Bound to You Read online

  Bound to You is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Shawntelle Madison

  Excerpt from Surrender to You by Shawntelle Madison copyright © 2016 by Shawntelle Madison

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Surrender to You by Shawntelle Madison. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eBook ISBN 9781101883198

  Cover design: Carrie Divine

  Cover photograph: Pavel Ivanov/Deposit Photos

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Shawntelle Madison

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Surrender to You

  Chapter 1

  Sophie

  When I first started working as a concierge for the rich and famous, my best friend Carlie gave me one valuable tip that I’ve never forgotten: “Everyone is hiding a fucking diva, Sophie. I don’t care if it’s Aunt Edna or Uncle Edmund. The crazy is waiting to come out.”

  At first, I didn’t believe it. Carlie could be cynical once in a while. I mean, c’mon. What about nice old ladies and those folks who waited in line patiently?

  I learned real fast that the nicest people could turn into the most demanding customers if not appeased. Case in point, the client blowing up my cellphone as I raced to the airport.

  “I needed those reservations five minutes ago, Ms. Ashton. My wife is expecting them.” The smooth male voice on my cellphone had severed and burned my last nerve. Pawning him off on my assistant Jesse wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t that cruel.

  “I’m still working on getting you that executive suite, Mr. Duvall.” All the while I smiled as I spoke. Smiling keeps you from saying what you’re really thinking. “The Stanley Cup playoff suites have been sold out for the past six months. It will take a miracle to get you in. Lucky for you, I’ve been known to work a miracle or two. Give me some time.” I hung up and got back to the business at hand.

  I offered my clients the best high-class concierge services to be found in Boston, but I had one rule, thanks to Carlie: no divas. Now, classifying someone as a diva could be considered subjective, but I’d been in the business for two years. That was long enough to learn a thing or two. Divas made crazy phone calls, and in particular, only a diva would ask me to meet him in the middle of a private airfield at Logan International Airport.

  Mr. Duvall was a kitten in comparison.

  This new client’s assistant had called me an hour ago. He seemed desperate and in a bind to get coverage for his employer. The poor man also sounded like death warmed over, but he’d said one word in particular: please. Multiple times, I might add, and he’d given me something hard for any business owner to refuse, a contract with a one and many zeros after it.

  My cellphone vibrated from a text this time. The message came from my newest client:

  are you coming, miss ashton?

  I’ve met all kinds of people with money, Carlie had said when she first helped train me. There’s always somebody sampling the nut-job pie. Just be prepared for the crazies and you’ll do fine. It was true. Out of every bunch there had to be an outlier. The guy who couldn’t do what normal people did: meet at a hotel or go out for dinner. Instead, this particular one wanted me to meet him right as he got off the jet.

  Xavier Quinn.

  If I took care of him well, this guy could make my career.

  Getting past airport security was easy. The walk to the plane wasn’t too bad either. For a busy Friday afternoon in May, there was just enough breeze off the bay to make the day pleasant. I didn’t have to go far to reach the landing strip for the airfield, where several private jets headed for the nearby hangar or taxied to one of the many runways. I spied a sleek jet waiting next to a silver Bentley. With a quick glance at my watch, I confirmed my late arrival: 4:10 to be exact.

  Way to make a first impression, Sophie.

  The cost for him to keep his plane and his car waiting here for me had to be astronomical, but if you had your face on Wired and Esquire magazines, I guessed you could pull that off, too.

  The four-door Bentley hummed, but no one was inside except for the driver. He noticed my approach and immediately got out.

  “Miss Ashton?” he asked.

  “That would be me.” I shook his hand. Even the poor driver was expecting me.

  “Mr. Quinn is waiting inside the jet.” He offered me the kind of expression you’d give someone who needed to be prepared for what was to come. “You should hurry,” he advised.

  I nodded, trying my best to head up the plane steps in my heels. My brown hair, whipped by the wind into my face, stuck to my lip gloss and made me wish I’d pulled it back into a ponytail. From the outside, the sleek plane was practical, but the inside boasted opulence. Leather seats, private LCD TVs for each passenger, and enough space for anyone to sleep comfortably.

  A leggy stewardess cleaned up from the last flight service. Just one man sat in the back. My once bold steps slowed. My heartbeat sped up.

  It was him.

  Instead of waiting for me to come to him, he stood and walked toward the middle to meet me.

  Mr. Quinn assessed me with light blue eyes and a spark ran down my spine. The hint of a smile touched the side of his face. He must’ve found my hesitation amusing. I’d seen that face on countless advertisements and news stories. In each picture he wore casual attire—jeans and a T-shirt. The cool tech company look. But today he wore a sleek suit that showed off his wide shoulders and trim waist.

  What I found the most appealing were the sharp edges on his face. His nose was perfectly straight, while his cheeks were long, yet curved enough to make him appear youthful. Briefly his full lips, which were wonderfully sculpted, formed a straight line and his brow furrowed as if he saw something he didn’t like.

  He was crazy gorgeous, and he was here on serious business.

  A part of me told myself not to be intimidated. I’d secured front row hockey tickets to Bruins games for Matt Damon, VIP seats for the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra for the mayor of San Diego. Yet as I strolled down the galley toward him, all that confidence was whittled away, leaving my palms wet and my mouth dry. The confident businesswoman flew off toward the Atlantic Ocean.

  “You made it safely” was a
ll he said. His smooth voice coursed through me.

  “The traffic was atrocious,” I managed. Somehow I pushed a smile on my face as I gathered my wits about me. He was like any other client. Just take care of him and this assignment will be done before you know it.

  “Boston can be that way, but there are shortcuts here and there.” He cocked a half-grin.

  “Depends on where my journey began.” The smirk I wanted to give him was replaced with the curt smile I gave all my clients. “Are you ready to get started? According to Ian, we shouldn’t waste time.”

  “Not so fast.” I started to leave, but he caught my right arm, only to let me go just as quickly. But in that brief moment, his firm grip and his assessing gaze made me almost gasp. When he’d touched me, warmth from his large hand had spread through my chiffon blouse. He was mere inches from the tightly bound leather cuff on my wrist, something I hadn’t used in a while. How long had it been since someone had grabbed me aggressively like that? Two years. That was a long time. I rather missed it.

  I could’ve moved, but my heels were firmly planted to the floor.

  My breath hitched. Up close, he smelled amazing, a rich leather cologne that made me want to run my nose along his collarbone. He had the kind of blond hair that looked good whether it was windblown or styled. My gaze drifted to his full lips. He was an attractive client, nothing more.

  When he spoke, his kind expression became stern. So he was all business now. “Before we go any further, we have a few ground rules we need to discuss.”

  I tried to retreat, only to find my back against one of the seats.

  “What are your ground rules, Mr. Quinn?” I took out my smartphone so I could take notes. And keep myself professional.

  He quirked a grin that messed with my insides. “One, I don’t like to hear no for an answer unless there is a logical reason.”

  I almost laughed at that one. My phone vibrated again, but I ignored it.

  “May I ask why?” I inquired.

  “In the business I’m in, there are logical solutions to nearly every problem. Telling me no is like telling me you’re giving up without trying.”

  I nodded. That was easy enough. “Next?”

  “I expect you to give me one hundred and fifty percent effort.”

  “I do that for every client.” My phone should’ve gone to voicemail, but it didn’t. Instead of looking at my face, Mr. Quinn was checking out the vibrating phone in my hand. Not good.

  “Yes, you did do that for every client,” he said firmly. “Now, I’d like you to do that just for me.”

  “Now wait, I made it clear to Ian that I still have other clients to manage over the next few weeks.” My assistant handled the lower-hanging fruit. The big dogs needed attention.

  He crossed his arms. “Please tell them your schedule is full. Especially whoever is trying to call you right now.”

  How I wish I could turn this thing off. “I’m accustomed to working with multiple clients and making sure all needs are met. How would you feel if you were one of my clients and I told you someone else said your schedule wasn’t important enough?”

  “I’d ask them to write a bigger check. Business is business.”

  “Not everyone thinks that way, Mr. Quinn.”

  “A lot more than you’d think do.”

  My phone vibrated again. Once I got a private moment I planned to either jam my heel into the screen or permanently put it on silent. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me.”

  I turned away from him to quickly answer the phone. Mr. Duvall needed to stop acting this way. Immediately. As quietly as possible, I explained to him that I needed the line to be clear if he wanted me to secure the executive suite for him. Once I had Mr. Quinn squared away, I planned to call my contact with the Bruins organization to see what could be done. Not much at this point, but I would try.

  By the time I pasted a smile on my face and turned back toward Mr. Quinn, he had his cellphone in hand, waiting for me.

  “Apologies,” I said. Ugh, this was so embarrassing. “I have a client that needs—”

  “Tell him Suite 5 is his.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know the Bruins owner. We’ve played golf a few times. Since we’re friends, I buy a suite during the playoffs every year.”

  I held back a laugh. “You know the owner?”

  Just the very idea that he swam in those kinds of circles blew my mind. The team owner was a billionaire, a man listed as one of the richest people in Forbes magazine. And they’d played golf a few times. Just looking at him, it was hard to believe he was a tech giant in his early thirties.

  “He’s a cool guy. The Bruins use my software at their corporate office.” He walked around me, making sure to not brush against me, and headed for the exit as if what he’d done was nothing.

  When I didn’t keep up, he threw words over his shoulder. “Are you coming, Miss Ashton?”

  Chapter 2

  Sophie

  When we settled into the Bentley’s leather backseat, I found a moment to murmur, “Thanks.” If I weren’t on the clock, I’d sigh from how comfortable everything felt. The car smelled divine. As if the vehicle was meticulously cleaned or was rarely used. A guy like Quinn probably had a different car for every day of the week.

  The need to glance at my phone nagged at me a bit, especially with a client like Mr. Duvall, but the moment my fingertip touched the screen, Mr. Quinn’s side glance made me freeze. I’d added as much space as possible between us, but he still seemed too close.

  “Like I said,” his voice was smooth, “I don’t mind sharing my suite, but sharing my assistant isn’t something I’m willing to do.”

  Well, I’d have to find a way to convince him otherwise. I had too many clients and even though I was grateful to him, I couldn’t just abandon everyone else. No matter how well he paid.

  The drive into the city was quiet. Too quiet for my taste. The need to turn my head left grew. Was he watching me? Did I even want to turn my head to find out? As the airport disappeared and the skyline grew, apprehension nipped at me. Time to go over what I learned from his assistant. “Ian told me you have a brief period of time to secure an important contract?”

  Xavier nodded. “I have two weeks. I’m here for one man. A stubborn one. My company needs Nakamura Industries to create a prototype based on ideas we’ve developed. Our projections show the profitability margin is very favorable, yet Hideo Nakamura has turned down my army of lawyers at Silver Sparrow Systems five times. Each reason was the same: lack of management credibility.”

  That surprised me. Over the past year, Xavier’s company had been mentioned as one of the cutting-edge outliers for mobile phone engineering.

  “So he believes you’re not good enough to work with him,” I said.

  “He’s denied partnership to a few others, but he’s got the people to bring my ideas from concept to completion. Three other startup companies were interested in using Nakamura’s facilities, but he turned them down. He comes from the old guard—traditionalists who see startups as failure points.”

  “If he’s already turned you down, why bother trying?”

  “Like I said before, I don’t take no for an answer unless there is a logical reason.” He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Nakamura is in town to visit relatives and conduct business. I’ve tried elaborate backdoor tactics to get that man’s attention, but I’m thinking what’s left is the face-to-face approach. That is why you’re here, Miss Ashton. To get me that face-to-face. When we get to my vacation house, you can tell me how you plan to do that.”

  Rush hour slowed us down, but eventually we reached the affluent Back Bay neighborhood along Storrow Drive. Rows of Victorian brownstone houses lined the street. This was one of my favorite places to visit when I moved here from New York City. Especially since I had far less spectacular digs east of here in Orient Heights.

  As we pulled into a private parking space along Beacon Avenue, I had a feeling a new game plan w
ould be in order. Especially if he wanted to impress Nakamura. The location boasted wealth, but it wasn’t ideal if we wanted to seize any opportunity that came up.

  The driver opened the door for us and I followed him to the private elevator. From there we rode up to a penthouse with high ceilings, large windows, and hardwood floors. The last time I’d seen a home like this was on the cover of Architectural Digest.

  Technology touched everything, from the multiscreen security panel to the lights that automatically lit as we entered what had to be Xavier’s study. Voice-activated computer monitors, a desk, and countless bookshelves filled the far end. He picked up the stack of envelopes on the desk, scanned them, and quickly tossed them back.

  “We need to get started on Nakamura.” The way he focused on me was unnerving.

  I nodded.

  “Your home is amazing,” I managed to say. This was the first time I’d visited a client’s place, vacation home or otherwise. For the kind of work I did, a phone call, fax, or an email did the job. Face-to-face communication wasn’t as valuable anymore.

  “Thanks. Acquiring property outside of Phoenix was one of the first things I did once I made some money. A friend sold me the fifth floor since he didn’t use it often enough.”

  My hand tightened on my purse. Some money. That’s an understatement. He had the whole floor to himself. My apartment could fit in the corner.

  I ran my fingers along the edge of the dark wooden computer desk. Not a single blemish. “Nakamura is here to visit family and conduct business, correct?”

  He nodded and I hoped he took the news I was about to drop-kick into his lap well.

  “Then this place isn’t ideal for your base of operations.”

  Xavier chuckled. “Should I tell you who my neighbors are downstairs? The basketball player on the ground level?”