by Noelle Adams
“Plus your dad hated it.”
“That too.” He met her gaze with a soft smile in his eyes. “Just an added benefit.”
“You could still finish college.”
“Eh.”
“What do you mean, eh? Why shouldn’t you?”
“That’s not the question. The question is why should I. What would it do for me? I don’t need a college degree to serve drinks.”
“But you don’t have to be a bartender all your life.” She was getting into the conversation and becoming earnest. Sincerity was her normal state of mind, but she didn’t often risk it around Lincoln. With him, she usually had to stay on guard. “I mean, you’re not that old. You could finish college and have an entirely different career if you want.”
“What makes you think I want that?” He sounded half teasing but not entirely so.
“I don’t know. What do I know? It’s just that you don’t really seem happy. Maybe doing something else would make you happier.” Her eyes were wide, and her voice sounded worried, and she felt a flutter of fear that her genuine attempt to help him would be met with a slammed door.
He stared at her for a long time, his eyes looking a lighter green than normal in the morning sunshine. His lips were slightly parted. She couldn’t really read his expression, but the closest she could come was surprised. “I think I’m as happy as I can get,” he murmured at last.
“But that’s ridiculous. Why would you say that? Why couldn’t you be happier?”
He stared some more. His body felt tenser than normal. “I... I don’t know,” he breathed.
She gazed back at him with a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. Hold his hand. Stroke his arm. Press her palm against his heart.
She managed to resist those ludicrous urges and not do anything to embarrass herself. She couldn’t speak though. Any words were caught in her throat.
They were silent for a long time until she finally remembered she should eat her breakfast. She licked her lips and focused down on her plate. What was she thinking? She should never try to have a real conversation with Lincoln. The best she could hope for from him was teasing without too harsh a bite.
They sat without talking for a couple of minutes until she dared to shoot a quick look up at his face.
He was watching her with something between curiosity and skepticism.
She rolled her eyes. “What?”
“What, what?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re the only other person in the room. And you’re certainly the prettiest thing in the room. What else would I look at?”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Say things that you know will annoy me.”
“Why does it annoy you that I say you’re pretty?”
The question surprised her so much she answered it honestly. “Because you don’t mean it. You’re just saying it to rile me up.”
His eyebrows shot upward. “I do too mean it. How can you think I don’t?”
“Because I’m not... I’m not... I mean, I’m not bad to look at, but I’m not...”
The teasing in his eyes faded as he said, “I’ve never known anyone prettier than you. That’s the truth. I’ve always thought so. You shouldn’t be surprised that I’d say it.”
She flushed hot and dropped her eyes to her plate. Her blood throbbed with excitement and pleasure, but her heart hammered with anxiety. She had no idea how she could possibly respond to what he’d just said, but she could have sworn he was serious.
Did he really think she was pretty? He was so handsome and sexy that he could have any woman he wanted. She couldn’t believe he’d be genuinely attracted to her.
“Now I’ve embarrassed you.” His tone was light and mocking again.
She narrowed her eyes into a glare. “I’m not embarrassed.”
“Oh yes, you are.” He laughed softly as he stood up and leaned over. She was staring up at him in surprise as he brushed a soft kiss against her right cheekbone. “But that’s okay. Embarrassment looks good on you.”
To her relief, he left the room then, leaving her to a fluttery rush of feelings she really didn’t want to entertain.
ON SUNDAY MORNING, Mrs. Wilson threw Lincoln and Summer a wedding brunch.
For the past two weeks, Summer had been inundated with calls, visits, and messages from friends and acquaintances who wanted to hear all about her surprise marriage to Lincoln Wilson. They’d already agreed on a simple backstory for their relationship. They’d started spending time together after his father was diagnosed with cancer. Sparks ignited. Feelings grew. They fell hopelessly in love and didn’t want to waste any time after his father died, so they eloped.
Anyone who knew Summer would realize this was out of character for her. She was always careful. Reflective. Safe in her choices. But she pretended to have been swept away by Lincoln’s passion and impulsiveness, so the story was convincing enough.
She could see how it might happen. Lincoln had the kind of magnetic personality and pure animal heat that could lead even cautious people to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do.
So far, she’d been met by both delighted surprise and sly excitement. But no disbelief.
No one had any trouble believing that quiet, shy Summer Cray (and the enormous fortune she’d inherited) would get swept off her feet by sexy, dangerous Lincoln Wilson. Evidently she made for a convincing cliché.
It bugged her a little, but not enough to act on. She certainly wasn’t silly enough to not take advantage of assumptions that were working in their favor—no matter how annoying those assumptions happened to be.
So on Sunday morning, she put on a pretty cream-colored dress (since she looked terrible in pure white). The dress had a sweetheart neckline, lace sleeves, and a soft drape that flattered her curvy figure. She looked good. Innocent. Rather old-fashioned. Mrs. Wilson would definitely approve.
Lincoln would probably laugh.
She didn’t care what Lincoln thought of her appearance, but she felt uncomfortably bridal as she put on pearl earrings and a necklace. Afraid she was running late, she came out to the hallway still trying to hook the matching bracelet.
She hadn’t yet fastened it when she saw a man approaching in an expensive medium-gray suit and silver tie. She blinked and then blinked again as she realized the man was Lincoln.
“What are you wearing?” she gasped, running her eyes up and down his lean body in the uncharacteristic clothes. “I didn’t think you owned a suit!”
He gave her a slight sneer. “It’s Carter’s. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t wear a suit, I’d be a disgrace to the Wilson name and could never show my face at home again. So here I am. Looking like an idiot.”
“You don’t look like an idiot. You look good.” She couldn’t stop staring at him. There was something incongruous and unsettling about him in Carter’s suit. “You just don’t look like yourself.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s a good thing, as far as you’re concerned.” He glanced down at the bracelet she was still holding around her wrist. “You need help with that?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” She lifted her hand as he reached for the bracelet and stared down at his strong, agile fingers as they fastened the clasp. He did it slowly. Carefully. Almost delicately. And for some reason it made her tremble.
He raised his eyes to her face when he’d finished. She was still holding her hand up like an idiot.
They stared at each other for a moment before she remembered to drop her hand. She forced a casual smile. “Ready to pretend like we’re crazy in love?”
“I am if you are.”
“I’m not sure I’m ever going to be ready for this. I hate to be the center of attention. And it doesn’t help that this whole thing is just a ruse.” She felt a swell of familiar fear—the way she always did when she had to take center stage in a social setting.
His eyes searched her face briefly. Th
en he leaned over and murmured into her ear. “You’ll do fine. Just pretend I’m Carter.”
It took a moment for the words to register. When they did, she sucked in an outraged gasp and gave him a little shove away from her. “Asshole.”
He smiled. Almost fondly. “There you go. Now you’re ready.”
She had to fight not to scowl and jerk away from him as they made their way through the hall to the central stairway of the mansion. A lot of the guests were already gathered in the marble-floored foyer, and they all turned to smile up at the newly married couple.
Lincoln twitched his dark eyebrows at her and offered his arm.
With a smile pasted on her lips and a cold glare in her eyes, she took it. Guests applauded as they descended the stairs.
The whole thing was a ridiculous sham, and Lincoln’s smug smirk made everything worse. She was too annoyed with him to be nervous, so she supposed that was a good thing.
When they were down the stairs, she was tempted to let go of Lincoln’s arm, but that probably wouldn’t fit her image of a head-over-heels-in-love new bride. So she kept clinging, wishing his arm wasn’t quite so firm under the fabric of his sleeve. Wishing he didn’t smell quite so good.
They greeted their smiling guests as they wandered through the ornate space. Most of them were people she’d known all her life since the Green Valley community was stable and rather ingrown. When they’d reached the far wall, Lincoln picked a small bouquet of pale pink peonies from an antique console table and offered it to her with a flourish that made observers smile and giggle. His green eyes were laughing at her.
She accepted the bouquet, holding it up to her nose and trying to look like she adored Lincoln instead of wanting to yank that pleased smile right off his face.
The brunch was a formal, plated meal, complete with professional servers and an open bar. There were about forty people present, and Summer and Lincoln had to sit together at the head table.
The food and drink were delicious, but Summer didn’t enjoy the meal. It went on forever, and she soon grew tired of explaining how she and Lincoln fell in love and how, yes, it was an impulsive decision but they were very happy.
When the meal was finally over, guests lingered, drinking and chatting and asking inappropriately intrusive questions about Summer and Lincoln’s history and plans for the future.
Summer was a true introvert, and so she was always exhausted after parties. But she was more worn out than usual when one o’clock came and went and the brunch went on. There was a table full of wedding gifts, but they weren’t going to open them at the party. There was nothing left to do at the brunch. Just wait until people finally left.
Lincoln was schmoozing like a master, but it was clear he was going through the whole routine with tongue firmly in cheek. Ironic amusement glittered in his eyes, growing more or less bitter, depending on how much he respected the people he was talking to. Very few of them he liked. She could see that very clearly. But some he didn’t hate as much as others.
Summer finally had to give herself a break by slipping away to the bathroom. She needed to pee anyway, but mostly she just wanted to take a few deep breaths away from the crowd and recover her equilibrium. She’d put her hair in a pretty, soft bun at the nape of her neck, and she used the opportunity to smooth down a few strands that had slipped out and were framing her face. Otherwise, she still looked nice. And she hadn’t even spilled anything on her dress.
She was on her way back from the bathroom when she ran into Mariana Brubaker, a gorgeous, snobbish former classmate who had always made Summer feel plain and mousy. Mariana gushed with fake, condescending excitement about Summer’s elopement.
Summer had to fight to keep a smile on her face. She knew cattiness when she was faced with it, and Mariana was as catty as it got.
“I was pretty surprised to hear about it,” Mariana continued, that false, toothy smile never wavering on her perfectly made-up mouth. “But after I thought about it, I decided it made sense. I’m sure Lincoln is happy about your inheritance since he wasn’t getting anything from his father. And you’ve probably never been with anyone as good in bed as he is.”
Summer blinked, momentarily astonished by the turn from pointed undercurrents to overt meanness.
Mariana laughed and gave her a pat on her shoulder. “Don’t look so dumbfounded, Summer. You knew I had a fling with him, didn’t you? The man is sex personified. That’s not enough for me, but everyone is different, aren’t we?”
Her head throbbed and her eyes blurred over as she processed the weaponized pleasantries. She wasn’t like Lincoln. Or like Savannah Emerson. Or like people who could always think of something clever to say.
She couldn’t say anything at all.
Since the only thing that came to her to do was to claw lines down Mariana’s face, she turned around and walked away. She was shaking as she reached Lincoln, who was holding a half-drunk glass of scotch and leaning against a wall in the living room where everyone had spilled into from the dining room. He looked relaxed, which made sense since he was chatting with his brother and Lance Carlyle—two people he didn’t despise.
When Summer came to his side, he wrapped an arm around her. No doubt as part of their pose as a romantic couple. He must have felt her shaking, however, because he straightened up and tilted his head down to murmur into her ear, “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head and forced a smile up at him.
Lincoln frowned and turned toward the two other men. “Give us a minute, will you?”
“Lincoln, there’s nothing—” Summer broke off because Carter and Lance were already backing off. Carter was watching her in concern. She scowled up at Lincoln. “We don’t need a minute.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Do you really think I can’t see what’s right in front of my face? You’re shaking. Someone upset you. Who was it?” He had her backed up against a wall, holding her in place with the position of his body although he wasn’t touching her at all.
She knew Lincoln well enough to know there wasn’t any use in arguing with him when he was in this mood. He was ridiculously stubborn. “I’m not that upset. It wasn’t a big deal. I just had a run-in with Mariana, and she made me mad.”
“Mariana Brubaker? I’m not surprised she made you mad. She seems to have a mission of making herself feel superior to everyone else. She’s not worth getting upset about.”
His unconcerned tone did nothing to quiet her uproarious feelings. “Well, she’s evidently worth your screwing.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“You thought she was worth screwing. Didn’t you?”
“She told you that?”
“Yes, she told me that. She threw it in my face.”
He was frowning now, his relaxed unconcern finally fading. He was still standing way too close to her. He’d planted a hand on the wall beside her, and his head was tilted toward hers. “And it really upset you that much? I had sex with her once. More than ten years ago now. She wanted more, and I didn’t. It was a mistake. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I can’t take any of them back. I don’t want you to get upset every time one of my mistakes rears its ugly head and drops itself into your lap.”
For some reason his low, sober voice was distressing her more than anything else. She was still trembling helplessly, and her throat ached with emotion. “I’m not upset that you slept with her. Your sex life is your own business.”
“Well, you’re upset about something. Tell me what it is.”
She swallowed and then swallowed again. Her mind wasn’t working well enough to come up with a safe response, so she ended up telling him the truth. “She made me feel... small. Like I’m not worth marrying for anything but my money. I know that’s what she was trying to do, and I know it’s not true, but I can’t always help but... get upset by it.”
He stood still for a long time, his eyes focused on her face. It l
ooked like he was thinking, processing, making sense of something that didn’t make sense to Summer. When he finally spoke, his voice was slightly raspy. “She said I was just marrying you for the money?”
“Yes. And it’s true, right?”
“It doesn’t matter what’s true. Because what’s not true is that money is the only reason a man would want to marry you.” Before Summer could wrap her mind around what he’d just said, he continued, “We can do something about that. Do you want to?”
“Do I want... what?” Her knees weren’t exactly working at the moment, so she reached out to hold on to the lapels of his suit jacket for some extra support.
He stepped into her. “We can make it clear I’m not marrying you just for the money.”
“How?” she breathed.
He leaned down so his mouth was a whisper away from hers. “Like this.” Then he kissed her.
The kiss was gentle at first. Almost questioning. His lips lightly brushed against hers and then softly surrounded her upper lip. When a surge of pleasure caused her to cling to the back of his neck with both hands, his mouth pressed against hers more firmly.
He lifted one hand to span the side of her neck, holding her head in place as he deepened the kiss.
Maybe because her emotions were already so unsettled, but the kiss completely consumed her. Pleasure and excitement and a thrilling kind of fear flooded her veins, heated her skin, throbbed with her racing heartbeat. She pressed herself against him as his tongue teased between her lips. She couldn’t help but open for him.
It was a mistake. As soon as his tongue got into the action, the pleasure turned to bone-deep arousal. And she couldn’t be aroused. Not right now. Not in the middle of a wedding brunch.
Not by Lincoln Wilson.
She jerked her mouth away and hid her face against his shoulder. She wanted to pull away from him completely, but she couldn’t. He was supposed to be her beloved husband.