Branded: You Own Me & The Virgin's Night Out Read Free Page B

to her, inked with dark swirls.
    Letters rode down his spine—far more elegantly scripted than she’d have expected prison tattoos to be.
     
    No Regrets
     
    It was the only scripted tattoo on him. All the others were designs and she wished she had the right to lean against him and study every last one in detail.
    But th e No Regret s she knew well.
    He’d showed it to her once—only once—when she’d tried to tell him she was sorry.
    She’d been so busy staring at the wide shelf of his shoulders, the way his back tapered down to narrow hips; it had taken her a minute to see what he was showing her.
     
    No Regrets
     
    He didn’t regret what he’d done.
    Well. Maybe he didn’t. But she did.
    He made an odd grunting sound and she withdrew behind the wall, resting her back against it for a minute as she fought to steady her breathing.
    Then, as she heard the couch squeaking, she padded out into the living room, just in time to see him lift dark, heavy lashes.
    “Morning.”
    He grunted and turned, shoving his face into the back of the couch.
    “I’ll make you some coffee,” she said.
    By the time she returned, he was sitting up, his red hair mussed, dark blue eyes still clouded with sleep, but a smile kicked up the corners of his mouth. “Hmm. Heaven.”
    “Flattery will get you coffee,” she said, setting it on the table before she went to head to her room.
    He caught her wrist.
    “Not so fast, Lizzie,” he said, his voice gruff. She tried to tug free, but the look in his eyes, on his face was pure Decker—he was like a stone. He wouldn’t budge and he wanted answers.
    Sighing, she sat down on the table in front of him, tucking her sleepshirt around her legs. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to go crazy,” she said.
    His eyes narrowed. “I can’t make that promise until you tell me what’s wrong.”
    “I can’t tell you until you make the promise.” She glared at him.
    “Fuck.” He dragged a hand down his face and looked away. “Did that sack of shit hurt you?”
    She hesitated too long and he shoved upright, a growl rumbling in that big chest of his. “I’ll kill—”
    “No.” She caught his arms, had to push against him to make him stop. “Decker, he didn’t hurt me…like that, okay? He just…”
    She swallowed the knot in her throat, the humiliation a living, breathing thing inside her. Decker was trembling under her hands, a flush spreading up from his chest to stain his cheeks red as his fury grew. But he caught her up against him, his hands ever so gentle as he stroked a hand down her spine. “Easy, sweetheart. Easy…come on, sweet Lizzie…”
    The words sent a shiver down her spine, memory burning in the back of her mind. She bit back a gasp, only because she couldn’t ever look at with that memory burning in her mind.
    “He wants…”
    He cupped her face in his hands and lifted, until they were gazing
    at each other. His blue eyes, so dark and warm, watched her…watched, waited.
    “He wants to date other people.”
    • • •
     
    Stunned, feeling a little lightheaded, Decker stared at Lizzie, almost afraid to believe it. “He…what, he broke up with you?”
    She shook her head and the misery on her face only grew. “No. He wants an open relationship…where he sees other people. And me.”
    The fury was back. Just like that. It grabbed him by the throat and squeezed until he saw red. But he was better, older, cooler than he’d been ten years ago and he fought the fury back down. “An open relationship,” he said, his voice flat.
    “Yeah. It’s like where…”
    “I know what it means. Please tell me you told him to kiss your ass.”
    Her gaze fell away.
    Sighing, he stroked his hands down her arms and stepped away. His frustration bubbled inside, threatened to boil over. She deserved so much better than that son of a bitch. Of course, he wasn’t exactly better but he loved her.
    Had almost from the first. It was just…impossible.
    “I told him I