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Twenty-One
Quinn
Lincoln and I sit on the plane together, holding hands in first class. They serve us another meal, and I order two shots of whiskey for the pain. Unfortunately, my shoulder hurts like the dickens today and I have a feeling I probably made the tear worse with all that dancing.
Still, I don’t regret it for a minute. Lincoln’s beside himself upset despite the amount of times I’ve told him it’s okay, and to stop apologizing.
After we got back to the hotel, he’d undressed me, carefully put me in his oversized Denver Broncos tee, and tucked me into bed, making me sleep in the sling he’d run into my room and retrieved for me—along with my Advil. Then, he slipped in beside me and held me all night.
He helped me shower and completely babied me. As he helped me dress this morning, I decided the dancing was completely worth it just to be pampered and taken care of by this tall, strong, closed-off boss of mine, whose heart I felt I was thawing day by day.
As the plane begins its descent into Denver, Lincoln looks at me. “Lucas is waiting to pick us up. I’ll get all the luggage. I don’t want you lifting a thing.”
I smile. “You need to stop worryin’ about me. I’ll be okay.”
He ignores that and says, “I want you to call Dr. Ito first thing tomorrow, okay? Promise me.”
“What am I going to say? I was dancing and now it hurts worse? What can he do?” I ask.
“Yes, that’s exactly what you say, and he’ll know what to do. In the meantime, don’t skip any dose of NSAIDs, okay? I Googled it and you can take Aleve twice a day with one Tylenol in between to stay on top of the pain.”
“Okay, you worry wort. I will.”
He stares at me intently. “I will never not worry about you, Quinn. I feel lower than scum to be responsible for re-injuring you.”
“That dance was worth it,” I whisper, quickly pecking him on the lips before he can object and tell me no kissing. I really want to make out with him, but I’ll spring that on him later. This manwillbe kissing me. Maybe I’ll tell him it’ll help me orgasm faster… heh. A bribe kiss, if you will.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“For bein’ an overprotective papa bear.”
He makes a face then shakes his head. “I’m not being overprotective. I’m being responsible.”
“Okay, cowboy.”
Lucas stops the Bentley in front of my house and gets out to open the back door. Lincoln gets out with me, taking my suitcase from Lucas after he’d retrieved it from the trunk. I pull my keys from my purse and unlock the front door.
I open it wide. “Go ahead,” I tell him.
“Ladies first,” he replies, ushering me inside with a flourish of his free hand.
I obey and then he follows behind me. “Where do you want this?” he asks, indicating the suitcase.
I wave a hand to the living room floor. “Oh, you can just set it there.”
“No, we’re unpacking it. Where’s the bedroom?”
“Stubborn ol’ mule,” I murmur, then wave at him to follow me. “Set it on the bed.”
He puts it down and unzips it. “Where do you want all the clothes?”
I put my hand on his face. “Lincoln, go home. I got this. I can unpack one-handed.”
He stares at me, then glances at the suitcase. He plucks up my toiletries case by the handle. “This is heavy, where does this go?”
I breathe out a laugh. “In the bathroom, cowboy.”
He sets it on the counter and unzips it. “Wow, that’s a lot of girl stuff.”
