Page 30 of His Temptation
There’s silence on the other end for a moment.
“It … will … never mean … I … I … d-d-don’t need you.”
Oh gosh. Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks at the honesty in his words.
“I know. I’ll always need you,” I say as I start to choke up. “It’ll always be you and me in life.”
When I get off the phone with him, I tuck it back into my purse.
“Is he okay?”
A deep voice I’ve come to know so well startles me.
I turn around and see Lincoln leaning against another door behind me.
“Oh, um, yeah,” I say as I try to wave off my embarrassment. “I’m the one with the separation anxiety. Pretty stupid, huh? He’s twelve, not five.”
Instead of seeing judgment in his eyes, like I thought I’d see, I see understanding. Possibly even compassion. It’s throwing me for a loop. Him standing in front of me, all handsome in his suit and looking at me like I’m not just some annoying assistant. Looking at me like … he sees me.
“Not at all. With everything you’ve been through together, it makes sense. But I promise you, he will be okay.”
He pushes off the door and closes the distance between us. I look up at him when he gets too close for comfort.
“How can you promise that?”
“Because I hired a bodyguard to keep an eye on him while we were gone. He’s going to make sure nothing happens to him.”
I can’t believe the words I just heard. “You hired a bodyguard? He’s not allowed to go any farther than two blocks from our apartment for food.”
He smiles. “Then you know he’ll be safe within those two blocks. And just in case he tries to test his luck, like some twelve-year-old boys do, we’ll know he’s okay.”
“He’s not like most boys his age, but … thank you,” I whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’m not always the dick you make me out to be.”
I smile. That’s debatable, but I keep that to myself. “Thank you. That was really kind of you. Well, I’m going to go get some sun. Care to join me?”
I don’t know where that came from. That’s weird. Of course he doesn’t want to go swimming with me. I see the alarm on his face, like he wasn’t expecting the question either.
“Oh, I—I didn’t—I mean, I—I need to get some work done.” He stumbles over his words like he’s desperately trying to figure out how to reject my offer in the nicest way possible.
“No. I’m sorry. That was out of line. I should’ve known better,” I say as I begin to step away. “I’ll see you at the event tonight.”
“Right,” he begins, but I don’t wait around to let him finish.
I need to get away from the humiliation.
What part of me thought that was a good idea?I wonder as I ride the elevator up to my room. Probably the same part that kept picturing what he looked like without a shirt on last night.
I swear I heard a weird noise come from his room last night, only minutes after we separated. Minutes after he made my entire body flush with embarrassment and maybe a little curiosity when he implied his version of fun was in the bedroom.
What kind of fun does he have in the bedroom? Is it dominating, like in the book I just finished, or sweet and tender? I can’t imagine him putting much emotion into it. I don’t think I’d care which version I got.
With my own hotel room and my burning desire last night, I managed to have another orgasm. I’m going to become addicted to the feeling. I get really good sleep after I have one.
After I change into my black bikini—a purchase forced on me by Lincoln’s shopper, who I think had the wrong impression about our relationship—I grab my things and take the elevator up to the roof.
The pool is huge and looks so refreshing. I can see palm trees on the streets below and even the mountains in the distance.
