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Hours later, after we’ve shared another magical night, Lincoln’s tongue traces the inside of my mouth. He pulls away, brushing his lips against mine.
My arms are still clasped around his massive back, slowly guiding my hands to his butt.
“You still taste like wine,” I whisper.
He kisses me again.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t care what you taste like when you kiss me, just as long as you do.”
He rolls off me and pulls me beside him. “Nevermore, you wore me out.”
I touch his face, running my hand through his thick hair, fully aware my heart is rabbiting in my chest.
I’m so close to saying something I can’t take back, but I want him to say it first. I’m not brave enough to go it alone and it frustrates me.
“I could stay here in bed with you forever, you know,” I tell him, picking weaker words.
He presses me closer and holds me tight, a possessive glint in his eye.
“Me too, sweetheart. With you, the world stops. I just wish it stayed paused longer,” he says with a heavy sigh.
He drifts off to sleep, and I’m left floating in this perfect haze of nerves and questions and what-ifs.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I never knew I could feel as happy as I am when I’m in his arms. He adores me, showers me with wine-flavored kisses, and the sex—the sex!
It never fails to leave me the best kind of sore, like Lincoln still wants me to feel him with every step I take.
But a voice in the back of my head whispers like rustling leaves, You’re letting your guard down. Nothing this great ever lasts.
I tell it to shut up.
It’s my natural pessimism speaking, old wounds wanting to talk crap.
It has nothing to do with me—with us.
Six feet something of chiseled muscle sleeps peacefully beside me like a lion, graceful and honest.
A man this powerful couldn’t lie if he tried.
Nothing could break him.
He’s strong, brave, intense, and for now, so loyal.
And as long as I’m with him, nothing will hurt me. I mean, he goes to a tent city multiple times a week to check on his friend and drops everything when his mother calls.
There’s a reason for his madness. It’s why he fights so hard to protect the people in his life.
“This isn’t like before,” I mouth to that annoying little chicken inside me.
Lincoln Burns isn’t Jay.
It isn’t fair to let past fears poison our present. Especially when there’s a chance Eliza’s little celebration for me isn’t premature.
I kiss his shoulder, letting my lips linger on his skin.
“I love you,” I whisper, confident he can’t hear me when he’s out cold.
I only wish I’d said it to his face.
Maybe tomorrow.
Bravery takes time—and so does love—but I’m making progress, right?
I just have to believe there’s no ugly 'other shoe' about to drop.
“Aaand that’s a wrap! Great job, you guys,” the photographer says.
He’s a tall, lanky man who almost looks like a scarecrow when he smiles and holds up his long thumb.
“Oh, thank God. My feet are about to fall off.” I hold up one leg, bending my knee to show off the six-inch white heel paired with the dress today.
Lincoln draws me closer and whispers, “I’ll make the effort worth it later, sweetheart.”
“Promise?” I lean back against him.
“Cross my heart and hope to fucking die,” he rumbles in my ear, brushing his stubble against my neck.
His heat only adds to the warmth falling down on me in lovely splashes of sunlight. It’s a breathtaking day in the park. We’ve gathered half the marketing team for this shoot, early summer in Seattle in all its sky-blue, gold, and green glories.
A bright light flashes in my eyes as I melt into him.
Ugh, it’s like I’m destined for a migraine today.
“Hey, I thought we were done?” I ask, scowling at the photographer man.
“Sorry. That was way too authentic not to capture!” He smiles sheepishly.
“Are we finished?” I look up at Lincoln, imploring him to call it good.
“Yeah, we’ll have material for months. Let’s pack it in.” He snaps his fingers at the photographer. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”
He moves to my side and takes my hand. We start for the sidewalk.
It’s honestly sweet how this is a normal park and sectioned off for us, but he still escorts me like a bodyguard in Wyatt’s neighborhood.
Ch-ch-click!
My ears throb at the noise that follows us.
“Jeez. He’s still taking pictures, isn’t he?”
Lincoln smiles. “Can you blame him? Might be his only shoot for weeks with a beautiful woman.” He lowers his voice. “If he wants to rip that dress off, he’s not the only one. Of course, he’ll hurt for his trouble.”
Lincoln’s fist swings up, joking but not joking.
“You’re so bad.” I laugh before I can cover my mouth.
He stops moving and leans forward, staring at my lips. “I’m not bad. I’ve just been cursed by a little soul stealer,” he growls.
