy and with a warped sense of entitlement, these three had arrived in the elite Summerhill alpine resort to ski and party-on just over a week ago. Within five minutes of walking into St Clair’s restaurant and bar on their first night, Ultimate here had asked her out. She’d refused—politely but with chilly finality.

  Just as she refused all those invitations.

  That’s when things had gotten interesting. Seemed Ultimate didn’t like the word ‘no’. He’d started playing the prick, his invitations becoming more and more frequent and more and more obscene.

  Her boss at the bar was aware, but hadn’t wanted to ban them—because, ‘boys will be boys’. And these ‘boys’ were wealthy, connected, large spending customers.

  And Savannah hadn’t pushed the issue. She prided herself on not losing it, ever. Flirty or jerky customers came with the territory. And generally there were way more awesome customers than the few losers like these.

  She’d held it together until it had culminated in the cigarette incident—a blatant challenge to her authority—and she’d publicly humiliated him. Since then, Ultimate Jerk-off’s attitude had been septic.

  Now she punched the code to close the cash register and switched off the music. The silence was sudden and deadening.

  “Nothing more, gentlemen.” She turned, her feet planted wide. “Your night is over. It’s time to leave.”

  “But not for you.” Ultimate answered with a superior smile. As he turned, he swept his arm out, knocking their three empty glasses from the bar to the floor. They shattered with a loud crash. The jerk looked oh so slowly, oh so deliberately, from the floor, to her face. “Oops.”

  The most insincere non-apology ever.

  “Don’t worry.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her long black bar apron and smiled through gritted teeth. “I’ll fix that when you’re gone.”

  Never was she showing them how pissed she was.

  “Thanks darling, I know you’ll always swallow whatever I spill.” Ultimate Jerk-off leered.

  Oh please.

  Savannah took a deep breath and relaxed her hold on the small can of pepper spray in her pocket. Her meagre savings had been nuked less than two months ago, so she couldn’t afford to lose this job, no matter the provocation. And in serving ultra-wealthy types she scored good tips–though never from these three. She wouldn’t take any from them anyway.

  She had her standards.

  “Luca,” she called as she strode into the kitchen. “I’m just—”

  She stopped and rolled her eyes.

  Luca—current manager—and Krista—one of the waitresses—were like one weird creature, wound so tightly together not even Thor with his mighty hammer could smash them apart. Hadn’t they heard those glasses crashing? Hadn’t they stopped to check the security screen?

  Nope. ‘Cos only now did they guiltily break apart. Jeez, if they didn’t leave now they’d be naked in the kitchen in a second. Near the deep fryer? Even if it was switched off and cooling down, it was so not a good idea.

  “You guys head home,” Savannah said tightly. “I’ve got it from here.”

  “You okay to stay and close up alone? Is the bar empty?” Luca still didn’t look at the security screen. He didn’t look away from Krista.

  “Almost. Nothing I can’t handle.” She picked up the brush and pan.

  They didn’t argue, clearly desperate to get away and into each other. Savannah watched them go out the back, taking a moment to stand in the open doorway and breathe in the ice-edged air. She needed the frigid shot to center herself. She glanced up at the pale mountain rising above her. The snow gleamed in the starlight. The purpose built picturesque resort town of Summerhill was spectacular and if she were here for any other reason, she’d love the place. But she wasn’t here for fun.

  She was here for payback.

  Summerhill was owned by Rex Hughes—the quintessential billionaire businessman-turned-advisor. And it was operated by his son Connor Hughes—the typical spoilt ski-boy with slightly long sun-streaked hair, tanned skin and blue eyes. In the one picture she’d seen of him on the web, he’d looked like the ultimate poster-boy for the snow-bunny-loving party scene. No doubt he’d inherited the dodgy business ethos of his father along with the billions.

  But it was Rex she really wanted a word with. Rex who’d fed her father a fairytale of you-can’t-lose share schemes.

  But you could lose. Everything.

  Given they owned this town, both should have been easy to find. But she’d been in Summerhill almost a month already and hadn’t gotten anywhere with her mission. Rex was away—probably on some pay-millions-for-no-value-speaker circuit.

  Getting an appointment with Connor was apparently impossible. She hadn’t made it past the reception at the eye-wateringly mammoth ‘Lodge’ and Hughes HQ. And she’d had to work double shifts daily here at St Clair’s, throwing flashy cocktails to earn the tips she needed to pay for the essentials. Like food and a temporary roof over her head.

  Day by day, hand to mouth.

  She’d bet none of the Hughes clan had ever had to work as long or as hard.

  She breathed in another hit of cold air then closed the door. She wasn’t feeling any kind of dull ache in her heart at the sight of Krista and Luca cuddling into each other as they ran out to hi
s car. Nope. She was steeled for tossing the asswipes out. She was going to enjoy it. She wasn’t afraid of being alone with them. They didn’t know Luca had left already. And they wouldn’t.

  But when she walked back into the bar carrying a small brush and dustpan, it was empty. Yet not silent.

  Heavy feet stomped, voices out in the entrance corridor carried.

  “Who does he think he is, telling us to fuck off?”

  That was Ultimate talking.

  “He’s the king of the mountain, you dick. You don’t mess with him. Come on, we’ll go up the road and find some party girls.”

  “He’s an asshat.” Ultimate blustered. “I’m not afraid of him.”

  The front door slammed.

  King of the Mountain? Savannah paused behind the bar. Had her loner customer had left as well? Oh. She wasn’t in any way disappointed about that.

  But then she realized there wasn’t quite silence in the room. A rhythmic chinking sounded close.

  Her heart quickened as she looked around the corner of the wooden bar. Then she sighed.

  The ‘King of the Mountain’ was hunched down by the mess of shattered glass on the floor, one hand cupped and full of glass fragments.

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said, swiftly going over to him. “I’ll do it.”

  He glanced up and shot her another lethal look, but still said nothing.

  Savannah bent opposite him and put the dustpan on the floor. “You tell them to leave?” she asked.

  He slowly gathered more shards of glass and lifted spiky lashes. “What if I did?” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You worried you lost out on a tip?”

  Yeah, like they ever left a tip. “It wasn’t your place to say anything.”

  His shoulders lifted and dropped and he kept stacking glass into his hand. “I didn’t like the way they talked.”

  “Did you threaten them?”

  “I didn’t need to.”

  “Three on one?” She lifted her eyebrows. What, he burned them with his laser vision or something?

  “You’re not afraid to get rid of them on your own.” His mouth curved into a wry smile. “I saw you take him down the other night when he tried to light up. You didn’t want any help then, and you still don’t want any help now.”