Page 50 of Lillian

“How is it?” he asks me, then takes a bite of his own.

I look him up and down once more, stopping for the barest of seconds at the bulge in his sweatpants, before sweeping my gaze up to his. “Delicious,” I answer, my voice all kinds of breathy.

His eyes heat at the innuendo.

“Yeah,reallygood!” Grace agrees, and we both look at her and laugh at the amount of barbecue sauce around her mouth and…yep, in her hair.

After that, we talk about what movie we might want to watch tonight and how everyone’s days were until we’re cleaning up the dinner trash.

“Well, are you ready to see your room or what, Grace?” Lincoln asks Grace, surprising me.

“Her room?” I parrot as Grace gives an enthusiasticyes.

Lincoln, the smug bastard, winks at me without answering and takes Grace’s hand to lead her back down the hallway he came out from.

“This place is a three-bedroom, so there’s enough space for Becca to have her own room when she can move-in in a few weeks and for Grace to have one when you guys come to visit.”

He’s so nonchalant about it, not even looking back at me as he leads my daughter to herown bedroomin his penthouse. Three weeks ago, we were eating cheerios out of the box on the floor of our living room because a client didn’t pay on time for a big project that had taken weeks to complete, and bills had just been paid.

Now we’re walking through—what I’m sure is—a beautiful multi-million-dollar apartment.

“Here we are,” he tells Grace and pushes open the first door we come to. “The next door is the bathroom, the one after is going to be Becca’s, and ours is the one directly at the end of the hall.”

Grace shoves through the door and lets out a high-pitched squeal that makes my heart race, even though I understand it’s not a scream of pain.

“Oh mygosh!Mommy, look! A tent bed! And a castle!” I walk in to see her darting around the room excitedly, not stopping at something long enough to really appreciate it because there’s something else that grabs her attention.

Not that I blame her. Lincoln has gone all out. Centered into the middle of the back wall is a twin bed withDisneyprincess bedding and a pink, tulle type material hanging from the ceiling and draping around the bed to create the ‘tent’ effect that Grace was talking about. To the left of the bed is a massive gray dollhouse with pink accents to match the theme of the room. Which, coincidentally enough, matches the color scheme of her room at my house.

I glance at Lincoln in question, and he shrugs. “I peeked in her room to see what kind of things she liked.”

If I thought this whole thing—him coming back into my life, blindly accepting a kid that isn’t his, professing his love for me after four years apart—was too good to be true, this certainly isn’t helping. When does the other shoe drop?

“Grace,” I call out to her as she starts pulling toys out of a chest, some with tags still on them, and she looks over at me. “What do you say?”

“Thank you!” she exclaims, runs to Lincoln, and gives his leg a big hug. “I love it. You’re the best dad ever!”

Then she’s running back over to the pile of toys she’s started to make a mess of.

Dad.

I look to Lincoln to catch his reaction to the word, and he’s not looking my way. Or at Grace. He’s looking at the wall. I walk up to him and put a hand to his back, which gets his attention. When his eyes meet mine, I see a faint shimmer in them.

Did he just tear up over being called dad?

I wrap my arms around his middle in thanks, and his own arms come around me automatically. “You are so getting lucky tonight,” I mutter, quietly enough that only he can hear me, which makes him laugh and squeeze me tighter.

“Promises, promises,” he throws my own words from this week back at me.

“Linc, play with me!” Grace demands.

“What Princess wants, Princess gets,” he declares and bows at the waist.

“She’s asleep,” I whisper, closing her door as quietly as I can. Lincoln waits for it to snick shut, bends down, and sweeps me up by my thighs. In a flash, my whole upper body is draped across his broad back, and I only just manage to stifle the squeak of fear. “Lincoln!” I hiss reproachfully.

Ignoring my protests, he shuffles us on quick feet to his bedroom at the end of the hall, shuts his own door quietly, and locks it. But he doesn’t put me down.

“I think you can set me down, now,” I laugh at a normal volume, sure Grace won’t be able to hear us now. In answer, he smacks my ass. Hard. “Ow!” I yelp the automatic response, but clench my thighs together to stop the tingling sensation between them.

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