Crash

by Amity Cross

  “Vee, he’s just looking out for you. He pisses me off, but I get it. We worked it out, or I should say, Ren mediated and got us to see eye to eye.”

  “Still—”

  “Vee,” he murmured, reaching out. He let his fingers trail across my cheek before letting his hand fall back to his side. “What’s for dinner?”

  Laughing, I shook my head. No Ash talk tonight. Turning, I led Lincoln into the kitchen. “I’m not much of a cook,” I said. “I thought we could order something, but I didn’t know what you liked…” I watched in confusion as he opened the fridge and began poking around. “What are you doing?”

  “Seeing what food you have,” he said like it was obvious. It was, but was he going to cook? Shit, how hot was he right now?

  “Don’t tell me you can cook,” I said, hovering by the kitchen counter.

  “I’m not a genius, but I’m not dead yet.”

  “That’s Ash’s stuff,” I said, watching him dump a container of raw chicken breast onto the countertop, followed by a jar of pesto and a tub of cherry tomatoes.

  “I’ll pay him back,” Lincoln replied, his voice muffled from inside the fridge. A moment later, he came back out with a jar of mustard and said, “Just sit back, relax and watch me blow up your kitchen.” He finished off his statement with a wink, and I sank back onto a stool with a sigh, my heart fluttering.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “At this point? Nup.”

  Two seconds in the place and already was making himself at home. Sometimes his confidence made me feel small in comparison, but that was something I had to get over.

  “Have you got pasta?” he asked, opening another cupboard and finding a frying pan.

  “In the pantry,” I said, pointing to his right.

  He strode over and began poking about, finding the things he needed to cook up whatever concoction he was planning. Once he was satisfied he had all his ingredients, he fired up the stovetop and placed the frying pan over the heat. Dousing the non-stick surface with olive oil, he turned to the chicken and whipped a knife from the block on the counter. Soon, the oil was crackling as it began to heat. He moved from one task to the next with an automation that told me he’d done this many times before. A dark thought popped into my mind, and I wondered how many women he’d cooked for before me. Shaking my head, I had to remind myself that was then and this was now.

  “What?” he asked with one eye on me[CS1] and one on the knife in his hand as he sliced.

  “Nothing,” I squeaked.

  “Vee, you can tell me shit, you know.”

  “I know.” He’d told and implied it a few times now.

  “Then what were you just thinking?”

  “Was it that obvious?” I asked, lowering my gaze.

  “You wear your heart on your sleeve,” he replied.

  “Then what do you think I was thinking?” I peeked up at him shyly. Maybe I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought I was, or maybe it was just him who could see up and over the walls I’d built.

  He smiled, his dimple appearing yet again. I wondered when I’d have the guts to just walk over there and plant a kiss right on it.

  “I’ve never cooked for a woman before,” he said. “At least, not like this.”

  “This?” I cocked my head to the side.

  “On a date.”

  My cheeks began to heat, and he smiled wider.

  Watching him dice up the chicken and toss it into the frying pan, I still couldn’t believe he was really here, in my kitchen, cooking for me. Lincoln Hayes was a sensitive new age man through and through.

  Sliding off the stool, I rounded the bench and watched what he was doing more closely. I was feeling braver [CS1] as the night wore on, and his closeness actually felt nice, even comfortable. He still made me nervous as all hell, but it was getting easier.

  “You wanna help?” he asked with a smile.

  “I’m fine with watching,” I replied. “You want this to be edible, right?”

  He nudged me softly with his arm and shook his head. “Your wish is my command.”

  I breathed deeply as the scent of cooking chicken and the tang of pesto—as he opened the jar—filled the kitchen along with the sound of the pasta bubbling away in a pot. I wanted to ask him a lot of things, but knowing when, or what, to ask, was the million-dollar question[CS1] . I decided to ask the one that bothered me the most.

  “What happened with your shoulder?”

  Lincoln stilled for a moment, his shoulders tensing, before tossing the chicken over in the pan. He’d never spoken about it other than telling me that he’d had appointments. I didn’t even think.

  “I’m sorry, I—” I shouldn’t have asked, it was obviously a sore point. His pride had been hurt.

  “No, it’s okay. It was my own stupid fault.”

  He shifted next to me, his arm brushing against mine. A small touch, but it sent my nerve endings into overdrive regardless.

  “It was during a fight,” he went on.

  “Who were you fighting?”

  “Adrian DeSilva. He was just below me in points. Great fighter…tough.” He shifted next to me, turning the heat off underneath the pasta. “I felt the tear during a grapple. We were locked pretty tight, and the ref had to break us apart. It didn’t settle straight away, but I shook it off. I was in the lead and had the fight in the bag, so I pushed on. I knew I should’ve stopped, but I wanted the points. I wanted the win…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Stupid.”

  I should’ve asked how his recovery was going, it would’ve been the sensible and kind thing to do, but it was the one thing that would take him away from me. Before long, he would go back to Sydney, and I would be left here—alone. If it wasn’t for all the fear and the back and forth, maybe we would’ve had more time together. Talk about all the elephants in the room.

  “Do you miss Dean?”

  Lincoln nodded. “Yeah. We’ve never been apart for this long. It’s strange to say the least.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with his palm, his head dipping low.

  “You feel like you’re being left behind.” It wasn’t a question, and when Lincoln looked at me, his eyes tinged with sadness, I knew he got the meaning behind my statement.

  “You seem to see things others don’t, you know.”

  “Did I say the wrong thing? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Vee, stop being sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just a habit.”

  “You just did it again.”

  I backed away a step, not sure what to say. I did apologize a lot. I guess it was to do with the blame I placed on myself after the attack. I made a mental note to ask Dr. Ormond about it at our next appointment.

  “Have a seat,” he went on. “Dinner is almost ready. This cooks pretty fast.”

  The air seemed to have shifted between us suddenly, and I retreated back to the kitchen table, taking a seat and waiting patiently as Lincoln finished up and dished his creation into two big bowls. I began to worry that I’d said the wrong thing, or now that he’d seen more of who I was, he wasn’t interested anymore, and this dinner was just a formality until he could hightail it out of here.

  He must’ve felt it too because once he’d placed the bowls on the table, he sat opposite and reached across, placing his hand next to mine, waiting. Shifting my fingers, I brushed them against his, and he took my hand. Squeezing, he let go and picked up a fork.

  “Tell me what you think,” he said.

  “What is it?” I asked, poking at the pile of chicken and pasta with a fork.

  “Chicken, pesto, pasta salad. Or something like that.”

  I piled up my fork with a spiral of pasta, a slice of chicken and a little cherry tomato. Without thinking, or giving a stuff how I looked, I shoved it all into my mouth. The tomato burst as I bit into it, and I closed my eyes, tasting the tang of mustard and pesto. It was actually pretty nice. Much better than the microwaved meals I usually made myself.

  “I’m tak
ing that as a ‘fuck, yes’,” Lincoln said with a chuckle.

  Swallowing, I buried my fork back into the bowl. “What other hidden talents do you have?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  From the look on his handsome face, I gathered they were all naughty, so I didn’t ask any more questions. That was a bridge I was still afraid to step onto, let alone cross.

  We ate in silence, just enjoying the food and each other’s company. The whole scene was just…nice. It was a strange sensation being able to sit in silence with somebody and not have it feel weird. Especially when that someone stirred up uncontrollable feelings in your heart and lady bits.

  “Done?” he asked, reaching out for my empty bowl.

  I nodded as he collected the dishes and loaded it all into the dishwasher.

  “That was really good,” I said.

  “Yeah? Well, I aim to please.” He crossed the kitchen and stood before me, holding out his hand.

  I glanced at his hand, then back up to his face, trying to work out what his game was.

  “Just take my hand, Vee,” he said after a moment. He was trying to hide a smile, and I rose to my feet, placing my tiny hand into his big paw.

  He led me upstairs, and I couldn’t help but begin to panic slightly at the meaning. People usually went upstairs for…you know. When he led me into my room, I let go of his hand. I glanced at the bed, beginning to feel the pressure. Eventually, he’d want more, but would I be ready for it?

  “You seem more comfortable here,” he explained, and I turned back to him.

  “I am.” Because it was my cave, my escape from the world. It was full of the things I distracted myself with. Dreams, fantasies and happy endings.

  Turning to the bookshelves, he ran his finger along the spines like he had the night he first came over to catch the spider above my bed. “What are they about?”

  “Romances,” I replied sheepishly.

  Smiling, he didn’t take his gaze off the books. “Nothin’ wrong with that. You like ‘em?”

  “I guess.”

  He glanced at me. “You guess?”

  “I like them,” I said with a sigh.

  “Don’t be ashamed of liking something,” he said, turning toward me. “If you like it, I want to know about it.”

  I stood before him, back in that awkward place. The one where I didn’t know what to do next, but Lincoln was all over it. He reached up and cupped my face in his hand, stroking his thumb across my lips. A split second later, he kissed me.

  I opened up to him instantly, our tongues meeting, and I could taste the pesto from dinner. Pressing forward, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. It didn’t feel awkward anymore. I was beginning to crave his touch now that it was becoming familiar. To my surprise, I realized that I trusted him. He wasn’t out to hurt me. He was trying to help me…just like he’d promised.

  Lincoln broke the kiss first, separating our bodies, and I sighed in frustration, wanting more.

  “If we’re doing this,” he murmured, “then you have to get used to me.”

  “Get used to you?”

  Reaching over his shoulder, he tugged at his T-shirt and pulled it up over his head, revealing his hard, muscled chest…and his abs. Shit, where should I look? Then he dropped his jeans, kicking out of them. Flustered, I shrunk back a step, and he shook his head.

  “Not that far, Vee,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

  “I—”

  He smiled and turned to the bed, pulling back the covers. He climbed onto the mattress and lay on his back with his arm out. What was I meant to do now? I stared down at him, kinda shell-shocked.

  “Here,” he said, patting his chest. “Lie down beside me, and put your head here.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I shoved my hands underneath my shirt and undid my bra, getting rid of it. Then I shimmied out of my jeans, all the while he watched me with darkening eyes.

  I lay next to him, my legs touching his and my head resting against his chest. Drawing the covers over us, he sighed, and my head rose and fell along with his breath.

  “Like this,” he whispered. Curling his fingers around my wrist, he tugged my arm over his stomach, and then he reached down and coaxed my leg up and over his thighs, so I was wrapped around him. He became one giant pillow.

  The whole length of my body was pressed against his. My cheek, my breasts, my stomach…down there. I could feel the hard lines of his body, and I began to tremble.

  “You cold?” he asked, reaching for the extra blanket with his free hand. He drew it over us, and I buried against him, not for warmth, but for his touch. It felt good. More than good, actually. It felt amazing.

  Opening my eyes, I peered at his nipple and grimaced.

  “What?” he asked, his jaw moving against the top of my head.

  “I can see your nipple.”

  He laughed, his chest rumbling beneath me.

  “It’s right there…” I trailed off and beginning to feel daring, I edged forward and licked him.

  “Fuck, Violet,” he hissed, his body shuddering. “You’re not cold are you?”

  “Not really.”

  I tensed as I felt his hand begin to stroke lightly up and down my back.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, his hand lowering little by little.

  In my current position, a little lower would mean he would be touching me right between the legs. The danger zone. I tensed against him, and he stopped his movements.

  “I haven’t… I’m not…” I couldn’t say it.

  “You haven’t—”

  “Not since…” I trailed off with a shrug. “I don’t know what to do. Not like—”

  “Vee, it’s not always about the fucking,” he said, running his other hand over his face. “It’s nice and all but sometimes it’s about more than that.”

  I closed my eyes tightly. “It is?”

  “Being into the person you’re with has a lot to do with it being a-fucking-mazing.” His chest rose and fell as he sighed. “I always imagined it would be somethin’ else with the right woman.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You will know…” He paused and pressed his lips against the top of my head. “When the time is right.”

  “Do we have time?” It was out of my mouth before I could swallow it back. “Because… Because I want to try. With you.”

  There was silence for a moment, and my heartbeat began to pick up.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “We have time.”

  We held onto each other for ages, his hand resuming its lazy stroking up and down my spine. He wanted to help me try.

  “Do you remember when you used to come to Beat back in the day?” he asked.

  “How could I forget?” A girl crushing hard on a guy.

  “I used to think you were untouchable.”

  “What do you mean?” He was the untouchable one.

  “You were like that girl, you know. The one all the guys wanted. I never thought I’d have a chance with a girl like that.” He breathed deeply before saying, “A woman like you.”

  I closed my eyes, burying tighter against his side. “I thought the same thing about you.”

  “Really?”

  “You and Dean were so different,” I whispered.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  I smiled, my lips brushing against his chest. “I know you’re identical…but I never looked at him.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.” It was one of the truest things I’d ever told him.

  “All this time, huh?” he asked, and I couldn’t miss the note of pleasure in his voice. “Me too.”

  Raising my head, I caught his gaze. “Really?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious by now, Vee,” he said, running a hand through my hair. His eyes lowered to my lips, and this time, I was the one who kissed him.

  It was getting easier, and by the time I fell asleep in his arms, I never wante
d to let go.

  Twenty-Three

  Lincoln

  Shit, this felt good. Waking up next to Violet.

  Opening my eyes, I shifted only to find my legs tangled with hers. Her head was on the pillow, hair all over the place, her T-shirt was twisted and her lips were parted. She looked so innocent and so fucking hot all messed up like that.

  Like she knew I was looking at her, her eyes opened, and she stared at me for a while before sighing.

  “Sleep okay?” I asked. I know I had.

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “What time is it?”

  “Just after six.”

  “Six?” She buried her face into the pillow. “Seriously?”

  “Not a morning person?” I asked, but I already knew that. She always had a coffee in the mornings—black, no milk. And she’d complained that night I’d stayed over, saving her from spiders and watching Iron Man.

  “Not really.”

  “I’d love to pull a sickie and stay here all day, but Ash’d have my head,” I said, rolling onto my side.

  Violet peeked at me, one eye shining in the early morning light. Moving underneath the covers, her hand appeared, and she placed her fingers on my cheek, lightly tracing the spot where Ash had clocked me one.

  “It’s still red,” she whispered.

  I was too wrapped up in the fact that this was so easy between us to care that her brother had punched me. Something had changed drastically, and I was fuckin’ happy as a clam. Vee had opened up to me and let her guard down. The usual color that flooded her cheeks didn’t appear as she placed her palm against my face. She was still in there. I knew it.

  “I’ve had worse.” It was a part of my job, and a little right hook didn’t worry me in the slightest, but I could tell she was still pissed that her brother had had a go. It was the way men dealt with shit. We had a little fight about it, got a couple of shots in, and then we got over it. Easy.

  Her eyes narrowed, but she let it go. “Do you need a shower?”

  “I can get one at Pulse,” I said. I’d rather lay here with her for a few more minutes. This whole just sleeping with a woman was totally getting me off, and I knew I’d been right when I’d told her things would feel so much better with the right person. Right now, Violet was so right.