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Chapter 19
The next morning, Lincoln didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to the motel. Didn’t want to run on the beach, wander around town, return to the gym, or look for something else to do. After last night, all he wanted to do was be near Grace.
He wanted to hover around her, get in her space, and rub her ass whenever he got the chance. He wanted to listen to her talk, and he wanted to watch her work. He wanted to stare at her big, hazel eyes and her perfect body while thanking whatever gods existed that she’d somehow decided he was the “right lightning” for her.
The intensity of his need—hiscaring—might have made him wary, if he’d bothered to examine it too closely. Instead, he focused on her rather than himself. They both knew the reality of the situation, but he’d enjoy every minute of what they had now.
After she assured him she had no plans for the day, he scooped her up and carried her into the shower, where he soaped her down and proceeded to show her, unscientifically, how a combination of water and lather could generate an explosion.
He couldn’t get enough of her genuine pleasure and delight in everything they did. He couldn’t get enough ofher.
Later, Grace made them some coffee and they lazed on the sofa. She tucked herself against his side, a warm, soft bundle of femaleness that stirred him all over again.
“Hey, what changed your mind?” She rested her head on his shoulder. “After all your grumbling and stalking out of my house, I thought you were done.”
He pressed his lips to her temple. “Yeah, I’d been trying to tell myself that ever since you told me about your cat.”
“My cat?”
“Uh huh.” He ran his hand over her hip. “About how you hadn’t been looking for a cat, but then you saw Viola and couldn’t stop thinking about her. And when you went back to the café, you found out no one had taken her, and you knew it was meant to be…well, hell. I realized even then I could feel the exact same way about you, except…you know. As a man and a woman. Not cats. Obviously.”
Christ, he was an ass.
Grace lifted her head, her eyes bright with warmth and amusement. “Well, right now I’m as content as a well-fed cat lazing in a patch of sunlight. I won’t run away, either.”
If she did, he’d move heaven and earth to find her. The thought caused a strange ache in his chest.
She gently touched the bruise on his face. “What was the fight about?”
“About thirty years in the making.”
Her expression darkened. “With Sam?”
“In the boxing ring, not a back alley.”
“Bee said you’re trying to get him to come work for Folio.” She rubbed his thigh. “He doesn’t want to?”
Lincoln shook his head. “I want him to take the last vacant seat on the board of directors and help rework all of our genre fiction imprints. Unfortunately, he’s not interested.”
“So you and he duked it out in the ring?” Grace lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like a scene from a Lincoln Atwood novel.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Maybe it’ll become one someday. Speaking of my brother, he asked me to come over for dinner next week. Well. Brooke suggested it, and he’ll do whatever she wants. Will you come with me?”
“They invited you, not me.”
“Brooke won’t care.” He was certain about that, at least. “In fact, she’d love having you there. She’s incredibly warm and generous. She reminds me of you. Which also makes me wonder what she’s doing with my brother.”
Grace gave him a look of amused reprimand. “Go to the dinner by yourself, and be nice. This is your chance to settle things with Sam. You don’t want to leave without achieving your goal.”
Lincoln hadn’t thought about his “goal” for the past two weeks. His head had been too filled with thoughts, desires, and a total focus on everything to do with Grace.
“Come on.” She eased away from him. “I have to run a few errands, and then we can grab lunch.”
They stopped at the motel so Lincoln could change clothes, then he accompanied her to the local co-op and the drugstore. After they put her purchases in the car, he drove to Metalworks Hardware.
Grace picked up several cans of paint and brushes for the drama club sets, and Lincoln found supplies to fix the leak in her kitchen ceiling.
“Hi, Joe.” She smiled warmly at the big guy behind the register and gestured to the paint in her cart. “This is going on the high school drama club account, please.”
