Couldn’t stop thinking about deflowering your phone from both ends. Don’t worry, not expecting a reply. Good night.
As he’d returned the phone to its charging dock in the living room, he’d realised he was smiling.
A few days later she sent another one. He’d barely woken up when she texted to say she’d had a dirty dream about him and if he showed up at her place that night they could perform a reenactment. Even now, weeks later, his body tightened at the memory of what they’d done to each other that night. The woman lit a fire in him that only burned hotter every time they came together. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever get his fill of her.
It wasn’t just the way they connected through sex that held his interest though, it was her—all of her. She’d taken it upon herself to show him everything she loved about Melbourne, swearing she’d ruin him for every other city. They’d gone walking in her favourite nature reserves and taken the tram to St Kilda to enjoy the beach. Sometimes they’d meet for lunch at a quirky cafe, or dinner in some little back-alley restaurant that served amazing food. She’d introduced him to dozens of her friends and acquaintances, and he’d been amazed by the wide variety of people she knew. His self-professed party girl, as it turned out, could carry on a conversation with pretty much anyone and have them wrapped around her finger within minutes. He’d watched it happen with great fascination on more than one occasion.
After roaming the country for the better part of a decade, he prided himself on knowing how to work a city over and find its hidden treasures. But somehow, seeing Melbourne through Amber’s eyes was unlike anything he would have experienced exploring on his own. And while he’d enjoyed playing tourist to her guide, there were times when he felt the act itself was her way of reminding them both this whole relationship was temporary. He’d told her six months tended to be the length of his stay in any one place and he was pretty sure that was the only reason she’d let him so far into her life. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she had their ‘expiration date’ marked on a calendar somewhere—just to be safe.
All through those weeks of exploring the city, and each other, she’d continued to text him every couple of days with snippets of funny things that happened during her work day, or interesting pictures she’d taken on the way home. After a while he’d found himself looking forward to the next time his phone would give the now familiar burble. The experience was surreal and unexpected.
Once or twice he’d been tempted to reply, in moments when he’d wanted to respond but didn’t have time to call. So far, he’d held back. He’d worked hard to achieve the tech-free simplicity of his life and he was loathe to give it up on a whim. As a kid, notes on the fridge were the most meaningful communications he’d received from his parents for weeks at a time. Now, as an adult, he’d witnessed too many people interacting through a flurry of texts that didn’t have a hope of achieving the connection that could be gained from a simple phone call? He loved the sound of Amber’s voice. He wanted to hear her laughing at his jokes and use her tone as a way of gauging how she felt on any given day. He didn’t want to lose all that because tapping at the screen a few times was quicker. It was a slippery slope and he was hesitant to take the first step for fear of losing his balance.
He managed to maintain control right up until the moment her saw the baby birds. He’d been doing some basic yard maintenance for a new client, pruning the branches of an overgrown tree, when he’d spotted the nest tucked into the fork of two branches. The three babies inside were tiny, with soft, grey feathers covering their scrawny bodies. They were beautiful in that gawky way only baby birds can manage. By chance, his phone had been in his pocket at the time and he’d snapped a quick picture of them before moving away.
After he’d finished his work and packed his equipment back into the truck, he’d pulled the phone from his pocket. He’d never sent a text before, let alone one with a picture attached. Even if he wanted to do this, he wasn’t sure how. Did he want to do this?
He stared at the screen in indecision. Amber would go gaga over the picture. All women went gaga over baby animals, right? The birds were beautiful and he wanted to share them with her, just as she’d shared snippets of her day with him.
Sending one text would not turn him into a texting maniac—of course it wouldn’t. To think otherwise was ridiculous. If she did reply he didn’t have to reply back. She’d never expected him to reply. In fact, as if by some tacit agreement, her regular texts had never even come up in conversation. For all she knew, he’d never read a single one of them.
He began tapping the screen and before long he’d managed to compose a short message. As it turned out, the process was fairly intuitive. But how the hell did he attach the picture? He spent a couple more minutes poking around and managed to get it attached. After a brief hesitation, he hit send and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
If she did send a reply he would read it later—at lunch. Then he’d give her a call and talk to her. That’s what he needed in his life. Real people who spoke to him in person. Not messages left for him to find on phones, or fridges or any other damned thing.
His pocket rang. It wasn’t the odd burble he’d come to recognise as a text, but an actual phone call. He answered it.
“They are so adorable. Where are they?”
Lincoln smiled at the excitement in Amber’s voice. She hadn’t responded with a text. She’d called him instead. In that moment, he fell for her that little bit more.
He told her about finding the nest and she gushed some more. At least he was right about that. Women did still go gaga over baby anything.
“Come over tonight,” he said as they reached a natural lull in the conversation. “I want you in my home.”
She fell silent for a long moment and he could almost hear the wheels in her head turning. He’d invited her over a few times since that first morning when she’d rejected the idea so forcefully. She’d always managed to avoid accepting, though he had no idea why. He hadn’t pushed the issue, figuring he’d already pushed hard enough that morning, but he was about ready to kidnap her just to get her to step foot inside his home.
“Okay. I’ll come.”
A stiff breeze could have knocked him down he was so shocked. “And you’ll let me cook for you?” he asked, his smile wide.
“Yes,” she replied with a long sigh. It seemed, now she’d committed herself, she’d decided there was no turning back. “Cook to your heart’s content. I shall eat.”
“And will you let me tie you to the bed?”
“Don’t push it.”
Lincoln laughed. “Princess?”
“Yes, Linc?”
“Thank you for calling.”
She made a deep humming sound that never failed to make his skin tingle and his gut ache. He loved that sound. “Well, I had to mark the momentous occasion appropriately. I know how you don’t like text conversations, but you sent one anyway, just for me.”
His heart warmed at the way she spoke, as if he’d given her some sort of gift instead of a badly lit picture of gawky birds. He’d never understand women, this woman in particular, but he liked her anyway. “Maybe I could get used to the odd text. Especially when you tell me you’re having dirty dreams about me.”
“Oh, so you have been reading them,” she said with a laugh. “I did wonder.”
“Yes, I’ve been reading them.” He hesitated before he added, “I’m sorry I’ve never replied. I just… ”
“I know. It’s okay. There are times when I like to reach out. Sending a little message is my way of doing that. You don’t have to reply.”
He’d never thought of it like that and it made him smile. “You’re something else. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” she said with a brassy show of self-confidence. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Chapter 12
Maybe he was robbed. That was the first thought to pop into Amber’s head when she walked into Lincoln’s apartment. The pla
ce wasn’t totally empty, but it wasn’t far from it, and a recent robbery would account for the total lack of stuff.
In the living room a couch and a couple of armchairs surrounded a coffee table. Nearer to the kitchen was a small dining table with four chairs. Potted plants filled a couple of the corners with greenery and a few paintings graced the walls. That was about it. No television. No collection of magazines on the coffee table or mail dropped on the sideboard. In fact, there was no sideboard to drop the mail on.
The kitchen counter was currently covered with the makings of what would surely be a delicious dinner. However, the only other items on it were a coffee machine and a kettle. Once he’d finished cleaning up from their meal the kitchen would, no doubt, look as empty as the rest of the place.
An enormous pin board hanging on the far wall caught her eye and she moved closer. It must have been a metre wide and nearly as tall and the entire board was covered in photos. Lincoln had told her stories about his travels, so she knew skydiving wasn’t the only sport he’d tried, but she’d had no idea how many adventures he’d had. There were photos of him skiing, white water rafting, standing on top of mountains and lazing on beaches. Most of the photos were of Lincoln with groups of people, both large and small. A couple were of him by himself. Amber had felt so adventurous because she’d been skydiving—once. That was nothing compared with Lincoln’s tableau of past escapades. She couldn’t believe she’d once accused him of being a hermit.
Though, when she wandered through the rest of the open-plan room, she realised in some ways she hadn’t been that far off. How did anyone live with so little stuff? It seemed like a contradiction, to have such a full life but little to show for it physically, and yet she supposed it matched him in a way. This place was who Lincoln was. Who he was, was a little weird.
When she turned around, she found him watching her silently, as if gauging her reaction to his living space. She tilted her head at him. “Don’t tell me walking into this room is a test in itself. Because the way you’re staring at me, it feel like a test.”
A smile twisted his lips—part amusement and a lot self-deprecation. “It’s not a test. I promise. I’m just wondering if you’re going to make any psychopath jokes, or maybe scrunch up a piece of paper and toss it on the floor to see how I’ll react. I’ve had both of those reactions, and a dozen more besides.”
Amber was grateful she hadn’t done anything so obvious. “Well, that’s rude.”
Lincoln shrugged. “Nah. It was just mates taking the piss out of me. In fact, Scott was the one who threw the paper on the floor.”
“And how did you react?” She couldn’t help but ask, feeling curious about the answer herself.
“I left it there,” he replied as he returned to the kitchen and his half-chopped vegetables. “Actually, I think Scott paid more attention to the stupid paper than I did. Derek found the whole thing obscenely funny.”
“I’ll bet he did. So you’re not, I don’t know, obsessive compulsive or anything?”
“Not in this lifetime,” he replied. “But I do move around a lot and it helps to travel light. I always rent furnished places so I can move fast if I want to.” He gave a shrug. “Plus, I like empty space. Some people hate it, want to fill it up with possessions, but it makes me feel calm and relaxed.”
She shook her head, gesturing to the pin board. “Your photos say you have little interest in being calm or relaxed. In fact, the words adrenaline-junkie come to mind.”
“I don’t know about the junkie part but I’ve had a hell of a lot of fun,” he said with a laugh. “But this place is home, at least for now, and I like home to be… ” he seemed to struggle to find the right word, “a sanctuary, I guess.”
“I get that.” Amber glanced around the room once more, seeing it from a new perspective. “I suppose it is calming.” She sat down in the corner of the couch and relaxed back into the plump cushions. She still had a good view of Lincoln cooking in the kitchen. “I like this spot.”
He grinned at her. “Would you like a glass of red wine to add to your newfound spot?”
She pretended to think about it for a moment before nodding. “Wine would increase my sense of calm and relaxation, yes.”
“One glass of wine for the princess coming up,” he said with a chuckle.
A moment later she accepted the glass, glad she’d said yes to coming tonight. She’d been putting it off, she knew. It had been a long time since she’d spent the night at a man’s place, preferring to be in her own territory when dealing with lovers. For some reason she felt more in control of herself when in her own space. But she liked Lincoln, he was fun and different from anyone else she’d ever known, and she’d felt like it was time to make an effort. She’d apparently abandoned her rule about not being with the same man for more than one night in a row, maybe breaking one more wasn’t such a big deal. It wasn’t like he’d be sticking around permanently. Somehow, knowing he would move on before too long made it easier to open herself up to enjoying the benefits of a closer relationship without worrying about what it would mean for her future.
“So,” she asked after sipping her wine, “are you making me a meal fit for a gourmand?”
“Nope.” Lincoln swept chopped ingredients into a hot saucepan and they hissed and sizzled as he began to stir. “It should taste good, but I am a simple man with simple tastes.”
“And you use simple ingredients and simple equipment,” she added with dramatic flair. “Nothing but a single knife, a chopping board, and one pot for our Linc.”
He laughed. “That sounds a bit extreme, even for me. But you’re on the right track.”
“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked as she rose from the couch to join him in the kitchen.
Lincoln shrugged as he kept a close eye on the saucepan. “I grew a tomato plant when I was a kid, about nine or so. It grew way more tomatoes than I knew what to do with. So I decided to turn them into tomato sauce. That was my first foray into cooking.”
“How did it go?”
“I nearly burned the house down and I got this scar.” He turned his left hand so she could see a burn scar on the back of his wrist, small enough she hadn’t noticed it before.
“Poor baby,” she crooned as she took his hand in hers and drew it to her mouth for a comforting kiss. “Such a tragic boo-boo.”
“Tell me about it. As you can imagine, when my mum saw the kitchen she hit the roof. It was the worst tragedy in the world—for about an hour. After she got over the shock of it, well, I’ve honestly never seen a woman more excited at the prospect of renovating a kitchen. I only marked one bench. She’s the one who gutted the place.”
“Well, if you only replace the one bit of bench it won’t look quite the same as the rest and that’s worse than if you’d never fixed it in the first place. Replacing the whole lot is the only way to go.”
He shuddered visibly. “You sound just like her.”
She cringed. “Uh-oh. I don’t think that was a compliment. Does this mean you don’t like me anymore?” she asked, unable to help teasing him.
He raised his head and his gaze locked with hers. She got that feeling again, like he was trying to see inside her. Then he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her lips. “Definitely not.” He went back to his current task of chopping salad ingredients, but he seemed to do it with more gusto than before. “I love my mum, and my dad too. They’re not bad people. They just… well, we haven’t ever really been close. It’s not anybody’s fault. We are who we are.”
Amber frowned. He never did mention his parents much. She knew they were both lawyers and they were living in Europe somewhere, but that was about all she knew. He clearly didn’t want to discuss it, though, so she moved on.
“You’ll have to let me cook dinner for you sometime,” she stated. “I’m a dapper hand when I set my mind to it. My meals are made with simple ingredients too, except I use twenty of them at once.”
Lincoln raised his eyebrows at her. “
Sounds like your culinary education is a lot more advanced than mine.”
She gave him a smug grin. “Well, I’ve never burnt down a kitchen before, if that’s what you mean.”
He smiled at her teasing. “Who taught you?”
“My mum. She used to teach us all to cook on Saturday afternoons when I was a kid. By the time we were teenagers we were all able to produce a three course meal.”
“Really?” he sounded impressed. “That sounds great, her spending time with you like that.”
“Yeah, well, she was a housewife so she had time to teach us different skills and do things with us she might not have otherwise.” Amber nabbed a slice of capsicum from the salad bowl. “I think she would have liked to have had a job when we were older, but my dad believed that children need their mother. He didn’t want her to work, so she didn’t.”
“It must have been nice, though,” Lincoln commented, “having someone who was always there for you when you needed her. Yeah?”
“Of course. It just would have been better if it had been her choice, that’s all.” Amber took a long sip of her wine and turned away.
“I totally get it now,” Amber murmured against Lincoln’s chest a few hours later. “This place is heaven.”
Lincoln gave an evil laugh and placed a kiss against the top of her head. “The brainwashing has begun.”
Having finished dinner and the last of the wine, they were stretched out on the couch. Lincoln lay on his back with Amber’s body draped over his, her head nestled on his chest. Chilled acoustic guitar music played in the background. He’d insisted on putting it on, if only to prove he wasn’t an uncultured swine. Amber had laughed herself silly over that.
He’d been stroking his fingers up and down the length of her back for the last ten minutes, stealing up under her shirt so he could feel her warm skin under his fingers. Heaven pretty much summed it up.
Amber’s phone rang and she gave a loud groan as she reached out to grab it off the coffee table. She looked at the screen and immediately pulled herself upright. “I have to answer,” she told him as she stood up. “It’s my dad.”
Lost in Amber: Steamy Contemporary Romance (Finding Forever Book 2) Page 7
