Page 8 of Snow Bound (Odyssey #1)

A nna’s heart was beating so hard she thought blood might just start pouring out of her ears, but she kept her eyes resolutely on his face.

It didn’t calm her down.

The initial flash of surprise that had lit his pale blue eyes was gone, leaving them inscrutable. His expression was equally unreadable, sober and a little stern, and she thought for a moment she’d made a horrible, humiliating mistake.

Then the corners of his mouth tipped up, and his eyes began to gleam. “ I do, don’t I ?”

His voice had deepened, roughened, and the almost lazy drawl of it sent a shiver racing down her spine. He sounded like he had last night, calling her a bad girl while he fucked her into the countertop.

It was so damn hot.

“What did you have in mind?”

She had in mind whatever would make her come her brains out, but she didn’t think that’s what he meant. “ I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

His smile grew, just a little, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “ We can always negotiate.”

Right. Negotiate . She could do that. “ Okay .”

“You’ve negotiated before, haven’t you?”

“Sure.” She’d had a few scenes at Odyssey before she’d called it quits, and those had involved negotiating. She’d found the process a little annoying, a little tedious. “ It’s just been a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Eighteen months.”

Speculation glimmered in his crystal blue gaze. “ Then we’ll start at the beginning.”

“The beginning . ” She grimaced. “ Does that mean filling out a Yes / No / Maybe list?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s just so long ,” she complained. “ It took me ages to fill out, and some of the things on there are just ridiculous.”

His lips twitched. “ It’s meant to be comprehensive.”

“It’s a pain in the ass,” she muttered.

“We can skip the full list for one scene,” he allowed.

One scene, she thought, and her knees went wobbly.

“But I need hard and soft limits, and a short Yes list. Say , five things.”

Only five? “ What if I have more than that?”

His smile broadened, the eye crinkles deepening. “ We’ll call five the minimum.”

“Right.” She squeezed her thighs together to keep them from trembling—and to get a little friction on her clit. “ When would we do this?”

“Tonight?” he suggested. “ I need to run into town to get the apples and dog food, and you’ll need time to think.”

She almost laughed. She could rattle off her five things right now and be naked before she’d finished. “ All right.”

“Let’s say, eight o’clock?”

“That’s fine.”

“Then I’ll meet you in the living room at eight.”

“Sounds good,” she said, pleased at the calm in her voice. “ Oh , wait. Don’t you want breakfast?”

“I’ll get something in town,” he said, turning toward the door. “ Besides , you burned the eggs again.”

She whirled to look at the pan, full of charred scrambled eggs. “ Well , shit.”

He laughed, quick and wicked, then walked out of the kitchen. Henry trotted after him while she snatched the pan off the stove and took it to the sink to join its predecessor. Then she did a quick little boogie.

She was finally going to play with Grant Snow , she thought giddily, and grabbing a scrub brush, attacked the burnt eggs with enthusiasm.

* * *

Grant made the trip into town without incident, and was driving back with a jumbo sized bag of dog food and five pounds of apples—maybe there could be two pies—in short order.

Going slow in deference to the snow on the road, and the possible layer of ice underneath it, he glanced at the clock in the dash.

Still early, but late enough, he decided, and tapped the screen on the dash to call Michael .

The phone rang once, twice, before it was answered by a deep voice, husky with sleep, and very irritated. “ Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “ Hey , buddy. Bad time?”

“Grant?” There was the rustle of sheets and the soft murmur of a female voice in the background. “ Why are you calling me at the crack of dawn? I thought you were on vacation.”

Grant drove past half a dozen kids having a snowball fight in the front yard of a tidy little A -frame, and gave brief thought to pulling over and joining them. It looked like fun, and he could work off some of this restless energy. “ I am.”

“Are what?”

He turned reluctantly away from the snowball fight and kept driving. “ On vacation. Wake up.”

A grunt and a stream of curses flowed out of the phone. “ Fuck you. I didn’t get to bed until after four.”

Grant grinned. “ What’s her name?”

“None of your business,” came the retort. “ What do you want?”

Grant decided to get right to the point. “ Anna Goodwin .”

“Hang on.” The voice went faint as Michael presumably turned to talk to his bedmate. “ Yes , you can go to the bathroom. Pee , don’t shower. Then come back– I’m not done with you.”

Grant grinned at the sharp smack and accompanying squeal.

“Now,” Michael growled into the phone. “ Who are you calling me about?”

“Anna Goodwin ,” Grant repeated.

“Jesus, are you still stuck on her?” Michael asked, amusement coloring his gruff tone. “ It’s been a year and a half, Grant , and the girl is gone. Move on.”

“The girl is not gone,” Grant countered. “ She’s here.”

“What?”

“She’s here,” he repeated. “ At my mom’s house. Where I’m on vacation.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“I’ll give you the short version,” Grant told him, and did.

“Huh,” was Michael’s response.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“No, but hang on a minute.”

Grant waited, listening to Michael tell his bedmate, apparently back from her trip to the bathroom, to sit on the floor until he got back, then footsteps as he left the room.

“What, you’re not making her wait ass-up and spread out?”

“No, I’m making her sit her already bruised ass on an upside down floor mat from my car.”

“Good one,” Grant said admiringly, and made a mental note. The little rubber nubs that kept the mat in place on the car’s carpet would be delightful torture for a tender bottom. “ You’re a fucking innovator, man. A modern day Henry Ford —you know, without the eugenics, antisemitism, and racism.”

There was a snort of laughter and the sound of a door closing, and Grant knew Michael was now in his private—and soundproofed—home office.

“Well?” Grant prompted.

Michael sighed. “ You’re putting me in a tough spot, Grant . I don’t talk about club members.”

Grant resisted the urge to remind him that Anna wasn’t a member any longer. “ I have a play date with her tonight,” he said, cutting right to the chase.

“Congratulations.”

“Take the stick out of your ass,” Grant advised bluntly. “ I’m not asking for state secrets, here. I just want to know what her experience at Odyssey was like.”

“Dick,” Michael accused, but it was said with a sigh, and Grant knew he was relenting. “ She mostly hung around and watched, but she had a few scenes. Brad Shelby , Jax Shepherd . They both said she was eager, fun. Bit of a SAM .”

Grant wasn’t surprised. “ Yeah , I got that.”

“She liked to fight back,” Michael continued. “ Struggle in the bondage, use that smart mouth. Brad threatened to gag her, and he told me she was disappointed when he didn’t.”

“I can work with that.”

“I have no doubt. I asked around after she quit,” Michael continued. “ A few of the regular submissives hung out with her.”

“What did Jenny have to say?” Grant asked, knowing Michael would’ve asked for the seasoned submissive’s opinion.

“That she was nice, friendly, with a sneaky, fun sense of humor, and had more walls up than China .”

“China just has the one wall,” Grant pointed out, unable to resist.

“It’s a metaphor, asshole. She had a lot of interest aimed her way,” Michael went on, slicing smoothly through Grant’s humor.

Surprised at the unexpected burst of possessiveness, Grant forced a casual tone. “ Doms do love fresh blood.”

“James told me she’d come to the bar, order a soda, and by the time he had it in front of her the vultures were circling.”

It amused Grant to hear Michael refer to his clientele as vultures.

“James also told me you bailed on her.”

Grant winced. “ We had plans to meet up the Saturday after her orientation, but I got called out of town.”

“Hmmm.”

Grant slowed to take the turn into his mother’s driveway. “ By the time I was back, she’d skipped.”

“And now she’s fallen back into your lap,” Michael finished. “ You got a plan?”

“Working on that.” Throwing the truck into park, Grant sat back.

“Good luck,” Michael offered. “ Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to my guest.”

“Poor girl.”

“Fuck you, too,” Michael shot back and ended the call.

Grinning, Grant switched off the engine. With the bag of apples looped over one arm, he climbed out of the cab and hauled the bag of dog food out of the bed. Balancing it on his shoulder, he let himself in the kitchen door.

The house was quiet, so he dumped the dog food in the mudroom and the apples in the blue bowl on the counter, then toed off his boots before moving into the living room.

Henry was snoring contentedly on the rug in front of the hearth, the fire down to embers behind him.

He stoked the coals and added wood, amused when Henry’s only response to the noise was to snore louder.

Giving the dog a pat, he crossed to the bookshelf behind the sofa.

His mother always kept a notebook and pencil on the shelf with the games, for keeping score. Taking them with him to the sofa, he flipped past the pages of Scrabble scores and poker tallies until he found a blank page.

Then he began writing down all the terrible, wonderful things he might do with Anna Goodwin .

* * *