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Had Lincoln been right? Was she really hiding behind her spinster schoolteacher façade because she was scared?
Not that he was one to talk, Mr. Macho Cowboy who ran with the bulls and got into fights but refused to have sex with her. Maybe he didn’t think she’d be enough of an adventure.
She stabbed another ravioli. “So what’s going on with the town council initiative?”
Because she was a good friend, Bee took the cue and began talking about the library and the town council. They topped off their dinner with a shared slice of thick chocolate cake. Grace promised to talk to Lincoln about the library program and gave her friend a hug before they parted ways.
Outside, a heavy rain had started falling. Grace hurried to her car and got into the driver’s seat. Pulling a number up on her phone, she texted her father an apology for being the food police and said she’d see him soon for their usual Monopoly date.
She drove home, flicking on the windshield wipers. As she turned on to Sycamore, she noticed a large, black car parked across the street from her cottage.
Her heart crashed against her ribs. That looked like—
She pulled into the driveway and squinted at the front porch. Lincoln stood by the door, his powerful figure cast in shadows and light from the glow of the porch lamp. He was facing her, his arms crossed.
Grace stared at him before turning off the car. She picked up her purse and hurried through the rain. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.” His voice was implacable.
“Too bad.” She shoved past him to unlock the door. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Then I’m quitting the teaching job.”
“Hah.” Grace shoved the door open and stepped inside. “You’re many things, but a quitter isn’t one of them. Nice try.”
“Grace.” He flattened his hand on the door to stop her from closing it. “Please.”
She gripped the doorknob. His damp hair was stuck to his forehead and his eyes glittered like bronze medallions. The bandage on the cut marring his cheek was starting to come unstuck, and the bruise under his eye had turned an ugly shade of greenish-black.
She stepped back, pulling the door open wider. He followed her in and shut the door. She tossed her purse and keys on the foyer table.
“The time for civil conversation has passed,” she said tartly. “So whatever you want to say, please make it quick.”
“I…” He stopped and scraped a hand through his hair. “I need to…I mean, what I said earlier about…it’s not that I don’t want…oh, hell.”
In two strides, he closed the distance between them and hauled her into his arms. His dark eyes seared right into her, shocking her with heat. Before she could take a breath, he lowered his head and kissed her hard.
The earth tilted. Fireworks exploded through her veins. She couldn’t move, but it turned out she didn’t have to. Lincoln lifted her off her feet and pushed her right up against the wall, his mouth still locked deeply to hers.
Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist. His body was a hot, tense fortress of muscle and strength. She folded her arms around his shoulders and gripped the back of his shirt, though she knew she didn’t have to hold on to him for security. He wouldn’t let go.
With a rumble of satisfaction, he settled his lower body between her legs and tilted her head back. Everything inside her seemed to unfasten and arch toward him. His kiss was open and greedy, filling her with an aching urgency for more.
All fear and uncertainty melted away like ice on a hot pane of glass. She’d meant it when she’d told him she knew herself. And she’d felt all along, down to her bones, that he wasrightfor her. Right now. Right here.
He braced one hand on the wall beside her head, holding her in place with his other arm and the weight of his body. Hungrily he moved his lips down to her neck, where he licked the ridge of her collarbone and murmured something low and guttural.
Grace pulled in air. Her heart hammered. The heavy bulge in his jeans was pressing up against her, making her quiver all over with need.
“Lincoln…”
He lifted his head. His eyes burned. Firelight and honey. She pressed a hand to the uninjured side of his jaw and rubbed her thumb across his lower lip.
He captured her wrist. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth. “I need you to be sure.”
“I’m sure.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I need you to admit this isn’twrong.”
They stared at each other. The air crackled. His breath brushed her lips.
