Page 57 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars
Yeah okay, Linc, rub it in—we’re not going to have sex, I got it. “I don’t want to hear about anything rising, thank you very much. Please, change the subject.”
“What’s wrong with talking about sex?”
“Do you seriously want me to self-combust, right here on the pavement, with everyone watching?”
He chuckles. “I think you need to be desensitized. Maybe if we talk about sex a bit, you won’t get so flustered.”
“Oh my God, stop saying the S word.”
“Sex?”
“Just… shoot me now.”
“I mean it,” he states. “It’s helpful sometimes to talk about things and get it all out in the open.”
Actually, I think he’s right, but I’m not about to admit that to him. Because if we started talking about sex, I think I really would burn up like a haystack subjected to bacterial fermentation.
“I’d be grateful if you kept everything where it’s supposed to be, nicely zipped up,” I tell him. Our eyes meet, and we both laugh. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get home. I’m starving.”
We make our way up to my apartment, and, because we’re both hungry, we get started on dinner. Linc makes a cheesy pasta sauce with butter, flour, milk, and cheese, while I stir fry some bacon and cook the pasta. Then we mix it all together with some fresh thyme and spoon it into two dishes, accompanied with a green salad and buttered thick-cut bread.
We eat up at the breakfast bar, sitting on either side, facing one another.
“You sure I can’t talk you into having a glass of wine?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Not if you’re not drinking.”
“Honestly, I don’t mind. I don’t expect everyone else to be teetotal.”
He takes a bite of the bread. “You don’t drink because of what happened?”
I trail my fork through the pasta. “Yeah. I don’t like the idea of being out of control.”
“Fraser said they spiked your drink.” He meets my eyes as I stare at him. “What?”
“Sorry, you took me by surprise. I never talk about it because nobody mentions it. At the time, the thought of it was too painful for everyone. Even Mum found it upsetting, so I learned to talk only to my therapist.”
Linc shrugs. “I believe in getting things out in the open.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
“It frustrates me when people skirt around delicate topics. I end up saying the wrong thing and put my foot in it. But I accept that most people aren’t like me, so if you’d rather not discuss it, just say so.”
I remember what he told me in the conservation room, when I said I didn’t like people knowing because they treat me differently: It hasn’t changed how I look at you. You’re still beautiful to me.
“I don’t mind,” I say. “But I’d rather you didn’t do the whole ‘I’m going to hunt them down and kill them’ bravado thing. I had that from both Fraser and Joel at the time, and it’s not very helpful.”
“I won’t. They don’t deserve my thought or attention. They are non-people as far as I’m concerned.” He speaks calmly, although his hooded eyes suggest a stronger emotion hides beneath his mild tone.
“That’s how I feel, too,” I say, glad he understands. “Getting angry about it gives them power over me. And I’m done with giving other people power over me.”
He chews a forkful of pasta as he studies me thoughtfully. “How’s your relationship with your dad?”
My lips curve up. “You’re very astute, aren’t you?”
“I can read between the lines.”
I spear a piece of bacon. “It’s not been the same since. He feels he let me down because he couldn’t protect me, but you can’t wrap kids in cotton wool. It wasn’t his fault that I was attacked, it was my fault.”
