Page 12 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
Now it was her turn to glare. “Thanks for pointing out my age, jerk. So what?”
“So…” He scowled even harder. “Wouldn’t an older dick be better for you?”
A laugh shot out of her mouth. “Really? ‘Older dick’?” She couldn’t resist letting her gaze travel down his body. “Like yours?”
She’d meant it as a comment on his age, not the suitably of his dick for her, but the gleam that sparked in his eyes said his mind went there anyway. Which was totally, completely, absolutely not going to hap—
“Definitely. Better than anything that boy is packing.”
“Right.” But her laugh petered out when his expression didn’t change. A warm feeling low in her belly had her squeezing her thighs together.
No. No no no. No way.
She had to clamp down on the urge to flee as if her pants were on fire. That would only show him that he could affect her, and damn it, he couldn’t. Didn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. Determined to prove it, to nip any potentialanythingin the bud, she sidled by him on her way back into the bakery. “I don’t know. Last time I saw it, his dick was perfectly acceptable.”
For a toddler, of course. She’d changed more than one of Brandon’s diapers when she babysat him during her own brief time in college.
The sound of Lincoln choking was the most rewarding thing she’d heard in a long time. She set up a cheery whistle as she let the back door close behind her.
The relief from his presence lasted mere moments. Lincoln barely let the latch catch before he barged back inside. “What needs doing now?”
Thank goodness he left the idea ofthe perfect dickoutside. “Dishes.” Trying desperately to hold herself together, she shot a self-satisfied smile over her shoulder. “I need to clean up. Be back in a minute.” And she disappeared into the bathroom.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!Had that really just happened? Had she really just said that? Had she really just implied that she’d seen a man’s penis in order to make Lincoln Young jealous?
What the heck got into you, woman?
A hysterical giggle broke from her mouth. She slapped a hand over her lips in a frantic effort to muffle the sound.
She didn’t want to make Lincoln jealous. Nuh-uh. Not at all. She didn’t want anything to do with him. But as she leaned weakly against the wall, her belly cramping as she laughed until tears streamed down her face, she had to admit that there had been a distinctly sexual tension sparking between them from the moment he walked into her kitchen. Maybe it was Maria’s innuendo. Maybe it was Lincoln himself. Something had been distinctly different since they’d talked yesterday at the barbecue. Still, this was Lincoln Young, a man who could have—and probably had—any woman he wanted. What the hell would he want with an unsophisticated, frankly frazzled woman like her?
And yet, that arrogant look in his eye when he’d glared down Brandon after the guy’s flirtatious gesture had been distinctly sexual, she couldn’t deny that. Not to mention the quite evident bulge she’d noticed as her gaze skated down his delectable body.
And now her eyes were puffy from the tears, damn it all to hell. A couple of paper towels soaked in cold water helped a bit. Of course, checking for swelling in the mirror reminded her it was Monday morning, she’d been working since three a.m. after a restless night, and she had zero makeup on. And she’d spent the past two hours with Lincoln.
Stop thinking about him and sex, for goodness’ sake.
Okay, who wouldn’t think about him that way? At least she needed to admit that much. Acknowledging a problem—or a temptation—was half the battle, right?
But looking in the mirror, she suspected just recognizing the problem wasn’t going to be enough. Neither was her pissy attitude.
You went against your better judgment last time, and look where that got you.
Straightening her shoulders, she gave herself a firm look in the mirror, took a deep breath, then another one, then finally left the bathroom. Wanting to put off gaining Lincoln’s attention until the last second, she kept her steps quiet on the concrete floor, but they squeaked to a stop when she entered the kitchen. She’d hoped against hope that Lincoln might have left after such a long wait, but no such luck. In fact, the counter he leaned against was devoid of dirty dishes, and he now leaned back against it, his ankles casually crossed, shirt pulled tight over his muscled chest, eyes closed in what looked like sheer bliss as he chewed a bite of one of the leftover cupcakes from the order they’d just filled. A smudge of purple icing graced his lips, crumbs littered his chest—and yet she’d never seen a man that cried out to be devoured more than the one in front of her right now.
When his eyes opened and that sheer bliss landed on her, she wanted to climb him like a tree. Forget learning her lesson from last time. Every barrier she had to him just crumbled to the ground. Desire blazed through her like wildfire.
“Delicious, as usual, Claire,” he said, not bothering to apologize for filching a cupcake.
“As usual?” she squeaked.
“Of course.” He licked icing from his thumb, and something deep in her belly clenched hard. “I tasted every single dessert you made at the Prime. Every one was excellent, and so is this.” He waved the now empty paper cup that had held the cupcake.
“Um…” She hadn’t realized he’d paid attention to her work at his restaurant except to criticize it. He’d certainly done enough of that.
“Claire.” Lincoln unfolded his tall body from against the counter, deposited the paper in the nearby trash, then approached her slowly across the room. “I know things didn’t go so well when we met in New York.”
Didn’t go so well?“And whose fault was that?” she snapped, fully expecting him to sayhers.
