He pulled away from the kiss, unable to stop his chuckle at her protesting moan.
She glared at him and wrapped her thighs around his hips. “Don’t even think about bailing.”
“I’m not.” He pushed his hips forward, stroking his imprisoned erection against her wet sex. “I’m thinking about my cock sinking into your sweet, tight pussy.”
Her eyes fluttered closed and she let out another moan. “In that case, stop thinking about it and make it happen.”
A low growl tore from his chest and he reached for his fly. Fuck taking it slow. Fuck being gentle. Fuck long foreplay. He had to be inside her. She wanted him inside her, and he would destroy the world to give her what she wanted.
He grabbed his belt buckle.
And stopped.
Words—her words from earlier—swirled in his head. Words that meant something…
I’ve waited for you, Lincoln. Only you.
Waited.
His chest tightened.
“What’s going on, Linc?” She studied him, an edgy calm falling over her.
“You’re a virgin.” The word twisted something primitive deep inside him.
“So?”
He unlocked her legs from around his hips and stepped backward, swiping at his mouth.
“Again?” She arched an eyebrow at him. Anger flicked over her face. “What the problem?”
“You’re a damn virgin, Niki.”
“Yeah. We’ve established that. By design, by the way. My choice.”
“Your choice?”
“I told you—I waited for you. Didn’t want anyone else. Just you. Is there a problem with that?”
“Is there a…” He swiped at his mouth again. “Jesus, Nik. I was just about to fuck you so hard you probably wouldn’t be able to walk properly for a week.”
Raw hunger etched her face. “And that’s a bad thing?”
His cock jerked. His balls throbbed. Every molecule in his body strained for her. Every male inch of him demanded he rip her clothes from her body and claim her. Penetrate her. Tear the fragile membrane inside her and pump her full of his seed.
He let out a ragged breath and staggered back another step. Too much. His lust for her, his desire…it was too much. He could hurt her. He could—
She shoved herself off the counter, stare locked on his, and prowled towards him. “Let’s get this straight, Lincoln. The only man I want inside me is you. The only cock I want inside me is yours. The only cum I want dribbling down my thighs…yours.”
Take her. She’s yours. Take her.
The feverish demand roared through his head. Primal lust snaked through him. She was his. Her body, her sex. Every inch of her—his. And no one could stop him from having his way with her. He could do whatever he wanted to her and no one could—
Stop it. Now.
He froze, the chilling reality of what he’d just been about to do cutting through the fog of lust and hunger consuming him. His heart smashed into his throat. Pounded behind his eyes.
Jesus, what kind of man was he?
Scrunching up his face, he turned away. He couldn’t look at her. If he did, he’d do the unthinkable.
“I’m not a nice man, Nikalene,” he growled. “I’m not even a good man. And I’m definitely not the kind of man you want to lose your virginity to. It’s better you remember that.”
“I’m pretty certain I’m the one who gets to decide who takes my virginity. And I’ve decided it’s you.”
“Then you’re a deluded little fool. The shower is that way,” he tossed his head toward the right, blood roaring in his ears. “There are towels there. Shampoo and soap. There’s a clean bathrobe on the back of the door.”
She was silent for a moment. Then, “I didn’t think you were a coward, Lincoln.”
He balled his fist at her flat rebuke and flicked her the coldest look he could. “Go shower. Cool off. Think. But more importantly, don’t leave this house. Got it?”
She glared at him.
“Got it?”
Her head dipped. “Got it.”
“Good.” He stormed out of the room, heading for the one he’d set up as a gym in the house. She didn’t follow him. Or even yell at him to come back.
Good. One more goad from her, one more look from her, and it would be impossible to stop himself from slamming her to the nearest surface—the floor, the wall, the sofa—and fucking her senseless.
Chapter 6
So that just happened.
Sliding her back down the cupboard face, Niki dragged her hands through her hair. Had she pushed him too fast? Too hard?
Or was he legit rejecting her? Again?
“Great,” she muttered, staring at the ceiling. “Just great.”
The sounds of gym weights clinking together wafted from somewhere deep in the house. Alright, so Lincoln was working out his agitation—or frustration—that way. What should she do?
Cold shower.
“Great,” she muttered again.
But first…
Straightening to her feet, she scanned the room. Surely this place would reveal some secrets about the bastard?
It didn’t. Apart from the framed drawings on the walls, there was nothing that even hinted Lincoln existed here. The books on the shelves looked like someone had gathered up the first pile they saw in a secondhand shop and dumped them here. There was a vegan cookbook (Lincoln was definitely not vegan. She’d seen him chow down on too many steaks and burgers to believe that), a historical romance (the kind with the dashing hero macking on the swooning heroine’s neck), a field guide to birds in Australia, a Stephen King horror, and Raising Toddlers for Dummies.
The house and garden magazines scattered on the coffee table were all out of date and looked like they hadn’t been touched in ages.
“What is this place?” She made her way back to the kitchen, the sound of Lincoln working out in the unseen gym a taunting soundtrack in the otherwise silence.
The kitchen cupboards were full of nonperishables, rice and pasta. The staples required if a person didn’t want to leave the house to go grocery shopping.
She wandered into the other rooms, avoiding the gym. The first bedroom looked like the rest of the house; like it belonged in the ’40s, the only hint otherwise being the large framed drawing of a great white shark that, on closer inspection, was actually a bio-mechanical shark.
She smiled at Lincoln’s initials in the corner. He was an incredible artist. No wonder people had come from all over Western Australia to have him tattoo them back when he still lived there.
And all the while, being a tattoo artist was just a cover for what he really did for a living. Which was…what, exactly?
She huffed, turning from the drawing. Lincoln was not at all who she thought he was.
Did it matter?
“No.”
Walking into the next bedroom, she stopped. This room…there was something about it. A vibe…
It didn’t look any different from the other room, but it felt different. A large mirror hung on one wall adjacent to the bed, and on the wall beyond the foot of the bed was another pencil drawing of a shark, although the mechanical elements of this drawing were more obvious than in the one in the other room. The bed was bigger as well, a king-size instead of just a double, and there was a Bluetooth speaker on one of the side tables, next to what looked like an iPhone dock. And next to that sat a small sketchbook.
More of Lincoln’s drawings? Ideas for tattoos?
Secret agent stuff?
Letting out a little chuckle, she crossed to the side of the bed, perched on the edge and opened the sketchbook.
“Whoa.” Drawing after drawing of eyes. Eyes looking to the side, eyes half-closed, crying eyes, laughing eyes.
Just eyes.
They were beautiful, almost haunting. And at the same time…familiar.
Frowning, Niki continued to turn the pages.
And then, heart starting to thump faster, she looked up from the drawing
into the mirror.
Into her eyes.
The very eyes in the sketchbook.
The drawings filling the pages were of her eyes.
Her throat thickened and her breath left her on a shaky sigh. “Damn you, Lincoln.”
What did she do with this information? Confront him? Seduce him again? Would she finally be successful?
Should she just strip off entirely and strut into the gym? What would he do if she did?
Returning her attention to the sketchbook, she flipped through more pages. Was there anything besides her eyes?
Yes, there was. A few pages contained sketches of lips—smiling, laughing, relaxed. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed what her heart already knew; they were her lips.
Nowhere in the book had he drawn her whole face, even though it was obvious he could. It would be impossible to identify who the eyes and lips belonged to if you didn’t know her. Nor were there any other features. An entire face could not be made, an identity could not be created.
Just eyes and lips, expressive and realistic and drawn with talent beyond Niki’s comprehension.
She closed the book, hugged it to her breast and slumped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was significant, surely? This was important.
The question was, how would Lincoln react if he knew she’d seen it?
Closing her eyes, she let out a soft, wry laugh. Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with a simple guy who worked at a hardware store and had no skeletons or secrets in his closet? It would have been easier.
“Nothing worth having is easy,” she muttered. Her father used to say that often, especially when he was fighting with his bosses about workers’ conditions at the steel plant.
She sighed, the distant sound of Lincoln in the gym somehow calming her. He was close, they were in the same house. It was a start. Better than when she’d thought him dead. Knowing he was alive…she felt safer. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She knew that.
“He wouldn’t,” she murmured, bones feeling heavy. “He’d fight.”
And then…
She’s jogging through Kings Park and Botanical Gardens in Perth. The dawn sky hangs overhead, bruised purple and heavy with mist. The sound of her feet pounding the gravel path booms around her. Just her footfalls hitting the path. Only hers.
But then someone else’s as well. Someone else running faster than her. Someone running behind her. The mist swirls, blocking out the weak morning sun, and the crunching footfalls grow louder. Closer.
Her phone pings in her hand and she stops running, reading the text message: I’m here, beautiful girl. I’m here.
The footfalls grow faster. The mist closes in on her. Invisible hands smooth over her hips.
“I’m here, beautiful girl,” a voice whispers in her ear. “I can’t wait any longer.”
Her feet scrape and crunch and she’s sprinting, heart in her throat. Invisible hands snake between her thighs, though there’s no one close.
A man is in front of her now, in the distance. The man she keeps seeing every day, the man who keeps texting her: I’m here, beautiful girl. I’m here.
“I’m here,” he says, as she keeps running towards him. She can’t stop. She tries, God help her, she tries, but her feet keep running, and he’s standing in her path, smile wide, eyes burning with a terrifying obsession. She tries to stop but her feet reach him, and he presses her to the wet ground, the gravel biting into her skin, and she screams, and he laughs and tells her he can’t wait any longer, beautiful girl. And his mouth descends and—
“Niki.” Warm hands cup her face.
“Niki, wake up.”
She lashes out. She has to get the creepy jerk off her. She has to—
“Nik!”
Hands grip her wrists. Hold her arms still. Panic in the deep voice. Whose voice? Not the one constantly on her phone, not the one leaving message after message about how much he loves her. Not that voice.
“Nik, wake—”
She jerked on the bed—bed, not ground—and glared up at the man holding her.
“Oh God, Lincoln!” She buried herself against his chest, her heart slamming in her temples like a sledgehammer. “Lincoln, thank…thank…sorry…I had a…a bad dream.”
Strong arms smoothed around her, holding her closer. He was sweaty and salty and hot. And hard. His muscles were so hard, like they were carved from concrete. “Yeah, I figured that out.”
His chest vibrated against her cheek with each murmured word. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation. It felt intimate somehow, almost precious.
“Tell me about it?”
Images, flashes of the dream, whipped through her head and she scrunched up her face. Damn it, she’d thought the nightmares would have ended now that she knew Lincoln was alive. She’d thought…
“Nik?” A gentle finger pressed to the bottom of her chin. “You going to tell me?”
“It was silly,” she mumbled, even as she wanted to gaze forever into his eyes. The worry there, the concern… “An elephant was going crazy in a circus and I couldn’t get off my seat.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You’re lying to me.”
“How do you know?”
He sighed, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. “I’m good at detecting untruths.”
“Part of this secret life you have?”
“Part of the secret life I had.”
Had. Past tense. So if he was no longer in the weird, dangerous life anymore, why were they here now? Why was he so worried about her safety? And who was Snyder, the person who’d started it all with one phone call?
“What was the dream about, Niki?”
She opened her mouth to tell him everything. To tell him about the stalker, the messages, the man always being where she was, the roses being delivered to her home daily, the poems of undying love…
And then forced out a wobbly laugh. “A guy creeped me out a few days ago while I was jogging. Clearly more than I thought.”
His jaw bunched again. His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat. “Do you know him?”
“Why?” God, had he ever sounded scarier? More menacing?
“I’ll deal with him if you do.”
Yep. Apparently he could sound scarier. “Deal?”
A flinty ice filled his stare. “That’s all you need to know.”
She swallowed. And then shook her head. “I don’t know him.”
She wouldn’t be responsible for him doing something that would turn the “Part of the secret life I had” back into have. And she suspected dealing with her stalker would somehow send him straight back there.
“You sure?” He studied her, searching her eyes, seeking out the truth…
“I found your bedroom.” She straightened on the mattress and pulled away, smiling at the walls around them. “Sorry. I did a bit of a Goldilocks on your bed.”
She flicked a nervous glance back at him. He sat so still, like he was coiled to strike. Her stomach fluttered. So did her pussy. He was scary, but holy crap was he sexy. Sexier than she’d ever seen him.
What was wrong with her?
“You did.” His low voice rumbled. An unreadable light burned in his eyes.
“I’m going to have that shower now.” She scrambled from the bed and almost ran for the door.
Why?
Because he looked like he was about to spread her out on the bed and eat her up? Isn’t that what she’d wanted all this time?
Because, in a fleeting heartbeat, she’d glimpsed the menacing man he’d told her he was. The one he’d warned her about. The “not nice” man. And she was more turned on by him than she had any sane right being.
Or more scared?
“Shower,” she muttered, heading toward the bathroom she’d spied earlier.
Like the rest of the place, it was a monument to the ’40s with a hint of the contemporary. In this case, everything looked like it had been untouched since the house’s birth except for the showe
r, which had a trendy waterfall showerhead in the middle of the space as well as another massage-jet head on the wall.
So much fun could be had in this shower.
“Goddamn it, Niki.” She closed the door, stripped off her clothes and turned on the water. She was either throwing herself at Lincoln or she wasn’t. She needed to decide which. And if she was truly scared of the dangerous man he quite clearly could be, then throwing herself at him wasn’t the smart option.
So why didn’t I lock the door? And why am I standing here in the shower, hoping against hope he’ll stride into the bathroom?
“Crap.”
*
It had been a while since he’d cooked.
Instead of returning to the gym when Niki bolted from the room to the shower, he’d made his way to the kitchen. Looked in the cupboards, checked out what was in them.
He paid one of the local university students a monthly fee—cash—to empty the mailbox daily, start the engine of the pickup truck parked in the garage twice a week, maintain the yard, keep the place clean, and keep nonperishable food in the cupboard and eggs and bacon and other staples in the fridge. At the end of every month, the student got to take home any items of food nearing their used-by dates. Lincoln himself hadn’t been in this house for over three months, and the last time merely to check it was all A-kay.
The student was doing his job well. The eggs and bacon in the fridge were fresh and free-range. There was also a block of sharp cheddar and, he noticed, a self-watering potted basil plant on the kitchen window sill.
“Bacon and cheese omelet it is then,” he muttered, collecting what he needed.
Cooking them both something to eat for dinner was smarter than returning to the gym. The process of cooking food, having something on the stove, meant he wouldn’t follow Niki into the bathroom.
The simple fact Niki was but a few feet away, naked and wet and wanting him, was making it goddamn almost impossible to breathe.
As was the fact his mind kept returning to her revelation about the strange guy. Jealousy was not an emotion Lincoln liked, but fuck, had it swept through him like a tsunami when she’d mentioned the man. Protective, caveman jealousy. Rip-the-other-wanker’s-eyes-out-for-even-looking-at-Niki jealousy.
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