by Jianne Carlo
“Go on.” She stood, collected the stainless steel bowl filled with onion skins, mushroom ends, and other peelings and went to the sink.
“She asked for a ride to her place. Neither of us wanted to drive her. She'd been coming on to me for the entire plane ride. And though I didn't know then, she'd virtually jumped Satan at De Bar one night.”
“Sounds just like her.” Destiny’s jaw clenched so hard, the insides of her cheeks ached.
“Yeah. Anyway, long story short, by the time we got her up the mountain, we were in the middle of a blizzard, which lasted two days.” He fell silent.
Destiny pivoted to face him and blinked.
Lincoln stared at a spot to the right of the fridge, his mouth downturned, his eyes squeezed shut, white-knuckled hands gripping the table edge. Fine lines bracketed his lips; he lifted his lids and inclined his gaze in her direction.
Something clawed her insides when his eyes met hers.
He swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed once, twice. “The last thing in the world Satan needed right then was Nadine screwing with his brain or his body. I decided to take the pressure off him, so I fucked her.”
Her knees collapsed, and she dug her elbows into the sink's ridge.
“Satan did screw her toward the end, but we never had her at the same time. Nadine, Satan, and I did not have a ménage à trois.” He downed the rest of the wine in his goblet. “You want the details?”
“The three of you didn't…?” Her mind had gone number than gums Novocaine frozen. “She lied?”
“About that part, yeah.” He bounded to his feet and stood tall and taut, the muscles in his shoulder bunching and twitching.
The brain freeze drained her thoughts, sucking a vacuum inside her brain. She licked her lips. “Two days?”
Oh my God. “How many times? How many positions? Oh why does it matter? Why do I feel like leftovers all over again?”
Strong, warm arms crisscrossed her back and pulled her tight against his hardness.
“Shush, shush. Jesus, Destiny. I'm the scumbag here, not you.” He stroked her spine, massaged her scalp. “How many times? I honestly don't know. Those two days are a blur. I blanked them out of my mind. Up until that time, I had never slept with a woman I didn't want. But I couldn't risk her getting to Satan while he was still in a fragile place.”
“I didn't mean to say that aloud.” She buried her nose in his chest hair, comforted by his spicy smell. “You're right. I can't hold your sexual past against you.”
“Look at me,” he coaxed, one finger lifting her chin. “Active sex, two, maybe four times. Sex where she used her toys and made use of my fingers, five, six. Positions, as few as possible. The whole experience left me feeling dirty and filled with self-disgust. I almost admitted it during confession at Church.”
“Really?” The darkness at the edges of her vision lifted.
“In a way I'm grateful for our time in Keechum. It's kinda cathartic, know what I mean? Like a magical cleansing. You wiped away my sins, Destiny Driven, with your grace and your sweetness and your innate goodness. Not to mention your luscious bod.” He winked.
She gave in to a smile. “It wouldn't matter so much if I didn't have to face her for work. I really, really don't want to edit her next book.”
“You have to edit her next book?” His ferocious frown and snarl did wonders to alleviate the bitter taste of Linc and Nadine dredging her mouth.
She shrugged. “Murphy's Law, huh? Of all the places, all the people in the world, I had to run into her.”
“This may sound crazy, but I'm actually grateful to her. She did bring us together. And I wouldn't have missed out on you for all the stars in the universe.”
The brawling gnats in her stomach declared a truce. A low, pitted uneasiness ceased snaking and slithering over each vertebra. But his careful enunciation and wording when he replied to her question about Nadine lying lingered in the corners of her brain.
You didn't have a ménage with Nadine and Satan, but you've shared women with him before, haven't you?
Stop, Destiny. The past is the past.
Lit building windows of a starless New York night twinkled through the glass door leading to her tiny balcony.
“Was that your tummy?” she asked, eyes dropping to his flat belly after a low rumble roared through the quiet of the kitchen.
“Belly, woman. SEALs have bellies. You, on the other hand, have a delicious tummy.” Warm palms lifted her shirt and glided across her stomach, a finger dipping and circling her navel.
“Uh-uh, Lincoln Abraham Chapman. Food first. I won't have you accusing me of starving you to death.” She smacked his hand, and all at once the easy camaraderie of the Alaskan cabin enveloped them.
“Why did you ask your friend to run background checks on me and my parents? And Juanita and Kenny?”
He gave a little double shake, and his mouth quirked. “You're such a stubborn wench. On you, in case I could find out more about your real mother. The others—I told you in Alaska, I protect what's mine. That bitch hurt you, and I want to be armed and ready in case.”
Only Jess had ever looked out for her before. Warm fuzzies settled in her brain. He wanted to protect her.
You are too good to be true, Linc Chapman.
“Can I help?” Hands shoved into his pockets, he rocked on his bare heels.
“The bowls and plates are to the right of the fridge. Get the extra-large bowls. I remember how much you eat.” She craned her neck to flash him a grin and tapped a path to his collarbone, twirling a patch of hair, flicking his left nipple. She tiptoed and mock ordered, “Bend down, soldier.”
When he complied, she bussed him full on the lips, cupped his cheek, and then turned back to the sink. “Cutlery’s in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”
“Aye, aye, ma'am.” He saluted her and pivoted.
She heard the cabinet door open. “Did you get the other contract, the Italian one?”
“Yeah, we did. We're now looking after five shipping lines and a total of a hundred and fifty individual ships.” Plates clunked as he continued. “It's a bigger start than we expected, so we'll be scrambling for a while.”
“Are you going to be traveling a lot?”
“Yeah. For the first year, I reckon.”
Arms enfolded her waist. Tanned fingers linked across her stomach. A hot mouth sucked her ear. “I promise to be home as often as I can. I told Satan on the way here that I won't be away from you for more than five days at a time.”
Where would he live? Here? Long Island?
“This place is minuscule, Destiny. Cute, but what—maybe six hundred square feet?”
She snorted. “This place is a palace by New York standards. And it's rent-controlled. D'you know how lucky I was to find it?”
He licked a sensitive whorl and blew on the wet spot.
A delicious shiver zinged her nerve endings.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m on the large size. I need space.”
She dug one hip into his groin. “Go sit. I have to finish this, and I can't think when you're nibbling on my ear.”
“Aye, aye, but I'm going under protest.” He sank his teeth into her lobe before releasing her; the sharp nip went straight to her sex, coaxing moisture to her folds.
I've turned into a sex addict. I could do it again in a snap. Concentrate, girlfriend. Food, get food on the table.
Destiny expended pent-up energy on an innocent paper towel roll—she tore three sheets free, ripping the last two jagged. She inhaled once, twice, and on the third exhale had her brain, not her clit, in charge of her body.
Clit? Since when do I think those words?
She dried the beef, seasoned the cubes with salt and pepper, and turned on the stove. A quarter-inch of extra-virgin olive oil, or in Rachel Ray terms, EVOO, in the bottom of the Dutch oven followed the first avocado oil layer. EVOO just didn't have the high temps required for a crusty browning.
“What about you? Did Bitch
Nadine cooperate? I know you made the deadline.” She loved that his deep voice somehow managed to rumble and fire her insides, making her belly flip flop and get all butterfly kissed.
“How do you know that?” Meat sizzled when she piled cubes into the pot. She scanned the table, found him seated across two chairs, feet resting on the far seat, neck cradled in his palms as he studied the ceiling.
“Satan has a friend who's in publishing. He pulled a few strings and got me an introduction to your editor, Jess. Nice woman. Loyal to a fault. All she would tell me was that you'd worked like a dog to get Nadine’s book done, and you were taking a couple of weeks off.”
“You met Jess?” Destiny felt like the glass—half empty, half full.
How dare he pry into my professional life? Wow, he went to an awful lot of trouble to uncover my whereabouts.
“Warned me I'd lose my balls if I dared hurt you.”
She pivoted, one brow winging up. “Jess would never use such language.”
“Figuratively, Destiny, figuratively. I took her warning seriously.” He straightened in the chair and slid his foot next to hers. His bare toes trailed her instep. He flashed her a wicked bad-boy grin. “I happen to value the family jewels.”
“Don't all men? Nadine and I had just about finished before she dropped that bombshell on me.”
“Do you need to talk about it more?” His foot dropped to the tiles, and a wayward popcorn piece spun into the baseboard. “I'd sooner we talk it out now and never speak of it again.”
“I'm not promising anything until after the book launch party.” Destiny dribbled the onions into the meat and stirred. There was nothing yummier than the aroma of onions caramelizing.
“Crapola. I'd hoped never to see that bitch again. I'll have to make nice, won't I?” Jaw working, he met her gaze, rose, turned the chair to face the table, and grouched, “When is this party?”
“Book went to Production. I'm guessing soon, definitely before Thanksgiving.” She added five cups of the homemade beef stock to the Dutch oven and poured about half of the cheap cabernet she'd purchased a few weeks ago into the pot. “And you haven't been invited, so don't go making assumptions.”
“Get one thing straight, Destiny—you and I are joined at the hip from now on. Especially if you have to face that witch again.” His breath warmed her neck, and he rested a hand on the bridge of her shoulder. “There's no way I'm giving her any opportunity to work her venom.”
“It might be easier all round if you weren't there, Linc. I'm sure she's assumed you dumped me. The entire publishing community seems to know I had an affair in Alaska and it ended badly. Jess said the gossip's vague and your name hasn't been mentioned. And that might just be a good thing.”
He relieved her of the wooden spoon, let it clank onto the metal spoon rest, clasped her shoulders, tugged, and leaned in so their noses almost touched. “Where you go, I go. You. Are. Not. Facing. Her. On. Your. Own. Got that?”
“You.” She poked a finger into his breastbone.
“Are.”
Poke.
“Not.”
Prod.
“To.”
Poke. Prod.
“Boss. Me. Around.”
Poke. Poke. Stab.
His fingers encircled her wrist, and he rested her fisted hands on his chest. “This isn't bossing, Destiny. It's taking care of what's mine.”
“What's yours?” she screeched.
“Just the way I'd expect you to take care of what's yours—me and our kids. I expect if some harpy tries to make a move on me, you'll let her know I'm yours. If some guy tried to hurt me, I'd expect you to get help.”
Oh.
She ground her teeth.
“Would you let anyone, anyone, hurt our babies?”
Ha! As if.
“I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt a child, any child,” she vowed, remembering finding a first grader in a tussle with an older kid in the schoolyard when she was in her final elementary year. Until that day she hadn't dreamed she possessed a temper. Every time she'd passed the bully in the hallway after, especially the first few days when his eye had blossomed into a kaleidoscope of purples and greens, her month-long detention seemed a small price to pay for the youngster's safety.
“Okay, hold that thought. What's wrong with me wanting to be at your side when Nadine's there? You know she'll pull something. Isn't it better if there're two heads butting hers rather than one?”
How does he turn every argument in his favor? And make it seem so damned logical.
“You're wasting your talents. You should be a politician.”
He chortled.
“Have I told you how adorable you are tonight? So”—he drew first one palm to his lips, then the other—“are we in agreement, then? We face Nadine together at the book launch?”
“Fine, yes. Now let me finish the stew.” She backed away from him, spun around, picked up the spoon, stirred, and scooped up a portion of the stew. “Since you're here, you might as well taste.”
She blew on the liquid in the spoon, rotated, balanced against the counter, and offered it to him, hand cupped underneath for spills.
He tipped the stew liquid into her hand, winked, fastened his gaze to hers, and lapped the gravy from her palm, making exaggerated slurping noises.
When he flashed her his devil-may-care grin, Destiny’s heart battered at her ribcage. A sweet ache radiated through her. The man wanted to marry her, wanted to protect her from Nadine, he equated singing opera with spirituality, and he loved her exactly the way she was. And she felt the same way about him.
I'm in love with him.
Cripes.
She crossed her eyes, trying to keep his face in focus, trying to read what he felt, but his features smeared.
She didn't believe in happy ever after.
A hazy fog misted her brain, keeping thoughts at bay, holding the enemy—emotion—in check.
He licked his lips. “Maybe a bit more salt. It's delicious. How long before it's ready?”
She faced the stove, her words coming seconds after she willed them. “I’m just about finished with this part.”
Speak. Say something light and witty. I wrote a book.
Cripes.
Help.
The weather? The news? Think, think of something. Anything to conquer the heaviness pressing down on her shoulders, the stupor setting her reactions on a two-second time delay.
What had he asked? Food? How long?
“It goes into the oven now.” Destiny took a deep breath, and knowing she babbled but unable to stop, blurted. “It's not the real Julia Child recipe, you know. That takes much longer, and besides, I don't have all the ingredients. You need lardoons for a proper Boeuf Bourguignon.”
“Destiny, it's okay. Anything you make will be delicious. I have absolute faith in you and your culinary skills. How long before it's done?”
“Normally three hours, but I know you're hungry, so I set the oven higher. Is an hour good?”
“An hour? Perfect timing. We both need a shower. How big's your shower?”
“Surprisingly not too bad. Whoever'd been here before renovated the bathroom. Mrs. C says the original bathroom came with a tub and the last tenant made the shower the size of the bath.” She popped the oven door open, switched off the burner, and slipped on her oven mitts. Destiny lifted the pot off the burner, bent, and slid it into the bowels of the oven. She checked the lid before slowly closing the door and straightening.
“Let's get those gloves off.” He curled his fingers around her hips and turned her around. His eyebrows waggled when he slipped the duck-shaped mitts off. “Ducks?”
“We were making duck a l'orange that fall, and I had to get my mind around eating a big version of the cute little ducklings in Central Park.”
He scooped her off the floor, closed his eyes and sighed, his long exhale peppering goose bumps on her shoulders. “I haven't been able to carry you or feed you on my lap for twenty-five days, Destiny D
riven. I plan to make up for it. I'm not letting you out of sight.”
“I have to go to work tomorrow morning, Linc.” She twined her arms around his neck and played with his hair, no longer a buzz cut but now almost half an inch long.
“I know. Too bad you can't do your job remotely.” Hazel eyes rolled to his hairline. “I haven't had time to get it cut. I'll find a barber tomorrow.”
“Don't. It looks really nice.”
“You think?”
“Yes. And I like the way it feels.”
“Done.” They'd reached the bathroom, and he halted and scanned the tiled room. “Much better than I expected. We'll both fit.”
“I think your head will graze the top.” She stared at the dip in the ceiling right at the shower tray.
“Will you go all quiet and stiff on me if I suggest we start looking for a bigger place?”
She wished she could look away, but when his eyes went all muddy brown and he focused only on hers, her willpower gurgled down the drain.
“Probably,” she whispered.
“Okay, let's pretend I never said that. I've missed you too much to want any tension, ’cept sexual, of course.” He leered at her. “Ever done it in the shower?”
She stifled a snort. As if Kenny would ever let anyone see him less than perfect. “No.”
“Great.” He shifted so he held her with one arm.
Destiny clamped her hands tighter around his neck just in case. He turned on the hot and cold water, and pulled the bottom tap up with his big and second biggest toes.
To hell with Kenny, Nadine, and Juanita. Linc likes me just the way I am. He wants to find a bigger place. He wants to date with marriage in mind.
You're an idiot, Destiny Driven—grab the winning ticket and cash it in.
“Perfect,” he stated after testing the spray, tilted to stare at her, and the heat in his smoldering gaze burst into flames.
“Clothes.” She tapped his shoulder.
“I forgot,” he admitted. “Thinking with my dick. Happens all the time around you.”
“I'll make you a deal,” she offered, happiness fizzing through her veins, making her giggly and giddy. “If we both take off our clothes at the same time, we'll get in there faster, but you have to agree to something first.”
