In a Bind

Until now. There was something so compelling about this man. Zoe half wished she hadn’t traded sections with Erica. Perhaps during the flight she would’ve learned something about him that would’ve rendered him less appealing. He could be married…with a house full of kids…involved in shady business dealings…a male chauvinist…with objectionable views on the human condition.

As if he sensed her attention, he turned his head and smiled, then gestured her over.

Zoe had no choice but to comply. Her heart rate increased with every step. She stopped next to his seat and leaned close so their conversation wouldn’t wake the other passengers. “Yes, Mr. Cannon?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Zoe, but I left something in the pocket of my suit jacket and I didn’t see where you hung it.”

He smelled of some lingering, unidentifiable spice that warmed her lungs. “I’ll get it for you,” she murmured.

“Thank you.” His mouth curved into a smile that extended to his remarkable, sexy eyes that simmered with just enough merriment to dispel any idea she might have had that he was dangerous.

The coat closet took her out of his range of sight, which gave her a few minutes to compose herself. She was behaving like a schoolgirl, allowing a man’s physical presence to affect her. This wasn’t like her. She put her hand to her forehead and acknowledged the elevated heat. Maybe she was coming down with something. She exhaled slowly. Yes, with a little rest and a couple of aspirin, she’d be back to herself again.

Zoe found Mr. Cannon’s jacket and pulled it out of the closet. When she folded it over her arm, though, something fell out of the inside breast pocket and landed by her foot. A black jeweler’s box—ring size. She scooped it up and looked all around to make sure she was alone. Stroking the velvety surface, she fought the urge to peek inside. An engagement ring, perhaps? It seemed likely, since Mr. Cannon wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

It was the crazy, unreasonable pang of jealousy toward the unknown woman that brought her back to earth. This was insane—she should be thinking about the engagement ring on her own finger rather than worrying about the possible romantic liaisons of a perfect stranger.

Disgusted with herself, she dropped the box back into the coat pocket and carried it to him. He nodded his thanks and reached into a different pocket to remove a PDA device. “I hate this thing,” he said ruefully, “but I can’t live without it.”

Apparently his mind hadn’t been on whatever was in the box—just like hers shouldn’t be.

“Mr. Cannon, the crew is getting ready to change, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll say goodbye.”

Interest lit his eyes. “You’re going off duty?”

Dismayed by the way her body responded to his slightest signal, she moistened her lips. “Yes. Enjoy the remainder of the flight.”

She straightened and moved down the aisle to confer with the attendant who would be taking over her section. Erica walked up, wearing a frown. “Gee, that hunky Aussie is a dreamboat, Zoe, but he’s kind of boring. Although he did seem to watch you pretty closely….”

“I didn’t notice,” Zoe said lightly.

Erica looked intrigued. “If you say so. How was the married couple?”

“Still married, miraculously.” Zoe retrieved her shoulder bag from storage. It was silly, but she was the tiniest bit glad to know that Colin Cannon hadn’t hit on the vivacious, blond Erica—he wasn’t a player after all.

Not that it mattered to her.

A few minutes later, she sank into the assigned coach seat she would occupy for the six hours remaining in the flight.

She should’ve gone to sleep immediately. Her body was tired and her lower back ached. But her mind refused to shut down, not ready to turn away from the Aussie in first class whose green eyes had scoured her body with unabashed sexual interest. It was flattering…made her feel vibrant and desirable. Because as much as she was sure of Kevin’s love for her, he wasn’t exactly the passionate type. Sex ranked somewhere below fantasy football and training for his next long-distance bike race. They hadn’t slept together in weeks because of their schedules and all the wedding preparations. She’d convinced herself it was okay—it would make the honeymoon even sweeter.

But she was lonely…and Kevin’s inattentiveness had left her feeling as if she’d sprung a leak.

Before her mind spun off in a dangerous direction, she pulled out the three-ring binder that contained all the details of “Zoe and Kevin’s Wedding.” Inside were pages and pages of samples and order forms and receipts and schedules. Still to be decided was the seating arrangement at the rehearsal dinner and the reception, the music mix for the band, the decorations for the head tables, gifts for the wedding party and the marriage license.

As well as roughly one thousand other details.

From her bag she pulled her mail that she’d bound with a rubber band. Lately her box was crammed with brochures from photographers, caterers, florists and travel agencies. But scattered among the advertisements were contracts that needed to be reviewed and signed, and invoices that needed to be paid. She flipped through the envelopes and fished out a bill from the bridal shop, a reservation form for the limo service and a contract from the videographer. There were cards from friends and relatives who couldn’t make it to the wedding—she and Kevin would open those later.

She glanced at the next envelope, which had a return address of Jacksonville, Florida—something from Covington Women’s College? Then she smiled. It was probably a copy of the alumni newsletter, featuring a notice of her upcoming wedding. Grateful for a little light reading, she opened the envelope. But instead of a newsletter, she pulled out a cover letter enclosing a purple envelope that seemed distantly familiar. Intrigued, she scanned the letterhead—Dr. Michelle Alexander.

Zoe frowned. Her former college instructor?

Dear Ms. Smythe,

You were a student in my senior-level class titled “Sexual Psyche” at Covington Women’s College. You may or may not recall that one of the optional assignments in the class was for each student to record her sexual fantasies and seal them in an envelope, to be mailed to the student in ten years’ time. Enclosed you will find the envelope that you submitted, which was carefully cataloged by a numbered code for the sake of anonymity and remained sealed. It is my hope that the contents will prove to be emotionally constructive in whatever place and situation you find yourself ten years later. If you have any questions, concerns or feedback, do not hesitate to contact me.

With warm regards,

Dr. Michelle Alexander

Zoe laughed to herself. The Sexual Psyche class had been called Sex for Beginners by all the students. She remembered the class, the smothered giggles and eye-opening lectures, the confident, curvy instructor. She also remembered the confess-your-fantasies assignment, but she couldn’t recall what she’d written.

Fingering the purple envelope, Zoe was suddenly nervous. She was on the verge of getting married. Was this really the best time in her life to review what sexual desires had once stirred her soul?

2

ZOE STARED AT THE ENVELOPE holding the letter she’d written to herself ten years ago and scoffed at her fears. What was she afraid of? The purple envelope wasn’t exactly Pandora’s box—it wasn’t likely to unleash some sort of unforeseeable chain of events. Instead, she’d probably get a good laugh over her schoolgirl musings.

She glanced at the passengers sitting on either side of her—the woman to her left was awake, but reading a book. The woman to her right was juggling a sleeping toddler. With her privacy assured, Zoe slipped her finger under the flap of the envelope and pulled out two folded sheets of stationery. The handwriting was hers, neat and slanted. Pulled along by nostalgia, Zoe read the letter she’d written for her eyes only.

Dear Zoe,

It’s me—your twenty-two-year-old self writing to say that when you get this letter, I hope you have everything in our life figured out. I hope you’re married to a great guy and contemplating a family. I say this because I hope between now and then, you will have explored the world and yourself, and will be satisfied that your choices are good ones.

Dr. Alexander asked us to write down our sexual fantasies because she says that unless we know what turns us on physically, we can’t ask for it or expect it from our partners. And that we’ll never be truly fulfilled in a long-term relationship unless our partner knows and understands our innermost fantasies, no matter how outrageous they might be. She says that the strongest emotional connection comes from an intense physical connection, and a strong physical connection is the foundation for intimacy and fidelity. If someone is getting everything they need from one person, Dr. Alexander says, they’ll have no need to stray.

I like the sound of that because fidelity is very important to me. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want someone to be with me and not be completely happy…like my parents. Arguing is their only form of communication. I want to ask them sometimes why they stay together because they obviously don’t like each other. I hope they’re not together for my sake because they’re miserable, and I’m miserable when they fight.

Anyway, I haven’t had that much experience with sex. I’m not a virgin, but so far, to be honest, sex has been disappointing. Every time I’ve gone all the way with a guy, I hoped it was going to be the way I imagined sex would be—mind-blowing. Like a drug, something you can’t live without. But it never is.

Maybe it’s my fault. Because I’m outgoing and I speak my mind, I think guys assume that I want to take control. I’ve never told anyone that what I really want is to give up control. What I really want in my secret of secret places is to be tied to a bed…to be handcuffed…to be strapped down. And to be made love to six different ways.

Zoe looked up from the letter, her face heated. The words made her squirm in her seat—it must have taken a great effort for her to write them ten years ago. And if she remembered correctly, a great relief. With no small amount of trepidation, she continued reading.

It sounds dirty, which is why I’ve kept this to myself. I’m not looking for someone to mistreat me—I don’t want that kind of man in my life. But someday I hope I’ll meet the right guy to share my fantasy, someone I trust not to hurt me, someone who won’t judge me, who won’t think any less of me for wanting to explore the darker side of sex, the pleasure and the pain. Someone who knows when to stop, and when to push beyond. Someone who is also looking for that deep emotional and physical bond that Dr. Alexander described to us.

So, Zoe, wherever you are, I hope you found that guy. For both our sakes.

Zoe glanced up from the letter, her heart thudding. Her mind sifted through the internal revelations unveiled in what was supposed to be an innocent letter written by a naive college student. Instead it planted seeds of troubling thoughts. What if the naive letter writer had had more insight and wisdom than her grown-up self? She put her hand over her mouth, shaken by the prophetic words she’d written as a young woman.

“Are you okay?” the woman next to her asked kindly.

Zoe turned her head and registered that the woman was beautiful—short, spiky black hair with a pink streak and oddly colored eyes. Maybe violet? It was hard to tell in the low lighting. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“I hope that isn’t bad news,” the woman said, nodding to the letter.

Zoe hastily refolded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. “No. Just a note from an old friend, that’s all.”