Deceptions: A Collection

by Shiloh Walker

  He didn’t show his face, but that was okay.

  Some people didn’t. She could understand it. Her pictures didn’t clearly show her face. She was looking down or had her hair obscuring her face. Anything to keep her from being identified if the pictures were seen by people who knew her. The site went from just those looking for a casual hook-up to some serious kinks and it 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?

  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 can, if you know the right people. I know the right people. You ever want ink, come to me. I do clean work. Maybe we can work out a deal.

  The deal had been muscle.

  Luther had been nearly sixty at the time, whipcord lean, strong. But he was the sort of man who said what he thought and that didn’t always work out well in prison life.

  Unless of course you had the kind of muscle to back it up.

  Even from day one people knew why Decker was in jail.

  When a former high school football star all but tears a man apart with his bare hands, word gets around. Decker had been heading to college on a scholarship, too. The news had gone national.

  People had come at him from day one, trying to beat him into the ground. He’d had one thing in his mind—Lizzie had cried and made him promise he’d be okay.

  The only time anybody ever took him down was when they managed to corner him, four or five on one. They got tired of it after a while.

  It wasn’t a bad deal, all in all. He’d gotten his ink, Luther didn’t get hassled.

  The first one had been the one on his hand.

  He’d made Lizzie promise him she wouldn’t blame herself, but he knew she did. It was okay, because she couldn’t help it. She had a soft heart and that soft heart was part of why he loved her, why he always had. She was everything he’d never known, growing up in a roachbox of a house, dodging his drunken father’s flying fists almost from the time he could walk.

  She was sunshine and sweetness and all things soft and kind.

  And she owned him.

  That was his promise to her. Here, tucked in the palm of his hand where he’d kept it hidden from her and the world, was his promise.

  She owned him.

  And on Friday, he’d have to finally confess that to her.

  “You’re having a lot of fun.”

  Guiltily, Elizabeth looked up as Noel dropped into the seat next to hers at the little two-top she’d taken over at the back of her shop. She needed to go out and get lunch, but she hadn’t had a chance, as busy as they’d been. She was making do with a giant cup of coffee and a breakfast Panini that hadn’t sold.

  And instead of going over invoices, she’d been on Wanna Play.

  “Hey, Noel.” She smiled at him, although the smile didn’t seem to come as easily as it once had.

  “Elizabeth.” He slid his eyes over her, lingering on her hair—she’d let it dry loose, the curls flowing down past her shoulders. Then his gaze moved on down and he reached out, stroking his hand across her skirt-clad thigh. “I thought you’d gotten rid of all of these. They aren’t very flattering.”

  “They’re comfortable,” she said. Something clutched her throat tight. “I bought a couple over the weekend. How are you?”

  “Fine. I was thinking about seeing if you wanted to get a late lunch.” His gaze moved to her computer. “But you look…occupied. And you look like you’re enjoying it.”

  Lifting a hand, she went to close the laptop. “What do you mean?”

  He stopped her, turning the monitor to face him.

  “Noel, don’t—”

  “Hey, we agreed to this,” he said easily. “Remember? It’s part of being open. And besides…this is what I’m talking about.”

  She didn’t remember agreeing to letting him read through her messages or poke around on her timeline. He reached up and tapped a message, one that had come in from Loren.

  Can we go out again sometime soon? Elizabeth, I had the most amazing night. I keep thinking about your mouth. Your eyes. That body of yours…

  His next mes
sage was even more explicit and she reached out, tried again to shut the laptop.

  “It sounds like you two had fun,” he said, his voice easy, but there was a bite to it. “How many times have you gone out?”

  “Once.” She shrugged, kept it casual. The vein in his neck seemed to be pulsing now, no matter how easy his voice sounded.

  “Hmmm.” He tapped something and she jerked her head around to see the screen.

  He could be reading the post from O. That…

  She had to press her thighs together and even that didn’t stop the ache there.

  You keep asking about the dream, so I’ll tell you. We were at the beach. Alone. Do you like the beach, sweet Lizzie? You were naked and I had my hands on those big, beautiful breasts, squeezing your nipples while you rode my cock. Are you blushing yet, Lizzie?

  She had been blushing.

  And her face was flaming red again as she felt Noel’s eyes on her.

  “Liz, I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to do this. This is humiliating you.”

  She gaped at him. “What?”

  “The way they are talking to you, about you…” He reached over and tried to take her hand.

  She jumped out of her seat so fast, it fell over.

  “What?” she said, her voice rusty.

  “This…” He shook his head and waved at the screen. “They’re talking to you like you’re some sort of slut. This is embarrassing for you. I’m sorry I pushed you to this.”

  “A slut.” Eyes burning, she stared at him. “You think they’re treating me like a slut because they want me? That’s supposed to embarrass me?”

  “Men want sex. You’ve made it clear you’re willing to provide it.”

  “Get out.” The words ripped out of her, tight and cold.

  She didn’t know who was more surprised by it, him or her.

  “Now, Elizabeth—”

  “Get out,” she said again, flinging a hand toward the door.

  Slowly, Noel rose, becoming aware of the people turning their gazes toward them.

  Elizabeth wanted to squirm and draw in on herself, especially under the hard look he was giving her. He snapped her laptop shut and reached up, caught her arm in a tight grip. “If I’d realized you would behave so childishly, I would have waited to have this conversation later. But we can rectify that. Come on. We’ll go to your office and discuss this in private,” he said, his voice brutal and harsh.

  She twisted away, or tried to.

  Now everybody was ignoring them.

  “Let me go and get out of my shop, Noel. We can discuss it later.” Or never, she thought, while something ugly and frightened brewed inside her. He cut a look at her and she jerked in earnest against his grip as he continued to pull her toward the back of the shop.

  That look in his eyes—why hadn’t she ever seen that? She should have. Because she knew that look.

  Terror drove her and she reached out, grabbed one of the pretty glass mason jars she’d used for vases. She swung out with it. It hit him, not hard, on the temple, but it shocked him enough that he let her go.

  “You little—”

  A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. A low, ugly voice whispered in his ear, “Finish it. Please. You’ve got no idea how much I want a reason to tear you apart.”

  It was insane that she could feel relief, cold terror and a thread of excitement, all at once.

  Dazed, she shifted her attention to Decker but he only had eyes for Noel. Blue eyes glittered with the fires of hell while flags of color rode on his high cheekbones. The dragon tattooed on his arm seemed to writhe and shift, preparing to attack. When Noel tried to move away, he simply shifted his grip to the front of his shirt, holding him in place with ruthless ease.

  “Touch me and I’ll call the cops. I’ll have you fucking arrested,” Noel said, his voice a sneer. “You’ll go back to jail, you worthless piece of shit.”

  “Not before I break you into a thousand pieces for touching her,” Decker promised. He lifted a hand and almost casually, traced a finger down Noel’s cheek. “You got any idea how much damage I can do to you in sixty seconds flat?”

  Noel’s mouth opened, closed soundlessly.

  “That’s right,” Decker murmured, leaning in closer. “Be afraid, son. You’re about to hurt like you’ve never hurt.”

  “No, Decker,” Elizabeth said, reaching out and grabbing his arm.

  He tensed, but he didn’t move away.

  His gaze cut to hers. “He hurt you.”

  “A little.” Then she reached up and touched his cheek. “It’ll hurt me more if you end up in trouble over him. You’re right…he’s not worth it.”

  He let Noel go, shoved him away so fast and sudden, the other man ended up tripping on his feet and crashing into a table before he promptly fell on his ass.

  Elizabeth’s skin prickled, heat rushing over her as he moved in to stand next to her. “Touch her again, son,” Decker promised. “And you’ll find out. I might even break my record—and break you in forty-five.”

  Slowly, ignoring the snickers coming from those around him, Noel rose, staring at Decker. “Threats go over real well with your parole officer?” he asked.

  Decker tensed but she laid a hand on his chest and moved forward. “Probably as well as the video I’ll send to your boss will go,” she said, drawing Noel’s attention to her. When he looked at her, she nodded to the camera in the corner—one that had caught every last second on video. Holding out her arm, she bared the bruise already blooming on her skin. “Especially when I show her this.”

  Her comment hit home. Noel’s boss spent a weekend a month volunteering at a women’s shelter—Noel bitched about it, and often, because he complained that he wouldn’t advance with her around because she kept harping on civic responsibilities.

  “We’re talking about this,” Noel said, his voice flat.

  She shook her head. “There’s not much to talk about. You wanted me to lose weight. I did.” Too many were looking at her now and she couldn’t believe she was spilling herself like this, but too much had been trapped inside her. For far too long. “You didn’t like my hair, so I tried to wear it the way you liked it. I dressed too outlandishly for you so I changed that, too. You wanted an open relationship. I was willing to try that. But I won’t let you insult the people who matter to me. And you will not threaten them. If Decker has any trouble, now, five months from now, five years from now, I’ll show that video to whoever you’re working for…then I’ll go to the cops.” With a brittle smile, she added, “Then I’ll post the damn video on Youtube…with a link to your LinkedIn profile.”

  Jutting her chin toward the door, she said, “Get out.”

  There were certain things in life that were just facts. They sucked, but they were facts.

  Fact one—Lizzie had a bruise on her and that prick Noel had put it on her, just as certain as he’d put those angry tears in her eyes.

  Fact two—as much as he’d like to batter the son of a bitch for it, he knew what would happen. No way was he going back to jail for this. If Noel had really hurt her, nothing in heaven or hell could protect the man, but Decker wasn’t relinquishing his freedom just yet.

  Fact three—Lizzie was crying and that meant he couldn’t even go after Noel and threaten him.

  With his lap full of angry, hurt woman, all he could do was hold her and stroke her hair.

  And on occasion, if he let himself breathe a sigh of thanks that she’d finally dumped the ass, well, Decker was only human.

  One small fist clenched in his shirt and he covered it with his, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her skin as he stared up at the ceiling. She curled in closer and he gritted his teeth, thought about every ugly, painful thing he’d ever been through—the worst beating he’d taken from his father. The way it had felt the first time they slammed the doors behind him. The fear he’d felt that one time he thought he’d really been cornered and he just might end up getting raped in jail.

 
Even that wasn’t enough to cool the fire in him, not when Lizzie pressed her face to his neck and continued to cry.

  There was only one thing to be done for it.

  He shifted on the futon she laughingly called a couch and stretched them out, rolling up on his side, but using his knee to keep her from cuddling in too close. The knee didn’t stop her. She just went with it until she was practically riding his thigh—fuck—and her face was still tucked up against his neck while she cried, which was killing him.

  This was hell, he thought, miserably. His body was in full-blown ready to fuck mode, while everything else in him just wanted to do whatever it took to make her feel better. To stop crying. To realize she was better off without that user in her life.

  That was why it happened.

  That was completely why it happened.

  Why when she sucked in a breath and looked up, his name a whisper on her lips, he didn’t steel himself the way he should have.

  Why he looked at her and let himself touch her. He was trying to comfort her.

  That was why he wiped the tears away and when she turned her face into his hand with a broken little sigh, he pressed his lips to her temple.

  That was why he let himself kiss her again, a little lower on her cheek as a startled noise left her. “Decker…” she whispered.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered against her cheek. “He’s not worth it. He’s not worth you.”

  She sniffled again and turned her face toward his.

  She did that.

  Her lips glanced off his and maybe it wasn’t a real kiss, but it felt like one—or the closest he’d ever gotten to a real kiss from her. At least since before the day he’d fucked it all up and scared her. Scared her into taking off into the arms of somebody who’d just hurt her, bruise her, use her—

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered again, rubbing his lips over her cheek before he went to kiss the tears away.

  She lifted a hand to his cheek.

  He went still.

  When her thumb brushed over his lower lip, he shuddered. Don’t do anything. Don’t. Just don’t…