Page 26 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
Go figure.
The night wasn’t cool, although the difference between seventy and the afternoon’s late-summer average in the nineties fooled her body into thinking it was. The walk would keep her warm, though. She set off briskly, sticking to the pavement instead of the grass surrounding the courthouse to keep her low heels from sinking into the ground. Get home as quick as possible, that was her objective.
Too bad Lincoln didn’t share it.
“Whoa, whoa!” Lincoln caught her hand, intertwining their fingers and forcing her to slow down. “What’s the rush?”
“The rush is, I’m ready to be home.”
Lincoln chuckled. “And away from me, right?”
The idea didn’t seem to dent his ego the slightest bit. “Maybe.”
“And maybe that’s because you don’t trust yourself alone with me.”
She glanced down at their clasped hands. “Maybe.” The word sounded as if it had been dragged out by galloping horses.
Lincoln simply hummed. His thumb caressed the back of her hand as they crossed the square, every step and every swipe making her more and more aware of the darkness that surrounded them and the privacy it provided. When they reached her building and circled to the back, that awareness became even more heightened. Here in the alley behind the bakery, no one could see them. Hers was the only apartment occupied nearby. Hers were the only windows that might spy on them at this time of night.
Hers were the stairs allowing her to escape to safety. She just had to get Lincoln to let go of her so she could do so.
They reached the base of the stairs, and she headed straight up. “Good night, Lincoln. Thanks for the escort home.”
Hard fingers refused to release hers. “Don’t I get a kiss good night?”
“Absolutely not.”
Lincoln laughed outright. “Why not? It’s not like you’re susceptible to me, is it?”
Christ on a cracker, how was it that he knew exactly which buttons to push? “Not at all.”
Liar.
“Then…?”
He was laughing at her. The damn man was laughing. Well, she’d show him exactly how susceptible she was to him.
The couple of stairs she’d climbed put her right on level with Lincoln’s height. Stepping in, she rubbed the tips of her breasts against his chest, rising on tiptoe until she was sure her breath ghosted across his lips. “Just a good-night kiss,” she said, doing her best imitation of Marilyn Monroe.
His hand released hers, and he gripped her waist hard, pulling her body fully against him. Every soft curve molded against his hard muscles in the very way she’d tried to avoid all night. Her breasts flattened against his broad chest. Her belly cushioned the length of his hard arousal—and Lord a’mercy, was it long. Instinctively her hands rose and gripped the bare skin of his thick biceps. The feel of his skin under her fingers...
Oh, heaven help her, she was in trouble now.
“Right,” Lincoln said, his voice going low and rough. “Just a good-night kiss.”
They’d kissed before; it wasn’t like this was anything new. That’s what she told herself as she watched his head dip, watched the shadows conceal his eyes as his lips met hers. A kiss was a kiss, nothing special. Nothing to worry about. Certainly nothing to break her resolve. Right?
And then his lips pressed, opened, his tongue sneaking forward to trace the seam of her mouth, and all reason drifted from her mind. A kiss was just a kiss, unless that kiss came from Lincoln Young; then it was soul searing. Knee buckling. Panty melting. And yes, definitely resolve breaking. She opened her mouth, allowed him in, and forgot exactly why it was she needed to keep him out in the first place.
Twelve
He’d spent all night in heightened awareness. Blue balls? This was far beyond blue balls. He ached with a hunger far deeper than any he’d experienced in years. He wanted Claire, a want that went far deeper than sexual desire.
That’s what terrified him. But it also kept him from stopping.
Claire’s mouth yielded to his demand, opening like a flower to accept his tongue. Her nipples were tight against his chest, so tight he could feel them clearly despite her clothes and his. He wanted to fill his hands with them, get rid of the clothes so he could enjoy all the textures that were the essential woman, but he warned himself to wait. Only Claire could make that move. If he pushed any farther than a kiss, he might not be able to stop, and he wouldn’t force Claire to make her decision that way. A kiss, that was all he’d allow himself. Nothing more unless she made the move.
Her fingernails dug into his biceps, the sting of pain heightening his pleasure. Everything she did heightened his pleasure. He wondered if she realized she was pressing against him, her body surging in a wave that crushed her breasts against his chest, rubbed her belly and thighs against his, rolled her pelvis at the base of his cock in a way that had pre-cum seeping from the tip. His grip on her hips was probably tighter than it should be, but it was the only way to keep his hands where they were. Keep the tight rein on his control. Waiting, waiting…
