Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
Erika
I almost 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.
“Then stop kissing me,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.
Lincoln paused, his mouth hovering close to mine as he searched my eyes. His usually icy blue gaze had darkened, filled with an intensity that could have been desire or rage—I couldn’t tell which.
“Damn you, Erika Bramwell,” he growled, tearing himself away from me. He ran his hands through his thick hair before sinking onto the gray leather couch, the cushions creaking under his weight.
“What’s your problem, Elliott?” I demanded, still breathless from the encounter.
“You don’t know?” he replied, his voice dripping with frustration.
“I assume it’s me,” I shot back.
“You assume correctly. I’m not normally like this,” he confessed, his tone almost bitter.
I turned to face him fully, sliding one leg up onto the couch to remove the boot from my right foot. My feet were aching; the boots were new and hadn’t been broken in yet. As I struggled with the zipper, Lincoln moved closer, his demeanor softening as he pulled the zipper the rest of the way down and yanked the boot off. He removed my thin sock and began massaging my toes, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“Such a pretty foot,” he murmured, his fingers working magic on my sore muscles. I leaned back against the arm of the couch, letting out a small sigh as he pulled my other leg onto his lap and divested me of my other boot.
“Tell me why this isn’t normal for you,” I asked, my voice softer now, more curious than confrontational.
Lincoln kept his gaze on my foot, speaking as though to it rather than to me. “I don’t do relationships. They’re foreign to me.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bitter. “You think I want a relationship? I’m not good at them either.”
“Being good at relationships has nothing to do with it. I just don’t have them,” he clarified, still not meeting my eyes.
“Are women too much trouble for you?” I asked, the sarcasm barely masking my irritation.
“Quite the opposite. I love women too much. I like variety,” he admitted.
I tried to pull my foot from his grasp, but he held fast. “So, you’re a player. You fuck them and leave them?”
“I don’t have sex with anyone who doesn’t want a good time,” he said, his tone calm.
“Is that how you see me? Out for a good time?” My anger, which had simmered down, was now bubbling up again. If Lincoln Elliott thought I was going to be just another notch on his belt, he was sorely mistaken.
“That’s the problem with you,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t want it just once with you.”
“What’s the difference? Once or more, I’m still an object for your pleasure,” I retorted, my voice sharp.
“Shut up, Erika. That’s not what I mean,” he snapped, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine. “I want more. You make me want more.”
I studied his face, watching as it contorted with an emotion that looked almost like pain, wrinkles lining his forehead. He seemed genuinely conflicted, torn between his usual detached approach and something deeper that I brought out in him.
“And what’s so bad about more?” I asked, my voice softening again, curious to understand his fear.
“I don’t know how to do more. I know how to satisfy a woman, but that’s all,” he admitted, his voice strained.
I pulled my legs off his lap, swinging them over the side of the couch as I faced him. “I feel sorry for you, Lincoln. What you’re describing is a lonely existence.”
“Unlike you, who has a bunch of dogs on a leash?” he shot back, his tone suddenly harsh.
Lincoln stood up so quickly that I flinched. He grabbed his coat from where it had been draped over the arm of the couch and yanked it on, his movements jerky and agitated.
“You’re a jerk,” I spat, my anger flaring up again. “How dare you chastise me for what I do when you’re even worse.”
Lincoln leaned over the arm of the couch, his large hands gripping the leather as he loomed over me. “Am I? Am I worse? Think about what you’re doing before you condemn my way of life,” he growled.
With those final words, he straightened up and stormed to the door, yanking it open so hard it slammed against the wall. He didn’t bother closing it as he walked out, leaving me sitting there in stunned silence. I listened to the echo of his footsteps down the hallway, and by the time I got up to shut the door, he was already gone.
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.
I dropped my hand from his face, the weight of his earlier accusations sinking back in. “Morgan had nothing to do with Michael’s disappearance,” I said firmly, my voice tinged with frustration.
“I know,” he said quietly, his eyes filled with remorse. “He made his own choices.”
“Then why say it? You hurt me, Lincoln. Morgan is my best friend.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I miss him.”
I sighed softly and tilted my head up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, offering a small gesture of forgiveness. As I pulled away, I wiped the smudge of lip gloss from his mouth, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
“Let’s ditch this party,” I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.
He smirked, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “I paid two hundred dollars for my ticket,” he remarked with a hint of amusement.
“You’ve never come to these before,” I pointed out, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t come for the rubber chicken and watered-down drinks. I came for you,” he said, his tone turning serious.
“How did you know I would be here?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“I have my ways,” he replied with a sly grin.
“Stalker,” I teased, rolling my eyes.
“Only for you,” he shot back, his grin widening. “I could’ve put us both out of our misery and called you.”
“That goes double,” I admitted, feeling a pang of regret for not reaching out first.
Lincoln took my hand, his grip warm and firm as he led me down the hallway. The low hum of voices and the dimmed lights from the dining room signaled that the dinner was about to start. We hurried along, slipping through the door to the coatroom, eager to escape into the night together.