Bound to be Dirty (13 page)

“Of course.” She turned to Dax. “Sir?”

“The same, please.”

When she'd gone, he said to Lily, “Yeah, I don't like admin stuff. I do what I have to, like pay taxes, but that's it. Is that bad?”

“Nice work if you can get it,” she said for the second time.

“I don't follow.”

She sighed. “My thing, the thing I always believed I was born to do, is heal people.”

“Yeah, of course.” He'd known that since the night he met her. “To heal normal people who're sick or injured. It's why you chose family practice and stood up to your parents when they wanted you to go into a prestigious specialty.”

“Yes, exactly. But now I spend more time on administration than on seeing patients.”

“Why?”

“Because it's my clinic. I started it, I grew it. I'm responsible for it. For the patients, the doctors, the staff.”

“How many doctors do you have now?” She'd never talked much about her work either. When she did, it was usually to share patient success stories, not the business end of things.

She groaned.

“Did I ask the wrong thing?”

“No, it just reminded me—” She broke off as the waitress brought their wine and cleared the empty appetizer plates.

“I'll be right back with your meals,” the woman said.

Dax and Lily both stayed quiet until she'd served dinner and left.

“Reminded you?” he prompted as he cut into his tender meat.

“The Well Family Clinic has five doctors including me, which is barely enough to handle the existing patient load. And we keep getting new patients.” She forked up some of the Greek salad that came with their meals.

“Stop taking them.”

Her mouth tightened. “Our patients have babies. Or they beg us to take relatives and close friends who've moved to Vancouver, and it's hard to say no. On top of that, the baby-boom patients are getting older and having more health issues that bring them in to see us.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I see what you mean. Sorry for being so flip about it.”

She smiled briefly. “Thanks, Dax. Anyhow, now one of the doctors has to move to half-time. His wife is seriously ill and of course he wants to be with her. Her prognosis is uncertain. If she becomes terminal, which I sure hope doesn't happen, he'd take a full leave.”

Dax's gut clenched at the thought of Lily being sick like that. It was one thing to know that their marriage might end, but the idea of her being seriously ill, maybe even dying . . . Shit. It was unthinkable. “Poor bastard,” he said softly.

“I know. I'll give him every support I can, but it sure doesn't help the workload problems.”

“Can't you find someone to fill in? A locum?”

“Maybe, though good ones are hard to find. Top priority is being great with patients, and the last locum we hired was. But she asked me so many questions, it would have been quicker to see the patients myself. Anyhow, yes, you're right. I'll have to put out the word, review applications, interview people. I just don't know when I'll have the time.”

The answer seemed obvious. “Get one or two of the other doctors to do it.”

She frowned. “Dax, it's my clinic. I'm responsible.”

And a perfectionist control freak. It was one of the admirable things about Lily, the way she took responsibility and never shirked. It was also one of the frustrating things, that she wouldn't share the load. He couldn't say any of that without pissing her off, so he settled for, “Tough situation,” and took a bite of his delicious lamb.

“I'll handle it.” The lines of stress around her eyes belied her words. “But see why I'm envious that you get to do what you enjoy, without the administrative hassle?”

He hated to see her looking so strained and unhappy. “You don't have to run a medical clinic. You could work as a doctor at someone else's clinic.”

She shook her head. “You don't understand. I—”

“Ever since you went into practice, you've been making things bigger and better. Trying to impress your parents.” And to compete with Anthony, who'd chosen a specialty—and a wife—they approved of.

“What's wrong with wanting my parents' approval?” She stared at him over the rim of her wineglass.

“They'll never give it. You should stop trying.”

“That's not fair. To them or to me. They believe in the self-fulfilling prophecy: have high expectations of your children, and they'll meet them.”

“
High
expectations?” He snorted. “No, Lily.
Their
expectations. They don't care about what you want. They won't be happy if you turn your clinic into the largest in the city. And they won't be happy as long as you're married to me.” He picked up his own glass and took a hearty slug of wine.

“That's—” She bit her lip. “They're still my parents. I can't just ignore them, and—”

“Yes, you can.” He put the glass down with a thump.

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “
You
can do that.” Her voice rose. “You did it with your parents and grandparents. I'm sure you had your reasons, though I certainly don't know because you always refuse to talk about them. I know your father went to jail, and I can only guess that your mother and her parents did some pretty awful things.”

“Whatever.” His life up to the time he met Lily had been crappy. He hated thinking about it, so why would he want to talk about it?

“But my mom and dad aren't bad parents.”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

Blue eyes icy, she glared across the table. “What's that supposed to mean? They gave me everything. A good education, nice clothes, all the technological gizmos any student could possibly want, private lessons in French, Latin, piano, and—”

“They don't respect you,” he said roughly. “They don't care about your feelings. They don't want a daughter, they want a puppet.”

“You're wrong!”

“Hey, you're the one who said you feel like you have to agree with them to be loved.”

“That was . . . I was overreacting. Of course they love me.”

He should've known better. Her clinic and her parents were hot buttons. If he dared criticize the way she handled either, she got pissed off and defensive. Still, something drove him to keep trying, to make her see the truth. “They never accepted your choices. When we were dating, they tried to break us up. They never gave a damn that you loved me. They only agreed to the wedding when you told them we'd get married in the registry office. We've been married ten years and they still treat me like shit.”

“You don't even try, Dax. Look at Regina, making nice because they're her in-laws. Why don't you do that, rather than provoke them?”

Be a doormat? No fucking way. “They're the ones who provoke me. They have since the day they met me.”

“They wanted something different for me.”

“Well, maybe they were right all along!”

Thirteen

D
id Dax really mean that? His stormy gray eyes and the harsh lines of his face said that he might.

The waitress stepped up to their table and gestured to their nearly full plates. “You're not enjoying your meals?”

“They're very nice, thank you,” Lily said quickly. “We were talking.” Glancing around, she saw the restaurant was now two-thirds full. The table beside them was still empty, thank heavens.

“More wine?”

They both shook their heads.

When she left, Lily gazed back at Dax. Her husband; the only man she'd ever loved. “I don't know where this marriage is going,” she said with sorrow, “but I do know that I loved you. I couldn't have married anyone else. Maybe we won't make it, but it wasn't wrong—at least for me—to marry you.”

His grim expression dissolved into a troubled one. “It wasn't wrong for me either. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.” Now there was pain in his eyes, which she knew her own mirrored. They were both talking about the past. What did the future hold?

The waitress brought two younger couples to the table beside them. The four promptly started sharing Christmas experiences and showing off gifts.

“I wish it wasn't Christmas,” Lily said. “It's a tough time of year to deal with difficult things, when everyone else seems so . . . celebratory.”

He nodded then a smile flickered. “We had some good Christmases.”

They'd always spent most of their time apart: Dax in Kingston at Royal Military College and her at University of Toronto for undergrad and med school; him in officer and pilot training then at armed forces bases in Canada or deployed overseas; her doing her residency at McGill then returning to Vancouver to set up her family practice. But, except for the years he'd been in Afghanistan and couldn't get leave, they'd always come together at Christmas. Her parents had hated it when she'd gone to Dax rather than come “home” for Christmas. But for Lily, being with him, even in some cold, run-down shack, felt like home to her.

“Remember the year I came to Saskatchewan? You had that rental cottage near CFB Moose Jaw.”

The grin returned and this time stayed. “Sure do. I was almost finished with basic flying training.”

Each time she and Dax got together those first years, she saw new signs of maturity. His body was firmer and stronger and he had confidence and presence. But that Christmas . . . She chuckled softly. “You were so nervous.”

“Yeah. Once we finished BFT, they decided on our next training: rotary wing, fast jet, or multi-wing.”

“Rotary wing being helicopters. I remember. You wanted so badly to fly helicopters.” More relaxed now, she returned to her meal.

“You bought me that pin for Christmas. Before I knew their decision.”

She'd given him a gold helicopter pin. “You'd done so well, I was sure you'd get assigned to rotary wing training.”

He reached across the table and touched her left hand. “You believed in me.”

His gesture, his words, brought moisture to her eyes. She nodded, because if she'd spoken her voice would have quavered.

“That pin's on my flight jacket. It's my good-luck charm. Even when I had to wear a uniform, I pinned it inside my pocket.”

He'd told her that when he went overseas. She'd hugged that thought tight, feeling as if a little piece of her was with him wherever he went, holding him close to her heart and keeping him safe.

He cleared his throat and released her hand. “Yeah, that was a good Christmas.” He cut a piece of lamb then glanced at her again. “Even though you never wanted to go outside.”

She resumed eating too. “I'd never been so cold in my life.”

“Oh, come on, it couldn't have been all that much colder than Toronto.”

“In Toronto, the temperature would go above freezing in December. In Moose Jaw, it never got near freezing. On the other hand, it gave us the perfect excuse to stay inside and snuggle by the fire.” The tiny cottage had a wood-burning fireplace, and they'd spent much of their time in front of it.

They smiled at each other. “We did have good times, Dax,” she said quietly. “We had something special.”

“I know.” His gaze turned speculative, and she wondered what he was thinking. But when he spoke, it was a change of subject. “When will the clinic be closed for New Year's?”

So he didn't want to keep reminiscing. It did emphasize how much they'd lost. “We're closing at noon on Friday, the thirtieth.” She prepared a forkful of rice pilaf and roasted potato, an odd combination that she found particularly tasty. “Reopening on the second.” She would use the time off for administrative tasks, including hunting for a locum.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence. When he'd cleaned his plate and she'd eaten all she could, the waitress cleared the table and asked if they'd like coffee. They both said yes.

They sat in silence. Lily was very aware of the lively chatter from the foursome beside them. She tried to think of a safe topic of conversation. Dinner had been more than a little edgy. Some nice memories and a lot of tension.

“So you finished that book,” Dax said. “What did the book club think of it?”

Was
Bound by Desire
a safe topic? “We didn't finish it. Our rule is to only read a third each week.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You set that rule.”

Amused and a touch exasperated, she asked, “Why do you hate rules so much?”

“Lily, I've told you before, I think rules have their place. Like preflight checks and VFR—visual flight rules.” He paused then flashed a wicked grin. “Or rules like you having to obey me.”

Her breath caught and a tingling sensation rippled over her skin. Had he introduced the topic of
Bound by Desire
to get them talking about sex? Glancing toward the noisy table beside them, she said in a low voice, “Or you stopping if I say Skookumchuck?”

“See?” The grin widened. “Those rules make sense.” Then he sobered. “You can't run your life by rules. Rules and lists and plans.”

So much for the sexy buzz. Now he was criticizing her again. “The one-third rule does make sense,” she defended herself.

“Because God forbid someone actually get carried away and read all the way to the end?”

“That's right. People form impressions as they read. When they reach the end they've often forgotten what they thought when they began. This way, we can talk about how perceptions grow and change.”

“Huh.” He studied her. “Okay, I'm sorry. That does make sense.”

“Thank you.” One thing she'd always liked about Dax was his willingness to admit when he was wrong. She was less good at it herself; she hated admitting to any weakness.

“So, what does everyone think of the first third?”

“Troubled and intrigued. None of us relate to Cassandra and Neville.” Her cheeks warmed. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “It's different from what you and I did.”

“Yeah, it is.” His voice was a low rumble. “It's one thing to slap your ass, but I'd never get turned on by causing you real pain. But, hmm, imagining you collared and leashed . . .”

She gave a snort of laughter. “Not going to happen.” Then, in a mischievous whisper, “Marielle figures me more as a dom.”

He'd been drinking coffee and almost choked as he laughed. “You are a take-charge kind of woman,” he teased.

“Uh-huh. By which you really mean bossy.”

A suggestive gleam lit his eyes. “Hey Lily, you can boss me around in bed any time you like.”

The air between them was charged with an almost palpable fizz of sexual possibility. Her pulse raced. Feeling daring, she said, “Don't think I haven't imagined exactly that.”

He sucked in a breath, audibly. Then he leaned forward and said, under his breath, “And now I'm hard. Tell me what you've imagined. And maybe, if you're very, very nice to me, I'll let you do it.”

Not knowing where the words came from, she said, “
Let
me do it? No, Dax, you'll beg me.”

“Jesus.” A flush burned on his cheeks. “Let's get out of here.” He glanced around, found the waitress, and gestured for the bill.

Oh God, what had she done? Did she have the guts to follow through on one of the scenarios she'd fantasized about? Even then, she'd only be role-reversing what Dax had done. Surely she had the imagination to come up with something original . . . She slipped her arms into her coat and buttoned it, then gathered her purse and umbrella.

Dax stood, holding his jacket casually in front of his body. To conceal an erection, she thought smugly. His own, very intimate, concealed weapon. That notion triggered a memory of Marielle talking about her cop boyfriend pretending to arrest her and doing a strip search.

Lily had never been good at improvising. Tonight, her mouth had raced ahead of her brain. She could either back down or forge ahead. She'd rely on a tactic she'd perfected in high school: when in doubt, bluff and pretend you know exactly what you're doing.

When they stepped outside, it was raining. She put up her umbrella, he shrugged into his jacket, and they jaywalked across to the parking lot. It was half-full of cars, but they were the only people. He unlocked the passenger door and she tossed her purse and umbrella inside. But she didn't get in. Heart racing with nerves, she turned to Dax.

“What's the—” he started.

“Sir.” She deepened her voice and adopted a no-nonsense tone. “I'm a plainclothes police officer, and you're under arrest.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

Oh God, what if he laughed? She'd be humiliated. “No sudden moves,” she ordered. “Don't reach into your pockets. Keep your hands in sight. Take off your jacket and give it to me.” No way could she physically control him, not with his size and strength. He'd have to opt in.

His eyes sharpened with a speculative gleam. “Yes, ma'am.” He removed his jacket and handed it over. Under his fly, he was semi-hard.

Saturday and Sunday nights, she'd opted into his rules. Now he was obeying hers. Hopefully, he wouldn't challenge her as to whether they made sense. This wasn't about logic; it was about sex. “Don't call me ma'am, call me officer. Obey my orders. Speak only when spoken to.” She tossed his jacket into the Lexus, trying to ignore the rain trickling down her face.

“Yes, Officer.” A half smile curved his lips.

“Face the vehicle and bend forward with your hands on the roof. I need to search you.” From the street, no one could see them, but anyone could walk into the parking lot. If someone she knew came by, Lily—who'd been raised to be on her best behavior in public—would die of embarrassment.

Dax braced his hands on the roof, arching his body back toward her.

How could she make this arousing rather than humorous? Her self-defense lessons had taught her about leverage and how to catch an opponent off guard. She bent slightly, took a deep breath, then on the exhale, she shoved her shoulder into his lower back, thrusting his body forward against the car.

He let out a surprised “Ooph.”

“Spread your legs.” When he did it, she said, “Hold that position.” She leaned close to his ear. “Unless you can't take it. In which case, you know the word to say. Right?”

He tilted her a curious and, yes, aroused, glance. “I know the word, Officer.”

“Good. I'm going to body search you to make sure you aren't carrying a concealed weapon.” She took his right wrist between her hands and ran them slowly up his arm, feeling the clingy dampness of his sweater, the heat of his skin despite the chill rain, and the firmness of his muscles. When she reached his upper arm, his biceps flexed under her touch.

She did his left arm then patted down his back, from broad shoulders to narrow waist. Then she reached around to pat down his chest and ribs, forcing herself to stop at his waist. Her heart thudded, more with anxiety than arousal. What if a real police officer came along? What if she and Dax got hauled off to jail? What on earth was she thinking? She should know better than to improvise.

On the other hand, she was no quitter. If she started something, she finished it.

Her hair was slicked to her head now, dripping water onto her face. Definitely not her sexiest look. “Don't move.” She bent to pat down the bottom part of his right leg then worked her way up. When she reached the top of his thigh, the roundness of his balls pressed against the crotch of his jeans. His hard-on was firm now, distending his fly. God, what a sexy sight, illuminated by the artificial gleam of the parking lot lights. Heat surged through her veins, making her quiver with the sudden rush of excitement. Her fingers itched to fondle him, but she forced herself to bend and pat down his other leg.

She froze at the sound of male voices, far too close. Glancing up, she saw two young men, holding hands, walking past the line of parked cars. One glanced toward her and Dax, did a double take, and nudged his friend, who also looked.

Dying of embarrassment, Lily stared back. They didn't know her. Bluffing was better than crumpling into a heap of mortification. Should she tell them to move along, that this was police business, or was that going too far? Impersonating an officer was an offense. Fortunately, they both shrugged and carried on. No doubt they'd seen weirder things in the West End.

The little rush of fear ramped up her excitement. Despite the chill rain, her flesh burned and tingled with sexual awareness. She drew in a breath and carried on with her search. This time, when she reached the top of Dax's thigh, she did cup her hand over his balls.

His body jerked.

“I told you not to move.” His sac was so firm, so warm through the soft denim.

“Sorry, Officer.”

“What's this?” she asked, running a finger up his fly, the firmness of his swollen penis triggering a needy ache deep in her sex. “Sir, are you carrying a concealed weapon?”