Page 13 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
“Mine.”
Her eyes widened.
He shrugged, expression more than a bit guilty. “I know. The great Lincoln Young admitting he’s wrong.” He moved closer, his hands coming up to cup her elbows carefully as if expecting her to strike out. She was sorely tempted, but something about that look in his eyes held her back. “It doesn’t happen often.”
“Or ever,” she pointed out. “So why now?”Why with me?
“Because I was at fault. And I’m sorry.” One hand rose, pushed back the curl falling over her eye, his gaze following it almost as if fascinated. “I need to admit that to you. And I need to explain why. Not that it’s an excuse,” he said when she opened her mouth to interrupt.
“Damn right,” she muttered.
He snorted, and even that was sexy. “I don’t know what happened to shy little Claire, but I like this gutsy version even better.”
He’d liked the old her too? She couldn’t hide her surprise. They’d had chemistry in spades, she’d known that—or at least she’d felt chemistry, though all he’d seemed to feel was constant annoyance—but liking each other? No, she’d never have guessed that.
Just the idea—or maybe, just maybe it was his touch, his nearness—had her heart racing.
“Nothing I say can excuse what happened between us, Claire, I know that. But I would like to explain—if you’ll give me a chance to. Would you?”
She stared into those blue-gray eyes, no longer seeing the sheer arrogance of the celebrity chef. Oh, it was still there, but more than that, she was beginning to see the man beneath the celebrity. That man was dangerous to her in ways she couldn’t even think about, and yet the fact that he was showing her that man made it impossible to tell him no.
Should she take the risk? Or not?
What she did was take a deep breath; then she gave Lincoln the smallest nod. “Okay.”
A smile she swore held relief curved his lips. “Okay. Now can I take this damn apron off?”
Six
Adate. He’d gotten Claire to agree to a date.
After the way he’d gone all caveman over the cocky pup making her deliveries, that was surprising, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Claire had been practically dead on her feet by the time they’d finished cleaning up the kitchen—which, despite what many people might believe, he’d stayed to complete. He was arrogant, not a douche. He also didn’t want his apology to Claire to take place while she was too tired to process it. He knew pastry chefs, and he knew how much work it had taken to complete that SUV full of baked goods. So he’d sent her upstairs to bed with a promise to return with dinner after the bakery closed in the evening.
And tried not to think about Claire and a bed as he walked back to his car.
A quick Google search led him to nearby Gatlinburg and the items he wanted to carry out his plan for the evening. Something light after the long day she’d had. But tasty—he wouldn’t stand for anything less. And portable, given he wasn’t making her wait while he cooked at her place and made a mess to clean up later.
Gatlinburg wasn’t New York, but he managed to find the fresh ingredients he wanted, as well as a specialty store for oils and vinegars that had been a real treasure trove. He'd have to talk to his friend Jamie, who owned the Carousel restaurant, to get the name of some wholesalers in the area with quality ingredients. Of course he had such a good relationship with his vendors that he could have items shipped from anywhere, but that would add up. Plus he wanted to support whatever local economy he could, so whatever he could get local or locally grown, he definitely preferred to.
JD was out at the build site when Linc arrived back at the mansion. He spent a couple of hours with his friend and Erin, the general contractor he’d met yesterday, discussing logistics before going inside to clean up and put the food together. By six he was headed back into town. He’d never admit out loud that butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach, whether at the thought of the date or the fact that he might have to grovel, he refused to decide. Had to be the latter. A temporary summer fling wouldn’t make him nervous.
It wasn’t like it was his first date since Kelly. He’d dated. He’d had sex. But nothing more, and usually no more than once. It was the feelings that were different with Claire. He hadn’t felt this way with anyone since Kelly. He didn’t get nervous. He didn’t feel invested in whether a woman said yes or no. If they did, great. He’d get some companionship, a physical release, and he’d make certain she got the same, but nothing deeper. With Claire, thatdeeperhad always been there, which was why she’d scared the shit out of him from the moment he met her.
Claire was just…different. No one else alive could make him contemplate getting on his knees and begging forgiveness.
Claire had told him she lived above the bakery, so he parked around back next to her SUV, glad he hadn’t been here for the pup’s return, and climbed the iron stairs to the second-floor apartment. Living on Main and right above the bakery must be convenient. Although he loved Prime, Manhattan twenty-four seven would drive him nuts, but a setup like this, in such a cozy town, appealed in a way that surprised him.
Claire opened the door before he could knock. “Hey.”
That shyness had returned, although he no longer felt confident that she wouldn’t take a bite out of him if he pissed her off. When the thought of Claire’s bite started to harden places he definitely didn’t need hard right off the bat, he shook the thought off and focused on the woman before him.
“You look rested.” She looked good enough to eat, as a matter of fact. Her curls were free to wave in the wind, unlike this morning where most of it had been pinned up to keep her hair out of her face (and the food). She’d gained some color, and her eyes were brighter. He let his gaze drift down her body, to the sleeveless tank that molded to her round breasts and the cutoff jean shorts that molded to her hips. Hopefully when she turned around, they’d mold to her ass as well. She had a great ass, as round as her breasts, two good handfuls that he’d caught himself staring at one too many times when she’d interned at Prime. Thank God she’d worn her boxy chef’s coat most of the time or he would have burned most of the food he cooked in her vicinity.
When his eyes met hers once more, he found a heat there that matched the hunger that had sparked inside him. A blink and it was gone, hidden beneath a defiant look he was beginning to understand was her way of keeping distance between them, just as he had in New York. The chemistry between them was too hot to deny, but they’d both tried, then and now, hadn’t they?
No longer, not if he could help it.
