Bound to be Dirty (7 page)

Six

A
sound woke Dax. He came to alertness quickly, as always, and took inventory. He was at the condo, alone in bed. It was Christmas morning. And Christmas Eve had been pretty damned wild.

It had turned him on, being with Lily like that—less for the physical acts like slapping her ass and tying her up as for the fact that she'd given herself over to him. She'd let him take charge of her pleasure, and he'd brought her to climax again and again. The last time, with her untied, it had felt like real lovemaking, not just sex. They'd fallen asleep spooned together the way they used to.

He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned smugly. His strategy was working. No, he wasn't dumb enough to think that one night had solved their problems, but it was a step forward.

Where was his sexy wife? Making coffee? He sure could use a cup. Then he intended to pull her back into bed. Whistling, he got up, put on a pair of boxer briefs, and headed for the kitchen.

No Lily. No coffee. A note.

His whistle died. “Crap.” Christmas morning, after great sex, and she'd blown him off for work? And still expected him to endure the torture of turkey dinner with her family? What the fuck was that all about?

Had she ditched him to be with a lover on Christmas morning? Suspicion churned in his gut and he no longer craved coffee.

Outside the window, the sky was gray and cloudy—rain clouds, not snow. Too bad for all the kids who hoped for snowmen and snowball fights on Christmas Day.

He and Lily'd done that, one Christmas in Moose Jaw and another one in Vancouver when the city had, for once, delivered a white Christmas. Used to be, on Christmas morning, they'd make love, have a leisurely breakfast, exchange gifts. Go for a walk until their cheeks and noses were rosy, then come home and warm up in bed before they headed off for the stressful meal.

What would he do with this long, gray morning?

If they'd bought a house with a big yard, the way he'd wanted, he'd have plenty to keep him busy. As it was, when he was in Vancouver he had shit-all to do. Other guys who worked in the bush talked about coming home to long “honey do” lists, but the condo didn't generate much of that stuff, and Lily handled it herself. So, because she was always at work these days, he tried to pick up day work flying. This trip, with the mining camp shut down until January second, Dax would be flying with a company that offered scenic helicopter flights out of Vancouver Harbor, but the job didn't start until tomorrow.

He drummed his fingers on the windowsill and wondered what Lily was doing. And with whom.

“Oh, hell.” He went to get his smartphone, and dialed her number. If she was with some other guy, she wouldn't answer.

“Dax?”

“Where are you?”

“At the clinic, dumping my stuff. I'm heading out for a run, then I'll do some work.” She sounded a little stiff.

Was running a euphemism for hooking up with some guy? Maybe not; he'd seen how toned she'd become. “You've taken up running?”

“I've been running for over a year.”

She knew he ran, but had never suggested they do it together. Not even on Christmas morning. Still, he was beginning to believe she really did plan to run and work, not hook up with some other guy. “You never told me.”

“You never—” She broke off. “Why are you calling? Please don't say you don't want to go to Christmas dinner.”

He snorted. “Want? I never want to go. You know that.”

“It's only a couple of hours.” She paused, and her voice softened. “I know it's a drag, but it would mean a lot to me if you went.”

It would've meant a lot to him if he'd found her beside him in bed when he woke up. But guys didn't say shit like that. “I'll go,” he agreed grudgingly.

“Thank you, Dax.”

He gripped the phone, wishing things were the way they used to be. “Merry Christmas, Lily,” he said slowly.

She didn't respond for a moment, then said, “Merry Christmas, Dax.” Was that regret he heard?

He ended the call and stood there, holding the phone. Regret. Yeah, he felt that. So much regret for so many things. Then resolve stiffened his spine and he tossed the phone onto the unmade bed. Last night had given him hope. He wouldn't let go of that.

After they survived the afternoon meal, he and Lily'd be alone again. This time, he wouldn't let her escape to the clinic; he'd take her back to bed and give her another reminder of how good the two of them could be together.

* * *

A
fter a light breakfast, a long run, a workout, and a shower, Dax dressed in the kind of clothes he hadn't worn in months. He'd long ago settled the suit issue—as in, no fucking way was he wearing a suit and tie except to a wedding or funeral—so instead he wore black dress pants, polished black shoes, and one of the handful of fancy shirts Lily had given him over the years. This one was silvery gray.

He retrieved a small, gift-wrapped box from a pocket of his duffel: Lily's present, ordered online from a First Nations arts and crafts store. The stylized hummingbird pendant, hung from a gold chain, was made of silver and gold. It matched, best as he could tell, earrings he'd given her last year. They'd never been extravagant about gifts; neither of them was extravagant by nature. When they'd been students, they said that being together was gift enough. He shoved the box in his pants pocket. Was there any hope they'd ever feel that way again?

She should be home soon. Looking out the living room window, he saw that the clouds had indeed delivered rain, a hard, driving one. A bone-thin male jogger sloshed past; an elderly couple shared a large umbrella as they walked a white terrier in a plaid jacket; a wo-man in a camel-colored coat turned onto the street and walked toward him.

Though her umbrella was angled toward the rain, hiding her head, he recognized Lily's coat and her determined stride. The umbrella, though, was a surprise. It made him think of an owl: subtle camouflage colors and bold, startling eyes. Fanciful, like that beautiful shirt in her closet. Definitely not her usual tailored, understated style. More in keeping with the young Lily—or the uninhibited woman he'd made love with last night. Remembering her wildly tousled hair and flushed cheeks, the way her body had twisted against him then shattered in release, his cock swelled.

She didn't look up as she stepped into the entryway of the building. A few minutes later, the front door opened. He went to meet her.

“Hi, Dax.” Her striking blue eyes searched his face, but before he could kiss her, she was in brisk motion. She dumped her gym bag on the floor, stuffed her umbrella in the stand, took off her coat, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Good, you're already dressed. I'll go get changed.”

“You look great.” Perfect, to his mind, in jeans and a tan sweater. Perfect for some lazy cuddling in front of the fire, then some shedding of clothes in a trail all the way to the bedroom.

She frowned. “I can't wear jeans to Christmas dinner.”

“I didn't mean that. Only that you look good.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” Her surprised tone made him wonder when he'd last told her that.

Again he started to reach for her, but she'd bent to heft her gym bag. It knocked against the umbrella stand, toppling it and spilling the wet umbrella.

He put things to rights. “I saw your umbrella from the window. Nice. It looks like an owl's eyes.”

“It's based on the polyphemus moth. When the moth's wings are closed you don't see them, but when it spreads its wings, the false owl eyes scare off predators.”

“Huh. Interesting. I didn't know you were into moths.” Or fanciful designs.

She gave a quick head shake, her short hair, the pale gold of wheat at harvest time, flicking. “A friend is starting an umbrella-making company. Each design is based on a butterfly, bird, or some other winged creature. She includes a tag with a picture of the bird or insect, and a bit about it.”

“Smart idea.”

“Yes. And, speaking of Kim . . .” She gazed up at him, looking uncertain, then swallowed. “I have a small Christmas present for you.”

“I have one for you.”

“Oh. Really? I wasn't sure, but—” She shook her head. “We'll talk later. Let's exchange gifts before we go to my parents'.”

Talk later? What did that mean? Talk about last night's sex? Or about the state of their marriage? It had been a long time since they'd talked about anything significant.

At camp that first summer, Lily was the first person he'd ever really talked to. She'd said the same about him. Yes, there'd been lots of sex, but they'd also drifted in a canoe on the moonlit ocean and stared into the red and yellow flames of a beach fire, opening their hearts to each other. But for her, he'd have ended up in jail like his dad or, at best, been a beer-bellied laborer who spent his free time hanging out with his buddies at a bar watching sports on a big-screen TV. Instead, he flew helicopters in some of the most spectacular, challenging country in the world.

Career-wise, he'd done great. When it came to their marriage, though . . . Yeah, they needed to talk.

Lily was walking toward the office, so he followed. From a desk drawer, she took a flattish rectangular box wrapped in silver and gold paper. Another shirt, he guessed. He'd swap the silver one for the new one.

He reached into his pocket for the small box. “Here's yours.”

They swapped gifts and then he said, “Merry Christmas, Lily.”

Her pale eyes softened and for a moment he saw the old Lily, the love they had shared. “You too, Dax.”

Not about to lose this moment, he put the parcel down, took her fine-boned face between his hands, and tilted it up as he leaned down. His lips touched hers, still cool from being outside. For a long moment, she didn't respond as he kissed her, but then her lips softened and moved against his. Though his cock stirred again, he didn't attempt to slip his tongue into her mouth, just kept things gentle. Last night, he'd reminded her of the lust and passion they could share. This, now, was about something more tender. Love, maybe. If they might still share that.

Her eyes, normally so clear and incisive, went misty. Or was he imagining things? She blinked and was sharp-eyed again. Easing away, she said briskly, “Let's open the presents. We don't want to be late.”

He held back the retort that he didn't want to go at all. “You go first.” At least she'd returned his kiss. It was another step forward.

She carefully untied the ribbon and removed the wrapping paper. “Jewelry?” When she opened the box, a smile lit her face. “Oh, Dax, it's lovely. It matches the earrings you gave me.” Holding the box in one hand, she put the other hand on his shoulder and stretched up to press a quick kiss on his cheek. “I love it.”

“Good.” How easy for her, to say she loved a pendant. When was the last time she'd said she loved him? When was the last time he'd told her that? How had things become so damned complicated?

As he mused, he unwrapped the gift she'd given him. A shirt box, as he'd expected. He lifted the top off and— “Wow!” His eyes widened and he removed the garment. Not a shirt, but a soft cotton tee. Charcoal gray with a painted design done mostly in black. The abstract design made him think of hawks, of the wild, free spirit of nature. “This is great, Lily.”

She smiled. “Thank Kim, the artist. The umbrella woman does clothing as a hobby, and for friends. I told her a few things about you, and this is what she came up with.”

“You mean it's not, uh, off the shelf? It's unique?”

“As unique as you are.” A shadow flickered in her eyes and she turned away. “I need to hurry. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

As she walked out of the office, he joked, “Guess you won't let me wear the tee to your folks' place.”

One word came back over her shoulder. “Hah.”

Boring tailored suits and ties fit her parents' world; abstract art that touched the soul didn't. He draped the tee over the back of his office chair, looking forward to changing into it later.

With a little time to kill, he powered up his netbook and checked e-mail. He answered holiday greetings from a few guys he'd worked with, a fisherman he'd airlifted from a life raft in a storm, and a family he'd evacuated when a forest fire changed course and headed for their cabin.

“Dax? I'm ready?” she said from the doorway.

He turned to see his wife in a cream-colored dress and tan pumps. He'd always liked that dress. The simple lines and lightweight wool showed off her slim curves. She was wearing the hummingbird pendant and earrings, which brightened the outfit and drew attention to her pretty face. “You look nice, Lily.” He might wish she'd sometimes wear brighter colors and more sexy clothes, but she did always look great. Elegant. Way too good for a guy like him.

“Oh Dax, you've seen this dress before.”

“And you always look good in it.” She wasn't big on shopping, saying she'd rather buy a few classic items she could wear for years. It was kind of odd, considering she'd inherited a fortune from her grandmother as a teen, but Lily'd never been big on spending that money. She hadn't been big on telling him about it either, he remembered bitterly. She'd kept it a secret until after they were married, making him feel like she didn't trust him.

Stifling that old resentment, he shut down his netbook and went to join her.

“You look good too.” Her gaze scanned him, she nodded, and then she picked up a zipped leather tote.

“Aldonza's port?” Aldonza, a wonderful woman from Portugal, was the Nylands' longtime housekeeper. She lived in an apartment on the third—top—floor and ran the place, with the assistance of a maid and gardener who came in regularly. She also did the grocery shopping and often cooked dinner. She'd been widowed at a young age, had no children, and had never remarried, though she did have a number of friends in Vancouver. Aldonza enjoyed port, and each year Dax and Lily gave her an expensive bottle of it.