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“You women,” Lincoln growled as the waiter discreetly dropped off his scotch and my wine, then quickly retreated. Lincoln’s eyes flashed with anger as he lifted the glass to his lips, draining the entire contents in one long gulp before slamming it back on the table.
“Us women? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I shot back, my temper flaring. I could see it in his eyes—he blamed Morgan for his brother’s disappearance, and it infuriated me. She hadn’t sent Michael out on that boat, and I knew how deeply she’d been affected after that fateful July 4th weekend. She had loved him.
“It means you know how to twist men’s hearts,” he accused, his voice cold.
“Morgan didn’t do that to Michael! This is ridiculous. I won’t let you blame her for something she didn’t do. She was in love with your brother!” I snapped, my fists clenching in my lap.
“But not enough to leave her fiancé. When’s the wedding?” he shot back, his tone biting.
I hesitated. “August.”
“She never gave him a chance,” Lincoln muttered bitterly, stabbing a fork into his green beans and shoveling them into his mouth, followed by a thick piece of steak. His eating was aggressive, fueled by anger, but my own anger was bubbling just as fiercely.
“I think I’ll go,” I said sharply, pushing my chair back from the table, ready to leave this confrontation behind.
“You certainly will not,” he commanded, his eyes narrowing. “I want to discuss this more—in private.”
“I don’t have the energy for this, Lincoln. I’m tired,” I retorted, standing up, my patience wearing thin.
“I’ll get the check,” he said abruptly, waving the waiter over with one hand while pulling out his wallet with the other. The wallet was thick with bills, and he handed the man three crisp hundred-dollar notes, barely glancing at them as he spoke. “Keep the change.”
“Let’s go,” he ordered, his voice firm.
“Don’t order me around,” I snapped, my eyes challenging his.
“Erika, don’t piss me off more than I already am,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
I couldn’t help but laugh, not the least bit intimidated. Lincoln might think he was scaring me, but I’d dealt with worse.
“I’d like to go home,” I insisted, turning away from the table.
“Then I’ll go with you,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“This doesn’t even concern me. It’s about Morgan. It’s over. Michael is gone,” I said as we made our way to the coat room.
“I believe he’s alive,” Lincoln said, his voice thick with conviction.
At the coat room, Lincoln surprised me by helping me into my coat, his touch surprisingly gentle given the tension between us. But as we stepped outside into the cold mid-April night, his hand remained firm on my back, guiding me toward the curb where he hailed a cab.
Inside the cab, I gave the driver my address, and we fell into a tense silence. The anger between us seemed to dissipate, leaving us both lost in our own thoughts. When we arrived at my apartment, I didn’t stop him from following me upstairs, his presence both comforting and unsettling in the aftermath of our confrontation.
CHAPTER 7
Erika
Ialmost cried out when Lincoln’s mouth latched onto my neck, sucking hard and occasionally nipping at my tender skin. The heated argument we’d had just after arriving at my apartment had ignited a fire between us that neither of us could resist. It all started with a simple peck on his lips—a small gesture, but enough to spark an inferno. His body pressed against mine, and within seconds, our mouths were locked together, desperate and hungry.
My fingers tangled in his blond hair, tugging as he trailed hot, frantic kisses down my throat. He fumbled with the cowl neck of my dress, pulling it aside in his eagerness to reach my chest.
“This horrible dress,” he murmured against my skin, frustration lacing his words.
“Would you like me to take it off so you can see what’s underneath?” I teased, my breath hitching as his mouth moved lower.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged, his voice rough. “I know when a woman is ready, and you aren’t. You’re still angry.”
I hesitated, confusion rippling through me. Our connection was undeniable, the chemistry electric, yet he said I wasn’t ready. “I am,” I admitted, acknowledging the lingering anger beneath the passion as he planted several more scorching kisses by my ear.
“We both are,” he agreed, his voice a whisper against my skin.
