Bound to be Dirty by Savanna Fox

summers at chess camp or finishing school.” It was a taunt, yet something about the lazy, teasing way he spoke made the comment sound almost seductive.
    Warmth crept through her. If she’d been Lily back home, she’d have stiffened her spine and strode up to the Broadbents’ house to report him. But she was Lily at camp, and instead she tilted her head and studied him, trying to look casual and confident. “Not that I thought about how you’d spend your summers, but I suppose if I had, stealing canoes would have been right up there.”
    He gave a quick, low chuckle. “If I was gonna steal something, I’d pick a Ferrari, not a canoe.”
    â€œMaybe you’re starting small, honing your skills.”
    Dax took a step closer, so their bodies almost touched. “My skills are plenty honed.”
    That memory had Lily, in her scented bath, opening her eyes and sitting up. Yes, Dax had proved that point over and over.
    She finished the last swallow from her martini glass. Summer camp, attraction of opposites, summer love. If she read that story in a book club novel, she’d call it cliché. Maybe she and Dax should have let it go when September rolled around. And yet . . . Over the following years, they’d had such fun when they got together. She’d loved him with all her heart. And now her heart was so confused. Did she still love him? Sometimes she was sure she did; other times, she told herself it was only nostalgia, memories, history. But was she telling herself the truth, or trying to build a shell to guard against heartbreak?
    And what’s wrong with self-protection?
    Briskly, she lathered soap onto her bath sponge and washed herself, then climbed out of the tub, dried off, and pulled on her robe. Where was Dax? If only they could be civil until after Christmas dinner, then they would deal with the future.
    She took a birth control pill, an act that these days sent a pang of regret through her. She left her glasses in their case, unable to face
Bound by Desire
.
    Though her headache had eased, she was a little spacy from the potent meds, the alcohol, the steamy bath, and, maybe, the memories. Sleep, that was what she needed.
    What she got, when she stepped into the bedroom, was the sight of Dax lounging on the bed, dark and virile in his jeans and tee, pillows stacked behind him. The lamp on the dresser gave the room a warm, golden light. Even though her vision was far from twenty-twenty, it was good enough that she saw how rugged and masculine he looked, sprawled across the caramel and cream-striped duvet.
    A tug of arousal pulsed between Lily’s legs. How annoying that, despite her doubts about their marriage and his fidelity, the man still turned her on.
    Dax pushed himself off the bed and walked over, to stop a foot away. “Take off your robe.”
    His words, so unexpected, had the force of a command. She’d unknotted the sash and shrugged off the robe before she even paused to think. But then awareness returned and anxiety twitched her shoulders. She resisted the urge to grab the robe from the carpet and bundle herself in it again. Dax had seen her naked thousands of times. But what did he see now? She was thin, thinner than she’d ever been, but also more taut and muscled. She used exercise—weights, running, self-defense workouts—to counteract stress and tire her enough that she stood a chance of sleeping.
    Dax said nothing. Instead, he bent and effortlessly scooped her up in his arms.
    She gasped in surprise then her body heated at the strong, possessive clasp of his arms, pulling her tight against his broad chest. So good. But she barely had a moment to enjoy it, to wonder what he was doing.
    He took three or four quick strides to the bed, then tossed her—actually tossed her—down.
    A shiver of excitement rippled through her as she gaped up at him. On his last visits, Dax’s sexual approaches were