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“Yes, I need it.” My voice was a whisper, barely holding together.
Lincoln hesitated, then reached over me to switch off the bedside lamp. Darkness enveloped us, but sleep was a distant dream for me. The encounter with Foster had shaken me to my core, leaving me sick with guilt and fear. I knew I should have told Lincoln the moment I walked through his door, but the words stuck in my throat like poison. Foster was relentless, and I knew from experience that he wouldn’t give up easily. The worst part was the tiny spark of feeling still lingering for him, a flicker I couldn’t extinguish.
I lay awake long after Lincoln had fallen asleep, his even breathing a painful contrast to the storm raging inside me. When he stirred to go work out at 7, I was briefly roused but quickly drifted back into a restless sleep. At nine, when he returned from the shower, he peppered my face with kisses, his wet skin cool against my fevered cheeks.
“Hey, I’m sleeping,” I mumbled, trying to feign normalcy.
“You look too good to ignore. Do you feel better?” His voice was laced with hope, the hope I was about to crush.
“A little,” I lied again, the weight of deceit making it harder to breathe.
“Did someone hurt you?” His tone sharpened, concern turning to suspicion.
“Lincoln, I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped, more harshly than I intended.
He frowned, the playful light in his eyes dimming. “I worry when you call me Lincoln.”
“Elliott,” I corrected, trying to bring back the banter. “Better?”
“Not really.” He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Lincoln pulled the towel from around his waist, wiping at his chest as he stood before me. Naked, he was a beautiful sight in the morning light, but my stomach churned with dread. The longer I kept my secret, the more it festered, growing uglier by the second.
“I should go home. I have clients to call.” I sat up in bed, rubbing at my tired eyes, the exhaustion seeping into my bones.
The bed dipped as Lincoln sat beside me, his fingers threading through my hair. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said softly, pleadingly.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I replied evasively, pushing the covers off me and slipping out of bed. I needed to get away before Lincoln’s gentle persistence broke me. I wasn’t ready to confess, even though I knew I should.
I hurried to the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the cold spray before it had a chance to warm up. I was out in three minutes, drying myself with one of the thick white towels as Lincoln prepared to shave, his eyes following my every move.
“Don’t,” I said, my voice tight as I tried to hold on to some semblance of normalcy.
Lincoln paused, razor in hand, and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t shave?”
“I like you with stubble,” I murmured, forcing a smile. “It’s sexy.”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Ducane likes it better when I’m clean-shaven,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Oh, so you take your client over me?” I shot back, my tone sharp.
He smirked, not catching the shift in my mood. “You bet your ass I do when the commission is around two hundred grand.”
But I wasn’t amused. I bent over, drying my legs with a quick, agitated motion.
“Erika, that was a joke,” he said, his smile faltering when he saw my expression.
“Shave,” I snapped, tossing the towel at him with more force than necessary. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your money.” The bitterness in my voice was impossible to miss as I stormed out of the bathroom.
Lincoln caught my arm as I tried to pass by, spinning me around to face him. His eyes darkened, the playful teasing gone. “I swear to God, Erika, you tell me what’s wrong, or I won’t let you leave,” he threatened, his voice low and dangerous.
“And what about your precious client?” I shot back, venom lacing my words.
“I don’t give a fuck about her. I care about you.” His grip on my arm tightened, not in anger, but in desperation.
The dam inside me broke, and I burst into tears, my shoulders shaking with the force of my sobs. Lincoln stood there, stunned for a moment, before he pulled me against his bare chest, holding me as if he could physically keep me from falling apart.
“Please, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “What happened?”
