Page 38 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
“Just like that.” Lincoln stepped forward, a predator approaching his prey. Firm hands lifted the hem of her T-shirt, and without bothering to remove it, he hooked the material above her chest and lowered the cups of her peach-colored lace bra until her round breasts were lifted for his pleasure. “Claire,” he groaned, the sound of her name ragged on his lips. And then his mouth was on her nipple, his lips tugging, his tongue circling, teeth holding her still as suction began to pull her down into a vortex of desire she could barely see out of.
“Lincoln. God, Lincoln, don’t stop.” She arched into him, needing more, harder, tighter. And he gave it to her even as he was fumbling with his own clothes. Rough hands tugged her to the edge of the seat, and she let her legs fall open as Lincoln stepped between them and the naked flesh of his erection settled against her clit.
The touch was electric. She had a feeling this was gonna be fast.
She sucked in a breath. “Lincoln.”
His mouth popped off her nipple. “Claire.” He nipped at the tight tip, drawing a gasp from her. “This is insane.”
Her laugh was husky. “It is.” Her fingers clenched in his hair, pulling him closer. “Get on with it.”
He chuckled around her flesh. “Yes, ma’am.” There was more fumbling as he retrieved a condom, and then he was stepping into the vee of her legs once more, that thick mushroom head settling at her opening. “Please tell me you’re ready.”
In answer, she lifted her legs to hook her knees around his hips and used her heels against his firm ass to yank him forward. His penis drove straight into her body. They both panted as he was sheathed inside her. Claire dug her nails into his biceps, drove her heels harder against him. “Please.”
Lincoln’s mouth met hers, his tongue delving inside as he set up a hard, quick rhythm between their bodies. Claire felt the thick slide of his erection deep inside her, felt the pressure of his pelvis against her clit, the rasp of his cockhead as it rubbed along her G-spot. Every time, it was like this, the spark bursting into flame in an instant, threatening to take over not just her body but her mind, her heart. And she gloried in it. She, who hadn’t been able to open her heart to another man since the pain of her divorce, had begun to trust the one man she’d thought she never could. But oh, she did, and when he touched her, she knew with certainty that this was something deeper than either of them was willing to admit. At least, not yet.
“Claire,” Lincoln panted into her mouth, his body a piston inside hers. His fingers dug into her hips, forcing her closer. “Claire, God…”
“Yes. Yes, Lincoln.” She could feel the pleasure rising, that edge approaching that was never far away when he was touching her. “Yes, I’m there. Come for me.” She abandoned words to sink her teeth into his bottom lip, and he convulsed against her, his body grinding between her legs hard enough to set her off along with him. “God, yes!”
It took long minutes before either of them had enough breath to speak. Before Claire could find the give-a-damn to think about restoring her clothes to their rightful place or cleaning up enough to be presentable. She didn’t want to care. She simply wanted to stay here, complete in Lincoln’s arms, and let the world stay far, far away. Only when he finally stirred did she raise her head. Lincoln still looked as dazed as she felt.
“What was that you said about lunch?”
Seventeen
Her body was still buzzing hours later as the time for the bakery to close drew near. Lincoln had wandered from the kitchen to the bakery all day, almost as if he was checking in on her, and she didn’t know what to think. The way they were together… was this just a fling like she’d assumed in the beginning? Or was it becoming something else? Because it felt like it was becoming something else, but she didn’t dare ask. She should, she knew, but Lincoln had become so open about communicating, she was afraid he’d tell her something she didn’t want to hear, something she couldn’t handle knowing. The groundbreaking was three days away, and she assumed he would need to head back to his restaurant sometime in the very near future. When would he talk to her about his plans, or would he just up and go one day?
She didn’t want to believe, after all they’d shared, that he would do that, but she was equally afraid to step out on a limb and bring the topic up herself.
As dusk settled over downtown, closing time on the horizon, Lincoln came into the now quiet shop once more and leaned against the store counter to watch her shutting things down. “Good day?”
She didn’t bother to hide the grin that broke out on her lips. “You know it was.”
The smug look he gave her was full of the arrogance that was all Lincoln, but beneath it she could see his own satisfaction, the pleasure that had touched him as much as it touched her. Maybe in the early days of their marriage, at some long-ago point, her ex had taken that kind of pleasure from sex with her, but if he had, she didn’t remember it. With Lincoln, she didn’t think she could ever forget.
“I thought we might ride into Gatlinburg this evening,” he suggested. “There are a couple of breweries in town I’d like to check out.”
“Scoping out the competition, huh?” She finished closing out the register. “You haven’t mentioned much about the resort brewery since you started working on the recipes. I know that’s part of the plan, but I haven’t heard much about it.”
Lincoln turned, propping his hip against the counter. “I’ve been doing some research. We have an extensive wine cellar at the Prime, but I’ve never delved into beer. It’s something new, exciting.”
She could see that on his face, a kind of little-boy delight that thrilled her just listening to him talk.
“I’ll definitely need an expert to step in on the project, but a brewery is—”
“So you’re not just taking a woman away from her family, you’re dragging her into a brewery as well?”
The voice said the wordbrewerylike she would sayhouse of sin. And it wasn’t an unfamiliar voice. Claire glanced over her shoulder to see her mother entering the bakery from the Wildwoods side of the building. She’d been expecting a visit since the standoff with Daran, though she’d definitely hoped the beginning would be a bit more favorable. Resigned, she squared her shoulders.
“Mama.”
Claire had often thought Lanelle Taylor could pass for her older sister. Her mother’s skin was still smooth and mostly unlined, her figure still that of a much younger woman despite four pregnancies and the four decades that had passed since Claire’s birth. That smooth skin was marred this evening, though, by a glare that centered on Lincoln where he stood at her daughter’s side. Her dark eyes took in Lincoln’s heavy muscles, lingering on the tattoos along his arms and neck, and the way his hand had circled her back to grip her hip and bring Claire against his body. Disapproval radiated from every line of her body.
Claire chose to ignore it. “Lincoln Young, this is my mother, Lanelle Taylor.” Claire had taken back her maiden name when she’d divorced, another black mark against her. “Mama—”
“I’d like to speak with you, Claire.” She shot Lincoln a pointed look. “Privately.”
