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I didn’t see or hear from Lincoln for a full week. Our next encounter was purely by chance at the annual Real Estate Agents of the Tri-State dinner in the third week of April—the same event where I’d met Victor. This dinner was a time for agents like us to unwind, share war stories about our best deals and worst clients. I had taken solace in the fact that Lincoln hadn’t attended the past two years, and I didn’t expect this year to be any different.
I was still furious about his attack on Morgan and the things he’d said about me. I told myself I didn’t care to see him again, but deep down, I knew that was a lie. All week, I found myself thinking about him—his intense gaze, his commanding presence, and especially those scorching hot kisses that left me aching for more. Colvin had caught me daydreaming more than once, and I cursed myself for wasting my time on a man like Lincoln.
Saturday afternoon, I headed to the salon for a much-needed pampering session—hair, nails, the works. A few weeks ago, I had bought a short, shimmery silver dress that showed off my legs and a generous amount of cleavage. It was a bit over the top, but I had just closed a massive deal that earned me a six-figure commission.
I was feeling indulgent and had dragged Morgan along to get her opinion on the dress. Now, as I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my closet, I turned to admire how it hugged every curve, cupping my breasts to create a tantalizing swell of cleavage. Tonight, I was sure to turn a few heads.
The dinner was being held at The Diamond Square hotel, as it was every year. Tickets were two hundred dollars, and only four hundred guests could attend. I decided not to bring a date this time. I didn’t need a crutch for the evening.
I arrived just before 6:30 p.m., in time for cocktail hour, which was already in full swing.
A few acquaintances greeted me as I made my way to the bar, my five-inch silver heels clicking on the cream-colored marble. Overhead, four oversized crystal chandeliers cast a soft, flattering light that complemented the room’s electric blue, black, and white decor. I stopped at one of the stations and asked the bartender for a vodka and cranberry.
As I waited, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, a shiver running down my spine. I gulped down a sip from the glass the bartender handed me, trying to steady myself. The feeling of someone’s hand brushing against my bare arm sent my senses into overdrive, and I felt my nipples harden under the thin fabric of my dress.
“Erika,” Lincoln’s voice whispered before I even saw him.
My first instinct was to run. The visceral response he elicited in me was unsettling. I never lost my composure around a man, especially not one like him. I turned slowly, forcing a smile onto my face, but the frustration simmering beneath the surface was undeniable. I wasn’t sure if it stemmed from our heated exchange a week ago or the fact that, despite everything, I wanted him.
“Elliott,” I replied, my tone clipped.
“Come with me.”
Before I could protest, he grasped my elbow in his warm hand and led me out of the crowded room into an empty corridor. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I found myself unable to resist. Lincoln took the glass from my hand, placing it on a small table next to a crystal vase full of lilies. I should have pulled away, demanded to know what he was doing, but I was weakened by his presence, powerless to protest.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and something else—something dangerously close to desire.
He backed me against the wall, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he leaned in, hesitating just long enough for me to catch my breath. Then, with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his earlier aggression, he pressed his lips to mine. I curled my fingers into the soft fabric of his black designer suit, clinging to him as though he might disappear if I let go.
His kiss was tentative at first, exploring, but when I responded, he deepened it, his tongue seeking out mine. When he found it, he sucked gently, sending a wave of heat crashing through me, igniting a fire I could no longer control.
Lincoln cupped the back of my head, holding me close as if he knew I lacked the strength to pull away. I moaned, unashamed, as if daring him to know how deeply he affected me. But just as I surrendered to the moment, the door we had exited creaked open, and we broke apart, startled. A young waiter, balancing a silver tray full of dirty dishes, mumbled an apology as he quickly passed by.
I took a step back, trying to regain my composure, my breath still ragged. “Lincoln, what do you want from me?” I asked, my voice edged with both curiosity and caution.
“Just listen for a minute,” he said, his hands gently gripping my shoulders as his intense gaze bore into mine. It was so overwhelming that I had to look away, unable to face the raw emotion in his eyes. “Don’t do that. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I met his eyes again. “You’re freaking me out,” I confessed, my voice barely a whisper.
“This week was miserable for me,” he admitted, his tone raw with vulnerability. “I can’t get you out of my head, and that’s never happened to me before.”
His confession startled me. I reached up, my fingers grazing the prickly scruff on his jaw, feeling the tension there. Lincoln, always so composed, was just as lost as I was.
“What does that mean?” I asked softly, my voice trembling with uncertainty.
“It means I need you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere.
“In your bed?” I asked, a hint of skepticism lacing my words.
He hesitated, his grip on my shoulders tightening slightly as he searched for the right words. “I’d love that, but it doesn’t have to be just sex,” he said, his voice dropping. “I’m saying I want you. I’m not perfect. I can be an ass and self-centered, but I can try to change for you.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to change,” I murmured, feeling the truth in my words. “I like you the way you are.”
“You don’t mean that,” he countered, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I can be stubborn, and there’s still the thing between us from last week.”
“The kiss?” I asked, trying to follow his train of thought.
“And my brother,” he added, his voice heavy with regret.
