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“You look shocked to see me.” Lincoln stands to his full towering height, crossing his arms in front of him.
I bite my lip, feeling silly now.
“Ah, you thought I’d left. Did a runner.” He nods his head up and down. “I would never do that to you.”
“It’s just—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I should have left a note.”
“You should have.”
“I’m not going anywhere, sweet Petal.”
Yes, you are. In just a few short weeks' time, you are going.
Sensing my doubt, he strides over to me and stands at my toes. With no heels on, I’m much shorter than he is. His enormous hands I’m now obsessed with cup my face, then he kisses me with his soft lips.
“You look freshly fucked and utterly adorable this morning, Petal.” He kisses me again. “I went to get breakfast and a toothbrush.” He pulls a brown paper sack in the air to show me. Huh, I didn’t even notice he was holding that.
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
He takes my hand and guides me through my house to the kitchen. He appears to know where everything is.
“You took a tour of my house while I was sleeping, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. You have your code for your electric gate on the wall. You should change that. And I found the key to your front door on the console table in the hall. You make it too easy for burglars. I considered stealing your great-great-great aunt Brenda’s sapphire engagement ring, the keys to your Mercedes E Class drop top, and your dog, but then thought…” He places the brown bag on my stainless-steel kitchen island and turns himself into a set of human balancing scales. “All you can eat pretty pussy for six weeks or prison.” He tilts from side to side, weighing up his options. “It was a tough decision. But I figured I’m too pretty for prison.” He holds his pointer finger up in the air. “It would be sex on tap, but not in a good way.”
A chuckle leaves my chest. He is way too pretty for prison. “You are so strange and crass.” I place Pom-pom back on the floor and hop myself onto one of my baby-blue velvet bar stools.
“You weren’t complaining about how crass I was last night. You ain’t fooling no one Ms. Oh, Lincoln, Fuck Me Harder.” He raises his voice in a high pitch, mimicking me from last night.
I can feel my cheeks growing faintly pink.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, Violet. I fucking loved it.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket—Prada, nice—along with his phone and places them on the counter.
“Great-great-great Aunt Brenda would haunt you from her grave if you took her ring.”
He looks at me in amazement. “Do you really have an Aunt Brenda? I was joking.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m messing with you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Very good. I would give anything to have a shot in your car, though. It looks wicked in that pearlescent white color. My dad collects cars.”
“Does he? What does he have?”
Lincoln fills his cheeks with air and then reels off at least ten cars.
Holy shit!
“Your dad drives a P1 McLaren as an everyday car?” I know that supercar costs at least a cool two million dollars.
“Yup.”
“And what do you drive?”
His voice goes all romantic and gooey as he says, “Porsche 911 GT, in black.” He sighs. “I love her.”
