I think I’m on fire.
Lincoln takes my hands in his, peels them away from my sides, and drops to his knees beside the bed, kissing the edge of my lace bra.
He traces down the curve, brushing his tongue against the hard peak of my nipple.
I’m flipping electric.
Falling back, I wrap one arm around his neck, pulling him closer.
His hands join his mouth on my breast, sucking and teasing, detonating me in slow motion. The only thing between us is the peach lingerie now.
My eyes close and my head drops low.
No man should ever make me feel this good.
“Oh. Oh, Lincoln,” I whine, mouthing those words more than speaking them.
My legs are already jelly.
I’m not sure how much longer I’ll even keep my balance, but I just know I need more. I’m drenched in pleasure, edging on breathless, and he’s barely begun.
It feels divine but it’s still not enough.
Reaching behind my back, I grab my bra clasp, helping free my offering for this devil’s tongue.
His hands move to my arms, grabbing my wrists. He stills them before moving them aside, pulling his face off my breast.
“I promised to make tonight last, sweetheart,” he rumbles, his eyes restless with dark-brown desire.
“But I kinda need this now,” I whisper, brushing my breasts against him.
“Not yet,” he clips. And then I understand—his tongue goes to work against my other breast, sucking and rubbing and lashing me to bliss.
God!
I’m clenching his head, my nails digging at his scalp, needing to hold on before Lincoln freaking Burns sweeps me away with a fever. He finally reaches behind me and hurls my bra away. It hits the wall somewhere on the other side of the room.
I’m down on the bed again, falling under him, and he’s still tasting me. Still licking. Still scorching nerve endings I never knew I had.
It was never like this before.
Never, ever this intense when I’ve barely gotten started.
I’m so in the zone, soaked and buzzing.
It’s heaven on Earth. It’s also like being yanked out of a perfectly warm bath when he suddenly lifts away.
I glare up at him.
You weren’t supposed to stop.
But he returns with a feral smile, kissing down my belly and only stopping when he comes to the waistband of my panties.
“P-p-please. Take them off,” I sputter.
“Not yet,” he warns again with a slow laugh.
I want to punch him.
But I also want him to take his sweet time, to rend me in two, to make me remember what he’s doing long after I’m just another memory.
I know this won’t last, but I’ve made my peace with it.
One smoldering night with Lincoln Burns is worth a thousand nights with forgettable men.
In a single slow breath, I feel strong hands clutching my thighs. He parts them with ease and I fall flat on the bed. I’m on my back with my legs in the air.
Lincoln stands still, clasping one ankle in each hand as he rises. He presses his lips to the arch of my foot.
The sensation makes me giggle.
Soon, he’s winding up again, kissing my ankle and moving up the inside of my leg one soft kiss at a time. By the time he reaches my thigh, I’m clawing at the sheets.
Keep going.
Oh, God.
Please.
I swear he can read my mind.
Because Lincoln moves to my other leg, pushing his mouth against my inner thigh. He kisses down the too sensitive inside of my leg, adding an unexpected nip of teeth.
I’m shaking.
Desire courses through me like a relentless wave, too strong and too serious to even let me laugh this time.
Lincoln turns me gently, slowly, so I’m now vertical on the bed.
His massive, shirtless bulk climbs over me, making me feel a hint of his weight, his power.
He brings his mouth to mine with a claiming stroke of tongue.
Hotter than ever.
He kisses me with depth and meaning and a message I can’t ignore.
Tonight, I own you, he says with every kiss. Tonight, Nevermore, you’re due to be fucked in ways you never knew were possible.
My nails dig at his shoulders. I trace his lips with my tongue.
His mouth opens, and I glide in, chasing after his demanding tongue.
My hands go to the button of his pants. He puts a hand over them and breaks our kiss.
“How many times do I need to tell you? Not yet.”
His eyes are glinting so hot it hurts.
“You’ll give me a heart attack,” I whisper.
“I’ll resuscitate you then. I think you see I know a thing or two about CPR.” He gives me an evil wink right before his mouth crushes mine again.
This man.
This absolutely cocky, brash, chiseled man.
I try to match his passion as his tongue caresses mine, as his teeth graze my bottom lip. I’m rewarded with a guttural “fuck” thrown from his mouth.
Yes. Please. I so want you to.
But he means what he says about taking me apart on his terms. When he moves away from my mouth, it’s to kiss a neat, burning line from my cheek to my ear. His hands find my wrists and shove me down, pinning me to the bed while I push back against him.
“See? Told you I’d make you squirm,” he growls.
I’m about to protest, but his tongue traces my earlobe and shoots down, attacking my throat.
I whimper.
“You’re so goddamned gorgeous when you light up,” he mutters, and then his mouth is back on mine. His arms slide under my back and he pulls me closer, a glimmer in his eye that says he wants to make every last bit of me shine like the sun.
And he’s closer than he thinks.
I’m utterly soaked. Trembling and aching. Too close to an explosive end without even having him inside me.
That’s never happened before with a man.
Not even close.
With a throaty sigh, I wrap my legs around his waist, arching into him.
Thunder boils up his throat and his face screws up.
It’s almost that scary-hot look I see around the office—except ten times more intense—and I nearly come on the spot.
Somehow, I buck against him again, pushing my legs around his.
With a snarl, he pushes me down and flips me around. His thick hands find my zipper and he rips it fully down. I help shimmy the dress away as he slides it out from under me.
My turn now.
When my hands move to his pants, Lincoln doesn’t stop me. I unbutton his slacks and push them down.
I gasp at the bulge outlined in his boxers.
Considering he’s Big Dick energy incarnate, I should’ve expected as much.
But seeing it in the flesh is—holy hell.
“Are you just going to stare, Nevermore, when you like what you see?” he whispers darkly.
Oof. I think I need a paper bag to breathe into.
Especially when he pushes me back and takes my nipple in his mouth again.
With almost nothing left between us, the flick of his tongue feels a million times better than before. My head rolls back as I moan loudly.
It’s hard to touch him, even though I want to, like I’m laying hands on some rare, exotic beast.
I stroke his back with my hands.
Down, down, down…until I hit the elastic waistband.
I tug at his boxers and he lets me—thank God—pushing them down. Then my hand circles around, brushing against his hard length.
Eep. He really is huge, angry, and pulsing so hot against my fingers.
He goes stock-still.
I’m not breathing as I clasp his girth, marveling again at his size, and start ever-so-slowly sliding my hand up and down his length in steady pumps.
“Dakota.”
Hearing my name on his lips releases my breath.
It’s the way he whispers my name, equal parts harsh and awestruck, that sends goosebumps racing across my skin.
For a second, he lets me stroke him quietly.
His eyes never leave mine, two earth-toned storm clouds crackling with lightning.
The sex in the air is so thick it’s stifling.
But he finally moves, placing his hand over my arm and moving it gently away from him. He threads our fingers together, kissing my knuckles, and shifts his weight as he pushes me back into the bed.
He’s on me like a wolf, his hungry erection rubbing against my opening.
I take a deep, ragged breath so I can force out the words, “Wait. Not yet. I have to make you squirm…”
His eyes smile down at me, even as his face remains a stone mask.
“You think I’m not wrecked on the inside, woman?” he whispers. He laughs once. “Nevermore, you always surprise me. I like it.”
He’s not lying. I can see how honest he is as our eyes lock in a fraught stare, both of us asking for the one thing with the same silent demand.
“Lift your cute ass,” he orders.
I do, pushing up on my feet.
Again, his rough hand comes between my thighs, grasping my panties in the middle.
In one swift flick of his arm, they’re gone, flying over his shoulder in a ball.
Our eyes fuse as his lips come home to mine. I watch him tear open a condom with his teeth—he must’ve pulled it out of his pants’ pocket when I was distracted—and then he’s there.
All swollen, angry head at my entrance.
A guarantee of Lincoln Burns’ darkest intentions.
My fingers flatten against his torso, feeling his body drawn like an arrow. My legs wind around his waist, pushing against him, begging him to do it.
For a breathless minute, we’re frozen just like that, until his powerful hips roll forward.
Oh, shit. Here it comes.
He slides into me with a single slow, punishing thrust.
I bite down, clenching my teeth, because it’s almost like losing my V-card again as I stretch to take him. We become a whole new feeling made flesh.
I couldn’t put it into words to save my life.
We’re coiled tongues and stalled breath and insatiable silence.
We’re flesh and steam and mingling smells, his masculine citrus and pine against the flower and mint that always shadows me.
We’re two battered hearts, our souls beating out of us, desperate to join.
I bare my teeth, panting, scratching his chest hard as I ask him to do his best, his worst, his everything.
“Damn you, Lincoln Burns. If you don’t—”
One harsh movement of his hips shuts me up fast.
He grinds into me, slowly at first and then faster, faster, finding a rhythm that was always meant to reduce me to ash.
“Oh!” I’m gone. Too infinitely lost for words.
He kisses me roughly, shoving his tongue against mine as his cock glides in to the hilt.
“Goddammit, Dakota,” he growls as his mouth breaks away with another powerful thrust.
Is it wrong that this sex feels a little scary and that excites me?
The man is a human battering ram working in slow motion to take me over.
A human wall of muscle and the sweetest cruelty.
Yeah, I won’t last long at all, and I’m already too out of sorts to even be embarrassed.
My face screws up as I arch to meet him, throwing myself against him, my O coming like a racing wildfire.
Then it happens—he pulls away at the very last second.
I open my eyes, a question hanging on my lips.
“Not yet,” he whispers. “I told you, Nevermore, you’re going down on my terms.”
He smiles, moving to the edge of the bed. After a weightless second, I follow.
That’s where he guides me into his lap, pushing my legs apart. I slide over him with defiance in my eyes as his gaze locks.
If he thinks he’s in full control…think again.
When I wind around him, I’m smiling like a madwoman.
“Careful what you wish for,” I tell him.
“Like what? Watching every sexy bit of you shake while you come on my cock?”
Speechless.
Yeah, if I’ve learned anything by now, it’s how ridiculously good he is throwing me off-kilter.
And he leaves me dizzy as his hips lurch up, slamming into me, raking this divine friction over my clit.
I clasp his shoulders, holding on, pleasure tearing me in two like a flimsy sheet of paper.
Again, he thrusts, his rough fingers coming to my jaw, tilting my face up just as he rocks into me again.
“Look at me. Give me every bit of those green eyes when you go off,” he growls, his stare beaming pure dominance into my brain.
His hands move back to my hips and stay there, guiding my movements so I match his.
Soon, our pace quickens, and I don’t have a single solitary prayer of holding on.
“Oh! Lincoln. I’m going to—”
He looks right through me, fingers digging into my ass, his thrusts coming faster and harder and deeper.
“Tongue,” he commands.
I give back a whine. My eyes roll up in my head and I’m going, going—
Gone.
The second he leans forward and takes my mouth, swiping his tongue against mine, I’m vapor.
He swallows every breathless moan I give, every whimper, every fractured part of me going to pieces on his hardness.
My hands move up and down his back frantically to the back of his head, scratching him, joining us closer, deepening the kiss that destroys me as he sends me to nirvana.
My body clenches around him.
The room goes bright with white-hot fireworks.
I’m coming so hard I forget my own name.
Holy shit!
I’m an awestruck mess.
Time condenses.
My pussy experiences miracles I never fathomed until I was struck down by Lincoln “Zeus” Burns, sex god.
The craziest part is, he’s not even finished.
I’m barely coming off my high for air when I see him staring, waiting patiently, letting me breathe.
Or maybe not so patiently.
His breathing is different now, his massive chest rising and falling, his face screwed up and his mouth pulled slightly open.
“Lincoln?” I venture. “I-is something wrong?”
“Yeah. I’m enjoying this ride so goddamned much I never want it to end,” he rumbles, twining my hair around his fist.
Then it’s on.
Another hard round where he crashes into me, making me ask a thousand times how I could ever hate this man.
Kiss by kiss, he’s wearing me down, making me worry I won’t ever be able to hate him again.
What then?
What the hell happens when we’re back in the office, trying to pretend this never happened, and—
“Dakota!” He bellows my name, a smolder in his eyes, the unmistakable look of a man—a wild animal—who’s losing control.
Oh, God.
My heart races.
I don’t even try to hold back as he wraps his arms around me and flattens me against the mattress.
As he thrusts back inside me with claiming teeth at my throat.
As he reaches down, finds my clit, and rubs with maddening intent.
As he swells, as he whips me around like a doll, as he breaks me down for any lesser man, past and future.
With one last cry of “Nevermore!” he fills me to the hilt.
He releases so hard I swear I feel it through the latex.
But a second later, I can’t feel anything else as my body ignites a second time.
Sweet, searing chaos swallows me up and doesn’t spit me out until I’m nearly blacking out.
“Damn, Dakota. Dakota, fuck,” he mutters a few minutes later, alternating my name with curses.
We’re both flopped down on the mattress and he’s holding me. He runs his fingers through my hair, slow and still so sensual, his eyes calm mocha seas that could go unruly again at a second’s notice.
“Did you enjoy that?” he whispers.
“Do you have to ask? Um, yes. God, yes.” Heat pumps under my face, but I don’t have to worry. It’s just the two of us and a long, dark night ahead where I’m sure he’ll deliver a lot more to enjoy. “Honestly that was… Gah. I can’t even compare it to anything else.”
“You’re beautiful when you look like a cherry, Nevermore,” he says with a torn laugh.
He caresses me a few more times, pulling softly at my hair—that seems to be his new favorite thing.
Then he stands, and the moonlight spilling in splashes his naked body.
He’s really, truly, undeniably glorious.
But I bite my lip, suddenly nervous.
Is that it? Am I wrong about tonight? We had sex and now he’s going to get dressed and go about his evening?
And isn’t that what Jay did, always going back to his dumb video games, where he’d spend half the night yelling at strangers when he could’ve been holding me?
My heart slams my ribs. I wonder if I’ll ever trust a man again.
Lincoln looks back, his face that broody mask again. I still wonder what secrets, what doubts, are stewing inside of him.
“Are you leaving?” I venture anxiously.
“I need a shower to recharge. You want to come with?”
My heart flutters back into place.
“Umm, I would, but…I’m not sure I can stand.” Embarrassing, but true.
Laughing, he rejoins me on the bed, tucking me neatly into the huge, protective arch of his body. “How about we just lie here until your legs work? Then we’ll clean up dirty.”
I’m smiling so hard I want to cry.
Thankfully, I don’t. I just kiss his cheek instead.
“Oh, I like that. I like that a lot.” I’m quiet for a heady minute. “That was the best I’ve ever had,” I finally say, working up the confidence.
“Same,” he throws back.
I do a double take.
“Okay, now I know you’re lying.”
“You think I ever lie about anything besides Regis rolls?” he asks with a grin.
Laughing, I roll my eyes.
“I find it pretty hard to believe a man like you hasn’t had more—uh—attractive partners.”
Why, yes, that is my own terror speaking.
“Believe what you want,” he says casually, right before he melts me with another kiss that only Lincoln Burns could ever give. “Now, I have to ask, did your muse get any fresh inspiration?”
I stare at him for a hot second.
Then I snap my head down and sink my teeth into his arm.
“Hey!” He pushes me off him, laughing. “Did you just bite me?”
“Yep. Because I warned you to quit talking about that stupid poem.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” he says firmly.
“It was.”
“I liked it. Best words anybody ever said about me.” He thumps his chest once for emphasis.
“Oh, God. You had to say that, didn’t you? I was crying, Linc.”
“And you’re not crying now. I still love that I have my very own blond stalker writing poetry about me—and she’s a freak in the sheets, too.”
I elbow him playfully in the side.
“I’m not your stalker.”
“Shame. I adore your type of stalking, Nevermore,” he says, kissing me deeply before I can even blush.
Slowly, but surely, those kisses lead us to our feet and then to a master bathroom that could fit three of my freaking apartments. It’s a sleek, modern design with sparkling glass, a sauna room attached, and spotless white tile gleaming next to midnight-blue-and-gold cabinets.
He takes my hand and leads me underneath a stream of water that pours from two waterfall showerheads. I think I’ve gone to another world while Linc gently washes my back.
When we get out of the shower after so much more kissing, he dries me off with an oversized towel. He wraps me up in it neatly before lifting me off my feet again.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Nothing you won’t like. Trust me.”
Smiling, I bat my eyes.
“Why does that make me so nervous?”
“Don’t know. You worry too much, Nevermore.”
We sail back into the bedroom, where he sets me on the edge of the bed and unwraps the towel slowly, one side at a time.
Then he’s kissing me again, only stopping to drop to his knees. His mouth moves to my belly button and slips down.
“What are you doing now?” I ask breathlessly.
He answers, but not with words.
When his tongue finds my clit, I understand.
God, do I understand.
His tongue flicks back and forth, sweeps inside me, moves like he’s writing his name inside me.
Lincoln grabs my thighs and holds them apart, pushing me against his face, bringing me home.
“Oh. My. Whoa,” I mouth slowly.
“I’m coming for your muse, sweetheart,” he whispers, stopping just long enough to look up at me with fire in his eyes. “Hold the fuck on. Lie back. Let me give you colors worth the words.”
He grabs my legs the same way he did earlier and resumes his position after I’m flat on my back.
Then it’s just his mouth, my pearl, and a scream lodged in my throat.
His tongue is relentless, gliding down my seam, taming my pussy with wild abandon.
With trembling legs pressed to his face, his beard and his heat and his unforgiving mouth throw me into the hottest climax of my life.
I blink my eyes open and wonder why I’m sleeping on a cloud.
This bed is a sort of soft I didn’t know money could buy. I’m nestled under a fluffy white blanket that might as well be a marshmallow. The furniture around us is marble-topped.
Why am I not in my apartment again?
Oh, right.
The best hours rush back to me. My mouth drops open.
Oh, shit. I’m that girl.
The girl who sleeps with her boss—and relishes it.
I’ll face the fallout later, but right now, I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.
I need to get dressed and make excuses so I can get home and freak out about how much I’ve blown up my life.
Rolling to the side of the bed, I start groping around on the floor for my clothes. Nothing touches my hand. I pull the comforter across me and sit up to look. The floor is clean.
Huh?
I scoot to the other side of the bed and try again. I find nada.
What the hell? Where are my clothes?
I jump out of bed and quickly search around the entire bed. Everything is just gone.
I spot a plush white bathrobe lying near the foot of the bed, though.
It’s ginormous, but I tie it around me anyway, unlock the door, and start searching for Lincoln. I’m going to have to swallow my pride and ask if he’s seen my clothes, I guess.
As I move downstairs, I think I hear—whistling?
Yep. Definitely whistling.
I follow the sound and find him in the kitchen, which could rival Eliza’s place with heavenly cinnamon and vanilla perfuming the air.
“Morning, Nevermore.” He holds his arms out.
Umm—what? I blink.
Am I still asleep and dreaming? Either way, I walk into his embrace.
He hugs me tightly and kisses my forehead.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I did. But, uh, have you seen my clothes?”
“They’re in the dryer. By the time we eat, they should be ready,” he says, his eyes shining happily.
Sweet Jesus. What universe did I wake up in?
“You…you washed my clothes?” I say slowly.
“Yeah. Thought I’d do you a favor.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.
My jaw scrapes the ground. But before I can say anything, there’s a loud ding!
The oven timer.
Lincoln strides over and pulls out a tray of huge, piping hot cinnamon rolls. “Give them about five minutes and I’ll get the frosting on.”
He cooks?
Well, I knew that since last night, but…he bakes? He makes me freaking cinnamon rolls?
“You made us rolls?” I ask, disbelief ringing in my voice.
“I wasn’t sure what else you usually ate for breakfast.” Again, he shrugs like he isn’t demolishing what’s left of the stuck-up suit I used to think he was.
“Who are you and what have you done with Lincoln Burns?” I shake my head, my hair lashing my shoulders.
“I’m a thoroughly satisfied man this morning,” he growls, swatting my butt.
I jump. Heat burns my face and I double over laughing before I look up. “Jeez. If I’d known you just needed to get laid to act like a human being, we could’ve adjusted your attitude a long time ago.”
He stiffens.
“That’s not why—”
I smile. “No. Of course not. Sorry. Bad joke.”
“You cleared my head, Nevermore.” He nods. “I woke up thinking maybe we should reconsider Anna’s idea.”
“Anna’s idea?” Oh, what? The idea hits me like a Mack truck. “You can’t mean—the fake engagement thing?”
“Yeah. That ‘thing,’ as you so eloquently put it,” he says with a snort.
I’m not sure how I’m still standing.
“Are you crazy?” I toss at him.
“Dakota, if you’re interested, I could use a lot more of last night in my life—”
“Sex?” I interrupt.
“You, but sure, the gravity defying sex is great, too.”
My heart rivets. My face is on fire. My everything short-circuits.
“I mean, I guess I would like that. I’d love spending more time together, if only that charade wouldn’t create a million other problems.”
“Worrywart,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “Where’s my spitfire who tells me to go to hell on a daily basis? She disappeared when I kissed her, and I don’t want that. I like her.”
I wonder if he’s right.
“Sorry. I haven’t been in this situation too many times—”
“Situation?” His eyes search mine.
“With a man—like that, I mean. And the last time I was, it didn’t end well. I’m just afraid if you’re serious and things get out of hand with this goofy engagement trick…” I trail off, my brain spinning too far to finish.
“You still think you’re unlovable? Listen to me,” he whispers, tracing my cheek with his finger. “There’s nothing fucking wrong with you, Dakota. That little ant who ran out on you just had his head up his ass so far he could spit into his own throat.”
I laugh at the crude statement.
“But what does spending more time together have to do with Anna’s scheme?” I ask.
“It’s too soon to talk to HR about this since we don’t know how serious it is—”
“Oh. Right!” I say too eagerly.
He’s right. We don’t.
I’m still convinced this is just a crazy hookup and my rabbit brain is making a mountain out of it.
“We’ll need excuses if anyone notices a change in our demeanor. Need to explain why we’re spending so much time together. Anna’s fake wedding shit gives us the perfect cover. Plus, I think you agree it’s a crazy-like-a-fox marketing plan. It could give the wedding line unprecedented reach.”
“This is really fast,” I whisper.
Not to mention intense.
Me, men, and engagements—fake or otherwise—don’t normally get along.
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m as much fun on a date as the next gothy poet chick. I look okay in a wedding dress—as good as any short, slightly awkward girl with white-blond hair is, anyway.
But it’s the combination.
The skyrocketing stakes.
The alien feeling of caring again and bracing for disaster. I know how it ends and the potential final chapter of this situation scares me.
My brain says run, Dakota.
Run fast. Run far. Run to safety.
“Dakota?” he urges.
“Can I think about it?” I whisper.
“Can you think while wearing pretty dresses and taking pictures with me?” His eyes scan me up and down. He’s as relentless as ever. “I think I’m going to request another dress design.”
Why did his eyes roam my body as he said that? He doesn’t think I’ll do justice to the current designs?
“Why’s that?” I wonder, searching his eyes.
“Because I know exactly what I want to see you wearing,” he says without a shred of doubt.
The way he says it reminds me of last night. Memories of being held as he pummeled me into the mattress invades my mind.
“Yeah? What do you want to see me in?”
“Something that hugs your curves and shows some skin. Without showing too much skin that’s for my eyes only,” he adds with his brows pulling down.
I smile. “You like leaving something to the imagination, huh?”
“Yeah, makes me want to tear it off you like a candy wrapper. But I like that everyone else has to keep guessing, too, and only I know.”
The jealous look he gives daggers me. Three cheers for scary-hot men.
“Possessive much?” I joke.
“Not usually.”
He doesn’t elaborate until I urge, “Why now?”
“Got cursed by a girl with a raven tattoo,” he says with a comical shrug.
God help me, I step closer and kiss him again.
When I try to pull away, he places his hands behind my head and keeps me there.
“See? This is why we should try. If we’re faking an engagement, we can do this to our heart’s content and no one will think twice.”
I hate that his madness has a certain logic that may make it worth a shot.
“But Lincoln, if I have to be in it before I can decide, then I can’t really think about it, can I?”
“Not if you plan on talking yourself out of it,” he throws back.
“What if I don’t want to fake an engagement with my boss who doesn’t know how serious we are?”
“Do you know how serious we are?” His stare hardens.
For a second, I hesitate.
“Um, how can I? I never thought this was even possible. Aside from not being anywhere near your league—”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he cuts in.
“You know what I meant. The only man who ever showed any interest in me before is a loser starving musician who won’t stop hounding me. It’s safe to say I’m out of the league of someone who’s worth—whatever Scrooge McDuck numbers are in your portfolio. Not to mention a guy who’s the talk of the Seattle paparazzi.”
“That boy was a worm, and if men don’t approach you, it’s because you’re intimidating.” He thumps his chest lightly. “What if you’ve met the man who isn’t afraid?”
It’s freaky how well he has me pinned down.
“How intimidating can I be?”
“You’re beautiful and feisty and hurt. That’s a lethal combination. Nobody wants to be shot on sight trying to pick you up. Men—no, little boys—are scared to approach you.”
Somehow, that makes me smile.
“You’re scared right now. Don’t be,” he whispers gently, sweeping me into his arms.
But I step back, stunned at how well he reads me now. “You know my history. I don’t know, a fake engagement, even one where the people closest to us know it’s just a ruse…it’s a lot.”
“It’s a lot for me, too,” he says with a heavy look. “You’re not alone in the broken hearts club. I was engaged once.”
I do a double take as his eyes focus on me.
“Her name was Regina. She danced ballet, everybody loved her, and I put a ring on her under the radar so we could avoid the press. She was also a pathological liar.”
My heartbeat quickens. I hate this Regina already.
Especially when I see subtle lines deepening across his face, hinting at just how much damage she did.
“I came home early to surprise her with tickets to Broadway and an evening flight to New York one day,” he says, anger curdling his voice. “I found them together. In our bed. She was draped over him like a fucking sheet, naked as the day she was born.”
I gasp, a quivering hand coming to my mouth.
He must realize I’m about to fall over because he grabs me, holds me so gently, and touches his forehead to mine.
“That’s awful, Linc. My God. It’s almost worse than what happened when Jay left me,” I whimper, my heart aching for him even if deep down, a selfish part of me is glad it didn’t work out with this cheating bitch.
“Don’t, Dakota. There’s no need to compare,” he says gently, his eyes glowing in the morning light as he peels back to look at me. “Hurt isn’t a contest, sweetheart. It’s not about better or worse. We all walk away with battle scars and bad memories. It only matters whether or not we let that shit rule us. It only matters if we let yesterday ruin tomorrow.”
I’m almost crying now.
I never imagined he had it in him to be so deep, to peel back my layers, to find my core, my soul, my truest heart. But that’s where he is now.
That’s where he’s always been destined to wind up, now that I know Lincoln Burns shared my uniquely rotten agony the whole freaking time.
“Can…can I ask you something?” I whisper.
“Hell yes.” He strokes my hair.
“Why weren’t you afraid of me, Lincoln?”
He chuckles. “Like you don’t know?”
“That stupid poem?” I’m blushing.
“No. That stupid cinnamon roll. The first day we met,” he growls. “Dakota, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away from you forever if we kept butting heads. This would’ve happened faster if I wasn’t your boss, believe me.”
“Oh. I always thought you saw me as an annoying nerd then.”
“You are,” he says fearlessly. “But you’re a beautiful, feisty, and talented little nerd. You’re the whole damn package. So if I send Anna an email letting her know that her idea is brilliant and the extra push we need to compete, will you be pissed?”
I think for a long second before I slowly, but firmly shake my head and whisper.
“No.”
“Good.” He kisses my forehead. “Now, are you going to help me frost the cinnamon rolls?”
“Sure.”
We finish the rolls together and sit down at the table.
I haven’t noticed until now, but right in the middle of the table there’s a bouquet of bright-blue flowers with violet centers. Instead of the normal baby’s breath mixed in with a bouquet, I see midnight-black and smoky grey feathers. The ribbon is tied up with a crystal raven.
I smile before I force my face straight.
Yesterday wasn’t planned. He couldn’t have had time to order flowers…
I’m baffled.
Lincoln picks up a roll. “Are you going to keep pretending there is nothing on the table?”
He takes a manly bite and looks up from his pastry.
“For me?” I ask cautiously.
“Do you see anyone else here?”
I reach out and slide them over, loving their scent. “They’re beautiful. Seriously.”
“I thought it was high time somebody gave you flowers you’d like after I jacked the ones you hated,” he explains.
Mentally, I’m speechless, but I manage to say, “Oh. Oh, wow. I love them.”
“Look at the card.” He gestures.
I don’t see a card. There’s a flat piece of cardboard with three small plastic objects glued to it. One silver, one blue, and one black.
It takes me a second before I ask, “So, the feathers are—”
“Pens, Nevermore.” He grins and nods.
Oh, crap.
My heart bursts into a million pieces. Even my parents never gave a gift that’s so me.
“Lincoln. This is amazing. But how did you get flowers here?”
“Favor.”
“What favor?” I ask, laughing.
“I gave the word and my driver put it together this morning. I tipped Louis extremely well.”
“That man might be a miracle worker. Almost as much as you,” I add, turning away because if I meet his eyes, I will be in pieces.
I only wonder one thing.
How messed up is it that my fake engagement is already turning out better than my real one?
