Months Later
Crisp wind nips at my fingers, but I won’t give in just yet.
I’m in my writing groove, brain vibing, heart in flames—and most importantly of all—words flowing.
I cross out a line and replace it. This journal has been a godsend, far more intimate than writing on a computer or hashing out words in my bargain notebook.
We found it at an estate sale in good condition.
Since it’s come into my hands, the black leather is slightly battered, the pages softly tanning with light exposure and good use.
Lincoln planned this getaway, and it’s brought my muse to life.
I don’t know what it is about the coolness and majesty of Mt. Rainier or the vibrant autumn leaves spiraling in the wind, but the verses flow, streaming from my soul.
He slides open the deck door, wearing a tight burgundy button-down shirt, unclasped at the top with his throat exposed. The man doesn’t even need to call “Come in, it’s almost supper!” to get my attention.
“Just give me a sec. I’m wrapping up…”
“That means another hour in Nevermore time. Get your sweet ass in here before you freeze,” he growls.
I look up, gazing into his honey-brown eyes and smile.
Will the effect he has on me ever fade?
“I’m blaming you. When you said I’d get a lot of writing done here, I didn’t know I’d be glued to my pen and paper,” I tell him.
“I was right. What else is new?” He huffs out a rough breath. “You came here to spend time with me, remember?”
I wince. Even after all these months and so many changes, he’s still got an elephant-sized ego.
“I came to spend time with Fortunato.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Poe, you’re a freak for naming that journal,” he says.
“And you burn for me, Burns. Even when I can’t fathom why.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart. You burn. If you’ve got another poem or two about falling into bed, I’ll remind you how easily I can turn you into ash.”
My face throbs with heat.
Big words from a really big lunk—and yet, they’re horribly true.
“Well, I do like being in bed with you,” I blurt out, quickly adding, “that is, when you’re not snoring like a hibernating bear.”
“There’s a cost to pleasure.” He grins, his eyes bursting with sweetness. “For the record, you’re my favorite way to warm my bed, too. Now if you get inside sometime this century, we could enjoy it rather than talking.”
I hold up a hand. I need to finish these lines before I lose my mojo.
The bond.
The tether
Always together.
“Fair warning,” he rumbles impatiently. “If you’re cheating on me with Mr. Fortunato, I will push him through a shredder.”
I glare at him. “Don’t you dare, Lincoln Burns.”
“Woman, don’t try me.” He steps off the deck, plodding down the short staircase and comes barreling at me.
I grab the journal, hop on top of the table I’m sitting at, and plod down the bench on the other side, running as fast as I can.
Lincoln chases me.
I sprint away, surprised I can still run when I’m doubled over laughing.
He’s gaining on me fast.
Crap. Here comes the hill, covered in freshly fallen leaves and emerald greenery still peeking through. Only one escape—and it’s also the best way to piss my man off.
I tuck Fortunato in my sweater, drop to the ground, and roll like I’m all of twelve years old again.
“Dakota!” he screams.
Before I can tumble three solid times, strong hands grab my sweater, tearing me back and blunting my momentum.
He scoops me up with ease, holding me like a naughty puppy.
“Are you crazy? Do you see how steep that drop is? You could’ve gotten hurt.” He jabs a finger down and—oops, yeah. He’s right.
It’s steeper than it looked in the heat of the moment, especially with the leaves carpeting everything.
“But I wasn’t.” I smile at him slowly.
“Only because I caught you in time,” he grumbles. “Don’t tell me I have to pull double duty as your boyfriend and your bodyguard? This is getting weird considering I’ve been your boss.”
“As long as you’re nice to Fortunato…we’ll see.”
He daggers me with a look so dirty it’s hysterical.
I slide my hand under my sweater, expecting to pull out my journal, but—
“Oh, crap. It’s gone! I must have dropped Fortunato when I rolled.” My heart climbs into my throat.
“Guess you deserve it then.”
“Lincoln, this isn’t funny. Put me down! I have to find my journal. I can’t lose my work.” My throat goes tight, and a hundred ways the little booklet could wind up waterlogged or carried off by a mischievous fox spin through my mind.
“Who’s the workaholic now?” He wraps his arms around me, holding me to his chest.
I lean up and kiss him before my panic resumes.
“Dude. As cute as that is, if I don’t find my journal, I’ll never forgive you.”
He sets me down with a slight exasperated sound.
“Hold on. I’ll go rescue him,” he promises.
“You will?”
“Like I’d risk your wrath, Nevermore. There’s a hell of a lot of places out here to hide my carcass, and I’m sure you’d find the worst,” he jokes.
“You’re so dramatic.” I laugh at him anyway, marveling at how his dumb jokes can brighten up even scary times like this.
“And you’re the one who named your damn journal.”
We walk together, staring at the ground, searching. Lincoln starts down the steeper incline, pulling his former Marine card and demanding I stay put.
Insanely annoying, but also sweet.
“I think I see it!” he calls up from the bottom of the hill, kicking leaves aside. He bends down, grabs it, and starts back up.
Delicious relief floods my system, cool and peaceful. I almost don’t notice the tiny flakes prickling my skin.
Just a handful at first, and then a proper dusting that swirls through the trees.
Weather gets intense at these elevations, and in late October, it isn’t unheard of for the rains to turn to snow.
I pull the tops down over my fingerless gloves and stick my tongue out as Lincoln approaches. “See what you did? I’m blaming this weather on you, Captain.”
Beside me, he chuckles. The last couple months, I’ve taken to calling him that. But he’s anything but a dipshit now.
Lincoln Burns is the light of my life, the first and last man I’d follow into hell.
“Careful or you’ll ruin the magic,” he warns, eclipsing me in those massive arms that always feel like they hold up the sky.
“Not possible. You saved Fortunato,” I whisper, taking the journal and giving it a good hand wipe.
“There’s enough magic inside, where it’s warm. I made a fire,” he whispers in my ear.
I look up with a grin. “You knew it was snowing?”
“Been in the forecast all week with more than a ninety percent chance,” he says.
“Wow. I’m surprised you went through with the trip.”
“A little winter never hurt anybody. Also, I plan on keeping you plenty occupied in the cabin for heat. Tomorrow, if you’re lucky, you’ll wake up sore as hell with a cup of coffee in hand and a nice view of the mountain in glittering white.”
I lace my fingers through his. This man is the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I have a hard time putting it into words.
As soon as we step inside, I’m engulfed with cozy warmth, the orange flames twinkling in the fireplace.
“I love how you’re so thoughtful—when you want to be,” I tease.
My heart skips as he smiles back.
He pulls the door shut behind us, kisses my lips languidly, and moves past with a playful butt swat.
“Go put your journal somewhere safe and I’ll make you coffee,” he orders.
“Hmm, okay. But I can think of better ways to warm up than getting wired…”
He chuckles and kisses me again.
“Soon,” he whispers, low and firm.
He’s so perfect. I can’t help but stare, wondering how I ever got swept up in this whirlwind.
I haven’t even given up the lease on my apartment, despite all but living with Lincoln since the day he won me back by raven messenger.
If I were still a starry-eyed college girl who believed in weddings, he’d be the man I’d want to swap vows with, hands down. But something tells me we’re better off this way, easy and slow, committed with no formal, hard commitment yet.
I head into the bedroom and lay my journal on the desk. When I return to the living room, Linc has two cups of steaming coffee and a huge Regis roll on the coffee table, apparently warmed up like it was just made.
He lounges on the couch as I sit beside him, my curiosity rising.
“Whoa. You really thought of everything. When did you stop for this?” I ask, staring at the roll with my stomach growling.
“The morning we left. They sold it raw and I just had to pop it in the oven. I wanted this weekend to be perfect, and I know my girl loves pastries more than money.”
I laugh at him, suddenly suspicious.
“Lincoln, what are you doing?”
He holds his hands up like he’s innocent. “Nothing. Why?”
“You’re up to something.”
He shakes his head fiercely.
“You’re wrong. Scout’s honor.”
“Lincoln Burns, you’re no Boy Scout. How many times do I have to remind you?”
“Dakota Poe, eat your cinnamon roll and shut it,” he says playfully.
“What if I’m allergic to cinnamon now?”
“Liar.”
I pick up the ceramic plate he’s laid the Regis roll on. There’s a small silver fork next to it, waiting.
“Dig in,” he orders.
I do, and the cinnamon roll all but crumbles apart. I take a bite, but it’s weirdly flaky, almost like there’s something odd with the dough. I cough, sputtering small crumbs into my hand.
“Are you okay?”
I nod.
He slips an arm around me, pulls me closer, presses his mouth to mine, and traces my lips with his tongue.
I open my mouth.
He glides his tongue across mine.
I drop the fork and put my hand in his hair.
He covers my palm with his hand and pushes my hand back to the plate without breaking the kiss. He’s still tracing my tongue, the inside of my mouth, with his.
I sigh, already delirious as he breaks away.
“You need to eat,” he whispers, curling my hand around the fork with his own.
Together, we stab the cinnamon roll, closer to the center.
What’s he doing?
He kisses me again, this time deeper, his tongue flicking over mine.
Oh, God. I can’t care what he’s doing.
We pull at the cinnamon roll again, and this time the fork hits something solid. He guides my hand, lifting away the flaky layer.
He pulls away, sighs, and draws in a deep breath. “Dakota, look at your plate.”
What? I blink.
“Now?”
“Please?” The word is barely audible as it leaves his mouth.
I catch my breath and look down.
The fork hits something metallic almost like a small metal disc. I tap the fork again, peeling back more roll.
“Um, that’s a pretty big screwup for customer health. I think we should sue,” I joke, my head whirling with possibilities.
“Let’s see what it is before you sic the lawyers,” he says slowly, his eyes locked on mine.
I scrape cinnamon roll away from the rest of it. There’s something on top as I pry it out.
It’s…some kind of box? There’s a raven shape engraved across the top.
My breath catches.
My eyes flick back to Lincoln.
“Go on.” He gives me a half smile and shrugs. “Open it, Nevermore.”
Breathe, Dakota. Just breathe.
My fingers shake as I pull the box closer, touch it to make sure it’s cool, and gasp as I run my pointer finger over its seam.
Ready or not…
The hinges pop as I push it open.
Hello, vintage ring. A gorgeously large oval diamond clustered by smaller diamonds in a halo around it.
“Lincoln, this is—it’s beautiful,” I stammer, tripping on my words.
He leans over with a firm nod, lifting the ring from the box.
“Looks a hell of a lot better if you’re wearing it, beautiful,” he whispers.
I look at him, unsure what he’s doing, even if part of me knows.
I’m transfixed as he gets down on one knee and slides the ring on my finger.
“I told you I can’t live without you. That gets truer every day. I love you with all the heart I’ll ever have, woman. Now I just want you to be Mrs. Burns.”
“I love you too—I love you so much—but—” Hot tears push up my throat in a strangled sob.
I can see his dark-brown eyes fall.
Oh, no.
“L-Lincoln,” I stammer.
He stands with a soft smile, pulling me into his arms, even though he must be paralyzed.
“But what, sweetheart? Isn’t love enough?”
“It’s just—I don’t like weddings.”
He strokes my back with his hand. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do.” I nod sharply. “I want to marry you, I guess I’m just scared…”
“That makes two of us then. Nevermore, if you give me forever, we’ll get through this together. I promise. You’re the only one I’d ever trust to do this with.”
“But what if you freak out because you have to wear a tux—”
“It’s still a semi-regular occurrence at Ma’s charity events,” he says softly.
“Oh. Right. But there are so many people—”
“Also normal. If you want, we can do our vows without an audience,” he says, his voice so torn, so determined, so sweet.
“But what if you wake up with huge regrets? Like, ‘Oh my God! I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this woman. I’m never having sex with anyone else again, and if I wanted to go bum away boating with Wyatt for a week, there goes my chance.’ Would you run?”
He laughs for a solid thirty seconds.
“First of all, an entire week is way too damn long to be with Wyatt Emory on a ship—”
I look at him, my breath stalled, trying to bury my stupid fears so I can give him the firm yes he so truly deserves.
Then he nips at my neck and I jump in his arms.
“Ahhh—what was that?” I sigh.
“You think too much,” he growls against my ear, all hot breath and saintly patience. “For the record, I wake up every goddamned day with zero regrets. I just know you’re the woman I’m spending the rest of my life with. Whether that means we’re tying the knot today or in ten years, you’re never getting rid of me.”
I. Am. Ugly. Crying.
“Y-you mean it?” I whisper.
He nods.
“Promise?”
“Cross my fucking heart. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want that life to start now.”
“I just—oof. I didn’t think you were the marrying type.”
His jaw clenches. “Is that a no then?”
“God, no! I love you. I don’t want this to end.”
“So, you’ll marry me?”
There’s a long pause where my heart stops.
“I want to. With all my heart.” My lip quivers. “But Lincoln…I’m really bad at weddings.”
“Wrong. Your jackass ex was bad at weddings.” He beams pure confidence into my eyes, and oh God, it’s infectious. “If we do this, my mom will plan it, or I’ll hire a planner. Anything you want, Nevermore, as long as you’re mine.”
“I want to elope,” I blurt out, pushing my hands into his.
“What?”
“I want to elope. Just us.”
He pulls me to him. “Ma will have my head on a silver platter if I deny her the wedding she’s been planning for twenty years, but for you—”
Laughing, I push my hand softly in front of his lips.
“You swear you won’t chicken out?” I whisper.
He cups my face with his hand.
“Dakota, if I don’t show up to our wedding for any reason, I’ll be dead. And even then, I’ll probably come back and haunt your ass all the way to the honeymoon suite. Listen to me very closely.”
He takes the other side of my face softly, clasping my head in both hands. Smiling, I sigh.
“I. Cannot. Live. Without. You. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a thousand years. Am I getting through yet? I need you like oxygen.”
My lips turn up. “I love you.”
“So, is that a definitive yes?” He presses his forehead to mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck and nod, sealing my agreement with a kiss that curls my toes.
Our lips are fused for what must be ten solid minutes before we slowly, breathlessly pull away.
“Only you could convince me,” I whisper, finally looking down at that strange, yet magnificent ring on my hand that’s starting to feel just right. “Oh, and I have a surprise for you!”
“Yeah?”
I bite my bottom lip. “It’s kinda cool here. We should move closer to the fireplace.”
He side-eyes me so hard I laugh.
“What’s this surprise?”
“Only one way to find out…” I walk toward the fireplace, motioning for him to join me.
Lincoln follows and grabs the back of my sweater. “Nevermore, you have no idea what you do to me.”
Heat pumps under my cheeks and I grin. “I think I have some idea.”
I pull my sweater off then, revealing a hunter-green teddy underneath.
His breath catches and he swallows hard.
“You’re wearing lingerie under your clothes.”
I nod.
He traces the silk cup over my breast while his eyes stay on mine.
“This color looks good on you, but so would a paper bag. Your eyes glow.” His voice is husky.
“You’re still looking at my eyes?” My lips quirk up.
He loops his fingers into the waist of my skirt and yanks me toward him.
“Fuck no. They’re hypnotic, but so is the rest of you.” His mouth comes to mine.
My fingers go to work, hot and nimble, undoing his shirt buttons.
His tongue slides across mine as his fingers rip down my gown.
He wraps his arms around me then, pressing me greedily against him, making me feel his hardness.
Holy hell.
As long as I live, this will never get old.
I work the button of his pants free as he kisses me senseless, his lips moving to my throat.
We slink to the floor together with a mess of throw blankets stolen from the couch under us.
I push his jeans down and then his boxers.
He lies over me, his eyes bright and fiery and unrelenting.
I tremble under him.
His hands come to my breasts, and he undoes the first row of clasps running down the front of the teddy.
“I’m going to unwrap you—” He undoes the second. “Piece.” The third. “By piece.”
Four. Five. Naked.
His tongue sweeps the hollow space between my breasts, running along each side.
His rough fingers glide down to my belly button and dart up again, hands made for sex. He gazes at me like he could devour me. Sensuous, but sweet.
“Nevermore, this was the best surprise of my life,” he rumbles against my ear.
“Maybe I’ll wear green on our wedding night. If you’re lucky…” The words are out before I realize I’m starting to believe there will be a wedding night.
Oh, boy.
He gives me a smug look. “Already planning it, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I smile back.
He picks up my left hand and kisses the ring. “I like that. About as much as I like you wearing my mark.”
Singing.
Deep down inside, I’m vibrating with euphoria—or is it just this happy lust for the only man worth owning my soul?
He drops my hand and returns to where he started.
“I need you inside me,” I whisper.
His fingers trail down, arching over my pussy to the round, throbbing bead in my center. He presses his fingertip against it, drawing slow, intense circles.
In three seconds, I’m almost in the zone, my head bent back and breathless.
His lips take mine. Our tongues meet, but his finger never strays from my clit, winding steady circles that push me closer to the edge.
“Lincoln,” I whimper.
His teeth grab my bottom lip, making me a willing hostage while he slides his fingers inside me.
It doesn’t take long.
Soon, I’m grinding against him helplessly, so close to a devastating O my legs shake.
Then he slides his arm under me, pushing me up, shoving my legs apart.
He holds me closer, his eyes dueling flames locked on mine as the head of his cock brushes my clit.
“Oh, God.”
His mouth moves to mine, teasing me while he holds back. So painfully close to filling me, but only moving up my seam with a hard-on like steel skinned in velvet.
Lips.
Tongue.
Breath.
Teeth.
His tongue sweeps the seam of my lips, tasting me with a slow torture that makes me writhe.
“How is it you look so damn sexy when you beg?” he whispers, returning his mouth to mine with a deeper, sweeter kiss before I can answer.
I’m rampant now, hooking my arms and legs around him, urging him to take me, please! any flipping which way he chooses.
His hands shift to my ass, squeezing both cheeks, spreading me open and deepening the way he claims me when his hips thrust forward and—
“Lincoln. Lincoln!” His name is the only word I manage through the delicious madness lodged in my throat.
The only word I can even comprehend when his tongue sweeps mine again.
I grasp at his hair, pulling him closer, melting in our kiss as he drives inside me with frenzied strokes that match the sear in his eyes.
“Goddammit, Dakota,” he snarls against my mouth.
Deeper, deeper, and deeper still.
Even if we wanted to take this slow, there’s no hope of that now.
We’re too needy. Too desperate. Too hungry to feed the same flame consuming us both.
My hips arch up, meeting his rapid strokes as my core tightens and my eyes pinch shut.
He sinks into me, his thrusts so swift and intense they might break me—and God, do I want them to.
Still kissing my forehead, he tucks his chin over my head and plunges in to the hilt, his body flexing like a storm made flesh.
Holy shit!
My body clenches in surrender.
That wave of absolute bliss has to be Lincoln emptying himself inside me, his masculine force vibrating through me like thunder.
My fingers, my toes, my everything curls.
I’m airborne—hopelessly in love—and even when the convulsions subside and I’m back in my body, I just know.
Now that I’m wearing his ring, I will never, ever come down.
“Love you,” Lincoln whispers, still catching his breath. He twirls my ring between his thumb and forefinger.
“You love that I’m wearing your ring.”
“Hell yeah, I do.”
“Good. Because so do I.” Bringing his hand to my mouth, I kiss the palm, and then each finger.
“I thought you were scared?”
“I am, but I was also being stupid. You’ll never leave me, and I know it.”
“You’re mine for life. My only regret is not shoving a ring on you sooner,” he says, taking my hand and kissing it in turn.
We lay there spooned together for a good long while. Eventually, we move to the bed, where Lincoln Burns reminds me just how easily he guides me into the inferno.
I wake up to frigid air and pull the blanket up, snug around my shoulders.
I move to snuggle into Lincoln, but he’s not there.
Weird. I slide out of bed and throw on the oversized white bathrobe I found in the bathroom and leave the room.
“Lincoln?”
“In here, sweetheart.”
I’m smiling before I find him in the kitchen. Through the glass door, I can see how right he was yesterday. The whole mountain gleams with fresh white powder, the same beautiful sight that’s right outside the cabin.
“Do you think we’re snowed in?” I ask.
“One can only hope.”
I laugh. “You want to be snowed in?”
“With you? Sure.”
I pad into the kitchen. “What’s for breakfast?”
“French toast.”
“Hmm, nice, but what if I prefer French kisses?”
“Let me get this off the stove first, brat.” He presses his lips to my cheek.
My toes curl happily against the cool floor, a question hanging on my tongue.
“…so, um how soon do you want to get married?” I ask shyly.
He chuckles. “As soon as you’re ready. Looks like you’ve gone from wanting to elope to looking forward to the wedding in the space of one night, huh?”
Blushing, I nod.
“I’m so sorry for the way I reacted. It wasn’t fair to you or us. I love you more than anything.”
He moves the French toast from the pan to a plate before he hooks an arm around my waist, drawing me close.
“For a split second, you scared me. You don’t have anything to apologize for, though. I put you through hell once. I know that.”
“It’s behind us,” I say eagerly, pushing my nails gently into his shoulders.
“What changed?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
“When we were on the floor last night, I just realized how very much you love me.”
With a smile brighter than the sun-splashed snow outside, he nods vigorously.
“Damn right. I’m just glad I’ve got the rest of my life to prove it,” he says, finishing with a kiss so brilliant it’s almost blinding.
