by Amanda Ashby
“Wait? You have an abbey?” Bec leaned in, forgetting all about her promise to keep her distance. “As in a real, for goodness abbey?”
“We do. It dates back to the twelfth century, and like everything else, it’s falling to pieces, which is why no one wanted me climbing on it. Too risky. Especially being the heir. Of course, I then proved them right by falling off and breaking my arm in three places,” he said as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a faint scar running up his arm. She’d noticed before but had never had the chance to ask him about it. She almost stretched out to trace a line along the pale, puckered skin, but pulled her hand back. Touching skin was a bad idea. Even thinking about touching skin was dangerous. Heat rose to her face. The Lincoln who was once capable of climbing an old abbey reminded her of the guy she’d met in Italy. The carefree one, who ventured out after dark and who laughed with his eyes, not just his mouth.
“I wish I’d seen it.”
“What? My broken arm? I can assure you it wasn’t very glamorous.”
“No, the abbey. It sounds amazing.”
“I like it.” He gave her a thoughtful look before flicking through his cell phone and holding it up to her. She leaned in, so close his breath skimmed her cheek. Goose bumps jittered down her arm. It was like he was trying to reach out and draw her in.
God, I want to be drawn in.
She forced herself to focus on the photograph.
Crumbling pillars and arches sprang out of the ground like dying trees. There was no roof of any kind, just the space where a church must’ve once been. But as her eyes connected the dots, a small sigh escaped her lips. It was beautiful.
He swiped to a second, even more stunning photo. Then in the next one was a man holding a shovel. He looked mid-fifties, with movie-star eyes and dark hair flecked with specks of gray.
“Who’s that?”
“Howard,” Lincoln said.
Bec looked at him in surprise. “That’s Howard? Here was I picturing some hundred-year-old guy. Not a George Clooney ringer. He’s gorgeous.”
“You have a thing for older guys?”
“No, but it doesn’t mean I can’t admire them,” she said. “I bet even your mom sneaks a peek at him from time to time.”
Lincoln knit his brow together. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Bec shrugged as she returned her attention to the abbey itself. “Still, this place is amazing. I wish your mom had shown me this instead of the gold room.”
“You really like it?” he said, his voice low.
“I do. I can’t think why Julia and Richard would want to get married at the wishing bridge rather than at the abbey. Well, apart from the fact they’re not real of course.”
“Yes, apart from that.” A smile spread across Lincoln’s mouth, and Bec’s heart hammered. “I guess the main reason would be that we don’t do weddings at Snowden Manor.”
“Well, you should,” Bec said, her fingers tracing a line on the screen of the cell phone. “And ghost tours. Imagine what it must be like at Halloween. Or a full moon. Drums, dancing, wildness… And didn’t you say some of the rooms in the manor itself needed repair?”
“To put it mildly,” Lincoln said as he swiped through the album on the cell phone and showed her another picture. “This is part of the east wing. Legend has it the Prince Regent once stayed there, but now even the rodents keep away.”
The room looked like it had once been a ballroom, but with the peeling plaster, shredded curtains, and rotten floorboards, it had seen better days. Still, it had a faded, gothic splendor she adored. It was amazing.
“It a pity you’re forever trying to hide what Snowden Manor’s really like, instead of letting the world see it for what it is.”
“You look at the world differently, don’t you?” He shifted slightly, filling the space between them. Bec paused, unsure if it was a compliment or not.
“Why? Because I’m not all starched up and serious?”
“No.” He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because you see possibilities where other people see brick walls. You have a unique way. Don’t ever lose it.”
I have a unique way?
A warm sensation spread in her belly as the afternoon air filled with his aftershave. She licked her lips while somewhere at the back of her mind warning bells were ringing, telling her it was a bad idea. That the baby came first. But then she remembered their conversation at Daisy Hill. He said he’d give her what she needed.
And right now, I need this.
“Oh.” The breath caught in her throat, and it took all her willpower not to just lean in and kiss him. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Don’t say anything.” He shook his head as his fingers reached out and found hers. “It seems like when we speak, everything comes out wrong.”
“Lost in translation,” she croaked, as her insides turned to fire.
His fingers clamped down on hers. Emmy had said kissing him before talking was a bad idea. But they’d talked. She’d taken him to the doctor’s. And he said I have a unique way of looking at the world.
“Exactly.” His other hand reached up and cupped her chin, turning her skin to liquid. “And I’m sick of things being wrong.”
“Me, too.” Bec inched forward and was rewarded by the sensation of his mouth crashing into hers. The scenic cliff melted away, his cell phone fell to the ground, and all that was left was him. The kiss intensified, and his fingers tightened around hers, but it wasn’t enough. I don’t want any space between us. She dragged her hands free and curled them around the back of his head, her skin burning.
He let out a groan and pulled her on top of him. Explosions, fireworks…the whole lot swirled in her belly as he planted hot kisses down her neck. She tugged at his shirt buttons, not caring that they popped off. All she cared about was the shirt was now gone.
Ah, that’s better. She ran her greedy hands across his chest, his muscles rippling beneath her touch. His hands slid up under her T-shirt. Goose bumps skittered along her body as his fingers cupped her breasts. Whoever invented this deserves a medal.
She tugged at her own shirt, desperate to get rid of it. His eyes gleamed, and his mouth immediately went in search of the small owl tattoo that rode on her shoulder. The first time he’d run his fingers across it, he’d told her how much it turned him on. And now, feeling his breath hot against her flesh, she though how the small pain from getting the ink had all been worth it.
Then he pulled away from her.
“Bec.” He panted, his eyes now the color of glistening moss after a summer shower. “Should we be doing this?”
“Are you afraid of being out in the open?” she teased, the thrill of being so close to him causing her voice to crack. Her mouth found its way to his neck, and he shuddered in response.
“No.” He gasped as he gently held her by the shoulders so he could drink in her face. “I told you before, I’m not as reserved as you think I am. But what about the baby? Is it—” He left the words dangling and realization hit her—he was worried about the baby.
“Oh.” A small smile tugged at her mouth as she dug her way even deeper into his lap, so that his manhood was pressing firmly against her. “You’re not the only one who had questions for the doctor. It’s perfectly fine.”
His eyes met hers. “And you? Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Everything about our lives is complicated, but what if we just have this one day together? We can pretend we’re back in Italy. You’re not a lord, I’m not a pregnant wedding planner, and nothing is keeping us apart.”
“Suspend reality for a day?”
“Would that be so bad?” Bec sucked in her breath, unsure of what his answer would be.
A smile unfurled on his mouth and small crinkles appeared around his pale green eyes. Her pulse hammered in response.
It was a yes.
“Not from where I’m sitting,” he said
. It was exactly the answer she was hoping for her, and as his mouth once again found hers, the world faded away and only the two of them existed.
…
Lincoln smiled as he traced the outline of the owl on Bec’s shoulder. It wasn’t just the tattoo making him happy; it was the fact her naked body was pressed against his. He twisted slightly so that his mouth found hers while the afternoon sun danced around them. If he’d known that looking for photograph locations was so much fun, he would’ve done it much sooner.
At some stage Bec had sent him to the car to retrieve a large picnic rug, but it didn’t stop stones from pressing against his back.
“So, that happened.” Bec finally spoke, making no attempt to move off him. Which was good because he didn’t want her going anywhere. He traced the owl again, and she squirmed under his touch. Desire curled through him.
“Yes, it did. Though, I guess I should’ve checked if this is a regular stop on any sightseeing tours. If so, they might get a surprise.”
“You’re safe. It’s far too out of the way for most people to come and see,” Bec said as she planted a light trail of kisses down his chest. “We could stay here for days and no one would know.”
“Tempting,” he murmured as he shifted to face her.
“Loved up on a cliff top?” She grinned as she leaned in and kissed him, her body skimming his. His flesh burned. “You should paint a picture of that.”
“I really shouldn’t,” he said as the kiss deepened. He felt her hands pushing him back to the ground as she snaked over him. “But I agree about staying here forever. You have the best ideas.”
“I do, don’t I? Besides, the real world is boring, and people expect you to wear far too many clothes.” She snuggled into the crook of his arm like it had been built for her, while her short hair tickled his chin.
“Clothes are definitely overrated,” he agreed as he traced a line down the side of her stomach, marveling at the perfection of her skin. This was the Bec he’d met in Italy. The one who had crashed into his world, turning it from black and white to Technicolor, complete with surround sound and high definition. “So is reality.”
“Agreed. So we should stay here in our perfect bubble for as long as we can. At least until the sun goes down. After all, if our lives are on hold, we might as well make the most of it,” Bec murmured. Electricity surged between them, and Lincoln was lost as her mouth found his. She was right. Everything else could wait because, as far as he could tell, the here and now were pretty damn good.
But in the background, his mind was still churning. One day might be enough for Bec, but it wasn’t enough for him. Now he had just had to figure out a way to convince her that this shouldn’t be a one time thing.
…
“You slept with him where?” Coop demanded as he moved a box of invitations Bec had spent all morning addressing. Well, in theory that was what she’d been doing. In practice, she’d been letting her mind drift back to what had happened yesterday.
“Miller’s Cliff,” Bec repeated, trying not to smile. But that was impossible. Yesterday afternoon had been mind-blowing, and any trepidation she’d felt about going back on her word had been replaced with something else a lot more delicious. “And don’t worry, we weren’t in any danger of rolling off the edge.”
“Trust me, that’s not what I was thinking.” Coop shuddered. “Didn’t it occur to you to use a room? With a bed?”
Bec opened her mouth and shut it again.
It was impossible to explain to Coop how perfect the afternoon had been. And Lincoln had been right along with her. Her smile widened. It had also let her have another glimmer of the man she’d first fallen for. The one who didn’t look at her like she was wild or outlandish, but rather like they wanted the same things. Like he could match her step for step. Touch for touch.
It was exhilarating.
And it’s over. I repeat. Over.
She’d gotten what she wanted, and it wasn’t Lincoln’s fault it hadn’t sated her. Because I want more. Which was the whole reason they were in this mess.
“If we waited, we might’ve changed our minds,” Bec said. “We would’ve remembered all the reasons it was a bad idea, instead of remembering the one reason that made it a good idea.”
At this, Coop leaned forward, his eyes full of interest. “And what was that?”
“I have so much stuff going on in my head—with the baby, the business, the fact that Lincoln’s the most irresistible man I’ve ever met… And it seemed like a good idea to scratch the itch properly. To just suspend time. So, we decided to let ourselves have one day. Does that even make sense?”
“You have no idea how much sense it makes,” Coop confessed, a faraway look in his eye, and once again Bec got the feeling he wasn’t talking about her.
“Hey, is everything okay with you?” she asked.
“Of course,” he answered a little too quickly, but she could tell by the firm set of his mouth he wasn’t going to elaborate. “Anyway, this isn’t about my non-existent love life, it’s about you. So, what’s going to happen now between you both? I mean you’re having a baby together. Does it mean you’re a couple? How will things change?”
Some of Bec’s smile faltered. “It won’t change. It was just a one-time thing. It has to be.”
“Well, I guess you need to tell him,” Coop said as he glanced out the window. Bec followed his gaze and took a deep breath. Lincoln was striding down the hill. His hair was still damp from a shower, and his navy shirt clung to his shoulders. Lucky, lucky shirt. He was clutching a brown paper bag, and his mouth was in a set in a straight line.
Her chest thumped. Was he happy or horrified?
More to the point, am I happy or horrified?
Understanding slammed her. If they’d stuck to her plan of staying together up on the cliff, then this would be a lot easier. Because being naked would mean less room for awkward or unwanted conversations. She sucked in her breath and turned to Coop.
“Okay, what am I meant to do here? Do you think he looks pleased, or has he come to tell me it was all a big mistake?”
“I think he looks like he wishes I was a million miles away,” Coop said in a dry voice, as he reached out and squeezed her hand. “And since I need to see a man about a horse, I’m going to grant him that wish. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say.” Bec gulped and tried to say good-bye, but as Lincoln reached the door, her ability to speak disappeared.
“Lincoln.” Coop nodded on his way out.
“Coop.” Lincoln returned the greeting as he tightened his clutch on the brown bag in his hands. One day she’d have to get them to both sit down and have a beer together, but today was not that day. Today she just needed to string two words together. Everything else would have to wait.
“H-hey.” She clutched at the door and tried to act casual. She had a sneaking suspicion she probably sounded like she’d been sucking helium. Her breath quickened. “What are you doing here?”
“Good question.” Lincoln rubbed his chin and looked equally awkward. So not a good sign. Disappointment pooled in her belly. “A smart guy would give you some space. But last time I did that, you fled the country.”
“That was under extreme circumstances,” she reminded him as she walked back into the cottage, careful to step over the wood that one of the builders had left yesterday. “Besides, this is my home, if anyone’s going to flee, it would be you.”
“Did you think I would?” He stood just inches from her, his presence filling the room, making it seem even smaller than it was.
No.
Yes.
“Maybe. Coop thought our choice of location was a bit…odd,” she admitted as heat filled her cheeks. Had she been deluding herself Lincoln had felt it, too? That same sense of connection, of rightness?
“Did he now?” A wave of something flashed across his face as he stepped closer. “Lucky for me that I like odd.”
“So you don’t regret
it?” Her pulse flared as she breathed him in.
“Are you kidding?” His eyes caught hers, his gaze telling her she’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. He doesn’t regret it. Her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m here to see you. And to give you this.”
He broke his gaze to pull a notebook out of the bag in his hand. The notebook. The one that had never left his damn side. All her swirling emotions formed into an arrowhead of panic. Why did he have it? Had this entire thing been an elaborate ruse just to prove she was an unfit mother because she liked to seduce people on secluded cliffs?
“Why?” Her hands shook as she took it, careful not to touch his outstretched fingers, because if she had to go back to hating him, then no good could come from touching.
“It might explain how I feel.”
If Bec had Pepper’s steely resolve, she’d simply ignore the notebook, or perhaps throw it at his head. Or, if she were more like Emmy, she’d tuck it into a drawer and perhaps look at it in a year or two when her heart wasn’t pounding. But Bec wasn’t like either of her sisters. She was impetuous, prone to doing what she wanted, and of course, nosy.
“Right.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath before turning the page, wondering if there’d be a timetable listing all the things she’d done wrong. All the ways he’s been judging me. The paper cracked under her fingers, and she flattened it down to see a sketch of a girl with short dark hair, laughing at something.
Bec’s mouth dropped open. “It’s me.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his expression nervous. She flipped the page. Another picture of me. In this one she was outside the doctor’s office, pointing to something in the sky.
“I don’t understand.” Her brow knitted together as she flipped to another page. Her at the wishing bridge. Her poking her tongue out. Her dancing along the cliff top yesterday before they’d finally packed away the picnic rug and headed home. “What does it mean?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I started drawing you because that’s what I do, but then when you said you had no memories of your parents, I started to draw pictures of you for our baby. So they’d always have something. But, after what happened yesterday, it doesn’t feel enough. Bec, I want more.”