Bound and Determined - Sierra Cartwright

A Total-E-Bound Publication
www.total-e-bound.com
Bound and Determined
ISBN # 978-0-85715-556-6
©Copyright Sierra Cartwright 2011
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2011
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and
events are from the author’s imagination and should
not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, events or places is purely
coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced in any material form, whether by printing,
photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the
written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound
Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first
instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this
publication may result in civil proceedings and/or
criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their
respective rights under the Copyright Designs and
Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as
the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing,
Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United
Kingdom.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit
content which is only suitable for mature readers.
This story has been rated Total-e-melting.
BOUND AND DETERMINED
Sierra Cartwright
Dedication
For BAB, lover of all things ménage!
Chapter One
Bollocks.
Jack Quinn propped his elbow on the polished
wood bar of the lower downtown pub and drank
deeply from the pint of stout as he watched the petite
and smoking hot Sinead O’Malley move into action
for a solo.
He’d seen pictures of her—his sworn enemy—
online. His luggage contained a folder full of
information about her.
He’d chased her across two continents and
through half a dozen cities in the United States. He
thought he knew everything about her yet nothing had
prepared him for the first in-person sight of her.
He’d known she was an Irish step dancer, but
the dossier provided by his grandmother’s people
hadn’t mentioned that the talented Ms O’Malley also
played three different types of drums as well as the
bagpipes.
Seeing a good-looking woman, enemy or not, in
snapshots was one thing, but he’d had no idea he’d
have such an immediate, raw, unwanted masculine
reaction to seeing her athletic body.
Her cutoff white T-shirt was too tight across the
swell of her breasts and left part of her toned midriff
bare. If she was wearing a bra, it wasn’t very
serviceable. He imagined he could see her nipples
all the way from here.
Her kilt was way too fecking short. It barely
covered her well-shaped arse. And when she
danced he saw a pair of sexy black knickers. At
least she wasn’t commando beneath the skirt.
Her muscular legs were bare, and her socks
had pooled around her ankles.
Even though he watched her squeeze the pipes
from halfway across the pub, his cock hardened.
Noise in the room diminished as gazes turned
towards the stage. Every man in the place was likely
sporting an erection. Lust was palpable. If she were
his woman, he wouldn’t stand for her being dressed
that way in public and he’d want her wearing a whole
lot less in private.
He took another long drink from the glass. He’d
be needing another pint in only minutes. A man
needed fortification to manage the likes of Sinead
O’Malley and manage her he would.
He wouldn’t be leaving Denver without her in
tow. He intended to possess her. Ride her. Claim
her. Dominate her. Make her his submissive. Claim
her as his.
The eight-hundred-year feud between their
clans ended now even if he had to tie her to his bed
and spank the sass out of her.
Since it wouldn’t be seemly to drag her off the
stage, bend her over, yank down her knickers, make
her call him Sir as he fucked her ragged on top of a
table, he bided his time.
She’d started dancing with the group a few
years ago as a way to pick up a little extra cash. He
hadn’t taken the time to listen to the CD provided of
her music and he was surprised by how much he
enjoyed the sound of the Celtic-infused rock band
that pulled from all nations. Or maybe he was just
intrigued by the lass and wasn’t really hearing the
music.
All the other band members fell silent as she
worked the pipes.
A spotlight hit her. He recognised the Kelly
tartan…from her mother’s side of the family. The
Kellys were one of the few Irish clans entitled to wear
a tartan—the same as the royal house of Stewart.
Because of the distance and the way she held
the bagpipes, he couldn’t quite read the writing on
her white T-shirt. The distance and dim lighting
made it impossible to see her eyes, even though the
information he had on her said they were green.
Then again, the file said she had blonde hair. It
hadn’t mentioned the fiery highlights that seemed to
ignite in the overhead lighting. It hadn’t mentioned
that the lengths fell in bedroom-like disarray across
her forehead and around her face and shoulders.
It looked the way it mi...