Page 12 of No One Has To Know

“I did it myself,” he says. “In case you ever forget who you belong to, look to your heart. Figure, your name is already etched on mine. Only fair that you wear mine on yours… or as close to it as I could get. But just because you’re the first woman I decorated, you’re not the only one I’ve left my mark on.”

Before I can ask what he means by that, he rolls up his sleeve. His forearms are brawny and thick, with a single tattoo inked just below the crook of his elbow.

It’s a daisy. The big, bad cop has a dainty daisy tattooed on his skin.

I love flowers. I’ve spent my whole life fascinated by them, and when I would think about getting a tattoo of my own, I could never narrow down what kind of flower I would want to carry around on my skin permanently.

But Burns did—and he chose adaisy.

One of my favorites.

I don’t know what to say. I’m sure he’s showing me the tattoo for a reason, though I can’t get past the fact that he inked me while I was unconscious. Unlike his daisy, there’s no ambiguous meaning for the letters and numbers on my chest. He marked me.Brandedme.

That pussy is mine…

So, my obviously insane captor thinks, is the rest of me.

6

MACE

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to leave Angela alone so I can head back to Springfield for my shift, especially after the kiss.

I’d planned on taking it slow. Knowing I have her in my possession should’ve been enough for now. And I believed that up until the moment she tried to tell me that she’ll never stay with me.

I know her. I know her thoughts. I know her secret desires. I know what gets her hot at night, what makes that pussy grow wet, and I’m going to give her everything she wants. She might not understand that I’m doing this all for hernow, but she will. I just have to wait.

Pity patience has never been one of my strong points.

So I took her mouth.

I had to get inside of her, one way or another, to brand her as effectively as I did when I marked her with my name and my badge number.

Before Angela, being a cop was all I was. It was my identity, the reason I existed through the drudgery of day to to day life. It’s still a big part of what I am, though my pretty little florist has wormed her way beneath the armor, beneath the uniform, owning me completely from the moment she did something so sweet and innocent as giving me a fresh daisy.

Should I have shown her my own tattoo? Maybe not. I’m still proud of it. And, okay, I wanted her to ask about it, too.

I want her toknow.

At the station, my fellow cops know me as the patrolman with the gun—tattoo gun, that is. It’s something I picked up when I was in my late teens. Something about getting beauty out of pain spoke to a young Mace, and I liked watching the blood welling up on their skin as I got away with stabbing people hundreds of times. When they yelped, I grinned. Knowing I own a piece of everyone I’ve inked is a heady thought, too.

I don’t do pretty designs. It’s just not my style. Like the lines scrawled on the height of my angel’s creamy, gorgeous breast, I do names, numbers, and a pretty decent shield. Cop ink. I never even marked my body—my fucking temple—until I felt the urge to carry a reminder of my angel on me everywhere I went.

That daisy means everything to me. Once I have my ring on her finger and her ass in my bed where it belongs, I plan on having her scrawl her name on my heart. I want it in her handwriting, just like I want her to be the one to witness how pain and pleasure go hand in hand.

But that’s not today. I have to wait.

For my angel, I will.

I’ve already been more impulsive than I should have been. When I saw her leaving her apartment building last night, wearing the sweater that shows off her tits, and the jeans that highlight the curve of her ass… those were date clothes.

When the car pulled up in front of her apartment and I saw Willows in the driver’s seat? I knew exactly who thought they could steal my angel from me.

I was off duty, looking forward to the few hours I could be with Angela. When I could assure myself that she was doing fine.

Instead, it turned into a stake-out. I followed them to Mamma Maria’s, nabbing a table not too far from where they were seated.

He got eggplant parmigiana. My angel ordered ravioli.

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