Page 80 of What's Left of Us

Nobody seems to wonder what happened to his dutiful daughter.

I’ve been wiped from the public’s memory.

A traitor to the Del Rossi name.

“Get out of that pretty head, baby girl,” Lincoln says, breaking me from my thought.

My eyes flicker up to meet his.

“Or I’ll give you something to think about.”

Thighs clenching at the husky tone that I normally only hear in private, I feel his foot hook around my chair and pull it toward him. A tiny yelp escapes my lips when my chair jerks forward, stopping at the table between us. I press my mouth closed when that same foot moves up, up, up my leg to part my thighs and press against the softest part of me. Suddenly, I’m grateful there are tablecloths on the tables, or people would one hundred percent kick us out.

“Lincoln,” I whisper, tightening my thighs to trap his foot.

“Yes, Peaches?” he asks innocently, sipping his drink to hide a grin.

I can’t speak. The words get trapped in my throat, and I’m forced to swallow them.

He sets his glass down and presses harder against me, making me suck in a breath as a rush of wet rushes to my panties.

Just then, the waitress comes back to our table with a smile on her face. “Would you like more bread?”

Lincoln doesn’t stop what he’s doing as he plays coy with the woman. “I don’t know. Would you like more bread, Georgia?”

With a voice too high-pitched to sound normal to anybody who knows me, I say, “I-I’m good.” I force a smile at the woman who looks strangely at me. “Thank you, though.”

She nods, taking the empty bread basket from the middle of the table. “Your entrees will be right out.”

Lincoln chuckles when she leaves. “Cat got your tongue?”

I suck in a breath when his foot retreats, leaving me aching for his touch. “More like ahawk.”

His lips curl into a mischievous grin. “I like this side of you, Peaches.”

I shift in my seat, feeling the dampness between my legs and frowning. “What side of me?”

“Sassy,” he remarks, his eyes roaming over my face, then down to the top half of me in a tight black shirt that shows off my curves. “Turned on and ready to fuck.”

My cheeks heat at his words. “We’re in public,” I scold him, eyeing the couples seated next to us in hearing distance.

He leans forward, dropping his voice. “I think you secretly like it.”

I’m silent.

His foot caresses my ankle, shifting upward again where I want him. “If I got you off right here under this table, I bet you wouldn’t complain.”

Releasing a shallow breath, I say, “You’re not playing fair.”

“No?”

I shake my head, feeling his foot stall on my calf. “You’re changing the subject to distract me from my question.”

His foot remains where it is, not moving an inch up or down. “I’m not afraid of your father. You want to know why?”

All I can do is move my head up and down.

“Because at the end of the day, you’remine. Not his. He let you go. Disappointed you. Left you to fend for yourself. I won’t do that to you. He may be rich with a lot of connections, but I will always be a better man than your father is.”

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