Chapter 16 #2
It wasn’t like she hadn’t known what he’d had in mind—in a general sense—when he’d stepped off her porch and punched Bishop unconscious.
Somehow, though, knowing what he intended to do and the reality of it being done were two separate things.
Lynnette hadn’t considered what it might feel like to know that danger was off the board in a permanent way.
He could no longer assault, harass, or harangue her. He couldn’t hurt anyone.
Lynnette reached up, behind her, and found his jaw with her fingers.
A bit of scruff roughened the smoothness of the skin, though it wasn’t as much as he’d had by the time the hospital had released him.
She finger-walked slowly back, until she could reach his hairline, and did her best to pull him closer as she arched her back and dipped her head.
“I believe heroes are supposed to be rewarded for their work.”
He let her angle his head over hers, his arm locking around her waist, and a deep groan dragged out of him. “Don’t tempt me right now, sweetheart.”
That was exactly her plan, though. She somehow slipped her other arm free of his hold and twisted her entire body around so they were chest-to-chest, all without clumsily crashing their faces together.
Then she looped both arms properly around his neck to keep him close and dipped the fingers of one hand beneath the collar of his shirt.
“I’m not very good at seductive games,” she whispered.
She dug her nails into his skin. “But I want this.”
Lance heaved a hard breath, the hand she’d pulled from moving to cradle her head.
“You sure about that? ‘Cause what I want runs a lot deeper than just the two of us fuckin’ each other out of our systems, or having a fun fling for a few days. I want it all, Lynn. Every inch. Every sigh. Every orgasm. Every laugh. Every milestone.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising again as if he were breathing her in.
“I’ll take it one step at a time,” he said, his voice somehow soft and rough simultaneously, “but you might have to be more specific about which steps you’re ready to take when. So I don’t fuck things up.”
Lynnette wasn’t entirely sure she was breathing as his words washed through her. Jesus. What he’d said was intense, arguably overwhelming, and she should have stomped on the brakes with both feet. But he felt so sincere. So comfortable. So right.
She moved one hand to cup his jaw, letting her thumb rub along his scruffy skin.
If she were honest with herself, she’d been drawn to him from the first moment she’d stepped into his patient room.
His eyes, the curve of his lips when he smiled, the strength and contradictory warmth in his voice.
Even laid up in a bed, leg elevated, hooked to machines and donning a never-flattering hospital gown, he’d been hard to look away from.
Because he was attractive, sure, but the more they’d talked the more she’d wanted to learn about him.
It really had been inappropriate for her to bring him lunch, off the clock or not.
And while Claire had absolutely been out of line that day, it wasn’t her behavior that had riled Lynnette so fiercely. It wasn’t even the literal damage the other nurse had caused. It was the fact that Claire’s target had been him.
So, maybe she didn’t know if she wanted her entire future with Lance Blackburn yet. That felt heavy. But she definitely knew she wanted to walk toward it next to him, and if they stayed together—if they grew together—that was okay. She was done fighting it. Mostly.
“Boyfriend,” Lynnette whispered, testing the word as much as addressing him. She swore she felt his smile despite that their faces were too close together for her to see it.
“Yeah?”
Her heart beat a little faster at his husky timbre. Maybe also at the mere fact that he responded to the word. She swallowed. “If you’ll promise me two things, then I’ll promise you to move forward with us with an open mind. And do my best to be clear if I need to draw a boundary.”
Lance eased up enough to meet her gaze. “You have a deal. What two promises do you need?”
She quirked her lips in a reflexive grin. “Shouldn’t you have asked first?”
“Nah,” he replied. “You’re not gonna ask me to kill my brothers or some wild shit like that, and that’s about the only thing I’d hesitate on.
” His fingers flexed against her scalp, gathering more of her hair in his grip.
“So, whatever they are, if I agree, I get you. Easiest damn deal I’ve ever made. ”
A part of her fell in love with him in that moment.
She’d had a decent childhood, all things considered.
She’d certainly known love. She hadn’t lacked for affection from her parents, or lacked for friends in school.
It wasn’t as if she were love-starved. She knew damn well she wasn’t alone in the world.
Even having lost her mother and fallen apart from the majority of her school friends, she had it better than a lot of people and she wasn’t ignorant of that.
But, damn, to have a man like Lance hold her so tight and tell her so bluntly that he’d agree to nearly anything if it meant she stayed with him … she never could have imagined how that would hit her.
Lynnette licked her lips, rubbed her thumb over his jaw again, and tried not to cry like a softie.
“I need two things, kind of like conditions. The first is an understanding. I don’t mean disrespect to anyone else, but I’m a monogamous woman.
If I’m going to be in a serious relationship with a man, I expect to be the only woman in his life romantically or sexually.
That’s non-negotiable. I won’t make an exception, not even once. ”
Lance smiled. “Sweetheart, I’ve been laser-focused on you since the night we met. And I might be a lot of things, but I’m no cheater.”
That was, of course, exactly what she wanted to hear. But he hadn’t proven himself a liar yet, so she chose to trust his words.
“Number two?” Lance prompted when she was quiet a beat too long.
Heat blossomed across her cheeks and Lynnette fought the urge to duck her head.
She’d have ended up head-butting him if she did, anyway.
“The second,” she said, willing her tone to be stable, “is very simple and complicated all at once.” She went for a small laugh that ended up much too self-conscious and awkward. “Please tell me you’re clean.”
He blinked, then his lips tightened and lifted as if he were biting back a larger expression. Perhaps a louder reaction. He leaned forward and pressed those lips to the apple of her cheek before murmuring, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m clean. The way you mean.”
She exhaled and let her hand slide toward the back of his neck before a possibility struck her. “Do you mean to tell me you tracked mud and whatever else into my bed?”
Lance snorted into her hair before sitting up again to meet her eyes. “No, that is not what I meant.” He was still laughing, but he at least had the decency to hold it inside. “I didn’t track anything like that inside, promise.”
She scrunched up her face. “Do I need to be worried about what you meant?”
The look that overtook his face was anything but innocent, and her blood ignited. “Depends on how much you value sleep, and your general opinion on dirty jokes.”
Amusement eased the renewed tension inside her and Lynnette teased her fingers over the low growth of his dark hair. “Boyfriend?”
The smirk that always made her stomach clench unfairly lifted his lips. “What do you need, sweetheart?”
She licked her lips as her core ached in undeniable response. “You. And maybe some of these lights on, so I can see what’s mine.”
She swore to all the gods, his eyes actually sparked as his expression heated. He leaned in and ghosted his lips over hers, pressing their bodies tight to each other and letting her feel his arousal. Then he eased back, softening the sturdy grip he’d had on her, and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
She had about twenty seconds to draw a clearer breath and possibly reconsider.
She used the time to kick her comforter down and push herself up a bit.
Then the overhead light lit up, only to half brightness, and Lynnette squinted for a moment as her eyes sought out the man who had to have triggered it.
Her favorite thing about the overhead light fixture was that it had three settings—one so dim that a string of clear holiday lights could outshine it—the one he’d chosen, which did enough without acting like a beacon in the middle of the night, and of course full illumination.
She generally only used that one when she was cleaning.
Lance crossed his arms in front of his midsection, took hold of his shirt, and peeled the fabric off his body.
His tags clinked softly as they fell back against his skin, but they only briefly drew her eye.
She’d seen him shirtless, but in nurse-mode her brain was capable of compartmentalizing and downplaying certain things.
Namely, the lusty thoughts about how deliciously muscular his upper body was and how tantalizing that small trail of dark hair that disappeared down his pants was and how the tattoo on his chest, over his heart, shouldn’t have struck her as sexy as it did.