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I blow out a breath and nod, his response stoking the earlier simmer of gratitude. I tilt my head toward him, lifting my chin as I murmur, “Thank you. I—I don't know what I would've done if you didn't show up when you did.” My voice wobbles a little bit and I have to swallow over the waning adrenaline slugging through my veins. “I still don't understand what happened or who those people were orwhy.”
Okay, so I guess just call me Alice because I dove headfirst down that rabbit hole.
“It's alright. We'll figure it out together when we get home, yeah?”
My eyes widen at the idea of going back to Magnolia Lane right now. Fear slithers around inside my gut, expanding to fill the cracks I work so hard to ignore most days. “Oh, uh, maybe I should call Cora. I . . . I don't think I want to go back to my house tonight.”
He tilts his head to the side, the harsh lights from above showcasing the scruff on his jaw. I didn't realize his hair is a myriad of colors and not just dark brown.
Lincoln St. James is classically handsome in every definition of the word. He's the kind of dark and broody that every woman fantasizes about being the exception for. But in some ways, he wears this persona like armor.
I doubt he lets many people close enough to see past the one-dimensional note of him. To witness how kind and thoughtful he is. To know the man beneath the almost stoic demeanor. And I only saw glimpses. I can’t imagine how it would be to feel the full weight of him.
He shakes his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I don't think I can let you go tonight, baby girl.”
My heart kicks hard inside my chest. “What do you mean?”
“Stay with me.”
It's not posed as a question, and I can't even blame tonight for the way my insides warm at the subtle demand.
A flash of a different reality superimposes itself over this moment. Instead of Lincoln extending a chivalrous olive branch, he asks me to stay with him because he can't keep his hands off of me.
Now I know I've bumped my head because I'm not some damsel in distress—despite the events of tonight in which Idefinitelyneeded to be rescued.
But I'd like to think of myself as a modern woman. Independent and capable of taking care of myself. But there's also a part of me that craves to be dominated.
A little.
In certain situations.
And having a man growl low in my ear that he wants me to stay with him because he can't get enough of me or he doesn't want to spend a single second without me. Well, maybe those two ideations can live in harmony.
God, Cora's going to kick my ass for everything tonight. After she hugs the daylights out of me, I mean.
I tilt my chin up further, bringing our lips closer. I'm painstakingly aware of the few inches that separate our mouths. “Why are you being so . . .”
I trail off, unable to find the word I'm looking for.
His gaze trails over the gash on the side of my head. “I should've been there, should've protected you. The thought of someone hurting you twists me up inside, Evangeline.” He slips his hand underneath mine and interlaces our fingers together. “Let me take care of you tonight.”
His heartfelt words are so unexpected and genuine. My emotions are so surface-level right now, my eyes feel wet. “Why?”
He makes a low sound in the back of his throat. “I let you walk away once. I won't make that same mistake again.”
2
EVANGELINE
“You sure youdon't mind me crashing with you. Cora really wouldn't care.” I shift in the front passenger seat of my car, stealing a glance at him. He looks large behind the wheel of my car but not out of place. He insisted on driving, despite the doctor giving me a clean bill of health when we left.
He arches a brow and glances at me. “Your cousin shares a three-bedroom apartment with three other women. I have two extra bedrooms that sit untouched. You're not an inconvenience, baby girl.”
My heart thumps hard at the way that nickname effortlessly rolls off his tongue. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, unsure of how to approach that particular topic. I still can't believe it'shim. Eight years have gone by and yet the pull between us feels real. But I have questions.
Like why he didn't tell me who he really was when he recognized me. When he so obviouslyrememberedme.
There's no way a man remembers your favorite coffee drink and doesn't recognize you. I don't remember every single detail from that night, but I can guarantee if he told me his favorite coffee order, I've forgotten it.
