His eyes swoop over me in a crisscross motion as he drinks me in. “If you’re finding it that hot in here, I suggest you leave.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re no longer interested in me.”
“Because you’re a Cannon. Does that end the mystery for you? Now that you have your explanation, I suggest you take your clothes and hightail it back to your room. And use the bathroom before you go so you won’t need to make any repeated trips. I’m bolting the door once you leave.”
“I’m a Cannon?” It comes out more of a fact than a question. “For a long stretch of my life, I felt like an outsider to the Cannon family. My mother isn’t close to her father, and we were always spending holidays with my dad’s side of the family. So you see, I guess you’re the only one in the room that views me as a Cannon. I barely know my uncles, and I just met their spouses today—nice sisters, by the way. Much nicer than my stepsister. I bet they’d never steal one another’s fiancés. Be happy that you have a nice family, Lincoln.” His name tickles the roof of my mouth when I say it, and I withhold the temptation to keep repeating it.
“Wish I could say the same.” There’s a wistful bite to his tone. No sarcasm included.
“Um”—my finger whips over his bare chest, light as a feather—“what happened today—what almost happened—I wanted that. I mean, obviously I didn’t know I wanted it before I walked in, but I want you to know that once you presented the option, I was okay with it.” I trace my way up his neck, all the way over to his full lips. “I’m still okay with it.”
He catches my finger and gently places my hand onto the mattress.
“I’m not okay with it.” Lincoln turns on his side and faces me fully. His chest spreads wide like an eagle’s wings, and his brows cover his eyes with a dark appeal that makes him look decadent enough to eat. I’ve never eaten a man, and here my mouth is watering for this one. “Can you leave? Or is this a situation where I need to take off?”
My heart thumps once as a spear of embarrassment cuts through me. All of my best efforts are being shot down. So much for the theory that a man can’t resist a half-naked woman.
“No, please, don’t take off. This is your bed. I’m just trying to make it my bed, too.” I bite over my lip when I say it. I feel so foolish now. I wish I never came.
“Are you a virgin?” He lifts his chin as if there was a dare in there somewhere.
“Maybe. I mean, I was before this morning.”
“Shit.” He closes his eyes again. His Adam’s apple rises with regret. “Look, Macy, you’re a nice kid. You need to find another nice kid, fall in love, or for fuck’s sake, have him take you to dinner before you hop into bed with him and rip off your clothes,” he says the words sweetly with a quiet restraint that borders on pleading.
“I think I liked it better when you called me Sin.” I shrug. “I don’t feel all that much like Macy these days.” I reach out and touch my finger to the rough stubble of his cheek, and he catches it once again.
“You smell nice,” he grumbles as if this were a problem.
“Ah”—a smile spreads quickly over my face—“a crack in the armor. Kindness generated from a simple touch. There, that wasn’t so hard. Was it?” I’m toying with him now, but I’m too giddy to resist. I’ve always been hungry for people to like me, and I’d give anything for Lincoln, of all people, to find me even mildly entertaining.
“I am kind, Macy, just not traditionally to your family. Look, I’m going to be kind to you, but only if you get out of my bedroom and promise not to come back. I’m not the one for you. You’ll find someone else to finish the job. Probably that new scrub, Luke,” Lincoln says his name with an exaggerated drawl.
“Am I sensing a twinge of jealousy? You realize jealousy is just a hop and a skip away from love.” I’m teasing him now, raking his balls over the coals just a little because I sort of feel like I have the right to. This man’s fingers were knuckle deep inside me this morning, digging for gold, and he got it as far as I’m concerned. I’m entitled to a little ball busting if I please.
A dark rumble comes from his chest. “Oh, darling,”—that drawl comes back—“love is not what I’m feeling for you.”
“There’s the cowboy I know. You do realize when I walked into your office today, that devilish grin managed to rope itself around my—”
“Vagina?” he cuts me off with the hint of a dirty grin.
“I was going to say heart. For all the bravado you show, you come across like a gentle giant. Well, you did for a split second.” I lean in further until I can feel the heat emanating from his bare chest to mine. His breathing picks up, but I’m already well past that stage, panting myself into a carnal fever. “Lincoln”—I run my fingers through his hair, thick and slightly unruly, just the way I like it—“you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But I’m done with who I was. You’ve taken me so close to that next level. Help me get there. I want to know the things you know. Teach me.”
His chest rises and falls. That bored as hell, sexy as hell, look redefines itself.
“The answer will always be no, Macy.”
I fall back onto the pillow. I don’t know that much about the male psyche, but I was pretty certain they had a hard time resisting women who threw themselves at them. “Apparently, the Cannon infamy precedes any desire you might have for me. Or is it that you really do hate redheads? I’m disgusting to you.” I pull the pillow over my face and sink deeper into his mattress. The pillowcase smells nice, clean, with the hint of aftershave, something expensive and subtly layered.
Lincoln slowly slides the pillow from my grip. “You’re not disgusting. You’re anything but. You’re beautiful, and you know it.”
“Then it’s my hair and my Cannon blood that you can’t seem to sidestep.”
“Yes, and yes. And I’m not sidestepping either. I have my limits, and those are two hard lines I’m not about to break.”
“You were willing to overlook my hair this morning.”
“That’s because I had a hard-on to deal with, and it was slim pickings, sweetheart.”
“So, who was she?”
The air grows stale between us as he refuses to answer. Men are never adverse to a certain type of woman unless they’ve been burned, and clearly some ginger root had all but stripped Lincoln clean of his penis. I’ve seen the sting of rejection, but this is pretty bad.
He flicks the hair from my shoulder. “You had it right when you said you didn’t know me.”
“Then tell me something about you.” I press in closer. My bra grazes his flesh, causing him to frown while staring at my cleavage—not the response any girl is looking for. I’m not huge, but I’m not disappointing either. “How long was the last serious relationship you were in?” I’m jonesing for clues as to how this tragedy might have unfolded. I like the idea of Lincoln and me bonding over our broken, and most likely, twisted hearts.
He shakes his head. “Never had one.”
“I don’t believe you. I can’t imagine not one girl wanting to keep you for herself.”
“I don’t count cling-ons.”
“So, that’s all there’s ever been? Cling-ons? Surely I can fall somewhere between a one-night stand and a girl who doesn’t know where the door is.”
“Oh, honey,” he moans out a laugh. “You’ve already cemented yourself into that second category.”
“Very funny. Give me the name of one girl you actually cared about, and I’ll leave the room.”
“Really?” His gaze floats back to the ceiling.
“Yes, really.”
“Jackie,” he says her name so low his eyes wince in anguish as he lets it slip from his lips.
“Jackie. I like that name—sporty, cute. I bet she appreciated that desk maneuver, as well as the added bonus of your bedroom.”
The whites of his eyes glint in my direction. “Don’t ever say her name again. In fact, forget that I said it.” He gets up and heads to the bathroom. “You better get to bed.�
�
I watch as his perfect frame blends with the shadows until he’s out of view.
“Jackie,” I whisper her name in the dark like some long forgotten secret. “Who are you, and what exactly did you do to Lincoln?”
* * *
A few days trickle by and I’m finding that Jinx Enterprises is filled with nooks and crannies that are meant to relax, entice, enthrall, and entertain, but none as efficiently or as disconcertingly as the hive. The hive is my new home since my office isn’t ready yet. A few lanky blondes, with heavy leftover summer tans, lounge across the sofas with their lean, exaggeratingly long bodies, and I wonder how many of them have been with Lincoln. It’s unsettling the way he’s penetrated my gray matter in the brief time I’ve known him, but I can’t stop seeing his chiseled features. The ghost of his hand is still working its magic over that tender part of me. He made it more than clear that he’s not interested in finishing what he started, but there was something about that desolation in his eyes when he brought up that girl. The visceral pain was haunting, and I want him to know that I get it. I know what it’s like to have your heart skewered for sport and then spit back into your face. It hurts. It hurts enough to make you want to eschew the notion of happily ever after and go off the deep end with the first person you see—just like I did.
Luke gets off the elevator, and the girls all give a collective sigh as if he’s the one they’ve been anticipating all along.
He gives a smug nod as he makes his way over. There’s something undeniably attractive about him. I mean, other than the obvious good looks, great body, and cocky attitude. Yes, he has a natural arrogance about him, but his kindhearted spirit shines through, much like I imagine Lincoln has hiding underneath that tough guy exterior. In fact, now that I think about it, there is something distinctly similar about the two of them.
“You’re not a Lionheart, are you?” I tease as he lands next to me on the U-shaped sofa. Everything in the hive is comprised of bright shades of orange, funny greens, and mustard yellow. A seventies flashback threw up in here, but it still manages to be festive and gives an air of vibrancy that a place like this needs. Those sleepy shades of stainless steel and hypnotic dark blue paneling that Lincoln has in his office only makes me want to lie across his desk and let him have his way with me. It commands it.
This new sexually charged part of me almost warrants a smile. I’ve never been known to have a randy perspective, but I’ve never been one to hyper-sexualize my thoughts either. I’m usually the prude of the bunch, the one who shies away from explicit movies, even with my fiancé. But the new and improved me demands I explore my sexual side—the sooner the better in the event I let it show its prowess over me once again and land myself in a perfectly chaste relationship that unknowingly includes my wicked stepsister, Leah. Even the thought of her churns my bile. She’s always had it out for me. I bet bagging my boyfriend was something simply on her to-do list. She’s always blamed my mother for breaking up her parents’ relationship, but it couldn’t be further from the truth since her mother was already engaged to someone else when my Mom met Jeb. It’s a childish fantasy that Leah chooses to believe in order to justify the hurtful behavior she takes so much sick pleasure in.
“Why would I be a Lionheart?” Luke frowns, and unwittingly, or perhaps quite purposefully, makes himself that much more devastatingly handsome. But as handsome as Luke may or may not be trying to be, I’m not interested. I might be looking for something less than a one-night stand from Lincoln, but the good girl, Old Me, is already loyal to a fault. If given half a chance, I can be as faithful as a Golden Retriever.
“I don’t know. You have that certain something that I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“It’s the asshole factor.” He nods with a touch of innate humility you can’t manufacture. “I’ve been pegged for one all my life. But I didn’t come from money.” He opens his briefcase and plucks out his laptop. “In fact, I bussed my way through college as a waiter, then worked my way through grad school as a bartender. It was one shit job after another. Trust me, I know what it feels like to have your credit card declined—on a date, no less.” He winces. The more self-deprecation he indulges in, the more the untamed herd of blondes swoon.
“And now, you’re here.” We share a dark laugh. Luke has been so easy to work with it hardly feels like anything close to labor. “So, is this what you saw yourself doing? Working development for a tech firm? An expense account to boot?” It’s true. Yesterday, Aspen and Carter opened a line with over a thousand dollars for both of us in the event we needed anything. And, for larger purchases that might cost more than what they’ve allotted, we were told to simply ask.
“And now, we’re both here.” His brows furrow, and something in me quickens. That’s it! It’s the eyebrows. He and Lincoln have that same unique windswept shape.
“You from around here?”
“Not me.” He keeps clicking away on his laptop before remembering to put on his glasses, adding a sort of dorky charm that sends the girls across the room into heavy whispers. “New York City,” he says it like they do in that salsa commercial. “Where are you from, pretty lady?” He’s still pecking away at his keyboard, bobbing his head to the screen in regular intervals.
“Oak Valley. It’s just north of here, but it may as well be called Morgenstern Valley. My stepfather’s ranch eats up half of the real estate.”
“Must be nice.” He gives a wistful smile before turning the screen my way. “You know how they talked about getting something innovative out there? How about an app that tells you if what you’re eating is GMO, gluten-free, soy-free, wheat-free, nut-free, fun-free—you name it.”
“Apple a Day.” I read the name from the top. “I love it. How long would something like this take to develop?”
“I hit the jackpot last night about two. Found a company that has links to just about every food vendor there is. It’ll take a while, and, of course, it’ll always need to be updated, but you and I can make a pretty penny from the sale.”
“Sale?”
“To Jinx. You don’t think we’re just going to hand this over to them, do you?” His brows lift, doing their best impersonation of Lincoln’s, and it’s unnerving.
“You mean, like a bonus?” I shrug it off. “You do realize they hired us with the hope we would come up with something that might actually benefit the company. As in something that might produce revenue for a little corporation known as Jinx? Something that targets a certain population that isn’t quite getting their needs catered to at the moment.”
He does his best to hold back a grin. “You have something, don’t you?”
“In fact—” A shadow falls over me before I can answer, and I turn to find Lincoln hovering above. His face is dusted with stubble, his eyes hang heavy, and a fire rips from my belly at the sight of him.
“Go on.” His cheek rises. No smile. “I’m interested as well.”
Luke jumps up and extends his hand like a perfect gentleman. “Luke Van Der Wolff.” Lincoln eyes his hand for a moment before slowly complying with a shake. There’s something innately attractive about Lincoln’s slow moving, deliberate ways that set that fire already blazing for him within me ten degrees hotter. Something in me stirs as my gaze drops down his domineering body, his wrestler’s body, his hulkish frame hidden beneath his neatly pressed suit. Yes, he is most definitely the one that makes my insides cry out for more. It’s degrading on some level since he’s outright refused to oblige me.
“Lincoln Lionheart,” he says it tight, the muscles in his jaw pop with the admission. “So, what are we working on? I’m intrigued.” He turns those attentive blue orbs back on me as I roast under the intense white-hot spotlight of his attention.
“What are we working on?” I try to swallow, but my throat has wrung dry. I wonder how much of this is directed toward Luke, showing just enough interest in me to let him know I’m off limits—a guy’s version of a pissing circle. I won’t lie. I like the atte
ntion; I crave it.
“I was thinking of an app that connected people who have an interest in repurposing. You know, appliances, but mostly furniture. That’s something I like to do— save old pieces of furniture from the junk pile and breathe new life into them with a little TLC and color. It’s really therapeutic. There’s a huge market for gently used, restored pieces.”
Neither Luke nor Lincoln says a word. In an interesting turn of events, I’ve developed a surefire way in rendering men speechless without the aid of human flesh. Is there an app for that?
“Granted, it’s not a very large market.” God, I hate when I backpedal, when I offer the out to my less-than-swayed audience because I’m more interested in their comfort than my own. “It’s a great idea because it’s an alternative to miscellaneous apps that cover too much territory. I thought we could call it ReInvent. A new lease on an old favorite.”
“A new lease on an old favorite,” Luke mulls it over. “ReInvent. I like it. It’s brilliant. You are brilliant, Macy O’Conner.” He gives a lopsided grin while checking his phone. “I have a one-thirty at Merlin.” He shifts his gaze to Lincoln. “Still working for the old man. You need anything done over there? I can run an errand for you if you like.” It sounds like a nice gesture in theory, but something about the way the words came out sounded more like a threat, an advancement in their pissing contest.
“I don’t need anything from you.”
“Great.” Luke looks stunned by the shutdown. “I’ll connect with you later.” He gives me a quick pat on the back before leaning in. “Have fun with Dr. Killjoy. Pessimism is a terrible disease. Don’t catch it.”
A small laugh trembles from me as he takes off.
“He’s a clown, huh? Made you laugh. Bet anything it was at my expense.” Lincoln’s forehead wrinkles into three neat lines before smoothing out again. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me. I’m not interested in anything Luke Van Der Wolff has to say.” He redefines his stance, legs parted, hips centered, and back straight as a board. Bradley slouched, and Luke curves into you as if trying to draft you to his side of the playing field, but Lincoln has a man’s stance. Lincoln Lionheart is a man through and through.
Fire in an Amber Sky Page 6
