knees to my chest and hugged them. “He loves the art class. I’m pretty sure he’d go every day if we could.”
“Have you managed to fit in piano lessons?”
I snorted. “We’re barely fitting in eating and sleeping.” I picked at a thread on my sock. “Well, we did eat at a steakhouse. Crazy thing happened though.” I turned my head toward him. “You stood us up and your credit card was declined.”
He set down the ice cream and reached in his back pocket. Frantically, he thumbed through his wallet and pulled out a few bills. “Here. I didn’t intend for you to pay for it.”
I stared at the money with disgust. “And I didn’t mention it to be reimbursed. Besides, Beau paid for the meal.” And you ignored that you didn’t show up, even though Eric already forgave you.
He laid his wallet on the coffee table with the bills on top after I refused again to accept them.
They were a glaring insult. No, Eric and I couldn’t afford a meal at that restaurant. But we weren’t like everything else in Lincoln’s life he could just throw money at and fix it.
I snatched his wallet and stuffed the offensive money back inside.
His brows furrowed.
I held up the soft leather bi-fold. “This might be the most important thing to you. But that”—I pointed to the ice cream—“and that”—then the painting—“and spending time together. Those are the things that count most in our world. Don’t you dare come in this house and try to contaminate that.”
While his face remained like a stone, something sparked and ignited in his dark eyes. He pried the wallet from my fingers and tossed it back on the coffee table. And then the warmth of his hands replaced the leather against my palm.
His gaze always seared, but this time it burned with a fire the likes of which I’d never seen. He tightened his grip on my hand as if I were his anchor.
“Hi.”
His voice was rough like he was using it for the first time.
“Wh-what?”
We were in the middle of one of the most intense moments of my life and the word was a shock.
“You said I never greet you.”
I shifted. All of his energy directed at me was too much.
“Better late than never.” It came out as a half-whisper.
“Still unsatisfactory.”
Every syllable was like a caress even though his words weren’t seductive. But in combination with the intensity of that look, which most definitely was not rock-like, everything he did rattled me to my core.
“It’s not the greeting I’d choose either,” he continued when I didn’t respond.
“No?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Obviously, since he’d never once said hello, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.
“What would you use?”
“This.”
His mouth descended on mine swiftly. And when our lips collided, I splintered apart. The confidence he exuded translated through the kiss.
He knew what he wanted.
He wasn’t afraid to take it.
And I wanted to give it to him.
Every ounce of frustration with him since we’d met poured out as my tongue dueled with his. I hadn’t kissed anyone since high school and it had been nothing like this.
Lincoln was a man.
An aggravating rock of a man.
Who made my entire body buzz by holding my hand and saying a one syllable word. The kiss unleashed a passion I hadn’t known was inside me. Like it was bottled up and buried in a secret place just waiting for Lincoln to uncork it.
I ripped my lips from his, my chest heaving in time with his.
How? How could this man I knew next to nothing about move me in such a way?
He leaned his forehead against mine. Our fingers were still tangled so tightly I wasn’t sure we could unknot them.
A silence enveloped us. The longer it lingered, the more a hint of panic set in. I’d kissed my best friend’s brother. Except that wasn’t just a kiss.
We’d redefined the meaning of the action.
It was a come to Jesus, I hate you, I want you, I need you, I’m drowning, rescue me, I’m here, hi collision.
He pulled back, the blaze in those dark pools as intense as ever. “It’s decided.”
My heart pounded in my ribcage. “What’s that?”
“My version of hello is the best.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lincoln
I still felt her.
Hours later, and it was like an invasion. She’d penetrated the battle line, and I couldn’t fight her off.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d touched a woman.
That was odd for a man, especially one who was frequently propositioned. And as much as I wanted to blame the lack of intimacy