Page 131 of For the Sub

Right then, a man wearing a top hat and a long-tailed formal jacket zipped by on a unicycle.

“Unbelievable.” She laughed. “What a contrast to last night’s event, right?”

“Couldn’t be more different.”

A few minutes later, he asked, “Were you able to make arrangements for someone to take care of the Hess Zoo?”

“Thank you, yes. I called my neighbor while you were in the shower earlier, and he agreed to check on them. So that means I’m free until mid-morning then I have to get back in time to go to work at the Den.”

Though he nodded as was expected, he ran his finger between his neck and the collar of his shirt. All of a sudden, he was uncomfortable with the idea of her being a submissive for other men. He wanted Brandy on her knees, greeting him.

Only him.

He had no right to ask that of her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted.

“Is that okay, Sir?”

He looked at her to find her eyebrows drawn together. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I was saying there’s a store in Larimer Square I’d like to stop in on the way back, if you don’t mind? One we saw earlier this morning.”

Pretending he wasn’t fighting possessive jealousy, he asked, “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Candles. For your place, Sir.” Then she hesitated. “Uhm… Unless that’s too presumptuous?”

For his place. Not for any other man’s.

That should have soothed his savage beast.

But it didn’t.

“If it’s not okay, I understand. Not everyone enjoys shopping.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, keeping his short temper on a leash.

Again, she looked at him quizzically. “You’re sure?”

“Candles it is.” But his voice held a strain that he hoped she didn’t question.

After dinner, they walked back up the mall, dodging pedestrians and stopping to watch a woman who created charcoal caricatures in less than two minutes.

“I want one of us,” Brandy said.

“Are you serious?”

“Do you ever do anything spontaneous?”

“No.”

“You do now, Sir,” she said, digging a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet.

The artist directed Brandy to sit on a stool, and he stood behind her.

With a few dozen, economic yet bold strokes and blurring the lines with the heel of her hand, the woman created a portrait that captured his expression—happier than it had been in years, and yet pensive at the same time.

The piece of paper rolled, wrapped in a rubber band and safely tucked inside her purse, they headed for the shop in Larimer Square.

She picked out several candles, one that smelled like vanilla, the other unscented. After selecting two glass holders for them, they ordered a rideshare and drove back to his LoDo loft.

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