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She didn’t want or need to be protected from hard reality. Least of all from a man who was in her life only for a short time.
“Lincoln, I don’t need you to shield me from anything.” She stroked her hands to his shoulders. “But I owe you an apology. I bought into this mythology about Lincoln Atwood, this genius author who immerses himself in experiences, and I don’t think I ever considered the dangers and risks of what you do.”
His mouth compressed. “Compared to the soldiers doing their jobs or the refugees trying to find a safe place to live, I’m not taking any big risks.”
Grace rubbed her fingers over a thick ridge of scar tissue on his upper arm. “When you grow up on a farm, you’re not supposed to think of the animals as pets.”
He settled his hands on her hips. “Not even Cupcake?”
“Cupcake was definitely my pet.” She smiled wryly. “But I had a terrible time not thinking of all the other animals as pets, too. Especially when I saw them being born. I got so attached to all our animals, even though I knew some of them would get sick and die or we’d eventually have to send them away. I saw a lot of pain, too. And it broke my heart, but the fear of loss didn’t stop me from falling in love with them. Do you know why I learned it was okay to feel that way?”
He shook his head, his gaze on hers.
“Charlotte’s Web.”
“The book?”
She nodded. “I understood exactly why Fern wanted to save Wilbur. And the rhythms of the farm, the natural world, the cycle of life and death…I related to all of it. That book showed me that loss can never diminish the power of love and friendship. In fact, that’s what makes it even stronger.”
She kissed the area under his black eye. “My point is that books can change and help people. They can shape society and culture. Writers are important. I mean, don’t even get me started on Shakespeare, obviously. So you shouldn’t minimize what you do and the lengths you go to in order to tell your stories. You have something to say, and you’ll never know all the ways you’ve affected and changed readers. Don’t take that away from them by downplaying your efforts.”
She settled her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. He tightened his grip on her hips. His low murmur of approval elicited a glow in her belly.
She parted her lips to deepen the kiss and wiggled against his thighs. She loved that she had no self-consciousness with him—in fact, she felt as if she could be as bold as she wanted to be. Not only would Lincoln welcome her boldness, he would encourage it.
“You sure you’re okay?” He slid his hands around to squeeze her ass.
“Mmm.” She trailed her mouth across his cheek and down to his strong neck. “Better than ever. But this time, it’s my turn.”
She slipped his shirt off and pressed her lips against his scarred shoulder. He tensed, his hands stilling, but he didn’t move to stop her.
Grace kissed the damaged skin, traced the raised, rough lines, and shifted over to his chest. She followed a path all the way down the middle of his abdomen, pausing to lick his navel before moving lower.
He tangled his hand in her hair. “Grace…”
Emboldened by the strained note in his voice, she took her time exploring his powerful body. Everything about him both fascinated and aroused her. His breath grew increasingly heavy, his grip on her tightening, until finally he dragged her back up for another warm kiss.
She sank against him, pressing her hand to his heart. They fell so easily into the space of slow caresses, sexy whispers, and the smooth, deep joining that locked them into a rhythm as natural as the rising of the moon. As the intensity grew, she gripped him tighter, and he thrust harder.
The delicious churning of need began low in her core and spread outward before exploding in a tumultuous sunburst that wrenched a cry from her throat. Seconds later, Lincoln went over the edge with her. As their bodies tensed and their breath merged, she lost track of where he left off and she began.
