CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Owen
Against my better judgment, I arranged for Tabby to fly down to New Orleans the following day. I waited for her at the airport in the back of my limo just like I had the last time she’d visited, but the nerves swirling around in my stomach were of a different breed. I wasn’t excited. That wasn’t to say I didn’t want to see her because I certainly did, more than I’d ever wanted to see anyone in my life, but the nature of the visit was one I dreaded. She had insisted on coming down, however, either on my dime or hers, and I definitely wasn’t going to allow her to pay for her own flight so I’d conceded and bought the ticket.
I wasn’t done with the argument, though. We still had seven full hours before we had to be at The Blackjack Club, and I intended to spend them using everything in my book of tricks to talk her out of the nonsensical idea of her standing up there to be bid upon by any number of interested men.
My first and largest concern was for her safety. The members were rabid, and a large percentage of them truly believed her to be the culprit behind the explosive reveal of our society. Just bringing her there at all was risky, but permitting her to get up before them and offer herself up was unimaginable. They would eat her alive — in all respects of the phrase, and I wasn’t fond of any interpretation.
“I need your help,” she said without preface the moment she strode out of the airport and approached my car, a thick sweater wrapped around her thin frame. As usual, Stephan took her bags and settled them neatly in the trunk while I helped her into the vehicle.
“With what?” I asked, hoping against hope for some mysterious reason she needed assistance gracefully ducking out of her plan.
She shuffled herself around the curved seat to make room for me and straightened her skirt over her knees. “I borrowed a bunch of dresses from Heather, and I need you to help me pick out the best one to wear tonight.”
My jaw clenched, and I clambered in after her with renewed determination. “You didn’t have to borrow anything from Heather. I would’ve bought you something.”
“Not like these, you wouldn’t have,” she contradicted, eyes glittering. She snagged her phone from the interior pocket in her purse and directed herself into the gallery of photos. I was greeted by the sight of Tabby’s luscious figure snugly confined inside a tight sapphire dress with so many cut-outs around the waist it looked more like a matching two-piece outfit than one single garment. “Thoughts?”
I frowned so deeply it actually hurt. “Did I mention you’re not going to be standing for a week after this?” I quizzed. “Because, if that doesn’t change your mind about going through with this, I can promise you I’ll make it a month if you wear that.”
“Excuse me, but I’m not asking for permission,” she said with defiance. “I’m just looking for your opinion.”
I met her eyes, letting her see how serious I was. “My opinion is in favor of making you scream until you completely lose consciousness.”
She frowned. “Fine.” Sliding her finger across the screen, she turned the phone toward me to show me the next picture. This dress was more conservative, though barely so, with a skirt that ended where her butt began and so many red sequins it might as well have been paired with the ruby slippers Dorothy wore in The Wizard of Oz. “How about this one?”
“Better,” I said begrudgingly. “Any more?”
The third picture revealed a piece that couldn’t have been considered anything other than lingerie, and the fourth was the flouncy style of a Japanese schoolgirl with a neckline cut so low her nipples would’ve been in constant danger of slipping out. I sighed and looked at her imploringly, hoping boyishness would appeal to her sympathies.
“Won’t you just let me take you shopping?” I pleaded. If she agreed, I could figure out a way to drag the shopping trip out long enough to potentially miss the window for her to enter herself into the auction.
“Owen,” she scolded.
I groaned. “The red one.”
She sat back on the seat and stuck her phone back into her purse. I was wildly hungry for her and wanted to take her right there, to claim her as mine before she became up for grabs, but the way her legs were crossed and her arms clamped rather tightly to her sides made me think she was less than eager to fornicate in the backseat of my limo.
Was she still suspicious that I’d taken Pippa up on her offer?
“I missed you,” I murmured. I was testing her response, but I also meant it.
“I missed you too,” she said back, offering me a small smile. So, she wasn’t mad at me, but there was definite reservation emanating from her. I dismissed any notions of hiking her skirt up and shoving my mouth between her legs in favor of gentle affection, and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull it back. I lifted it to my lips and placed a very soft kiss on the top knuckle of her forefinger, watching her reaction carefully. She smiled again. I kissed the second finger, then the third. The corners of her mouth twitched, and I wondered if she was inclined to make that soft laugh I loved so much. If she was, I wanted to hear it at least once before we got to my house and I pummeled her with more arguments against going to The Club tonight. I nibbled her pinky playfully. The sweet, sweet sound of a delicate laugh whispered from her lips, and I was satisfied.
Content to finish the remainder of the drive home holding her hand and breathing in her scent, I went over the various talking points I’d compiled in my head. Once we were up in my bedroom, I started reeling them off.
“These men are powerful people, Tabby,” I informed her somberly. “They have big connections far and wide, and they could seriously hurt you. In a myriad of ways.”
“Such as?” She was distracted with the task of pulling the dresses out of her suitcase and laying them out on my bed to consider them side by side. Evidently, my choice in the limo was a mere nudge in one direction rather than the final word.
I glared at the offensive blue dress. “For starters, they can make sure you never land another gig or have your reputation crushed on social media. You’ll have to figure out a different career path, and even that might be difficult.”
“And, of course, there’s the whole mob hit thing to worry about,” she quipped airily.
My gaze hardened as I turned it to her. “That’s not funny. Or unrealistic.”
She shrugged and shook out the red dress, then stood back to study it. “That won’t be a problem when they realize I’m not the one who talked to the press,” she dismissed. “What else you got?”
“Because that’s not enough?”
Her eyes couldn’t have rolled farther back into her head.
“Well, on the same token,” I continued pointedly, “everyone there tonight is probably going to suspect you’re wired and trying to gather evidence to prove your alleged claims.”
“I already thought of that, which is what these are for,” she announced, brandishing a hand across the smattering of outfits.
“Yeah, and that brings me to my next point.” She raised a questioning brow at me, and I lowered my voice a note. “I don’t want another man to have you.”
For the first time since she’d first brought up the idea in the first place, Tabby actually paused to think about what I was saying. She eyed me contemplatively for a long breath. Then, she promised, “I belong to you.”