You Own Me by Carpenter Adam

Author:Carpenter, Adam [Carpenter, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Ravenous Romance
Published: 2012-09-11T22:00:00+00:00

4

He’d said he’d tell him when they met again, and two days later, here they were.

“Own.”

“I’m sorry. Own? Did I hear that right?”

“Actually, it’s Owen,” he said with a smile that widened his face and exposed dimples beneath his blond scruffy cheeks. “But as a child I couldn’t pronounce the second syllable, so it came out sounding like Own. My older siblings and parents thought it was cute, and so that’s what they started calling me and I never thought to change it, not when I went away to college or came to New York.”

They were enjoying a bottle of Dom Perignon while sitting on the balcony of Sinclair’s Park Avenue apartment, and finally he was learning the truth behind the name. That night, in the crimson glow of the room where they’d experienced their first—but not last—sexual encounter, the man had admitted his name but told him there was a story behind it and he would tell him when not in a state of undress, “not while recovering from an orgasm that split me.”

Sinclair was not so easily susceptible to compliments, but he enjoyed that one.

He knew there was a certain amount of truth behind it, because Own struck him as a man not in search of a sugar daddy and for whom any fortune that came his way would be because of his hard work. He was strong and confident and could live life on terms he set. Sinclair was impressed at the man’s drive and he realized that what exploded inside that private room was not something one could plan on. What should be a passing indulgence, lasting as long as was paid for, had shifted as a connection was made between Sinclair and Own. Now, nearly forty-eight hours since their agreement for Own to make a visit to his apartment, the bubbly was reaching the bottom of the bottle.

“Another one?” Sinclair asked.

“Why not?”

So Sinclair returned to the kitchen and grabbed the second bottle from the fridge. When he returned he undid the foil and popped the cork and the sound filled the night like their voices had shaken the room the other night: loud, explosive, contents spilling out. With mutual smiles exchanged, two fresh glasses were poured.

“To the good life,” Own said and raised his glass.

“To the nights,” Sinclair said.

Own paused mid-drink. “So, you didn’t invite me here to get the story behind my name.”

“No, but I did ask you to my place to get to know you better.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What brought you to New York?”

“What brought you?”

“A question followed by a question. I was born here. Spoiled Upper East Sider.”

“Iowa,” Own said.

Sinclair guffawed, nearly spilling his champagne. “That’s not even funny.”

“No, but true.”

“And your reason for leaving?”

“I was a cook back home, short order. I want to be a chef. So in relation to Manhattan, my hometown seems stuck in time.”

This time Sinclair emptied his glass. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Nope. But it’s looks like I’m freaking you out.”

“Will you come with me?”

“I thought I already had.

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