Table Of ContentMoreland Brothers 1
Bound by Accident
Makenzie has given up much to help her loved ones. She gave up
on her hopes and dreams of artistic fame. Her life consists of her
job, making love with herself, and painting in the wee hours of
night. Until one fateful Friday ends with her car pinned to a tree.
The man who helps her that evening belongs to her. She sees it in
his eyes, intense and burning.
Charyn Moreland is a Master of bondage arts, yet no woman ever
touches him. He stopped looking for Ms. Right after catching his
ex in bed with his brother years ago. But once he encounters
Makenzie at the scene of a terrible car accident, their gazes lock
and he is going to have her regardless of what he has to do. She
is his.
But after a single night of scorching passion, can he convince her
to trust him?
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Interracial
Length: 63,905 words
BOUND BY ACCIDENT
Moreland Brothers 1
Jennifer Willows
EROTIC ROMANCE
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
BOUND BY ACCIDENT
Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Willows
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-912-1
First E-book Publication: November 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
To my father, you were a wonderful man and your daughter
misses you every day. My only regret is that you didn’t get the chance
to know about the fact that I’m now a published author. You would
have been so proud of me.
To my loving husband, Maurice, you make every moment of life
with you one of adventure and spice. I am the luckiest woman in the
world to have you supporting and loving me. Plus, you gifted me with
two big-head children who are too smart for their own good.
To the persons who edited my book, thank you for helping me
create a work that I am proud to show the world. I thank you from the
bottom of my heart for the criticism and compliments.
Last, but not least, thanks to the friends in my life who dealt with
my attitude and lack of phone calls when I was a busy little bee
working on this book. Lunch is on me, ladies.
BOUND BY ACCIDENT
Moreland Brothers 1
JENNIFER WILLOWS
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 1:
Tale of Two Cities
Five years ago, New York City
Makenzie Stafford-Johns was not having a good day. She looked
at her haggard reflection along the mirrored gallery wall. Her face,
while still the same, was pinched and flustered. On a good day,
Makenzie was usually compared to Jill Scott, with her medium-brown
skin, delicate features, wide eyes and mouth. She was built like Jill,
too, on the thick side on a bad day at a size twelve. Her breasts were a
full D cup, and she had just a little behind. Enough so she wasn’t
entirely flat in back, although most men in her experience preferred
more.
The reason she looked so haggard was bad news, although it had
been awhile since she had any of the good variety either. Deciding she
needed time to think, she left work at the gallery early and walked to
the nearest entrance to the subway. Her mom had called her on her
cell, just before her last break of the day. The news she had gotten
during the call made her scared, more than scared. Hell, terrified may
be more appropriate. Her mom had cancer, and her insurance dropped
her when she got laid off last month. The seemingly innocent
Bound by Accident 9
conversation replayed in her head over and over again during her trip
home.
“Makenzie, I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“I always have time for you, mom. What’s up?”
“I’m sick.”
“Do you need some money? I have some extra cash I can send if
you need to pick up some TheraFlu or something,” she had said, even
as the thought crossed her mind that it wasn’t really extra if she
wanted to eat something aside from Ramen noodles this month.
“It’s not that kind of sick baby, although I wish it was.”
“Then what kind, mommy?” Her mom was silent for long
moments. Enough time to have her check the phone to see if the call
dropped.
“I have breast cancer.”
If she didn’t make a way fast, her mom could die without
treatment. She took the way home on autopilot, not seeing anyone or
anything around her. This was a dangerous undertaking at night in
this city, especially considering her youth and beauty. She had lived
here for two years, one of them with her boyfriend, Sean. When she
walked in the door of the apartment, she was sobbing, unsure of what
to do or how to do it.
She met Sean a year ago at a soiree the university was having at
the gallery. At the time she thought him handsome, with his dark-
brown bald head and long, lean body. When she spoke to him, she
was sprung, as she loved nothing more than a big brain. But in the
time they were together, they barely had sex. If she was lucky it was
once a month. Most of their relationship had been spent working on
his doctoral thesis, and he wouldn’t change his drawers or eat if she
left for too long. They were more or less roommates at this point, and
Makenzie didn’t think he’d realize it if she just suddenly up and left
for good.
Speaking of which, Sean was sitting at his computer as usual, so
lost in theorems that he didn’t hear or see anything but the complex
10 Jennifer Willows
codes in front of him. He lived, slept, breathed astrophysics, and was
working on a theory that would change the world of space travel.
Makenzie, used to being ignored in favor of intellectual pursuits, just
walked to her room, still sobbing. Picking up the beaten, old cordless
phone next to her side of the bed, she dialed her best friend Charli’s
number by rote. Her friend kept her sane these last couple of years,
even with the distance between Wilmington and New York.
Especially with the time she wasted, years of trying to make it in the
city, her paintings not exotic enough in a period of distinct “isms.”
Most popular artists now didn’t create an individual, realistic work.
She worked in a gallery, and most of the stuff that sold was crap.
To Makenzie it was simple. Regular, everyday people like real art,
not this frou-frou garbage without substance. Yet after many hours
wasted walking the streets of New York, in two years, no one had
taken more than a cursory glance at her portfolio. Gallery owners
would do a sweep, eyes scanning like they didn’t see her or her work.
Their final expressions always appeared the same, a collective and
resounding, “How unfortunate for you.” As though her work was
crap, and it wasn’t. She knew it. But as circumstances lay, dreams or
not, she had to go home. Her mom needed her. The phone was
ringing, and seconds later, her friend greeted her.
“Hey, boo!” There was a lot of noise in the background. Charli
was most likely at a party, having the time of her life.
“Hey.” Mak knew she should try to keep the sadness from her
voice, but she needed her best friend to care. She lived in a city with
millions, and ninety-nine percent of them wouldn’t spit on her if she
were on fire. It was a world of difference back home in East
Bumfuck, North Carolina. Folks in small towns were nosy. If
someone blew a flat, their first cousin would know two hours later.
Then the same cousin will call, fussing, because there was no phone
call asking them to come and fix it.
“What’s wrong? Hold on.” Charli’s voice was going in and out,
and when she spoke again, she was somewhere blessedly silent. “Now
