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“This is your fault,” I grumbled, half-asleep.
“My fault? How so?” His tone was incredulous.
“You kept me up half the night,” I complained, pulling the covers tighter around myself.
“I think that’s more your fault,” he retorted, his voice a low rumble. “If you would stop teasing me with your sexy little body.”
“Two more minutes. I promise I’ll get up,” I pleaded.
“If you don’t, I’m hauling you out of here in your robe. I’m sure the TSA would get a kick out of that at the airport. They’d have an easy time searching you,” he teased.
“Shut up. Two minutes,” I mumbled, burying my face deeper into the pillow.
“I’m making a cup of coffee. When I come back, you’re up,” he said, his footsteps echoing as he left the room.
I snuggled further into the covers, tucking the quilt around me like a cocoon. Lincoln had recently swapped his sheets for dark blue and red plaid flannel, and they were so soft and warm that I had zero desire to leave the bed. The minutes ticked by slowly until I heard his footsteps return.
“It cannot be two minutes,” I protested as he reentered the room.
“It’s 3. Fifteen minutes and the limo will be here. Are you going to shower?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed with a mug in hand.
“Nope. I’ll do it at the hotel,” I said, hoping he’d let it slide.
“Up, or I yank the covers off you,” he threatened, taking a deliberate sip of his coffee.
“Don’t you dare, Lincoln Elliott,” I warned, though my tone lacked conviction.
“I’m getting into position. You’re now double what you said. We’re going on four minutes,” he said, his voice playful but resolute.
With a groan, I pushed the covers off, revealing my nakedness to him. He sighed in appreciation and took another sip of his coffee, eyes gleaming with mischief. I scrambled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, washing my face, brushing my teeth, and wrestling with my unruly hair. With time running out, I gave up on brushing and threw my hair into a messy ponytail. In twelve minutes, I emerged in dark blue jeans and a thick gray cable-knit sweater.
Lincoln had already made the bed and washed out his coffee mug. Our bags were neatly packed and waiting by the door. I slipped on my boots and glanced out the sliding glass door. The snow from the night before had blanketed everything outside. Goodbye snow, I thought, as I imagined the warmth of Palm Springs. In seven hours, we’d be trading this winter scene for the sun-drenched desert.
CHAPTER 29
Lincoln
As the plane descended towards Palm Springs International Airport, I gazed out the window, eager for the warm embrace of the desert sun. The captain had just announced a balmy eighty-two degrees, and I couldn’t wait to see Erika in the new bikinis she’d picked out. I had rented a suite at The Wyatt Palm Springs, complete with a private terrace and its own small pool. I intended to keep my girlfriend and her scantily clad self all to myself.
I squeezed Erika’s hand as the plane touched down. Her breath escaped in a relieved sigh, and I knew she’d been anxious about the flight. The thought of tonight’s surprise made my heart race with anticipation. I was planning to propose—maybe it was a bit clichéd, doing it during the holidays, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. We’d been together nearly seven months, minus the brief two-week break. From the start, I’d felt sure she was the one I wanted to spend my life with.
“I need a bathroom,” Erika said as we disembarked.
“You don’t look good,” I observed, noticing her pallor.
“I feel nauseous,” she said, her voice shaky as she took a deep breath.
The moment we reached the gates, she bolted through the concourse, weaving through the crowd toward the Women’s Bathroom sign. I followed, my stomach tightening with concern. I had dealt with this kind of situation before—a one-night stand had once claimed she was pregnant despite protection. Thankfully, it had been a false alarm, but the memory still made my heart race.
I hovered by the bathroom door, anxiety gnawing at me. After a few minutes, Erika emerged, looking greener than she had when she went in.
“I think I’m sick. I’m sorry,” she said, her voice weak.
“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s get the bags and head to the hotel. You can rest there, and hopefully, you’ll feel better soon.”
She managed a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I had a sinking feeling we’d be spending New Year’s Eve indoors while she recovered. Erika leaned on me as we made our way to the baggage claim. I hated to leave her side, but I needed to grab our bags before they made another loop around the carousel.
“Will you be all right?” I asked, glancing at her with concern.
