Bound (Mastered 1)

Ronin shook his head. “It’s no secret I live on the top floor, but access is limited.” He circled the area twice. “The downside to this area is the lack of parking.”

“Sucks when you have to haul groceries, doesn’t it?”

“That’s why I don’t have a membership at Costco.”

He had a better sense of humor than Amery had credited him for. She headed for the front entrance, but he snagged her hand and led her to the alley. “Back door.”

“Afraid you’ll get waylaid and need to show a technique or ten to some poor struggling white belt?” she teased.

“No.” They stopped in front of a rusty steel door. He unlocked a small metal box, which housed a keypad, punched in a code, and the locks popped.

“Fancy.”

“Safe,” he corrected.

Amery could hear the sounds of the dojo as they cut down a narrow hallway. They stopped at another door, which also required a key card for the code box. Through that door was an elevator bay with two elevators. They rode in silence to the fifth floor and got off.

She followed him down a short carpeted hallway and he stopped in front of a set of double doors. Another swipe of the key card, another code.

“I’m starting to feel like I’m in a spy movie.”

Ronin held the door open for her. “Almost there.”

Before her was another elevator. She faced him, her mouth open. “You have a private elevator to your apartment?”

“Keeps the riffraff out.”

She laughed.

“It’s no different than standard high-rises. The top floor always has a separate elevator.”

With all the security measures, how would she get out if she had to? Her heart raced at the sudden thought and she studied the pattern in the fake-wood paneling as Ronin messed with another keypad.

The elevator started to go up.

He didn’t speak until the door opened. “After you.”

Amery stepped onto a tiled entryway and stopped.

Then Ronin was in her face. “What’s wrong?”

“This . . . private elevator, super-secret security stuff. What if there’s a fire and I can’t get out because I don’t have the key card or the codes? Or what if I just want to leave?”

His rapt gaze remained on hers. “If you want to leave, I’ll take you home right now. No questions asked.”

That mollified her some.

“This is a no-pressure situation, Amery. I won’t drag you into my bedroom and tie you to my bed.” He smiled devilishly. “Well, not at first.”

Her quick laugh held a trace of nerves.

“We’ll have dinner, conversation, see if there’s something between us worth pursuing.”

“And if there isn’t?”

The look on his face said he didn’t believe that was a possibility. “Do you want to be here?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Ronin crowded her against the wall and curled his hands around her face. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment you threw your pants at me.”

Amery couldn’t think of a witty retort; she couldn’t think period. Then he teased her mouth with his. A glide of his lips, followed by an exchange of heated breath. She trembled with heart-pounding, body-tingling anticipation.

His tongue lightly swept across the seam of her lips and she automatically opened her mouth wider. Wanting more.

Ronin slowly licked his way inside. First a taste. Another lick. A soft suck. His thumbs feathered across her cheeks as he held her face. Then he angled her head and consumed her mouth in a blistering kiss.

Oh god. Could the man kiss. No holds barred, he poured passion and skill and need into the kiss until Amery returned his fire with her own. She closed her eyes and her fingers curled into his chest, holding on to him even as she gave him control.

He took it as if it were his due.

By the time he ended the kiss, her body vibrated. Her head was muzzy and her lips buzzed.

“Still want to go?” he murmured.

“No.”

“You sure?” he asked, his lips trilling down her throat.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I’m glad. Do you want a tour? Or are you starved?”

“A tour would be good.”

Ronin placed one last, lingering kiss on her lips and took her hand. He led her through a curved archway. “This is the living room. Feel free to look around while I see to dinner.”

Maybe austere was a Japanese thing. Or maybe his décor choice reflected his bachelor status. The furnishings weren’t scaled to the size of the room. Just two simple couches, long and low-backed, covered in plain neutral brown fabric. Two tan chairs sat opposite each other in front of a fireplace. A coffee table, end tables, a leather bench, and several floor lamps finished the space.

He hadn’t scattered personal items on the horizontal surfaces. No family pictures. No accolades from his jujitsu career.

Art hung here and there. One picture contained a graphic scene—a fat Japanese man opened his robe, exposing his exaggerated genitalia to a disheveled geisha cowering on the ground. Two more similar in theme hung next to it. One with a long-haired samurai wielding a sword at a snarling tiger standing in front of massacred bodies. The last picture featured a crouching Japanese man, naked, his oversized genitalia resting on the ground. In front of him was a half-clothed woman, tied to a post in some fancy rope configuration, and the man held her foot, licking the sole with an enlarged tongue.