Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out by Shiloh Walker Page B
Authors: Shiloh Walker
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probably wasn’t ideal for people in some professions to let that sort of thing get out.
Even Noel’s picture was vague, an image of his lower face, his mouth—which was one of his better features, really.
What do you want to know, O ?
She typed it before she could talk herself out of it, and then she tapped on the avatar, watched as it enlarged so she could stare at the tattoo there. It was on his palm.
Script, stark and simple.
You own me
She wondered who he’d gotten it for. Why he was here on this site if he’d once been so thoroughly committed to another.
His answer came up.
Everything.
Her breathing hitched.
Trying not to be overwhelmed, she answered back, including a smile to hopefully lighten things up.
Wow. You don’t believe in starting out small, do you ?
She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
We can take it in small bites. Maybe over dinner. Are you up for that, Tin Lizzie?
Her heart fluttered in her chest. A mad, almost desperate fury took her and she almost, almost said no.
“Why?” she whispered, the word echoing in the silence of her shop.
But the answer was simple, really.
As much fun as she’d had with Loren, as much fun as she had flirting with a few of the others guys on the site, there was only one who’d unsettled her like this, made her even a little bit breathless. She didn’t do well with being thrown off balance.
She liked being in control—she never was in her personal life, but maybe somebody who just handled things could help her there. She wanted to know somebody was in control.
That was the whole reason she’d been attracted to Noel—that take-charge attitude had soothed her.
She wouldn’t be in control here.
And something told her that Oleander wasn’t the kind of man to have civilized polite relationships. He’d want…
Everything .
She eyed the avatar again.
You own me
Swallowing, she typed out her response. It was a question of her own.
His answer was simple.
I’ll tell you at dinner. When can we meet ?
Chapter Five
Decker had an unfair advantage . Several of them really.
He planned to use them to the fullest, too.
He called Kona, the riverside restaurant that Lizzie loved, and booked one of the private areas off the deck.
When she called in the middle of the week and told him she was meeting somebody there for dinner, he grunted, kept his answer to a minimum. “Why there? Thought you were hanging out at the bar until you got to know these guys better.”
“He…um, well. We wanted to do dinner. I thought it would be okay, as long as you all were around. You…you don’t mind, do you?”
“Nah.” He closed his eyes, hoped Selah wouldn’t wreck it. He’d already called her, told her. She’d crowed for ten minutes and then promised she wouldn’t give anything away. “I haven’t had a decent steak in a while. I can eat and hang there while you look for Prince Charming.”
The last time he’d teased her about finding her fairytale prince, she’d laughed him off.
This time, she said, “Thanks.” Then she hung up.
Tossing the phone down on his bed, he looked at his hand and rubbed the tattoo. It was faded. Ink didn’t stay all that colorful on the palm, not with sweat and work and all that. But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t for anybody but him.
It had been done in prison and it was quality work. He actually had a cellmate who used to be a tattoo artist on the outside—a skinny guy with a big mouth who knew his way around prison life. After a few uneasy weeks while they circled each other, they’d settled into something of a friendship. And then the guy had, out of the blue, asked him if he would ever get any ink on the inside.
His first response had been no.
Then he’d shrugged. I don’t know.
Gotta be careful, man. How you do it. Clean needles or you walk out of here with HIV, hepatitis . He’d slid Decker a look. I can get shit in here. Anybody
Even Noel’s picture was vague, an image of his lower face, his mouth—which was one of his better features, really.
What do you want to know, O ?
She typed it before she could talk herself out of it, and then she tapped on the avatar, watched as it enlarged so she could stare at the tattoo there. It was on his palm.
Script, stark and simple.
You own me
She wondered who he’d gotten it for. Why he was here on this site if he’d once been so thoroughly committed to another.
His answer came up.
Everything.
Her breathing hitched.
Trying not to be overwhelmed, she answered back, including a smile to hopefully lighten things up.
Wow. You don’t believe in starting out small, do you ?
She held her breath as she waited for his answer.
We can take it in small bites. Maybe over dinner. Are you up for that, Tin Lizzie?
Her heart fluttered in her chest. A mad, almost desperate fury took her and she almost, almost said no.
“Why?” she whispered, the word echoing in the silence of her shop.
But the answer was simple, really.
As much fun as she’d had with Loren, as much fun as she had flirting with a few of the others guys on the site, there was only one who’d unsettled her like this, made her even a little bit breathless. She didn’t do well with being thrown off balance.
She liked being in control—she never was in her personal life, but maybe somebody who just handled things could help her there. She wanted to know somebody was in control.
That was the whole reason she’d been attracted to Noel—that take-charge attitude had soothed her.
She wouldn’t be in control here.
And something told her that Oleander wasn’t the kind of man to have civilized polite relationships. He’d want…
Everything .
She eyed the avatar again.
You own me
Swallowing, she typed out her response. It was a question of her own.
His answer was simple.
I’ll tell you at dinner. When can we meet ?
Chapter Five
Decker had an unfair advantage . Several of them really.
He planned to use them to the fullest, too.
He called Kona, the riverside restaurant that Lizzie loved, and booked one of the private areas off the deck.
When she called in the middle of the week and told him she was meeting somebody there for dinner, he grunted, kept his answer to a minimum. “Why there? Thought you were hanging out at the bar until you got to know these guys better.”
“He…um, well. We wanted to do dinner. I thought it would be okay, as long as you all were around. You…you don’t mind, do you?”
“Nah.” He closed his eyes, hoped Selah wouldn’t wreck it. He’d already called her, told her. She’d crowed for ten minutes and then promised she wouldn’t give anything away. “I haven’t had a decent steak in a while. I can eat and hang there while you look for Prince Charming.”
The last time he’d teased her about finding her fairytale prince, she’d laughed him off.
This time, she said, “Thanks.” Then she hung up.
Tossing the phone down on his bed, he looked at his hand and rubbed the tattoo. It was faded. Ink didn’t stay all that colorful on the palm, not with sweat and work and all that. But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t for anybody but him.
It had been done in prison and it was quality work. He actually had a cellmate who used to be a tattoo artist on the outside—a skinny guy with a big mouth who knew his way around prison life. After a few uneasy weeks while they circled each other, they’d settled into something of a friendship. And then the guy had, out of the blue, asked him if he would ever get any ink on the inside.
His first response had been no.
Then he’d shrugged. I don’t know.
Gotta be careful, man. How you do it. Clean needles or you walk out of here with HIV, hepatitis . He’d slid Decker a look. I can get shit in here. Anybody
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