Page 50 of Whistleblower

“Honestly?” the bartender asks, glancing over his shoulder. “You don’t want to know. You may need to take out a second mortgage.”

He snorts. “Buy them whatever they want.” Then he turns his attention to me. “Can you sign for me? It’s the company card. Give this angel a thirty percent tip of the total. I have to run—emergency.”

He’s already dialing another number on his phone.

“Callen, wait. Please just one minute—”

But he doesn’t hear me as he hustles away toward the back of the lounge. Now, I officially feel stranded. I don’t want to go home. Callen is no help. I could get a hotel room for the evening, but whoever could break into my apartment could probably find me at a hotel. Fuck. Alone again… I forgot how much this sucks—

“Fisherman’s Paradise is pretty good.”

A large hand presses against the small of my back. Linc hunches over me from behind and taps the top line of the drink menu in front of me. He whispers in my ear, “But you’re so little it’ll probably knock you on your ass.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about martinis, because quite frankly, Linc touching me still makes my head go fuzzy, and my knees all but liquefy.

“I’m not little.” Five foot four is a reasonable height.

He snorts. “Oh yes, Bambi. Yes, you are.” I spin around and I’m suddenly in Linc’s arms. His hands rest around my hips and his voice goes low and rumbly. “I could scoop you up, hoist you over my shoulder, and carry you right out of here like it was nothing… Maybe I should.”

I scowl at him, and yet, I lean forward, resting my hands on his forearms which are exposed. In fact, his arms—all the way up to his protruding bicep—are visible for once. I’m used to seeing him in long sleeves. I fight the temptation to trail my finger over the muscular curves of his arms. I think about Kryptonite and how helpless Superman could feel at times. Absolutely powerless in the presence of your weakness.

Linc circles his thumbs around my hip bone. “Is this okay?”

Yes, don’t you dare stop touching me. “You’re calling me Bambi now, too?”

The whites of his teeth flash against the dark hue of the lounge as he smiles. “It’s just because of your beautiful, big brown eyes.”

I scoff, knowing that is not the reason Cricket dubbed me Bambi.

“Are you drunk?”

His thumbs freeze in place and I immediately miss the soothing circles. “Why would you say that?”

“You’re being so…flirty.”

“Two Fishermans,” Linc says over my shoulder to the bartender before he grabs my hand and drags me to a small booth on the opposite side of the lounge from the crowd. “Sit,” he demands. I slide into the booth and Linc follows, blocking me in with his large frame. Even sitting, he towers over me. Every time I’m alone with Linc I feel like I’m suspended between arousal and fear—the most confusing combination of nerves and hopeful anticipation. Wet from lust, but absolutely dry with anxiety. I still haven’t decided if I like it.

“I understand why you ran the other night, but I promise you, Eden, I’m not—”

“You don’t owe me explanations, Linc.”

“I do…because I still…” His brows cinch, and he pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s uncomfortable.

“Do you want to try a lie?” I offer. For some reason, it’s easier for us to tell each other how we’re not feeling, than how we are.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I want to tell you the truth, which is I like you and I don’t want you to be afraid of me. How can I show you that there’s more to me? I’m trying. I…listen, I thought leaving you that book would show you how I feel about you, but nothing—not even an acknowledgment. Then, we kiss, and you run. Maybe I should let it go, but I can’t sleep wondering what the hell is going through your head. How are you feeling, and why?”

“How am I feeling?”

Burying my face in my hands, I let all the pressure in my head swell and I feel dangerously close to exploding. Images flash through my head: the beer bottle, the letter, useless Callen, Porky’s laughter, and the visual of the doctor’s legs hooked over Linc’s shoulders.

“Linc, I don’t have time for this, tonight. I just came here because I need Callen’s help, but he left.”

Linc reaches across me and yanks on a little metal chain dangling from the tabletop lamp. Both of our faces are illuminated and he studies my expression intently.

“You’re scared. What’s wrong?”

“I…”

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