Carter prayed to all that was holy that the fucking phone didn’t ring this time, didn’t interrupt his fantasy that was so close to finally becoming reality. He slid closer, cheek to cheek. “I can make you suffer, in other, more pleasurable ways, but I’d prefer you do that to me.” Lincoln’s gasp made his dick throb, and the heat that bloomed against his cheek and thighs was scalding, enough to make him draw back, wanting to see all of Lincoln in his turned-on glory—pupils blown out, lips parted, erection tenting the front of his pants. Carter lifted his eyes to Lincoln’s molten honey ones. “But holding out for a kiss, you don’t have to suffer that, L, if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to,” Lincoln said, zero hesitation.
Carter held his gaze as he shifted their positions, lifting one then the other of Lincoln’s thighs over his own. “What do you want, L?”
Taking the cue, Lincoln grabbed hold of Carter’s shoulders and levered himself onto Carter’s lap. He half groaned, half growled as he rolled his hips, magnifying the suffering tenfold. “I want you to fucking kiss me.”
As much as he wanted to stretch up and capture Lincoln’s lips, to end their suffering, Carter couldn’t resist one last needling. “Say ple?—”
Lincoln’s mouth crashed down onto his and it was entreaty enough. More than. Carter groaned as he opened for everything Lincoln had to give—tongue, teeth, lips—wanting and craving it all. Delayed gratification at its finest. Lincoln rolling his hips and rutting his arousal against Carter’s abs as his hands raked through his hair. Cradling his scalp while holding him hostage. Carter ran his hands up Lincoln’s thighs and around to grasp his perfect ass, holding tight as he thrust up against him. Lincoln moaned down his throat and tugged Carter’s head back farther, deepening the kiss. Carter surrendered to anything and everything Lincoln wanted. Just as long as he got to keep him here, in his lap, devouring each other.
Neither of them protested, but eventually the chair did, a creak that forewarned of imminent collapse under their combined weight. Carter made to move, to stand and transfer Lincoln from his lap to the table, hoping the latter would be sturdier than the chair, but Lincoln shifted first, sliding off to stand between Carter’s spread legs. Hands still in Carter’s hair, he gentled the hold and kiss, fingers playing with his curls as they wound down to light pecks.
“Fuck,” Carter panted, still catching his breath. “I’ve suffered years waiting for that kiss.”
“I suffered weeks with you in class, and those were the worst weeks of my teaching career.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
Lincoln trailed his hands down his neck and around to the hollow of his throat, making Carter shiver. “Yeah, you were.”
Carter hooked his arms around the backs of Lincoln’s thighs and eyed the erection straining toward him. “I can show you bad.”
Lincoln slipped a hand beneath his chin and tipped up his face for a hard, fast kiss. “All those years, you can appreciate a slow burn.”
“In other words, you’re gonna make me suffer some more.”
“Trust me when I say we’re both going to be suffering.”
He moved to step back, and Carter dropped his arms. He wouldn’t push. After all they’d talked about, he understood Lincoln had reservations, had other commitments to consider. And Carter had his own baggage to deal with. Still had more to prove.
As if hearing his thoughts, Lincoln paused at the hallway to his room. “If I can help you find out who you were, just say the word. But, Carter, just so you know, whatever we find, it won’t change how much I like who you are now.”
Carter’s belly swooped and his heart raced, the potential in both those offers terrifying and tantalizing. Not quite ready to go there himself yet, he relaxed into his chair and their usual smirk and snark routine. “I thought I was insufferable?”
Lincoln correctly read the call, giving Carter that out, and turned for his room, tossing a “Goodnight, Mr. Polk” over his shoulder.
“Goodnight, Mr. Polk,” Carter returned, watching Lincoln’s perfect ass strut away from him. The perfect ass—and perfect man—he’d held in his arms tonight.
Finally.
Thirteen
Lincoln was freaking out. At how fast the flicker of attraction between him and Carter had ignited into a roaring fire, at how much he genuinely liked Carter Warren, at how much he wanted to kiss him again, at the nagging reminder of how much his last real relationship had hurt his family.
Real.
And then there was that. How much of this with Carter was real? How much of what Lincoln felt for Carter and vice versa—how much of the chemistry between them—was owed to Mr. and Mr. Polk? To the temporary rings on their fingers? What would happen when they left Apex and returned to their real lives? The undercover thing put a whole other wonky layer of confusion on top of what was already confusing. Maybe he and Carter’s chemistry would be self-contained to Apex and the Polks. This could just be a random hookup.
But that’s not what this felt like at all. It felt like a second chance at a missed connection, like the time for them was finally right. Lincoln didn’t date agent trainees, no matter how attractive they were, and when Carter had cursed his lecture hall all those years ago, Lincoln had been in no position, professionally or personally, for any relationship. His focus had been on teaching and fatherhood. But now he had those two things under control, and Carter was no longer his student.
Except they weren’t compatible. Messy versus neat. Nomad versus homebody. Class clown versus the shy kid at the back of the class. Young with a headful of dark curls versus over the hill with more silver in his blond every day. Maybe if they were both thirty-two some of that could be worked out, but they weren’t. Lincoln was set in his ways, and he liked his life just fine without the complication of a relationship. He’d settled on that after the romantic flameout with Adam. Uprooting his and Elena’s lives, and Gabby’s and Trina’s roles in them, didn’t seem worth it.
Even for someone so insufferably handsome. Someone who didn’t seem the least bit fazed by Lincoln’s family. Who kissed like he’d been given the best gift of his life. Who had respected Lincoln’s professional and personal boundaries. Whom Lincoln was in a unique position to help. Carter had said last night that he would love to settle down but that he needed to find out who he was first. If Lincoln helped him do that, would Carter want to settle down, with him? The hours Lincoln had stayed up last night looking into missing persons and accident reports from thirty-two years ago had nothing to do with what he wanted the answer to that question to be.
“Hey, L.” Carter tapped his foot under the table. “Where’d you go?”
Down a path he had no business traversing on only a single cup of coffee. “Sorry, was just watching the coverage.” He pointed at the television above Flour Power’s kitchen pass-through. The national news station was running split-screen footage of Oliver leading Ruby and Chase out of the hospital and Beverley holding a press conference at FBI headquarters. The sound was off, but closed captioning on. The director thanked all the agents and local law enforcement officers who’d assisted in yesterday’s rescue. He and Carter weren’t mentioned, neither was Jeff Baxter. When one of the reporters asked about Dr. Fear, Beverley refused to comment or to take further questions. Good, they were keeping Apex and their involvement quiet. If the folks here found out there was a connection, all hell would break loose.
