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“Mr. Jackson,” Lincoln continued, his tone dangerously smooth, “you should really keep your hands to yourself.”
“I’m…I’m…” Sabian’s voice faltered under Lincoln’s intense scrutiny.
“If you plan to work with Miss Bramwell,” Lincoln said, his words measured and cold, “you will be respectful and decent.”
Sabian nodded vigorously. “I understand.”
“I hope so,” Lincoln said, his voice dripping with disdain. “A trust fund doesn’t give you the right to put your hands on her.”
“I know,” Sabian mumbled, looking down.
As the waiter arrived with Sabian’s vodka, Lincoln snatched the glass away and took a sip. His hand settled possessively on my knee before sliding up my thigh, his fingers curling around my flesh with a firm grip.
“Apologize,” Lincoln commanded, his eyes never leaving Sabian’s.
“Lincoln, it’s obvious he’s sorry,” I interjected, my voice edged with frustration. “Stop it.”
Lincoln ignored me, his attention solely on Sabian. His grip on my leg tightened, a reminder of his dominance.
“I’m sorry. I should go.” Sabian fumbled with his pocket, tossing a stack of hundreds onto the table. Without another word, he scrambled out of the lounge, his hurried footsteps echoing in the quiet.
“Asshole,” I hissed at Lincoln, turning to him with a mixture of irritation and relief. “I’ll probably never hear from him again.”
“Good,” Lincoln said, his tone resolute. “The last thing I want is to worry about you around him.”
“Get your hands off me,” I snapped, though the edge in my voice was softened by the lingering tension. “How did you even find me?”
“I found a note you left in my kitchen about this place,” Lincoln explained, his demeanor softening slightly. “I took a chance.”
Lincoln removed his hand and drained the rest of the vodka from Sabian’s glass. “I’m finished,” I said, my voice weary. “I don’t have any appetite left. I’d like to go home.”
“Not without me,” Lincoln insisted, his smirk returning. “You ruined our dinner, so I deserve your time.”
“You deserve my time?” I shot back. “You’re lucky I don’t slap you right now.”
Lincoln’s smirk deepened, and I felt a sudden urge to kiss him. Despite my anger, it was hard to stay mad at him. In hindsight, he had probably saved me from a situation with Sabian that could have escalated. I knew too many men like Sabian—those who thought money gave them the right to take whatever they wanted.
“Then do it,” Lincoln taunted, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Hit me until you feel better.”
“I’d rather do it in private,” I said, a touch of humor softening my tone.
Lincoln waved over the waiter, handing him the stack of bills Sabian had left. It was more than enough to cover the check and leave a generous tip. As he finished, his hand lingered on mine for a moment, a silent promise of a night that would be about us—minus the complications.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln said, his voice low and resolute. “We have unfinished business.”
CHAPTER 14
Erika
Icried out as Lincoln pushed me against the foyer wall, the cool, hard surface pressing into my back. The mirror next to us rattled with each forceful thrust, its reflection distorting with the rhythm of our passion. My skirt and shredded hot pink panties lay discarded on the floor near his feet, a chaotic testament to the urgency of our need. It had been two days since we last had sex—two days too long for either of us.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin beneath the fabric.
“Rip it open,” he panted, his voice rough with desire.
“I love this shirt,” I protested, but the sound of his ragged breaths drowned out my words.
“I can buy another,” he urged, his eyes blazing with an intensity that matched the fire between us. “I want you to touch me.”
