Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
WILLA
I rolled into the parking lot of the courthouse like I was headed to my own funeral. Then, unable to move, I just sat there with both hands gripping the steering wheel. Mostly because I was pretty sure they were the only things keeping me from slipping into full-blown hysteria.
What the hell was I doing?
This wasn’t some random weekday. I wasn’t here to drop off forms or pay a speeding ticket. I was here to get married.
To Lincoln Steele, of all the goddamn people.
With my pulse beating loudly in my ears, I stared out the windshield and spotted him immediately. The jackass had always been able to draw the eye. Mine included, unfortunately.
Lincoln stood at the top of the steps, leaning against the railing like he was filming a cologne commercial.
His arms were crossed over his annoyingly broad chest, the gray T-shirt he wore stretched to its limits.
His hair was windblown and wild but somehow still irritatingly perfect, and that infuriating smirk was front and center on his smugly handsome face.
He was a fucking menace.
As soon as he spotted me, he straightened and started strolling down the steps with the kind of confident, lazy swagger that made people do a double take even when they didn’t want to.
Like me. I didn’t want to.
Didn’t want to notice how he was wearing the hell out of those jeans. Or how the sun shot streaks of golden bronze through his dark hair. Or how those blue eyes danced as he watched me grip the steering wheel like my life depended on it.
I also didn’t want to acknowledge the completely unwelcome warmth pooling low in my belly. It was probably thanks to the unseasonably hot June air and had absolutely nothing to do with the man strolling toward me like he was about to make me his.
Fuck me, he was about to make me his.
“What the hell are you doing?” I muttered to myself. And forgot my window was open, so Lincoln could hear every word.
He placed an arm on the roof of my car and leaned down, his sparkling eyes and those damn dimples greeting me. “I’m here to commit a felony with my future wife. How about you?”
I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and exhaled a long breath as I called upon every deity for patience I didn’t possess when it came to this man.
Without waiting for him to move, I shoved open my door and stepped out, shooting him a glare when he just smiled down at me.
“You’re late,” he said, highly amused.
“And you’re unbearable. Glad we got the obvious out of the way.”
“Unbearable, huh? And yet, here you are…about to marry me.”
“Don’t remind me.” I slammed my door shut and crossed my arms, tapping an impatient foot on the cracked pavement. “I tried to track down a long-lost wealthy family member, but I came up empty. You’re literally my last option.”
He eyed me slowly from head to toe and back again. Not in a leering kind of way, but in an I fucking see you kind of way. And that was so much worse.
Because when he studied me like that, he undoubtedly noticed my tapping foot and my bitten-to-the-quick nails, and I was positive he could see my heart thrumming wildly against the side of my neck.
But instead of commenting on any of those things and calling out my obvious nerves, he just reached for my hand, turned around, and tugged me along behind him.
“What are you doing?” I asked but, for some reason, followed him without a fight.
“Taking you for a little stroll. You’re practically vibrating, and I know you’ll regret it if you bolt.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I muttered.
“I am,” he said without hesitation. “So we’re just going to get some privacy for a minute.”
“What do we need privacy for? Panicking?”
He tugged me to a stop once we were around the side of the building, the brick wall rough against my shoulders. “Practicing.”
“Practicing what?”
His gaze lowered to my lips, his voice dropping to that low register that always sounded like both a promise and a warning. “You know what.”
My stomach flipped over itself like it was a gymnast at the Olympics.
And…no. No. Absolutely the fuck not.
I was not going to go all swoony for Lincoln Steele. The man who probably practiced smoldering in the mirror every day just to stay on top of his game.
With a snort, I rolled my eyes. “It figures you’d drag me back here just to get a kiss. Afraid everyone will laugh at you when your attempt to woo me fails?”
He didn’t even dignify my accusation with a response, and his smug little grin only grew wider. “You don’t really want our first kiss to be in front of a bunch of strangers, do you?”
“I don’t want to have a first kiss at all!”
“Sorry, wife.” He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, actually. “Pretty sure that’s mandatory for our little joint felony.”
The thought of kissing him should’ve sent me straight into dry-heaving territory.
But for one traitorous second, I wasn’t focused on keeping my lunch down.
Instead, my gaze dropped to his lips, and I wondered how soft they were.
What he tasted like. If he kissed like he argued—cocky, relentless, and annoyingly effective.
“C’mon,” he said, just a low rumble. “I bet I could make you forget why you’re nervous.”
“Please.” I huffed out a breath and glanced away from him to give my body a chance to regulate itself and stop this nonsense. “You couldn’t make me forget my grocery list.”
He took a single step closer. Not yet touching me, just hovering in that irritatingly magnetic way of his. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s not a challenge,” I snapped. “It’s just a fact. There is literally nothing you could do right now to help.”
He glanced down at me, his gaze focused on my mouth as he licked a slow, entrancing path across his bottom lip. “Give me the green light, Willa.”
My palms were suddenly sweaty and my heartbeat tripled and my breath grew shallow as he surrounded me with all his…his…presence.
God. God.
What in the ever-loving hell was this jackass doing to me?
He’d somehow snared me. I didn’t know if it was that infectious twinkle in his eyes or the confident curve of his mouth or the bulk of his body right up against mine that made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Or if it was how he smelled, all ocean air and warmth and man, but I was dangerously close to leaning in.
God help me, I was leaning in.
“Fine,” I muttered. I was going to regret this. I was so going to regret this. “You have the green light. But only because I love proving you wrong.”
That confident curve of his mouth turned positively lethal as he closed the scant distance between us. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, hellcat.”
He towered over me, the heat from his body seeping into mine and sending a shiver skating through me.
Everything in me went still. Everything except my heart, which had apparently decided now—with my nemesis close enough that I could see the specks of gold in his eyes—was the perfect time to stage a rebellion and damn near beat out of my chest.
With two fingers under my chin, Lincoln tipped my head back and stared down at me.
His breaths ghosted over my skin, his thumb dragging across my lower lip as if he was trying to memorize its size and shape, and Jesus.
My knees were already weak, and an incessant—and, quite frankly, irritating—throb was beating between my thighs like a drum.
And he hadn’t even touched me yet. Not really.
I curled my hands into fists at my sides just to stop myself from gripping him in order to hold myself up. I was fine. Totally and completely fine. I wasn’t losing my shit at his nearness. Not at all. What had me losing my shit was all this waiting.
“Would you just kiss me already, jackass?” I snapped, tired of fucking around and wanting to get this over with.
He huffed out a laugh, his warm breath sweeping across my mouth as he slid his hand around to cup the back of my neck. He gripped my hip with the other, his thumb rubbing a featherlight and maddening path over my soft belly.
The world narrowed to the minuscule space between us, to every part of my body connected with his, and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. Especially when he lowered his head toward me and pressed his lips against mine.
The kiss was soft at first. Tentative. Just a brush of skin on skin.
At least until I exhaled and melted into him, instinctually swiping my tongue against his lower lip. That simple move might as well have been a gunshot, because suddenly, it wasn’t just a kiss.
It was a detonation.
Lincoln groaned into my mouth, both of his hands cupping my face as he tilted my head exactly how he wanted it.
He deepened the kiss, clutching me to him as if he’d been waiting for this moment for years—for a lifetime.
He stroked his tongue against mine, scraping his teeth softly over my lower lip before sucking it into his mouth.
And somehow—some-fucking-how—I’d shifted even closer, the front of his shirt now clutched in my hands like it was a lifeline and I was drowning in the middle of the ocean.
I wasn’t so sure that wasn’t actually happening.
How else could I explain this feeling blooming inside me—like gravity disappearing and sweeping me away all at once?
The taste of him, the feel of him… And the sounds he made—all low and rough and uncensored? As if he really, truly wanted what was happening between us and wasn’t afraid to let everyone know how much he was enjoying it. It was all too much.
His reaction to this made my nipples tighten. Made my pussy throb. Both of which were only amplified when he dropped one hand to my lower back, cushioning my body from the unforgiving brick as he pressed himself against me.
His cock was thick and hard and so fucking big. Jesus.
When he finally pulled away minutes or hours later, I had to steady myself with a hand against the wall as I struggled to catch my breath.
My eyelids fluttered open as I took stock of everything. My lips were tingling, my body thrumming with a need I hadn’t felt in far too long—maybe ever—and my mind was focused on one thing and one thing only.
Who the hell knew the jackass Lincoln Steele could kiss like that, and why the fuck had I allowed myself to find out?
This man had been on my shit list for so long, I no longer even remembered the catalyst that had sent us down the path of enemies instead of friends.
Only that my disdain for him grew with every year that passed.
He was my twin brother’s annoying, irritating, infuriating best friend.
The human equivalent of a splinter under my nail.
But my body was still lit up from the inside, all thanks to a measly kiss, and my knees were three seconds away from filing a formal complaint with whoever was in charge of this shitshow.
He stared down at me, his cheeks flushed, his pupils blown wide, his hair mussed from something. Oh my god, had I dragged my hands through his hair?
Yeah. Yeah, that was exactly what I’d done.
Lincoln’s smile was slow, smug, and stupidly enticing. “Told you.”
“That was—” I cleared the rasp from my voice and tried again. “That was average.”
“Uh-huh.” His grin deepened as he placed his hand on the wall beside my head and leaned down until our lips were millimeters apart. Dropping his voice to a low murmur, he said, “You always try to grind your pussy on the person giving you an ‘average’ kiss?”
Before I could respond with a scathing remark—or by stabbing him with a pen—he stepped back, pulled something from his pocket, and held up two rings tied together with twine.
“Come on, wife.” He grabbed my hand again to tug me along behind him and winked at me over his shoulder. “Let’s go get hitched.”