Chapter 29
Lincoln
A s the plane descended towards Palm Springs International Airport, I gazed out the window, eager for the warm embrace of the desert sun. The captain had just announced a balmy eighty-two degrees, and I couldn’t wait to see Erika in the new bikinis she’d picked out. I had rented a suite at The Wyatt Palm Springs, complete with a private terrace and its own small pool. I intended to keep my girlfriend and her scantily clad self all to myself.
I squeezed Erika’s hand as the plane touched down. Her breath escaped in a relieved sigh, and I knew she’d been anxious about the flight. The thought of tonight’s surprise made my heart race with anticipation. I was planning to propose—maybe it was a bit clichéd, doing it during the holidays, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. We’d been together nearly seven months, minus the brief two-week break. From the start, I’d felt sure she was the one I wanted to spend my life with.
“I need a bathroom,” Erika said as we disembarked.
“You don’t look good,” I observed, noticing her pallor.
“I feel nauseous,” she said, her voice shaky as she took a deep breath.
The moment we reached the gates, she bolted through the concourse, weaving through the crowd toward the Women’s Bathroom sign. I followed, my stomach tightening with concern. I had dealt with this kind of situation before—a one-night stand had once claimed she was pregnant despite protection. Thankfully, it had been a false alarm, but the memory still made my heart race.
I hovered by the bathroom door, anxiety gnawing at me. After a few minutes, Erika emerged, looking greener than she had when she went in.
“I think I’m sick. I’m sorry,” she said, her voice weak.
“Don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s get the bags and head to the hotel. You can rest there, and hopefully, you’ll feel better soon.”
She managed a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I had a sinking feeling we’d be spending New Year’s Eve indoors while she recovered. Erika leaned on me as we made our way to the baggage claim. I hated to leave her side, but I needed to grab our bags before they made another loop around the carousel.
“Will you be all right?” I asked, glancing at her with concern.
“Of course. Hurry,” she replied, trying to sound brave.
I darted to the carousel, grabbing our suitcases just before they slipped into the abyss where I couldn’t reach them. I carried them back to Erika, who was leaning against a white support pole, looking pale.
“I have a limo waiting,” I said, nodding towards a suited man holding a placard reading Mrs. and Mrs. Elliott in marker. It was a playful joke, and I saw the smile tug at Erika’s lips.
“For the future?” she asked, her eyes brightening despite her discomfort.
“Yes,” I replied, hoping the idea would cheer her up. “It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Her face fell. “Lincoln, I have to throw up again.”
I dropped the bags at the feet of the limo driver and guided Erika out through the oversized revolving door. She retched on the sidewalk, her discomfort drawing curious glances from passersby.
“Maybe we should get you a bag for the ride to the hotel,” I suggested, gently rubbing her back.
“I’ll be okay,” she said, her voice hoarse from vomiting. “I don’t think I have anything left.”
“I think we can safely say you’re sick,” I said, trying to offer a smile.
“I have to agree. Why now?” she moaned.
The limo driver joined us on the sidewalk, leaving the bags with us while he went to fetch the car. When he returned, he loaded our suitcases into the long black stretch limo and held the door open for us. Inside, the cool air hit us, but Erika, still wearing her sweater, shivered.
I placed my hand on her forehead and frowned. She was burning up with heat.
“You have a fever,” I said, concern etched into my voice.
“I have the chills. Can the driver shut off the air conditioner?” she asked, her teeth chattering slightly.
I made the request and cracked a window open as we pulled into traffic. The ride to the hotel would take fifteen minutes—every second felt like an eternity. I wanted to get Erika to bed as quickly as possible so she could rest and hopefully recover from whatever was plaguing her.
“Lincoln?” Erika’s voice was raspy, barely more than a whisper. “I’m so thirsty.”
As soon as we entered the suite, I shut off the air conditioner and slid open the door to our private pool area. The heat from the day surged into the room, making it uncomfortable for me, but I didn’t care. I was drenched in sweat, still in the heavy jeans and sweater I’d worn from New York, but my focus was entirely on Erika. She was curled up under the covers, still in the same clothes she’d worn that morning. In hindsight, I wondered if she’d been feeling off when she got out of bed earlier and had tried to ignore it.
“I’ve got plenty of choices for you,” I said, moving to retrieve something from the kitchenette.
Before we left, I’d asked the concierge to send up a variety of drinks—Gatorade, juice, and water. They’d been prompt, and within ten minutes of arriving, a waiter had delivered the order. I loaded the drinks into the refrigerator, glancing at the bottle of Dom Perignon we wouldn’t be using.
I brought Erika a bottle of orange Gatorade and helped her sit up, holding it to her lips. She felt warmer now, a stark contrast to the hour before. Rest and some aspirin were just what she needed.
“Sip it slowly, or you’ll make yourself sick again,” I instructed gently.
“My stomach feels better,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure what this is.”
“You’ve been working non-stop,” I replied. “It was only a matter of time before your body said ‘enough.’”
She managed a weak smile, which made my heart clench. “It’s because you keep me up at night.”
“Correction,” I teased, “we keep each other up. Don’t put this all on me, you little vixen.”
“You’re right,” she croaked, a hint of good humor in her tone. “I’m sorry I ruined our first vacation together.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “I’m here with the one I love. Spending New Year’s in this hotel room with you is perfectly fine. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”
She handed me the Gatorade and sank back into her pillow. “Do you want to sleep?” I asked softly.
“Yes, please,” she murmured, exhaustion thick in her voice.
“I’ll wake you in a couple of hours,” I promised, pulling the white satin duvet up around her and drawing the champagne-colored drapes to shield her from the bright sunlight.
I quietly closed the door behind me as I left the room. My coat was draped over one of the rusty gold side chairs, and I reached into the inside pocket to retrieve the engagement ring I’d planned to give Erika tonight. It would have to wait, though. I wanted her to be well before I proposed.
I slipped the ring back into my coat pocket and opened my suitcase to find a pair of shorts to change into. The suite had become uncomfortably warm. The cloudless day outside beckoned, and I wished we could be lounging by the private pool instead of stuck indoors. Killing time until I promised to wake Erika, I sank into one of the loungers facing the cool blue water and slipped on my sunglasses, trying to enjoy the peaceful moment amidst the turmoil.
“How do you feel?” I asked as I gently shook Erika awake. Her face was pale, and her sleep had been restless.
“Like a truck hit me,” she mumbled, her voice barely more than a whisper. She blinked at me, eyes heavy with fatigue. “I’d like to take a shower.”
I tried to hide my smile. “I think you can skip bathing for now.”
“I feel gross,” she insisted, scrunching up her nose as she tried to sit up.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, trying to ease her discomfort.
“And you’re blind. My hair’s a mess, and I smell,” she retorted, her voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.
“Hardly. Stop obsessing over your appearance. All I care about is you getting better.”
“I am feeling better,” she said, though her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. “But I didn’t shower this morning, and we—” She trailed off, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“So?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Humor me,” she replied, giving me a tired smile.
“Would you rather take a bath?” I suggested, trying to meet her halfway.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Would you join me?”
“Only to bathe. I have no plans to touch you,” I said, trying to sound firm, but I could feel my resolve slipping.
“Suppose I wanted you to touch me?”
I shook my head, frowning at her playful challenge. “You just told me you feel like you’ve been run over. Why would you even think about sex right now?”
“Because you’re sexy and very arousing. Put some clothes on, Elliott,” she said, her tone light but insistent.
I glanced down at my dark green shorts, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Erika’s gaze followed, lingering where it shouldn’t.
“No,” I said, feeling both amused and exasperated.
“Party pooper,” she teased, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“A bath and maybe some soup for dinner,” I said firmly, steering the conversation back to practicality.
“I don’t want soup. It’s too hot,” she protested.
“Then what?” I asked, willing to entertain her whims.
“Ice cream. Chocolate,” she said with a hopeful look.
“Absolutely not,” I countered. “You’ve got a stomach virus, and the last thing you need is a rich, creamy dessert.”
“Mmm, I could think of another creamy dessert I like,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Christ, Erika, you are the worst patient,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll get your bath ready.”
“I want a bubble bath. I saw vanilla bath beads. Can you put some in the water?” she asked, her tone softening with genuine need.
“Of course. Do you need help getting undressed?” I asked, though I knew it would lead to more playful banter.
“I thought you said no sex,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m ignoring you,” I said with a grin, heading towards the oversized bathroom.
The bathroom was a luxury—the huge glass-enclosed shower with sleek black tiles, the solid onyx granite vanity, and the oval-shaped tub that could easily accommodate four people. I flexed in the mirror as I turned on the water, the tub beginning to fill.
I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of proposing to Erika. But tonight, my priority was making her comfortable and helping her recover. I poured the vanilla bath beads into the water, watching them dissolve as I prepared for the evening’s unexpected turn.
As it turned out, Valentine’s Day presented the perfect moment for me to propose to Erika. Since our New Year’s mishap, she’d been more affectionate and thoughtful, and it seemed she’d finally grasped how deeply I cared for her. Taking care of her when she was sick had only solidified my commitment to being the best partner I could be. It was clear to me now that I wasn’t there to become her father but to be her equal in every way.
Meeting her parents had been an eye-opener. Her father, a relic of outdated views, had a knack for being dismissive. His first comments at dinner were about Erika’s choice of dress and the way her hair was styled in a French braid. It didn’t take long for me to see why Erika had reservations about marriage. I had no intention of becoming like him.
Her mother, on the other hand, was a beautiful and charming woman—a striking resemblance to Erika. Yet, she spent most of our time together trying to manipulate everyone around her, including the staff at the restaurant. I couldn’t blame Erika for feeling the way she did; growing up with parents like that must have been challenging. I made a silent vow to never be like them, to ensure I wouldn’t add to her burdens.
Erika and my mother had developed a close bond, one that I cherished. They often met for lunch or coffee when their schedules allowed, and Erika had become a regular at our Sunday brunches unless we were caught up in work.
Keeping my Valentine’s Day plans a secret had been excruciating. I was set to take Erika to the Empire State Building and propose. Before that, I had a reservation at Savoureax, a spot I knew she loved. Unfortunately, a last-minute showing for Erika at 6:30 meant I’d have to meet her at the restaurant.
The day had been relatively light for me. Two client showings and a negotiation that wrapped up faster than expected left me with some free time. The apartment sold for just under a million, a little less than usual, but it still brought in a respectable commission. I used the extra hours to buy Erika’s favorite decadent chocolate cake and two dozen red roses. Every few minutes, I found myself checking the hiding spot for the engagement ring, making sure it was still there, still perfect.
As I drove to the restaurant, I could barely contain my excitement. I was ready to start this new chapter with Erika, one that promised to be far better than anything we’d left behind.
Erika was late to dinner, leaving me surrounded by couples lost in their Valentine’s Day bubble. They shared intimate glances and tender touches, while I tried to ease my growing unease with a glass of scotch on the rocks. By the time she arrived, I had nearly finished my first drink.
Erika entered, her cheeks flushed from the February chill. My heart skipped a beat as I took in her wavy golden hair, slightly tousled by the wind. She slid into the chair opposite me, her smile warm despite the cold.
“Scotch, Elliott?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“You’re late,” I remarked, trying to keep my tone light despite the knot of anxiety in my chest.
“Client was a pain in the ass,” she said with a weary sigh as she settled in. “Wanted to see the closets six times over.”
“Did you make the sale?” I asked, leaning forward with interest.
She shook her head, her disappointment evident. “Probably not. Clients like him want to see twenty properties before they choose. Did you really think I’d stand you up?”
“Of course not,” I said, my gaze lingering on her. “You look fantastic.”
She glanced down at her burgundy jersey dress with a self-deprecating smile. “This old thing?”
“You know you look amazing,” I said, trying to hide my frustration that the neckline was too high to reveal her cleavage. “What’s good to eat here?”
“Everything. You know that.” She took a sip of her champagne, her eyes thoughtful. “I’m craving a steak with rosemary roasted potatoes and creamed spinach.”
I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You? Creamed spinach?”
“It’s cold and I need something nourishing,” she explained, rubbing her arms for warmth.
Reaching across the table, I gently stroked her chilled skin. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her long eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks. The sight almost made me want to propose right then and there.
“Oh,” she said suddenly, her eyes opening with a start. “I have a gift for you.”
I was caught off guard. “Gifts weren’t necessary. You are my gift.”
Erika chuckled softly. “So practical, Elliott.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a sleek black ring box. “Open it.”
I took the box, bewildered. “What’s this?”
“A gift. Duh. Open it.” She slid the box across the table.
I hesitated, then popped open the lid. Inside was a wide gold band adorned with several sparkling diamonds. It was exquisite, and I was momentarily speechless.
“Will you marry me?” Erika asked, her voice steady but full of emotion.
My heart pounded. Did she really just propose to me?
“Excuse me?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Marry me, Lincoln,” she repeated, her eyes earnest. “I love you with all my heart.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, feeling overwhelmed.
“Yes would be a good start,” she said, her lips curving into a hopeful smile.
Before I could fully process her proposal, I fumbled with the ring box in my gray suit pocket. With trembling fingers, I pulled it out and placed it on the table.
Erika’s eyes widened in surprise as she noticed the box. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head with a grin. “I was planning to propose at the Empire State Building.”
“Well, now we’re thinking alike. We have to get married.” Her laughter was soft and filled with joy.
She opened the box I had given her, revealing a four-carat flawless teardrop diamond set in platinum. Her eyes misted with emotion as she took the ring from the box and handed it to me.
I took her ring and slipped it onto her finger, then did the same with the ring she had given me. As we exchanged rings, our fingers brushed, sealing our commitment to each other. In that moment, everything changed. We were bound together, our lives forever intertwined. Erika Bramwell had tamed me, and I, her.
The End
If you enjoyed this book – check out Unleashed and learn about the love triangle between Morgan, Slade and Michael. Who will win her heart? Check out an excerpt below and grab it here: Unleashed
Michael steered me to his car, opened my door and helped me inside before he went around to his side. When he slipped in, he looped his hand around my neck to pull me toward him so he could plant a kiss on my lips. It startled me at first but after he moved away, I wanted more. I wanted to feel his full lips on mine again.
“What was that for?”
“Because I’ve wanted to do that all day, and I thought I would take a chance. Please excuse me for being so forward.”
“Can you do it again?”
He smirked. “I can.”
My belly tightened as he leaned across the console, took my face between his two hands, and once again pressed his lips against mine. For a moment he kept his lips there before I felt him lick the seam of my mouth with his tongue. I opened and let him slip the tip inside to seek out mine. I moaned and he thrust his tongue deeper inside, taking lush licks.
The combination of his taste and his strokes had my core clenching so tightly that I was sure my panties were soaked. I wanted Michael in the worst way, especially after how much care I watched him put into handling my parents, but this was the wrong thing to do so soon. I pushed away, breaking the kiss, and left him with a puzzled look on his face.
“Too much?”
“A little, but I liked it.”
Michael started the car but put the top up. The midday sun was fierce, and I was already sweating, though it could’ve been from that kiss he just gave me. We didn’t speak after he pulled out of the lot and as he pulled onto the highway, my phone buzzed in my purse. I fished it out to see a text from Slade, but I ignored it and slipped my cell back inside.
“I won’t consider it rude if you answer that text,” Michael said.
But it would make me feel guilty. I’ve given Slade hope and I’m not sure after the kiss we just shared, that I can give him what he wants. “It’s nothing.”
“Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I was supposed to have dinner with a friend.”
“A male friend?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not. You said you’re not dating anyone.
As opposed to fucking someone. “No, I’m not.