by T. K. Leigh
I was so wrong.
“Miss?” he says with a smirk, knowing all too well what has my panties about to combust.
Trying to play it cool, I take a moment to compose myself, then smile slyly. “It is now.”
With a wicked shine in his eyes, he assumes the seat, flagging down the bartender. I simply watch him, trying to figure out exactly what game we’re playing. No matter what, I have a feeling it’s going to be a lot of fun.
“You here alone?” he asks after he swallows a sip of his scotch, his lips wet from the remnants of the liquid.
“It appears I am.” I smooth the lines of my skirt.
“Is that so?”
“I was supposed to meet someone.” I sigh in mock disappointment. “But it looks like he stood me up.”
A salacious smile builds on his mouth. “His loss is my gain.” He eyes my nearly empty martini. “Can I buy you another?”
I lean back in my chair. “I should probably just go home and forget about tonight, considering it appears my date has.” I pinch my lips together, interested to see how Lincoln plays this.
“You’re right. You definitely should go home.” His gaze darkens, a warning. “But don’t you think you’d have more fun with me than going back to your place with nothing to distract you from thinking about some prick who apparently has horrible taste.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I shrug. “Humor me.”
“He stood you up.” He rakes his gaze down my body, and desire flickers in his deep pools. I uncross and re-cross my legs, allowing the slit of my dress to reveal the skin of my thigh. Jaw tightening, nostrils flaring, he reluctantly lifts his eyes to mine. “No man in his right mind would stand up a woman as stunningly beautiful as you.”
He inches toward me, his lips close. I’d give anything to erase that last bit of space between us and taste him, but I don’t, remembering the game we’re playing. And I certainly love these games.
“Give me one drink to prove it to you. If you’re not convinced, you can go on your way.”
“And if I am convinced?” I exhale.
“Then you come up to my room and I make you forget all about this man who isn’t worth your time.”
“And how do you hope to do that?” I bat my lashes.
“Use your imagination.” His mouth skims against mine, causing a shiver to roll through me. Then he pulls back, the epitome of restraint.
“I do have a very active imagination.”
He lifts his scotch to his lips. “That’s what I’m banking on.” My gaze lingers on him as he swirls the liquid, then swallows. Returning his glass to the bar, he focuses his attention on me. “So, what do you say? One drink with me, then maybe one night where you can have all your needs met? Or go home all alone?”
I pause, enjoying the anticipation in his expression before nodding. “One drink.”
“Good girl.” He leers at me for a moment, then waves down the bartender.
Once he turns his attention away from me, I exhale a long breath. I’ve shared a bed with this man numerous times, but the rush of exhilaration filling me makes me feel like we’re two strangers, my heart pounding a thunderous rhythm.
When the bartender sets my drink in front of me, I offer him a smile.
“I took a guess at what kind of vodka you’d prefer,” Lincoln states, reminding me of a similar conversation back in Vegas. “But something made me think you were a Belvedere girl.” He leans toward me, running a finger down my arm. “Smooth. Layered. Sophisticated.”
I take a sip of my drink before setting the glass back on the bar. “How did you know I liked my martini dirty?” I pass him a sly grin, more than aware of what line’s about to follow.
He hovers closer still, the nearness of his lips unhinging me. “I had a feeling you liked things…dirty.”
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
His lips ghost against mine, teasing me, making me desperate for more, regardless of the fact we’re in public and anyone can see. Lincoln may have turned in his final grades, but we’re still on rocky ground. We will be for a while. Seeing us together like this when I’m still technically a student will certainly raise eyebrows. Hell, seeing us together like this even a few months from now will raise eyebrows.
“You have no idea,” he growls, jaw tensing, pupils dilating. I brace myself for the kiss I sense is coming. But it never does. He retreats, the foot or so between us feeling like miles.
“So, I assume you’re not from around here.” Brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I bring my glass to my mouth, trying to steady my trembling hand.
“What gave it away?” he jokes slyly.
“All non-New Yorkers have a sign on their foreheads. Only true New Yorkers can see it.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure is.”
“I see.” He looks forward, pretending to pay attention to the Yankees game on TV, but I know the only interest he has in the game is the Yankees losing. Like his father, Lincoln has two favorite baseball teams. The Mets, and anyone playing the Yankees.
“So, where are you from?” I ask after a brief silence, trying to spark conversation.
“Does it matter?” His tone isn’t curt. More sensual and amused.
“Excuse me?”
“Does it matter?” he repeats. “I’m not from here. I fly back home tomorrow, so after tonight, you’ll never see me again.”
“I was just trying to make small talk.”
“Is that what you like? Small talk?”
After considering his question, I blow out a breath. “I find it dull and ordinary, but it appears most people opt for these kinds of mundane questions.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because they’re too scared to ask what’s really on their mind. Scared to voice their deepest desires.”
His mouth lifts into a grin, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Take all the rules off the table. Forget about propriety and custom. What would you ask me?”
I curve toward him, bringing my hand to his thigh. His pupils dilate as I inch farther up his leg. “If I were to agree to accompany you upstairs, what did you have in mind?”
“A magician never reveals all his secrets.” He winks. “Need to give you a reason to come…if only for curiosity’s sake.”
“That may be true, but I never buy anything sight unseen. Or at least without a description of what I can expect.”
“A description?” He cocks a brow.
“Yes. A description.” I lean back, removing my hand from him in the hopes the lack of touch pushes him to his breaking point, just as it does me. But he’s still as composed as ever.
“Very well.” He faces forward, brushing the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip. “I’ll finish my scotch, thanking you for the enlightening conversation, and slide my keycard your way, leaving the ball in your court, as the saying goes. You’ll be unsure at first, wondering if you can do this, if you can really take that key and go up to a stranger’s room. But your desperate need to forget your inhibitions for one night will get the better of you.” His tone is even and measured, as if discussing an important business deal instead of his plans of seduction.
“You think so?”
“I do. So you’ll take that key and use it. You’ll walk inside my room, and neither one of us will say a single word. We won’t need them. We’ll communicate our need with our bodies. You’ll be so overcome with an urge to feel me, you’ll try to strip off all my clothes, but I won’t let you.”
“You won’t?”
“No.” He slowly shakes his head. “Not yet. That’s the problem with all these other men you’ve dated.”
“And what’s that exactly?” I shoot back, playfully rolling my eyes.
He leans toward me. “They didn’t take their time to seduce you. Because they’re just boys.”
“I’ve dated older men,” I say very matter-of-factly.
&nb
sp; “Doesn’t matter. They’re still boys. A woman should be savored, like a fine wine, like the delicacy she is. Boys screw. I don’t.”
“So… What? You’ll ‘make love’ to me,” I taunt.
“No. What I plan to do to you is so much more than that.”
I swallow hard. “More?”
“Yes.” The heat of his breath on my neck causes my lips to part, making me shift as I clench my thighs together to dull the ache. “I will consume you. Hold your desires captive. Possess your every thought from this moment forward. I’ll bring you to the brink of utter bliss, only to pull back, drawing out your pleasure as long as possible. You’ll beg me to let you come, to make you experience the mind-altering orgasm you’ll now be convinced only I can provide for you. But I’ll make you wait a little longer. Because you wouldn’t have reached your breaking point. Not yet.”
His breathing grows heavier, the muscles in his face tightening as the distance between us becomes nearly nonexistent. “I’ll feast on your body, memorizing every dip and valley, taking my time to give every inch of you the attention it deserves. When you don’t think you can take any more, I’ll bring you to the bed. You’ll be blindfolded and restrained, completely at my mercy. Your orgasm completely at my mercy. Your legs will be spread wide so you can’t find any relief that way. You’ll need me.”
“I already need you,” I pant, my voice not sounding like my own.
I don’t even have to look at his lips to see his smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He abruptly pulls back and drains his scotch. Then he coolly slides a keycard my way, winking before turning from me, leaving me a bundle of sensations.
I watch as he disappears out of the lounge, exhaling to calm my overwrought nerves. My legs shaky, I’m careful as I step down from the barstool.
Lost in my thoughts of how Lincoln can affect me like this, considering we spend almost every night together, I jump when a hand grips my arm, my heart ricocheting to my throat. I snap my head to my right, gasping at Lincoln’s heated stare. Before I can utter a syllable, he yanks my body against his and kisses me as if it’s a regular occurrence for him to do this. It’s been so long since he’s kissed me in public. Most people wouldn’t think it a big deal. Before Lincoln, I never gave it much thought myself. But now I do. And I want nothing more than to keep kissing him.
There’s a hint of reluctance as he pulls away, and I search his eyes, unsure if this man kissing me is Lincoln or my mysterious stranger. The sparkle in his gaze as he smiles tells me it’s Lincoln.
He runs a soft finger along the contours of my face. “You are fucking incredible, Chloe.” He opens his mouth, then stops, as if struggling to find the words. He grips my cheeks, his expression filled with admiration, respect, and something else… Something I’ve seen for a while now but have been too scared to label. “I…”
“Yes?” I urge when he trails off.
A look of peace washes over him. “I love you.”
I blink repeatedly, my mouth falling open, my pulse increasing even more. A fluttering sensation builds in my stomach, making me feel lightheaded, but in the best way possible.
“I know it’s not the way most people declare their love,” he continues when I don’t say anything in response. “The one thing my father’s death taught me is to never wait to tell someone how you feel. There may never be a perfect time to say it, especially with us.” He cracks a small smile before his expression turns serious once more. “But I love you. You don’t have to say it back. I understand this is difficult for you. I just…” He licks his lips. “I just thought you should know.”
My head makes a slight motion, like a nod, but I’m not sure what that means. A gesture of acceptance? This is new territory for me. No one’s ever told me they loved me. Not like this. Sure, my one boyfriend in college said it, but I didn’t hear the meaning behind those words. Not like I do with Lincoln. When he says he loves me, I believe it with every fiber of my being.
“Just give me a few minutes to get ready for you.” He places a soft kiss on my nose, then turns from me. I can’t take my eyes off him as he walks through the crowded lounge and toward the bank of elevators, my heart fuller than I thought possible from his surprise declaration.
Months ago, I would have run far away if someone told me they loved me. But Lincoln’s love doesn’t scare me. Love doesn’t scare me, not like it once did.
Recovering my composure, I grab my purse and offer a nod of thanks to the bartender. Keycard in hand, I turn to make my way up to Lincoln’s room when I come to an abrupt stop at the intimidating figure hovering nearby.
You know those scenes in a movie where the main character’s worst fears are realized and the camera focuses on them while the background zooms out? That’s what this moment feels like. Like my world is giving out from beneath me.
“Hi, Dad.”
Chapter Forty
“What the hell are you thinking, Chloe?” Dad hisses, eyes wild, expression frantic. He grabs my arm and yanks me into a quiet corner of the lounge, offering us privacy.
Disoriented, I stare at him with my mouth agape, paralyzed, unable to form a coherent thought. What do I say? What does he know? What did he see?
“Are you trying to ruin his career?” he continues when I don’t respond. “His life? What is it?” He throws up his hands in exasperation. “You couldn’t pass the class on your own so you’re trying to figure out another way to get a good grade?”
I should be floored my father would even suggest that the only way I’d get a passing grade is by offering my body in exchange, but I’m not. He’s never understood me. It’s always been easier for him to write me off.
“It’s not like that,” I argue, my voice trembling.
“No? Then tell me what it’s like, because from where I’m standing, I can’t think of another reason he’d be here with you, other than that you offered him something he couldn’t turn down.”
“I care about him. A lot.” I should keep my mouth shut, but I’m tired of my father thinking so little of me that I’d stoop to that level. I’ve put those days behind me. “I want to be with him. And he wants to be with me.”
My father looks at me as if I just told him zombies had overtaken the streets or aliens had invaded the country. Then he paces, running his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. When he stops, he shoves a finger in my face. I stiffen, backing up.
“You cannot do this. That man has worked his tail off, has made a name for himself in this field. I will not let him throw it all away for someone who will never appreciate it. For someone who will toss him aside when something better, someone with a bigger bank account comes along. His father’s legacy deserves better than this. Lincoln deserves better than this.”
“I won’t toss him aside,” I argue, but he won’t hear it. He has this idea in his head of who I am and nothing I say or do will convince him otherwise. Which is why I don’t remind him that it takes two to tango. That we both accepted this risk together.
Even if Lincoln were here trying to accept full responsibility, my father would still find me at fault, insist I’ve been around my mother too long and learned everything I needed in order to persuade someone to make a decision they normally wouldn’t. She was once a powerhouse in politics, after all. She’s mastered the art of persuasion. As have I…according to him.
“You go through life thinking people are disposable, just like your mother. You use people, get what you want, then walk away, leaving them to clean up the mess.”
I shake my head, my teeth biting into my lower lip, doing everything to reel in my temper, every word he spews like another knife against my flesh. I don’t want him to see how much his words hurt. But I’ve spent too many years pretending his indifference toward me doesn’t affect me.
“You flash a smile, bat your lashes just enough to get them into bed. And that’s all they are to you, isn’t it? Just a bit of fun. That’s how it’s always been with you. And that’s how it will always be. Hell, th
at’s what got you your promotion. Now it can help you get your degree. Is that right?”
With each word, my rage increases until it bubbles over. Fists clenched, blood pressure rising, I bellow, “I love him!” My chest heaves as my voice rings out, everything going still.
His jaw snaps shut, his body paralyzed by my admission. “What did you say?”
Exhaling, I lower my voice, my expression relaxing as a small smile builds on my mouth. “I love him.”
“You—”
“I know what you’re thinking. I never thought I’d be the type of person to fall in love, either, but I love him. I love how excited he gets when talking about some hard-fought victory at the paper. I love the look that comes over his expression when he’s deep in thought, about to figure something out. And I love how he makes me feel more loved than anyone else in my life ever has. I have no way of knowing whether this will work, whether we’ll survive. But I want the chance to find out.”
Dad rakes a hand over his face, his shoulders falling as he realizes this is more than a passing fling. “You really love him?” He lifts his eyes to mine, searching for any hint of deception. But there isn’t any. This is my truth. Lincoln is my truth.
“More than anything.”
In a flash, the compassion disappears, the stern, controlling man returning. “Then you’ll walk away.” He steps back, adjusting his tie.
“Wha—”
“Dean Morrison is in there.” He points in the direction of the restaurant just past the lounge. “I’m having dinner with him and a few other colleagues. It’s lucky I was the one who noticed you two, considering they’re all professors at the university.”
Nausea bubbles in the pit of my stomach, my pulse increasing at the idea that we very well could have been exposed by someone other than my father, who I hope will keep this to himself.
“Do you want to be the reason Lincoln loses everything he’s worked so hard for? The reason he tarnishes his father’s legacy?”
I want to say that Lincoln doesn’t see it that way, tell him all the times he’s reminded me I’m worth the risk. But this brings to the forefront all the internal debates I’ve had over the past several weeks…hell, months. Can I really ask him to sacrifice nearly twenty years of hard work for me? Will I be able to live with the guilt that will inevitably consume me when I’m forced to watch Lincoln try to find something else he’s passionate about? And Lincoln loves his job, loves his career. Am I worth it? Are we worth it?
