Page 6 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
The ink surprised her too. She remembered in New York he’d had a single tattoo, a circle around his wrist with an infinity symbol right over his pulse point. She’d wondered if the writing there, too small for the casual observer to read, had been something to do with his wife. Now, though, both arms were fully sleeved with tattoos. She couldn’t tell from across the yard what the images were, nor could she read the ink running up his neck, but she knew the riot of images only made him more droolworthy.
And then those eyes met hers and held.
Lord almighty.
She didn’t even remember Lily leading her across the yard. One moment she was staring from afar and trying to breathe, and the next she was standing directly in front of Lincoln Young and breath was an impossibility.
“Linc, let me introduce you to my two best friends,” Lily said. “Erin is the resort’s general contractor, and this is—”
“Claire.” Lincoln stuck out a hand. “Hello again.”
She fought the urge to close her eyes and savor the sound of his voice. She also fought the equally strong urge to run. Why hadn’t she waited to set up the food? At least then she’d have something to do, something to occupy her rather than standing here, her friends all waiting on tenterhooks, staring, while the man she’d hoped to never see again expected her to shake his hand.
She couldn’t do it; she just couldn’t. Because if she touched him, felt his skin against hers, all those old feelings would come right out of that trunk she’d locked them in and then she’d risk feeling them again. She didn’t want to risk feeling anything but anger. She didn’t want him to affect her at all.
But he did, touch or no touch.
“Claire?”
Lily’s question brought her back to the moment. To everyone staring. Waiting. Lincoln’s hand was still hanging in the air between them.
“Lincoln.” She stiffened her spine and reached for him, slid her own hand into his. Let him engulf her.
And Lord have mercy, touching him was exactly like she remembered.
“You two know each other?” JD asked, his confusion obvious.
“We do.”
Pleasure warmed Lincoln’s voice, his eyes, the same pleasure that was coursing through her veins from his touch. But knowing he felt it ruffled her feathers. He sounded like them knowing each other was a good thing. As if they’d been friends or something.
He sure as hell had never treated her like one. Or rather, the one time he’d treated her like a friend, he’d turned around and stabbed her in the back.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “We do, unfortunately.”
Next to her, Lily startled. Erin made a noise in the back of her throat that Claire couldn’t interpret.
Lincoln sobered immediately. Embarrassed? Probably, but for her, not himself. Lincoln Young had never done anything to be embarrassed about, had he?
Of course he hadn’t.
Sarcasm. Total sarcasm.
JD stepped in. “You can let go of her now,” he muttered to his friend. Then, “Erin, I had a phone call with our architect earlier.” JD moved between her and Lincoln, severing his friend’s hold on her hand. With a palm on Lincoln’s back and Erin’s, he led the two toward the barbecue smoker, leaving Lily and Claire behind.
“Wow.” Lily cleared her throat. “Um, care to share?”
She’d never told her friend why she’d returned from New York instead of staying there to find work like she’d planned. She didn’t really want to share the why now either. So what could she share?
“We met when I was at the culinary institute.”
And there was only one person she’d mentioned not liking while she was at ICE. Lily was smart; she put it together fast. “He’s not… That’s not…” She choked back a horrified laugh. “Linc is the Iron Chef, isn’t he?”
That horrible nickname. It was the worst thing she could think to call him at the time. She hadn’t wanted to divulge his name, because even here in Black Wolf’s Bluff, the name Lincoln Young was well-known. The tragedy he’d endured had made the New York City star a household name despite the fact that he’d never given an interview or spoken publicly about the loss of his wife. If Claire had talked about him by name, her friends would know who he was, so she’d used the nickname to give herself some semblance of privacy. Not just because they would have viewed the events differently had they known his identity, but also because, well, she hadn’t wanted to hear them crush over him, even from a distance.
She’d been having a hard enough time handling her own crush. But Lincoln had put a stop to it rather effectively, hadn’t he?
“Please don’t mention this to JD,” she begged.
