Page 35 of Lillian

“But my sister was only fourteen, undiagnosed bipolar, and suicidal. Even if I could take care of her, they’d never let me. Nocourt anywhere would give me custody when our parents—in the eyes of the law—haven’t ever done anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” I say when he pauses and looks at me imploringly.

“They only keep her at the equine camp because it keeps me in line. The place they picked out for her at first was… it was straight out of a movie. Electric therapy, matching uniforms, verbal and physical abuse…actual horror movie programming shit. The only reason they agreed not to send her there in the first place was because I agreed to go to work at the family business.”

All of a sudden, it clicks. Everything. Why he pushed me away. Why, out of nowhere, he wasn’t ready for a relationship. Why he stayed away for four years.

“They threatened your sister,” I breathe, and he nods. “Whatcunts,”I hiss. Lincoln leans back in surprise, eyes wide at my choice of words and probably the venom in them, and then he laughs.

“Don’t.” I point a finger at him. “They are,” I insist. But he laughs even harder, eyes shining with delight, and a reluctant laugh falls from my own lips.

“I know,” he agrees, laughter subsiding to a chuckle. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not funny coming out of your mouth.” His eyes drop to my lips and stay there a beat too long. When he looks back up at me, desire shines in his eyes.

Heat travels through my entire body, pooling at my core. All I want is to throw my leg over his lap, straddle him, and sink down onto the hardness I see starting to tent his pants. But as my eyes drop to those sexy gray sweats, I see the box sitting there.

I clear my throat and try to expel the dirty thoughts. For now. “What’s that?”

Though he stays hard, the desire banks from his eyes as he sees me staring at what’s in his other hand. Instead, pink tinges his cheeks, and I’d swear he’sshy.

“Oh, um. It was mostly backup, in case you wouldn’t listen to my story.” He shrugs. “But you did. So, no need for this now.” He moves the box a little behind him and now my curiosity is beyond piqued.

I grin. “Well, now I have to see it. What’s inside? Your playboys?”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course not. This box is way too small to hold those.” I chuckle.

“Lemme see it.” I do ‘gimme hands.’

He tucks it harder behind his back, out of sight. “No.”

“Come on,” I grin and lunge for it, the blanket falling off and onto the floor. He lifts the box up above his head, freeing his lap, and I see my opening.

I throw my leg around his and grind down on his erection.

“Ergh,” he grunts, dropping the box and grabbing hold of my hips with both hands. He tightens his hold and tries to move them against him again, but I seize my opportunity. The box is in my hands and open before he can even blink. “Cheater,” he grumbles, but I ignore him, too busy staring open-mouthed at the contents of the box.

“Wh—” I clear my throat, “What is this?” The first thing that catches my eye are the pictures. What looks like a dozen or so pictures of us from those first three months that he had printed. Me and him at a baseball game. Us at the zoo. But one in particular makes me blush: us after we had sex for the first time. I’m hiding my face in his shoulder, covers pulled up to my neck, but Lincoln has a wide, self-satisfied smile on his face. At the time, he said he wanted to document the best sex I ever had. Not that he was wrong, and it did make me laugh at the time, but it was also genuinely one of the best nights we had.

That’s not what has my mouth dropping open, though. Nor is it the handful of other trinkets he kept: ticket stubs and a hotel key card or the lucky coin I gave him one day.

No, it’s the black velvet jewelry box nestled underneath everything. Just big enough for…

Lincoln plucks the jewelry box out from under everything, looks me in the eye, and snaps it open.

A two-carat oval diamond ring set on a white gold band. It’s simple, it’s elegant, it’s exactly the kind of ring I’d pick out for myself.

It’s also monumentally crazy.

But I can’t stop staring at it. Not until Lincoln starts to speak again, and I look back up into his intense eyes. “I bought this the day I broke up with you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I gawk. The romantic bubble pops as I think about the implications of what he just said.

All he does in response is shrug. “It sounds fucking crazy when I say it out loud. Hell, itiscrazy. But I was looking at rings before that night you met my parents. So when we broke up, I sat in my living room staring at the wall for four hours after you left. Pissed at my parents for being awful fucking people, and pissed at myself for being too much of a coward to say no. To find a way for it to work out, to fight for custody of Becca, even if I would have lost. At least, I would have had you. At least, Becca would know I was doing everything I can to help.”

My heart aches for the choice he had to make and what it cost him. Us.

“Buying the ring…” he looks at me with a sad tilt of his lips, “it was my way of trying to make myself feel like I wasn’t throwing away my future, I guess. Like a promise to myself. That I’d get my life sorted, Becca safe, and then convince you to give me another chance.” He drops the ring box into his lap and slides his hands up my hips to my waist and holds me.

The way his hands feel gripping me, half comfort and half desire, a wave of heat flushes through me, and I can’t stop myself anymore. My lips smash against his, and my arms wrap around his neck. Every inch of my chest is glued to his, but it’s still not close enough. I want to feel every part of him.

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