Bonds of Courage by Lynda Aicher

stack of papers was impressive but nowhere near as daunting as the many contracts he’d read. He trusted his agent, but he hadn’t slept through his college business classes either. It was his life and he wanted to know exactly what he was agreeing to.
    And that was the purpose of this exercise.
    He rolled his shoulders and picked up the papers. He scanned through each page, getting a confirmation that he’d guessed right. The list of BDSM activities was a surprising eighteen pages long. Those were followed by a page of expectations from her. Rules, as she’d said.
    Rules.
    Am I really looking for this? His leg bounced, the doubt edging in for the first time. Seeing it listed out on paper made it very real. And very cold.
    He looked up, glancing around the room and what he could see through the archway into the kitchen. Everything was pristine. Walls painted in rich colors were paired with hangings and pictures that made the rooms welcoming, if not used. The counters were a dark marble, the appliances stainless steel, cabinets a cherry wood.
    The décor and furnishings of Vanessa’s house wasn’t very different from his, but the feel definitely was. He always had stuff scattered across the kitchen counters, his dining table was used as a mail sorter, and there was usually at least one pair of shoes under the island bar, left there after he’d slipped them off while eating.
    Focusing back on the papers, he picked up the pencil and started down the list. He was to rate each item on a scale of interest and note if he’d done it before or not. He methodically went through each one and scored them based on his first reaction, which left a lot of them marked as curious. He’d done so little that rating based on experience was impossible. However, he was still on the first page when he marked his first hard limit. It was an amazingly thorough list that included things he’d never considered or wanted to do.
    Bestiality? Yeah, no.
    He had no idea how long it’d been before the click of heels echoed up the hallway to drag him from the papers. He looked up as she entered the room. The sun had set, the shadows growing longer with the dimming light.
    “Are you done?”
    He glanced down. “Almost. I was just reading through your rules.”
    She sat back down and drew the completed stack over. “Finish. I’ll look through these.”
    It was hard to concentrate with her next to him. He was aware of every movement she made. Each time she flipped a page over, tucked her hair behind her ear or wrote something on the paper. Her perfume lulled his senses, muddied his brain until the words blurred on the paper before him.
    “You’ve been reading that page for five minutes. Is something wrong?”
    He snapped his head up, his breath trapped in his lungs. “No.”
    “Do you have questions?”
    He did. Lots actually. But the first one that came out probably wasn’t the place to start. “Is it always this impersonal?”
    She sat back, brows drawn together in a confused frown. “What do you mean?”
    He waved his hand at the papers and her. “It’s just...” He searched for a word. “Cold.” Like the ice he skated on almost every day of his life.
    “It can be. If that’s what the participants want.”
    “Is that what you want?” He hoped not.
    She inhaled, the curves of her breasts rising with the edge of her shirt before she exhaled. “Not usually. When I’m engaged in a Scene, I prefer to be close to the sub. But there are times when distance works better.”
    He made a pointed glance around the room. “Is this one of them?”
    She studied him for several long moments before scooping up the papers and rising. “Follow me.”
    Shit. Now what? He slumped back, eyes tracing the pattern of the textured ceiling before the click of the heels halted. “Mr. Hauke?”
    “Holden,” he mumbled.
    She came back around the corner, but he didn’t look at her. “What’d you say?”
    “My name is Holden,” he answered, his