Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2)

L
icense Notes
:

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

T
o the fourteen
individuals who cared enough and took the time to review my first book, your words and thoughts matter to me, so this book is for you.

O
h
, and to Steve Martin, yes, that one. Apparently, I’m a way bigger fan than I realized.

T
ori approached the local airstrip
.
So, this is where people with private planes take off.

There were some nice-looking private jets off to the right, behind the building. The kind you see in movies, planes you could imagine Sylvester Stallone getting an operations brief on while he flew into another country on some hush-hush black op that “wasn’t really happening,” the kind where denial was SOP. Tori had never flown in one of those. W
ouldn’t it be nice, though?

There were also some questionable-looking aircraft—backyard builds and gliders, along with Cessnas that seated four, including the pilot, and had room for two bags, maximum. Tori knew her boyfriend, Richard, wouldn’t spring for one of the Sylvester Stallone deals for her. He was thrifty as Hell when it was his dime; she was more than likely to end up in one of the backyard-built gliders.
Thrifty didn’t matter when it was her money
, she thought, bitterly. Glancing in the back of her Jeep, she wondered if her bags would fit. The time for
what ifs,
was over, it was time to get this show on the road…or in the air as it was.

Hell, she was surprised his cheap ass was springing for this trip at all. That’s why she had a feeling there was a deeper purpose. Maybe he had gotten a divorce and was ready to take their relationship to the next level.

Tori was hesitant to leave Florida with so much shit up in the air, but she felt there was an importance to this trip; so did her mother, Francis. The timing sucked to say the least. Walker had his head up his ass about his relationship with her best friend, Erika, and she and Melanie were trying to launch their dream business of a couture boutique for woman with a lifter’s physique.

She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone yet, but she also wanted to devote more time to grief counseling. It was one area of her life that was untainted by all the typical bullshit that came with being an adult. The purity of helping others added balance.

And of course, she hated leaving her Great Danes, Sixx and Mars, with her brother for months. They were her babies after all.

Speaking of babies.

The decision was made to go through with her plans for having a child, with or without a man. She had been waffling about it for years, but at thirty-two, her biological clock sounded like Marisa Tomei’s heel on a plank porch in Alabama.

A scene from her mall trip yesterday played on a loop in her mind—an ecstatic pregnant woman trying on a romper in the maternity store, being embraced by disembodied masculine arms, sporting the same Breitling watch she wanted to get for Richard.

There was a familiarity to the scene that bothered her. She wished she could have glimpsed the man’s face, but he was partially hidden by an alcove. The watch, however, had resonated with her. Her attempt to purchase one was squashed when the jewelry store sold the watch out from under her while she was shopping for this trip. Shaking off her musing of
Breitling Man and Romper Woman
, Tori unloaded her Jeep and headed for the lone building.

She dragged her oversized rollers to the lounge area, and the lone occupant there questioned, “Would you happen to be Ms. Reid?” At her nod of agreement, he continued. “I’m John, I’ll be flying you out to Black Oak airstrip, then escorting you up the mountain. I’m not all that familiar with the area around Black Oak Lake, but I’m an ace in the air, so, we’ll figure the rest out. This all you got?” John grabbed her luggage and headed for the double glass doors that led to the planes she’d spotted on the drive in.

Silver fox alert
, she giggled to herself. Mr. John Pilot Man had almost a decade on her. In addition to his good looks, his easy-going, slightly-cocky demeanor didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated by Tori. John struck her as someone she would love to hang with and have a beer, but he seemed younger than he looked. It had to be the attitude, which is precisely why he was Mr. John Pilot Man. In her head, she said it like an announcer would a super hero name. As the announcer voice in her mind cleared, she realized she was looking at another man in a way she hadn’t since meeting Richard.
Is there something to that
?

“Thank you, John, and call me Tori, please.” She spoke to the pilot, but was secretly chanting,
“Don’t turn left, don’t turn left, don’t turn left,”
in her head. Fat lot of good that did because Mr. John Pilot Man turned left, and headed in the direction of the gliders.
Shit.

Either she spoke aloud or he could read the disappointment on her face. “A lady as beautiful as you should never have cause to frown like that. Let me guess, you’re thinking I’m fixing to shove you and your luggage into one of those?” He indicated toward the “redneck specials,” as she thought of them—something a guy named Roscoe builds in his free time with his buddies under the tree in the front yard of his trailer while making case after case of Coors disappear.

“No worries, we’re taking off in this beauty right here—a Cessna 182.” He slapped the side of the plane next to them appreciatively. “She’s in perfect shape and can handle both of y’all and your bags.” He made quick work of loading her bags and assisting her into the plane. “Just step right there on the wing and up you go. Normally, I let all the beautiful ladies ride up front with me, so I can impress them with the way I handle a plane, but I’m giving my friend, Michael, a lesson today.”

John apparently mistook her dumbfounded look—shock over her appreciation of another man—as fear of this other pilot. “Don’t worry Tori, it’s just some flight currency stuff with Michael, it’s not like it’s his first time or anything. He’s been flying for years, taught him myself.” With a wink, he turned and started his cursory inspection of the aircraft.
Another silver fox to fly with? No problem at all, especially if he’s as complimentary as this one.
The announcer voice returned to proclaim,
Mr. John Pilot Man and Wingman Michael will save the day!

Richard wasn’t the most generous with compliments, to say the least, so the thought of a man appreciating her and stating it was…heavenly. Hell, Richard hadn’t told her she was beautiful since before they had sex the first time. He took a more critical approach to things, including her. Scratch that, especially her. Perfection was the standard he applied to everything around him.

If Tori didn’t have a healthy body image before she’d met him, she would certainly have some major issues and a disorder or two by now. There was never a kind word about her physical appearance or encouraging her dreams or goals. Richard always said some variation of,
“Oh baby, you don’t need to worry about anything in life, as long as you keep up your body and age well,”
whenever she mentioned moving beyond a job that required a bikini. Of course, that was when he wasn’t harping on what she ate or suggesting she hit the gym for an extra hour. “
Cardio only, no more of that weight lifting bullshit, you’re starting to look like a man,”
he’d say.

Sadly, Richard didn’t know anything about her, not really. He didn’t have a clue she volunteered at the crisis center. Hell, he didn’t know what college she’d gone to or what she majored in. She was grossly overqualified for her job with the watersport event organizer. Richard didn’t realize she worked there with her friends because she enjoyed it, not because she couldn’t get a better job. He didn’t even know her middle name.
And you think a proposal from him will fix all of that?

Thinking about it now, Tori was beginning to understand why her friends called him
The Dick
. Of course, they left of “the” to her face, but she knew.
How can you not see what’s happening, this is your arena after all?
You know if it were a woman coming to you for counseling, you’d spot it a mile away.
Her mood—that Mr. John Pilot Man had just buoyed—was sinking fast.

Whenever doubts about Richard and their relationship crept into her consciousness, she squelched them on the quick by reminding herself of how much they loved each other. Now that she’d decided to bring a child into the world, that wasn’t quite up to snuff. She not only questioned if their love was genuine or simply based on comfort and familiarity, but also if she wanted a man like him to be the dominating male influence in her child’s life.

No! No! Darn it, Tori, stop thinking like this. Doubting Richard’s love for you simply because an attractive man tells you how pretty you are? Or, yours for him because a silver fox winked at you? No wonder Richard won’t propose, he doesn’t want a wife who would shame him. Richard always says…

Tori’s self-chastisement was abruptly halted when John entered the cockpit again, dipping the plane under his weight. “Here comes Michael now. We’ll take off in two shakes.” John looped a headset around his neck, opened his checklists, and started flipping switches. Tori let her eyes drift in the direction he’d indicated Wingman Michael’s arrival.

Her gaze landed on the most perfect specimen of sex on a stick she’d ever been blessed to behold, and he was making his way toward them. This was most definitely
not
a silver fox, not even close. This was a twenty-something, scorching hot male model who just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. She could picture the book jacket reading something like…
A hero with tattoos covering his hard exterior and pain covering his soft interior. A rock god by night and a buttoned-down, white collar professional by day.

Tori’s imagination went bat shit crazy as he seemed to strut toward the plane in slow motion while the muted strains of “Love In Stereo” accompanied his measured, panty-melting approach in her head.

As a rule, Tori didn’t find younger men attractive, but to label him attractive would be to call a Prada bag an average purse or an ‘09 Opus One a decent red. This man is the standard by which all other men would be measured now that she was aware of his existence.

Black dress pants hugged his quads with gracious perfection, making her want to cling to him like the fabric. His crisp, white shirt moved fluidly with his torso, revealing an exquisitely furred chest through the vee. The top two buttons were freed, allowing the edges to billow with every step, teasing Tori with tiny glimpses of his hidden ink, and the casually-rolled sleeves afforded a peek at the art gracing his muscular forearms.

Trying to shake herself free of his trance was futile, his presence demanded undivided attention. The closer he got, the harder it proved to breathe. When her perusal of him finally reached his face, drawing breath wasn’t her most critical issue. Her heart stopped beating in her chest for what felt like a lifetime, only to start again in sync with the rise and fall of his. It was unsettling the way she felt her body try to harmonize with his.
What voodoo did Mr. Do Me On The Tarmac Please, possess?

Apparently, being a well-formed man was a voodoo unto itself. The slow motion movement in her mind didn’t alter reality. She shook her head and he began moving in real time, looking just as enticing.

Michael made it to the plane and opened the door, announcing, “Let’s get this tin can airborne.”

That voice, that scent, those eyes…if it was possible to orgasm from those three things alone, Tori would need a smoke right about now. As it was, she would most certainly need a change of undies. If he kept talking and breathing and…existing, both John and Michael would see her O face and know she was not a silent lady when it came to, well, coming.

This man was delivering a whole butt-ton of firsts, and breaking all her trends. First was his age, not her thing. Second, his looks. Not only did Tori go for older men, she liked them fair—light hair, light skin, light eyes—the opposite of her own looks. He was only one for three. Hair as black as night not only framed his face and tumbled with abandon just enough to kiss his shoulders, it also graced it as dark scruff, and harsh eyebrows. It gave him a rather severe, brooding piratical look, but that softened oh so sweetly when he smiled, making him appear like an exotic Native American-looking slice of man cake.

That smile also revealed dimples that a girl could do tequila shots from. But it was his eyes that snared her gaze and challenged her vocabulary.
Blue? No, not blue. Ice blue? Again, no. Cornflower? Uh, silver? Maybe. Silver ice? That’s more like it.
This man made her want—want to be looked at with love, want to be appreciated by a man like him, want to feel cherished—all things she hadn’t realized she was missing until the moment she looked into the face of the man she inexplicably wanted to change her life somehow.

It was his scent that put the final nail in her slutty thoughts coffin—leather. It had to be fucking leather, only her favorite smell in the world. It was all she could do not to rub her naked ass across the leather couches in the furniture store because that earthy aroma just did it for her.

Shit, her self-imposed abstinence was getting tested. Richard told her it was a stupid idea to cut sex from their relationship, but she’d insisted, explaining it was because he was still married and she wanted to make sure there was more to their relationship than sex, and that was true, for the most part.