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“You said you would consider it.”
“Why don’t you move in here?” I countered, slipping into the sweater and smoothing it down.
“My apartment is bigger, and you promised,” he reminded me, stretching out on my bed and snuggling into my pillow.
“Pain in the ass,” I mumbled under my breath, though a small smile tugged at my lips.
Donovan and Cathleen Elliott had been so busy since Lincoln and I got back together that we hadn’t found time to meet. But now that it was November, we were invited to their home for Thanksgiving next week. Today, though, for brunch, I wanted our first meeting to be more intimate—just us, not faces in a crowd.
The Elliotts were hosting brunch at their penthouse in Midtown. Talon was bringing his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Storm, and Michael would also be attending. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. Morgan had been married for three months, and he still hadn’t moved on. I didn’t know if he ever would.
I stood in front of the mirror, brushing out my wavy blonde hair before applying my makeup.
“You should go natural. You don’t need anything,” Lincoln suggested from the bed, watching me with a contented smile.
“I feel more comfortable with makeup,” I said, reaching for my foundation. “I’ve been wearing it since I was thirteen.”
“You can’t improve perfection.”
“I’m not perfect,” I said, shaking my head as I focused on getting my mascara just right.
“To me, you are,” he said quietly, his words making my heart skip a beat.
I snorted softly, not wanting to let him see just how much his words affected me. Lincoln was the best boyfriend I could have hoped for. He’d restored my faith in men, always attentive and caring. Even when he worked late, he checked in with me to make sure I was okay.
“Done. How do I look?” I asked, turning to face him.
Lincoln sat up, his eyes darkening with desire as he licked his thick bottom lip. “Good enough to eat.”
“You already ate me,” I teased, feeling a blush creep up my neck.
“And I’m craving more. I’d like you on the menu for lunch. Maybe we can sneak away and I’ll get you off in one of the spare bedrooms,” he suggested, his tone half-serious, half-playful.
I stared at him in horror. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Then your family would surely think I was a slut.”
“Nonsense. They’d just think we were in love, which is true.”
“No. Do you promise to behave?” I demanded, turning back to my dresser to spray on some perfume.
“I was going to say yes, but that perfume drives me insane. All bets are off, Erika Bramwell.”
I turned and put my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes at him. “Say it, Lincoln.”
“Say what?” he replied with an infuriating smirk.
“That you’ll behave, or all of a sudden, I’m coming down with a stomachache.”
“Good, then we can stay here and start with dessert.”
I threw my hands in the air and rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible. Let’s get moving before we’re late.”
He laughed, slipping off the bed and grabbing his jacket. “All right, all right. But I’m still hoping for dessert later.”
“We’ll see,” I replied, though I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as we headed out the door.
The Elliott's penthouse was gorgeous, exuding a sense of timeless elegance with its high ceilings, dark wood accents, and intricate crown moldings. The neutral walls contrasted beautifully with the expensive furniture, creating an atmosphere of understated luxury. A four-door slider opened to a private patio with a fireplace, though it was too chilly to enjoy the outdoors.
Donovan Elliott was a striking older version of his sons, with ice-blue eyes and chestnut hair that had begun to gray at the temples. Deep lines etched his tan face, likely from years spent working outside on various building projects. In contrast, Cathleen Elliott was petite and demure, with auburn hair and steel-gray eyes that hinted at a sharp intellect. Yet, I could tell immediately that she was kind. The moment we arrived, she looped her arm around mine and spirited me away to the kitchen.
