Page 25 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
“Cold?” he asked.
Might as well be honest. The man was experienced enough to notice the signs of her arousal. “Not in the least.”
Her words came out low, rough. Lincoln chuckled against her. “Good.” As they moved in a circle, his hard erection brushed her hip. “At least I’m not the only one.”
Definitely not.She didn’t allow the words out of her mouth, didn’t want to give his ego any more confidence, but they both knew the truth.
The truth could be such a pain in the ass.
She stared across the darkened pub, refusing to allow herself to press closer like she wanted to, to rub against the man holding her, though her memory swallowed up every second of how it felt to be in his arms. Trying hard to distract herself from the way her breasts ached, the heavy feeling low in her belly, the firmness behind Lincoln’s zipper every time it brushed against her, she said, “Something tells me a kitchen renovation wasn’t exactly on the schedule yet.” Erin would have warned her if it was.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe not. Kind of depends on which answer is going to get me in the most trouble.”
She tried hard to repress the smile that wanted to sneak out. He sounded for all the world like a naughty little boy refusing to fess up to his deeds. “I don’t think either answer will get yououtof trouble.”
He leaned back to look into her eyes and winked. “Story of my life.”
The smile won. “I imagine so.”
He tucked her back against him, and they danced their way through a chorus. “Do you really mind so much, sharing a space with me?”
She didn’t know if it was minding so much as it was being wary. And smart. “I mind anytime I have to share my kitchen.”
“And do you share your kitchen often?”
Why did she get the feeling they weren’t exactly talking about kitchens anymore? “Never.”
“Hmmm.” He nuzzled the sensitive skin just below her ear. “Then I’m looking forward to doing so.”
“I just bet you are.”
Lincoln spun her into another turn, and she swore she heard him groan under his breath as that subtle brush of his groin against her hip happened again. She was a woman who had experience—she’d been married, after all, and though there hadn’t been many, she’d had a couple of boyfriends in the decade since. But neither her ex-husband nor anyone else came close to Lincoln in sex appeal. She was struggling to keep her hands flat, to not dig into the thick muscles beneath them. Keep her body gentle against him instead of pressing hard—although that was almost more torture, since the least amount of movement allowed friction against ultrasensitive, aching body parts. The need to give in to the overwhelming hunger shaking her was almost unbearable. She didn’t want to hold back; giving in was easier, and it would definitely feel a hell of a lot better. But there were so many other things that went with giving in. Like giving up protecting herself. Sure, it might turn out fine in the end, and the sex would sure as hell be off-the-charts great, but she knew herself well enough to know that, fine or not, having sex with Lincoln could never leave her untouched. She just had to decide if that was a risk she was willing to take.
And for the rest of the night, every dance they shared only chipped away at her resolve to remain unaffected.
Her friend group migrated between the dance floor and their tables, devouring wings, sipping drinks, sampling dessert—the Drunken Otter had a sticky toffee pudding that was absolutely to die for—and generally having fun and/or letting off steam, but not once did Claire lose her awareness of Lincoln. And finally, just as another slow song came through the speakers, she decided she had to go home before every ounce of self-control she had simply broke.
When she announced her intention, however, a chorus of protests went up. Scarlett, the bitch, went even further. “You know we won’t let you walk home alone, Claire. One of us will have to cut our night short and go with you.”
“No, you won’t,” Lincoln interrupted. “I’ll escort Claire home.”
Of course he would.
Claire caught a sneaky grin curving Scarlett’s lips before she turned to Lincoln, a protest rising. “I’m perfectly fine walking across the square to get to the apartment.”
“Being fine and being safe are two totally different things,” Lincoln said firmly. “I’m going.”
The irony of those words and the way they echoed her thoughts had her clenching her fists. “You’re only doing this so you can torment me even more,” she hissed under her breath, hoping no one else at the table would hear. Lily’s amused expression said Claire hadn’t quite succeeded.
“Of course I am, baby,” Lincoln said, his grin unrepentant. “And you’re going to let me.”
“You’re so arrogant.” But she was standing up from her seat anyway. Why did the damn man always have to be stubborn as a brick wall?
They made their exit amid a chorus of goodbyes. A glance around the pub told Claire she should probably be hearing the wailing and gnashing of teeth as numerous hungry female gazes watched Lincoln walk out the door. Something she’d never admit to, deep inside her, preened at the idea that she was the one walking out with Mr. Sexy at the end of the night. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t want to be the one walking out with Mr. Sexy, did she?
Keep telling yourself that, Claire.
Okay, maybe she did want it. And maybe, despite the two decades separating them, she wasn’t all that far removed from the girl desperate to go to prom with the high school quarterback.
