Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
Erika
“ I ’m nervous,” I admitted, glancing at Lincoln as I debated which outfit would make the best first impression.
“Don’t be,” Lincoln replied, his tone warm and reassuring. “My parents don’t bite.”
“But it’s the first time I’m meeting them,” I said, the anxiety still gnawing at me.
“They’ll love you. They already do, and you haven’t even met them yet.”
“How can they love me?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I’ve told them about you. They’re very happy I found you.”
I pulled a pink cashmere sweater from my closet, holding it up against the black jeans I was wearing. “How does this look together?”
“I prefer something that shows a little cleavage,” he teased, his eyes lighting up.
I smirked, the tension in my chest loosening just a bit. “I bet you do.”
“Erika, please?” he coaxed, his voice dipping in that irresistible way of his.
“I don’t want your parents to think I’m cheap.”
Lincoln raised his eyebrows, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “For showing a little cleavage?”
“Maybe the next time I meet them, but not now.”
“They would never think you were cheap. Wear the sweater, if you promise to give me some of that sexy cleavage when we get back here.”
“Who says I want you to sleep over?” I shot back, but the playful challenge in my tone was obvious.
“If you would just agree to move in with me, we could be together all the time.”
“We are together all the time. When was the last time we didn’t share a bed?”
“When we were separated.”
“And here we are two months later, and we’ve shared a bed every night since.”
“You said you would consider it.”
“Why don’t you move in here?” I countered, slipping into the sweater and smoothing it down.
“My apartment is bigger, and you promised,” he reminded me, stretching out on my bed and snuggling into my pillow.
“Pain in the ass,” I mumbled under my breath, though a small smile tugged at my lips.
Donovan and Cathleen Elliott had been so busy since Lincoln and I got back together that we hadn’t found time to meet. But now that it was November, we were invited to their home for Thanksgiving next week. Today, though, for brunch, I wanted our first meeting to be more intimate—just us, not faces in a crowd.
The Elliotts were hosting brunch at their penthouse in Midtown. Talon was bringing his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Storm, and Michael would also be attending. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. Morgan had been married for three months, and he still hadn’t moved on. I didn’t know if he ever would.
I stood in front of the mirror, brushing out my wavy blonde hair before applying my makeup.
“You should go natural. You don’t need anything,” Lincoln suggested from the bed, watching me with a contented smile.
“I feel more comfortable with makeup,” I said, reaching for my foundation. “I’ve been wearing it since I was thirteen.”
“You can’t improve perfection.”
“I’m not perfect,” I said, shaking my head as I focused on getting my mascara just right.
“To me, you are,” he said quietly, his words making my heart skip a beat.
I snorted softly, not wanting to let him see just how much his words affected me. Lincoln was the best boyfriend I could have hoped for. He’d restored my faith in men, always attentive and caring. Even when he worked late, he checked in with me to make sure I was okay.
“Done. How do I look?” I asked, turning to face him.
Lincoln sat up, his eyes darkening with desire as he licked his thick bottom lip. “Good enough to eat.”
“You already ate me,” I teased, feeling a blush creep up my neck.
“And I’m craving more. I’d like you on the menu for lunch. Maybe we can sneak away and I’ll get you off in one of the spare bedrooms,” he suggested, his tone half-serious, half-playful.
I stared at him in horror. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Then your family would surely think I was a slut.”
“Nonsense. They’d just think we were in love, which is true.”
“No. Do you promise to behave?” I demanded, turning back to my dresser to spray on some perfume.
“I was going to say yes, but that perfume drives me insane. All bets are off, Erika Bramwell.”
I turned and put my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes at him. “Say it, Lincoln.”
“Say what?” he replied with an infuriating smirk.
“That you’ll behave, or all of a sudden, I’m coming down with a stomachache.”
“Good, then we can stay here and start with dessert.”
I threw my hands in the air and rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible. Let’s get moving before we’re late.”
He laughed, slipping off the bed and grabbing his jacket. “All right, all right. But I’m still hoping for dessert later.”
“We’ll see,” I replied, though I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as we headed out the door.
The Elliott's penthouse was gorgeous, exuding a sense of timeless elegance with its high ceilings, dark wood accents, and intricate crown moldings. The neutral walls contrasted beautifully with the expensive furniture, creating an atmosphere of understated luxury. A four-door slider opened to a private patio with a fireplace, though it was too chilly to enjoy the outdoors.
Donovan Elliott was a striking older version of his sons, with ice-blue eyes and chestnut hair that had begun to gray at the temples. Deep lines etched his tan face, likely from years spent working outside on various building projects. In contrast, Cathleen Elliott was petite and demure, with auburn hair and steel-gray eyes that hinted at a sharp intellect. Yet, I could tell immediately that she was kind. The moment we arrived, she looped her arm around mine and spirited me away to the kitchen.
"Tell me, how did you manage to settle Lincoln down?" Cathleen asked as she sliced cheddar cheese into cubes and added it to a wooden cutting board alongside other cheeses, crackers, and grapes.
"I don’t know what I did," I admitted with a small laugh. "We just fell in love."
"I never thought he would settle down," she said, smiling warmly.
"He’s wonderful," I confirmed, feeling a wave of affection for Lincoln.
Cathleen’s smile deepened. “Would you like a glass of white wine?”
“Yes, please. I can get it,” I offered, not wanting to impose.
“Sit, you’re a guest,” she insisted, gesturing for me to remain seated on the gray cushioned stool. I leaned on the burnt almond granite island as she prepared a glass of wine for me from an already opened bottle.
"Lincoln tells me you know Morgan," Cathleen said as she slid the half-full glass of wine toward me.
My stomach churned slightly, wondering what she was hoping to learn. Diplomatically, I replied, “Yes, she’s my best friend.”
"I wish Michael would move on," Cathleen commented, her tone tinged with concern.
"I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Morgan is a lovely person," I replied carefully.
"I gathered that," she said, a note of sadness in her voice. "I’m afraid Michael might try to wait out her marriage rather than find someone else."
The conversation grew awkward as I found myself caught between Lincoln’s brother and my best friend. I didn’t know what to say and was relieved when Lincoln entered the kitchen, taking the glass of wine from my hand and sipping it.
“Lincoln! I taught you better. If you want a glass of wine, I’ll pour you one,” his mother chastised, though her tone was light.
“I like sharing with Erika. She doesn’t mind,” Lincoln replied, planting a wet kiss on my cheek as he rubbed my back. As his mother busied herself at the refrigerator, he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “The offer to have sex is still on the table. Just let me know.”
I shook my head in disbelief but stopped when Cathleen turned around, my face heating with embarrassment.
“Are you all right, dear?” she asked, noticing my flushed cheeks. “Your face is red.”
“It’s the wine, Mother,” Lincoln explained smoothly.
“Maybe you should stick to water,” she suggested, casting a knowing look at Lincoln.
I shot Lincoln a dirty look as he drained the rest of my wine, then went to retrieve a bottle of Pellegrino from their industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerator.
Lincoln’s family made me wish mine were the same way. They laughed and joked throughout the entire meal, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. We dined on butternut squash soup, sausage polenta with nestled eggs, assorted homemade mini muffins, tea biscuits, and scones with apple and maple butter. Dessert was pecan pie with vanilla bean ice cream, and by the time we finished, I was stuffed.
Storm, Talon’s girlfriend, was pleasant enough and undeniably beautiful. Her long dark tresses hung at her waist, and her beer-colored eyes twinkled when she smiled. Talon mentioned she had been a model but had quit to concentrate on her studies at NYU. He hung on her every word, and it was clear how deeply in love he was. I hoped it worked out for his sake.
Michael’s subdued demeanor was hard to miss. After we helped clean up from brunch, he approached me as I was heading to the bathroom.
“Erika?” Michael’s voice was tinged with sadness.
I turned to face him, offering a gentle smile. “Hi, how are you?”
“Not good,” he admitted. “I miss her.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice softening. “She’s happy. You have to let her go.”
Michael’s eyes searched mine, filled with a mix of hope and desperation. “I want to wait.”
“For what?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral. “She loves Slade.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Would you wait for Lincoln?”
I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. “I don’t know. You have so much to offer and you’re putting me in a bad position.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Can you tell her I said hello?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied, shaking my head.
“Why? We’re friends.”
“You love her,” I pointed out.
“And I suspect she still loves me,” Michael said, his voice barely a whisper.
“You’re speculating,” I said firmly. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said, looking down. “You’re right.”
With that, he walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway, my heart racing. I quickly slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to calm myself.
When I finally emerged, I moved quietly back to the living area where Lincoln was talking with his father and Talon. I sat down next to him, leaning against his solid frame as he continued discussing an ongoing project. His arm wrapped around me comfortingly, and I felt a wave of emotional exhaustion.
Lincoln glanced down at me, his brow furrowing in concern. “Would you like to go?” he asked softly, his voice just above a whisper.
“Yes, please,” I replied, my voice barely audible.
Lincoln stood up, breaking away from his conversation. He announced our departure, and I caught Michael’s eye as we said our goodbyes. He mouthed an apology, and I gave him a small, understanding nod. Promising Cathleen that we’d have lunch together again soon, Lincoln helped me into my thick black wool coat.
In the elevator, Lincoln turned to me, his expression serious. “What happened with Michael?”
“We talked about Morgan,” I said, my voice weary. “I don’t want to be in the middle of their issues.”
Lincoln’s face softened with sympathy. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sorry he approached you.”
He kissed the top of my head as the elevator doors opened in the lobby, his gesture both reassuring and tender. As we walked out of the building, I felt a mix of relief and lingering unease, hoping that the complexities of the day would soon be behind us.
“Do you mind if we sleep at my place tonight?” I asked, curling up on Lincoln’s overstuffed couch about a half-hour later.
“Any particular reason?” he inquired, looking up from his book.
“I’ve been neglecting my work. I have four showings tomorrow and need to pull listings.”
“You can easily do that here,” Lincoln said, reaching for my hand.
“I need to be home,” I replied, trying to keep my tone firm.
“Sweetheart, you can talk to me,” he said gently.
“I am talking to you,” I said, feeling frustration rise.
“Something else is bothering you.”
“I’m uncomfortable with the situation,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the conversation.
“I’ll talk to Michael,” he offered.
“I want to go home,” I repeated, more resolutely this time.
“Do you want me there?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
“Why would you think I wouldn’t?” I asked, surprised by his question.
“You don’t seem very happy today.”
“I’m tired,” I said, sinking deeper into the couch. “I want to call it an early night.”
“It’s almost 3. We should leave now so you can work and get to bed. No sex tonight,” Lincoln said, smiling faintly.
“Who said I didn’t want sex? I just don’t want it all night,” I replied, playfully nudging him.
“Why don’t we just cuddle? We’ve been burning the candle at both ends,” he suggested.
“The holidays are coming up, and people seem to want to shop for real estate at this time of year,” I said, exasperated.
“Tis the season,” Lincoln said, his grin widening.
“To make commissions?” I teased.
“Let’s get moving,” he said, rising from the couch.
Lincoln quickly packed a bag, grabbing what few items he had at my place. I hadn’t been as open about sharing my dresser and closet, but we’d managed to find a compromise. His few belongings were scrunched into a drawer with some of my t-shirts. I planned to address that soon.
The wind had picked up since we’d come inside earlier, nearly blowing me over when we stepped out again. I detested the colder months; working with clients while dodging dirty mounds of ice and snow wasn’t my favorite. I much preferred the sun-kissed days of summer.
Lincoln steadied me as his doorman hailed a cab. We clambered inside, the snow flurries slapping against the windshield.
“Just in time,” he commented.
“I hate winter, and it’s not even winter yet,” I said, shivering slightly.
“We could take a vacation,” Lincoln suggested, “How about Miami?”
I shook my head vigorously. “Miami is Foster’s town. I don’t want to encounter him.”
“Palm Springs?” Lincoln offered instead.
“Mmm, the desert sounds lovely this time of year,” I said, warming to the idea.
“We could take a Christmas trip,” he proposed.
“Your mother invited us for the holiday,” I reminded him. “I want to be surrounded by family. After my parents divorced, the holidays were quiet. I spent a lot of time at Morgan’s house. Even though her parents are older, they always made the holidays fun. Her mother makes a delicious, spiked apple cider.”
“How about we go for the New Year?” Lincoln suggested. “We could ring it in wearing shorts and t-shirts.”
“That sounds like fun,” I agreed. “We can talk about it when we get to my place.”
“Good,” Lincoln said, leaning closer. “Because I wanted to do something else.”
He pulled me into his arms and pressed his lips against mine, his kiss becoming more urgent as he pushed his hot tongue into my mouth. I stifled a moan, feeling my body heat up. I fumbled with my leather gloves, trying to touch the scruff on his face, but it was difficult. I lost track of time as we continued to kiss, feeling ready and wet from our union.
“Excuse me?” The driver’s voice broke through.
We pulled apart, and I realized we were parked in front of my building. My face flushed with embarrassment as Lincoln fished out some money from the inner pocket of his navy blue down coat and handed it to the driver.
After we got settled, I cleaned out a drawer in my dresser and some space in my overstuffed closet.
He smiled widely. “Are you sure?”
“It’s time,” I said, standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed. “You’ve been gracious enough to give me space at your apartment.”
Lincoln raised an eyebrow, pulling a black strapless dress from the rack. “My closet is three times the size of yours and I don’t have as many clothes.”
I snorted. “Bullshit. You have plenty of clothes, some with tags still on them.”
“Look who’s talking,” Lincoln said, holding up the dress with the white tags still dangling from the side.
“I bought that a month ago,” I defended, my cheeks flushing. “I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet.”
“How about we take it to Palm Springs with us? We could celebrate the New Year at a party. I have a few friends there,” Lincoln suggested, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Who?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“If I tell you, you’ll scream your head off.”
“Why? Are they famous?” I asked, my voice tinged with excitement.
“A couple are.”
“Stop teasing me,” I urged, impatience creeping into my tone.
Lincoln scratched his jaw, trying to hide his grin. “I’m not kidding.”
“Who then?” I pressed.
“Tristan Rogers.”
My mouth dropped open. “You are not. How do you know him?”
“Dad did renovations on his apartment here in New York. We met, had a good conversation, and now every time he comes here, we hang out. When I go to LA, we do the same.”
“Why am I just hearing about this now?” I asked, starstruck.
“I didn’t want to be a braggart,” Lincoln replied with a shrug.
“You’re already a terrible braggart,” I retorted.
Lincoln’s jaw dropped. “I am not!”
“You are, and you know it, but I love you anyway,” I said, smiling.
Lincoln shook his head and began to unpack his green duffel bag. He methodically placed his underwear, t-shirts, and socks into the dresser, then hung up his dress shirts and slacks with care. I watched from the bed, a mixture of amusement and anticipation on my face.
“I have something else for you, but I’ll wait until you finish unpacking,” I said, my voice low and teasing.
Lincoln paused, looking at her with a puzzled expression. “What do you have?”
“Be patient,” I replied, my eyes sparkling with mischief.
He dropped the duffel on the floor of her closet and walked over to her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Tell me, sweet Erika.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, though her stomach churned with nerves. I had never done this for anyone before, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready.
He straightened, and I went to my purse, my fingers trembling slightly as I pulled out the small object. Holding my fist out to him. “This is for you.”
“Are you going to open it and let me see?” Lincoln asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I turned my fist and opened it, revealing a brass key resting in my palm. Lincoln’s eyes widened as he bit his bottom lip, deep in thought.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tinged with emotion.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” I said, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest. “I want to give you what you’ve given me.”
Lincoln took the key from her hand, his gaze lingering on it before he reached into his pocket, pulling out his key ring. He attached the brass key to the silver ring, his fingers lingering over hers as he did so.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice thick with gratitude.
I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head against his chest. His heart was pounding in sync with mine as he enveloped me in a warm embrace, pressing a tender kiss to the top of my head.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“I know,” I replied, a contented smile on my lips.
Lincoln chuckled softly and kissed my head again, holding me close as we shared a quiet moment of connection.
The holidays with Lincoln were unlike any I’d ever experienced before. The season was bustling with activity, but Lincoln always managed to carve out time for us. We were both busy with clients—his commissions nearing a million and a half by the end of the year, and I was just under a million. It was the first time I’d come so close to that figure. My goal for the new year was to break into the seven-figure club.
When it came to our trip to Palm Springs just before the New Year, I let Lincoln handle all the arrangements. I’d never been to Palm Springs and was eager to spend a few days basking in the sun, wearing nothing but a bikini. We were set to leave on December 13th, so I sent out a mass email to my clients letting them know I would have limited access to emails and calls. Lincoln did the same, but I had a hunch we’d still be putting out a few fires. Four glorious days in the California heat were waiting for us, and I couldn’t wait.
On the evening of the 29th, we were sharing a bath in Lincoln’s apartment, the warm water and bubbles creating a cozy cocoon around us. “Are you all set?” he asked, his voice low and steady.
“Yes. I brought my suitcase, didn’t I?” I replied, leaning back against the edge of the tub.
“I mean, are you set for spending money?” he clarified.
Palm Springs had an incredible art scene, with street fairs showcasing local talent. I was eyeing a few paintings to add to my collection.
“Of course. I brought some cash,” I said, reaching for the soap.
“You don’t need to,” Lincoln said, his tone firm. “I can cover you.”
I turned to face him, my gaze steady. “You don’t need to take care of me.”
He narrowed his eyes, giving me a serious look. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need to. I want to. I think of us as already married.”
“You do?” I asked, a flutter of surprise in my chest.
“Manhattan’s filled with gorgeous bodies everywhere,” Lincoln said, his eyes locked on mine. “But you know what I see?”
“I hope none of them,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light.
“Exactly,” he said, his voice soft but intense. “There’s no other for me. You’re it. I don’t need to search when I’ve already found what I want, what I need.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. Lincoln’s lips curled into a smirk.
“Don’t laugh,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.
“I’m not laughing,” he said, his tone sincere. “I think it’s cute how I can crack that hard exterior of yours every time with just a few words.”
“That’s our secret,” I said, leaning closer. “If word got out, everyone would take advantage.”
“Never,” he said, his gaze fierce. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”
He grasped my biceps, pulling me against his chest. I straddled him, pressing my mouth to his. Within moments, our passion ignited, and I guided him inside me. “Ride me, baby,” Lincoln whispered through gritted teeth.
Our bodies slid against one another in a rhythm that was both urgent and tender. The water sloshed over the edge of the tub, but we were oblivious to the mess, lost in the intensity of our connection. I came first, the pleasure hitting me like a white-hot wave that made me throw my head back. Lincoln’s lips found my neck as he thrust upward, his own release following closely behind mine.
In those few, breathtaking moments, the world outside the bathroom ceased to exist, leaving only us, wrapped in each other’s arms, immersed in the profound intimacy we shared.
I groaned into my pillow. “Leave me alone,” I mumbled.
“Sweetheart, if you don’t get up now, we’ll miss our flight,” Lincoln’s voice was firm but laced with amusement.
“This is your fault,” I grumbled, half-asleep.
“My fault? How so?” His tone was incredulous.
“You kept me up half the night,” I complained, pulling the covers tighter around myself.
“I think that’s more your fault,” he retorted, his voice a low rumble. “If you would stop teasing me with your sexy little body.”
“Two more minutes. I promise I’ll get up,” I pleaded.
“If you don’t, I’m hauling you out of here in your robe. I’m sure the TSA would get a kick out of that at the airport. They’d have an easy time searching you,” he teased.
“Shut up. Two minutes,” I mumbled, burying my face deeper into the pillow.
“I’m making a cup of coffee. When I come back, you’re up,” he said, his footsteps echoing as he left the room.
I snuggled further into the covers, tucking the quilt around me like a cocoon. Lincoln had recently swapped his sheets for dark blue and red plaid flannel, and they were so soft and warm that I had zero desire to leave the bed. The minutes ticked by slowly until I heard his footsteps return.
“It cannot be two minutes,” I protested as he reentered the room.
“It’s 3. Fifteen minutes and the limo will be here. Are you going to shower?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed with a mug in hand.
“Nope. I’ll do it at the hotel,” I said, hoping he’d let it slide.
“Up, or I yank the covers off you,” he threatened, taking a deliberate sip of his coffee.
“Don’t you dare, Lincoln Elliott,” I warned, though my tone lacked conviction.
“I’m getting into position. You’re now double what you said. We’re going on four minutes,” he said, his voice playful but resolute.
With a groan, I pushed the covers off, revealing my nakedness to him. He sighed in appreciation and took another sip of his coffee, eyes gleaming with mischief. I scrambled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, washing my face, brushing my teeth, and wrestling with my unruly hair. With time running out, I gave up on brushing and threw my hair into a messy ponytail. In twelve minutes, I emerged in dark blue jeans and a thick gray cable-knit sweater.
Lincoln had already made the bed and washed out his coffee mug. Our bags were neatly packed and waiting by the door. I slipped on my boots and glanced out the sliding glass door. The snow from the night before had blanketed everything outside. Goodbye snow, I thought, as I imagined the warmth of Palm Springs. In seven hours, we’d be trading this winter scene for the sun-drenched desert.