by T. K. Leigh
“You lawyers. Always trying to get off on a technicality,” I jest.
“Only with you. I only want to get off with you.” He waggles his brows.
“Good. And tonight is more than acceptable. Although I’m not sure I want to know who you had to sweet-talk in order to buy out this place for the night.”
“No one.” With a casual shrug, he leans back, releasing his hold on my hand. “I’m friends with the executive chef, so I called in a favor. He’s been closed the past two weeks preparing for a menu revamp, so it worked out quite well.”
“I’d say,” I muse as a waiter approaches with a bottle of wine Lincoln must have ordered before I arrived. After he presents it to him, the waiter opens it, pouring a small amount into a wine glass, allowing Lincoln to taste it. When he nods in approval, the waiter fills both glasses.
Once we’re alone, Lincoln raises his wine and I follow suit. “To a first date I hope you’ll never forget.”
“I doubt I will.” I smile, then bring the wine to my lips, taking a sip of the robust red. “Although yesterday’s role-playing was pretty unforgettable, too.”
“I can’t count that as a date. You deserve better than that.”
“That may be true, but we can still play once in a while. You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
He grins mischievously, which makes me want to skip dinner and go straight to dessert. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind for future dates.”
“A bit presumptuous, isn’t it? To assume I’ll agree to see you again? This first date could be a complete disaster and I may have to cut my losses.”
He takes another sip of wine, his motion slow, deliberate, meticulous as he swirls the liquid around his mouth. It’s strangely erotic to watch. Such a simple thing adults of drinking age do on a fairly regular basis. But the way Lincoln takes his time to savor the liquid that winemakers spent countless hours perfecting makes my heart beat a little faster, my breathing to become a little more labored, my skin to flush under his sensual stare.
Forget Pornhub. I could watch Lincoln swirl his wine all day long and probably get off numerous times.
“It may be presumptuous,” he finally says when I’m on the verge of combusting. “But something about you makes me think you like a man who’s bold, who’s confident, who has no problem telling you exactly what he wants. Am I right?” He arches a single brow.
“Perhaps,” I flirt, pretending to be completely unaffected by his charms.
“Then trust me when I say that, if I do my job right, I’m confident you will be so swept off your feet after tonight that I’ll ruin you for any first dates that come after me…although I hope there won’t be any.” He reaches under the table, his hand settling on my knee. When he grips it somewhat harshly, I jump, yelping, before regaining my composure, nervously glancing around.
“And I’m also confident that after I get you in my bed tonight, the only name you’ll scream again will be Lincoln Moore.” Eyes flaming with need, he brushes his fingers up my leg before pulling back, acting as unaffected as ever. But I know the truth. That he’s the tortoise, and this is part of his seduction, his first lap around the track.
I curve toward him, salaciously licking my lips. “It already is, Lincoln…” I pause, then moan out, “Moore.”
The grip on his wine glass tightens and I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand. Now that would be a first date I’d never forget.
The next hour seems to fly by as we talk about anything and everything that pops into mind. I search my memory for an instance we’ve done this, coming up empty. We’ve never really talked to each other, apart from playing Never Have I Ever during that fated blackout. But that was just part of a game. Here, we’re finally learning about each other. More importantly, we’re no longer hiding from each other, no longer trying to keep our past inside to prevent reopening wounds that probably never healed completely.
Throughout the course of our dinner, he tells me story after story about his father. It’s clear from the excitement and hint of longing in his voice that he still misses him, even though it’s been nearly twenty years. I suppose time can’t erase all wounds. I’m living proof of that, too.
“It’s not as romantic as meeting at a club in Vegas,” he says after telling me how his parents met at a blood drive on campus at the start of the semester. She was a nursing student who was helping with the blood collection. The second he laid eyes on her, he was attracted to her.
Apparently, confidence and cockiness are traits among the Moore males. Instead of taking his time after giving blood, allowing the lightheadedness to wear off, Elijah insisted he was fine and attempted to stand. Of course, dizziness instantly took over and he fell, cutting his head, which required a couple stitches. Wendy found out where his dorm was and went to check on him. And the rest, I suppose, is history. Until she walked into class a few days later and learned he was her TA.
“I guess we all can’t be so lucky.” I roll my eyes.
He grabs my hand in his. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s done that tonight. It’s something so many other couples take for granted. I doubt I ever will again.
“I actually like our story. I like that we kept running into each other, as if the universe was trying to force us together.”
“Bet you never expected to learn I was one of your students, though.”
“That certainly threw me for a loop.” He gazes at me thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t change that, either.”
“Really?”
“I like to think everything happens for a reason. And I like to think there’s a reason you ended up in my classroom.”
“And what’s that?” I lean toward him, my eyes glued to his.
“I think we both needed to fight for this. If there weren’t these huge obstacles facing us, I think we would have taken each other for granted. Taken our feelings for granted. Maybe it would have eventually turned into something more, something meaningful, but I think we needed this. Because I know something I didn’t back in January. Hell, something I didn’t even know a few weeks ago.”
“What’s that?” I ask again, my voice softer.
He brings my hand up to his mouth, placing soft kisses against my knuckles. “That I’ll always fight for you, no matter the battle, no matter the cost.”
And that’s all it takes for the remainder of the wall protecting my heart to crash down, allowing Lincoln Moore to possess it.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I slam my hand onto the kitchen island where I’ve been chopping tomatoes and cucumbers for a salad. “Oh, my god! I just thought of something.”
Lincoln glances over his shoulder. “Should I be worried?”
“Fluffy!”
“Fluffy?” Facing me, he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and it takes every ounce of resolve I possess not to drag him back into the bedroom, especially when I see his muscles flex with the motion. There is nothing sexier than a man cooking in the kitchen. Except a man cooking without a shirt. And that’s my current view.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve spent a great deal of time in Lincoln’s apartment. It now feels more like home than my own place. We’ve gone out on occasion, usually to a late movie at a theater so far out of the way that the chance of seeing anyone we know is slim, but we tend to play it safe and have a “date night in”, as he calls them. Cooking dinner together. Watching movies. Always adding a personal touch to make it more than just staying at home.
“Yes. Fluffy, your cat. The one you told us about in Vegas that you’re convinced cursed you.”
“I remember Fluffy.” He returns to the stove to check on the steaks searing on the burner, coating them with some melted butter from the pan.
I do my best not to gawk. Yes, I love a muscular chest and chiseled abs, but there’s something incredibly sexy about Lincoln’s broad shoulders and sculpted back that tapers into a defined waist. And those dimples right above his shorts beg to be licked. But I don’t.
That might be a little creepy. I know I’d be creeped out if I were cooking and he came up and licked my lower back. Then again…
“And it’s a good thing we just had sex because bringing Fluffy up in conversation would probably curse me,” Lincoln adds as he turns around, his voice and sudden motion forcing my eyes up to his. A sly smirk tugs on his mouth when he realizes he caught me ogling his physique. He stalks toward me, using his body to press me against the island. “But I have a feeling you’d be able to lift any curse.” He grinds against me, making his erection known.
“Down boy. Do you need a cold shower?” I push him away. “What I meant was it just occurred to me that Midge’s cat, Pigpen, is Fluffy. You said you gave the cat to your boss after they’d lost theirs.”
“I did.” He walks back to the stove. “And yes. Fluffy’s name is now Pigpen.”
“Don’t you find that incredible?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. If you’d mentioned the name he has now, I would have pushed to find out who your boss was. Let’s face it. Pigpen isn’t exactly a common name for a cat.”
“It is if you’re a Peanuts fan.” He transfers the steaks to a baking sheet before placing them into the hot oven, setting a timer for six minutes.
“True, but it would have provoked a follow-up.” I squint, considering all the pieces that had to fall into place for us to end up together. “And if I’d learned you worked as an attorney for the Times, I never would have so much as entertained the idea of sleeping with you, let alone kissing you.”
“So you would have friend zoned me?” Cocking a brow, he approaches me, pushing the cutting board to the side. With incredible ease, he grabs my ass and lifts me onto the surface of the island, settling between my legs.
“No. You would have been in the no-zone.”
“Not even the friend zone? At least there I could have attempted to use my amazing powers of persuasion.” He curves into me, his mouth landing on my neck, the way he sucks and licks the perfect mixture of carnal and reverent.
“That would have been futile,” I respond breathily. “I draw a hard line in certain matters.”
“Is that right?” He slowly circles his hips, the friction jumpstarting my libido, as if the ol’ girl needs an excuse.
“God yes.” I throw my head back as he continues moving against me, his unshaven jaw bruising my skin. “That is so right.”
He abruptly pulls away, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Now who needs a cold shower?” With playful arrogance, he retreats from me, heading toward the counter to take the baked potatoes out of the foil.
Refusing to let him beat me at this little game, I slide off the island, nonchalantly sauntering up to the sink. I make it look like I’m about to rinse the berries I set aside to top the cheesecake I’d brought over.
“Cold shower, huh?”
“That’s right.”
In one quick move, I yank the hose from the faucet, spraying him with the water.
He stiffens, spinning around to face me, but he makes no attempt to get out of the line of fire. His lips curl with a sinister smile as he advances, his steps slow, deliberate, unforgiving. When he grabs the bowl of heavy cream I’d whipped to go with our dessert, a devilish glint flashes in his eyes.
I take the pressure off the water, but that doesn’t stop him from scooping whipped cream out of the bowl and smearing it down my face.
I stand completely still for a moment, the shock leaving me frozen. Then I wipe some of the cream off my face, making a show of seductively licking my fingers, even though I shudder to think what I look like. With a devious grin, I grab a handful of blackberries from the carton on the counter. His gaze remains glued to mine, watching me with interest as I smash them into his chest, rubbing the juices all over his body.
He tries to remain serious, but I notice the faintest hint of his mouth lifting in a smile. “You’re in trouble now, Pixie,” he warns as he goes to hook an arm around my waist.
Squealing, I attempt to escape him, but slip on the wet floor, taking him down with me. We land with a hard thump, the room momentarily silent. Then we break out in laughter, the sound echoing against the high ceilings.
“I’ve always wanted to add food into the mix,” I joke. “But I figured we’d start with whipped cream on my nipples. Maybe a little chocolate syrup. Not sure how erotic the face can be.”
“Oh, baby, I guarantee I can make it hot for you.” Grinning, he drags his tongue along my jawline, tasting the sweet treat, and I moan, succumbing to him.
When the timer buzzes, neither one of us are interested in those steaks anymore.
The sensation of warm lips brushing against my temple slowly stirs me from sleep. Normally I hate to be woken, treasuring every second of sleep I can get. But these days, my reality seems better than my dreams. And who wouldn’t want to be awoken by such a beautiful kiss? It worked for Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. They didn’t groan and roll over, pushing their Prince away, begging in a raspy voice for five more minutes of slumber. And neither do I.
“Morning,” I say, melting into Lincoln’s lingering kiss.
“Morning.”
My eyes flutter open, but the room is still dark, day not having broken just yet, although the glow coming from the windows tells me it will soon.
“What time is it?”
“Six.”
I shift, turning my eyes to his. “An emergency at work?”
A slight smile curves his lips. “No. It’s my day at the university. I wanted to go early and finish grading papers so I can turn in my final grades.”
“Final grades?” I arch a single brow.
Slowly nodding, he erases the distance between us. “And we’ll be one step closer to finally being free. To finally being us.”
A fluttering erupts in my stomach when his mouth skims mine, his kiss hesitant and soft. As much as I love his hunger-filled kisses that brim with so much desperation and passion, these are my favorite. These gentle exchanges in our stolen moments before dawn.
“I think this calls for a celebration.”
I feel his lips curve up. “I agree.” The scruff of his beard scrapes me as he trails kisses from my mouth and along my neckline.
“What did you have in mind?” I crane my head, allowing him better access. His hand roams the contours of my frame, and I part my legs, moaning when he grazes against me.
“I can think of a few things,” he answers coyly, nipping at my skin, driving me even more wild. “One in particular that I’ve been fantasizing about for months now.”
“What’s that?” I pant.
He pauses, and I can almost see the smile crawling across his mouth. Then he pulls back. “Meet me at The Living Room in the Park Hyatt tonight.”
My eyes fly open as I prop myself up onto my elbows, searching his gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says nonchalantly, straightening himself, buttoning his suit jacket. “It’s fitting, if you ask me. Starting this new chapter where it all began. Where you finally gave me a chance.” Then he gently touches his lips to mine, erasing any trepidation. “Even more so considering today marks four months since the blackout that changed my life.”
I sigh into him, unable to believe it’s been that long. In some respects, it feels like it has been longer than four months, considering everything we’ve been through. In other ways, it seems like it was just yesterday that I walked into that classroom and learned the man I’d been having incredible sex with was my First Amendment Law professor.
“The happiest, most excruciating, amazing, heart-wrenching four months of my life. But I’d do it all over again if it meant I’d still be here with you.” When he cups my cheek, I close my eyes, savoring the feel of his rough hands against my smooth skin. His mouth brushes mine and I melt into his soft kiss. “So, eight o’clock?”
I simply nod, ignoring my internal voice of reason that tells me we should still be careful, that we won’t be in
the clear just because he submitted my final grade. But when have I ever listened to reason? If I had, I never would have run out of the bar all those weeks ago, telling Nora and Evie I had to go see a man about a pair of panties. Then I wouldn’t be here. Sometimes, it pays to take a risk.
“I can’t wait.”
“Either can I.” Lincoln treats me to one last kiss, then leaves me alone in his large bed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tapping my fingernails against the bar, I check the time to see it’s nearly 8:20, growing antsy with each passing minute that Lincoln doesn’t show up. Did someone put the pieces together? Was my father nearby when one of my texts flashed on Lincoln’s phone? Did someone see us during one of our supposed clandestine meetings and report him to the dean? Or, worse, my father?
A ding rips through the background noise of the bar and I flick my eyes to my cell, blowing out a breath when Lincoln’s name pops up on the screen.
Play along. No questions.
Confused, I’m about to text back when I notice movement to my left and shift my eyes in its direction.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Fuck me,” I murmur, swallowing hard as I stare at the man in front of me.
He’s in a different suit than the one he wore this morning. His hair glistens, evidencing a recent shower, his beard neatly groomed. But that’s not what has me squirming in my seat. It’s the British accent with which he speaks. It sounds remarkably authentic. And sexy. Holy shit, is it sexy. I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to this man. Didn’t think it were humanly possible.
