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Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes despite my effort to hold them back. When they finally escaped, streaking down my cheeks, Lincoln’s expression shifted from anger to horror. He fumbled in his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice now laced with regret.
I took the handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes, trying to keep my mascara from smudging. “You, Lincoln. I want you,” I sobbed. “I want this whole shitty nightmare to be over with. My heart can’t stand to be away from you.”
“And what about your head?” Lincoln asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
“Everything,” I choked out. “My heart, body, and soul. I love you.”
“Tell Grant you’re sick and that you’re leaving,” Lincoln urged.
“I can’t do that,” I said, shaking my head. “He’ll want to go with me.”
“Tell him you already left,” Lincoln insisted.
“And what about you?” I asked, my voice wavering.
“I’ll be going with you. I want you to come home with me,” Lincoln said, his voice firm yet tender.
His words made me cry even harder, tears flowing freely as the door to the stairwell creaked open. A security guard in a gray uniform appeared, his face etched with concern.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked. “Do you need assistance, miss?”
“No, thank you,” Lincoln said quickly. “My fiancée isn’t feeling well.”
The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. He removed his cap and ran his hand through his short blond hair. “You shouldn’t be in the stairwell. It’s for emergencies.” He held the door open, gesturing for us to return to the hallway.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said to Lincoln, my voice strained as I tried to regain composure.
“Do you want me to wait for you here or in the lobby?” Lincoln asked, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Here. I want you to take me home,” I replied, desperate for his presence.
“As long as everything is all right,” the guard said, stepping aside.
“Go, sweetheart,” Lincoln urged, ignoring the guard’s presence. “I’ll wait for you.”
He gave me a gentle push toward the women’s bathroom. I moved toward it with heavy steps, while Lincoln leaned against the wall, his gaze fixed on me with a mix of longing and determination. The weight of our unresolved feelings hung heavily in the air, a palpable tension that promised either reconciliation or an even deeper heartbreak.
CHAPTER 26
Lincoln
After enduring two weeks of pure misery, Erika was finally back in my arms. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to forgive her for her mistake. If I wanted her, I couldn’t let Foster Black have her, not after everything we’d been through. He didn’t deserve her.
Now, as the cab navigated the city streets on our way to my apartment, I couldn’t keep my hands off her. Erika had just called Grant, feigning illness, and assured him she was heading home. He’d offered to check on her later, but I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him there’d be no need—she’d be safe and secure with me tonight.
I held her close, my fingers trailing over the soft skin of her arm as I fought the overwhelming urge to bury my face in her cleavage. The desire to kiss and claim every inch of her body pulsed within me, but I forced myself to be patient. Instead, I pressed my nose against her cheek, inhaling her familiar scent.
“I love you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “These four weeks have been hell.”
“Not as hellish as they’ve been for me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I almost made a mistake.”
“I made the mistake of not fighting harder for you,” I confessed, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
“Foster has nothing on you, Lincoln,” Erika said, shaking her head. “He even asked me to marry him.”
Her admission felt like a knife twisting in my gut. The thought of losing her, of ending up like Michael—separated from the woman he loved with no hope in sight—was unbearable.
