Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
WILLA
Marrying Lincoln Steele had been a bad idea. Probably the worst idea of my life, to be honest.
I’d known it from the second I’d sent him that text asking if he was serious about his proposition.
Confirmed it this afternoon after that kiss behind the courthouse.
And that gut intuition proclaiming I was an idiot had been screaming at me since I found my brand-new husband on the doorstep of my very small, very much single-occupancy home.
I wasn’t sure closing myself off in the bathroom for twenty minutes was going to ease this freak-out. Hell, escaping to Istanbul probably wouldn’t have helped.
Not when my nemesis was in my home. To live with me.
And sure as hell not when I now knew, thanks to that kiss, the sounds Lincoln made when he was turned on. Not to mention the up close and personal introduction I’d received to his not-so-little friend.
Still. I had to make this work—had to. I didn’t have another choice.
It was either learn to suck it up and deal with the most insufferable man on the planet day in and day out…or kiss my family farm goodbye.
By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing out behind me, my mood had downshifted from murderous to merely irritated. Which was about as much as I could ask, given the situation.
Glancing around, I made it three steps into the bedroom before I did a double take so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash. In the time I’d been in the shower, Lincoln had contorted himself onto the pallet I’d made on the floor, and the sight of him there halted me in my tracks.
He looked ridiculous—like a grizzly bear curling up on top of a hand towel. With one arm tucked behind his head, he held my book with the other, clearly making himself at home. His legs were positioned straight up on the curved wall because that was literally the only place for them to go.
The bed I’d made didn’t even really fit my 5’9” stature, so it had no hope of holding the towering wall of smug muscle that was Lincoln Steele.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He lowered my book and glanced at me over the dog-eared pages.
“Just enjoying the accommodations. It’s nice and cozy down here.
And you even hooked me up with some late-night reading material.
” He tapped his finger on the cover. “Shifters aren’t usually my thing, but you really got me interested with that breeding book. ”
I didn’t bother responding to his taunt because the last thing I wanted to do was discuss my kinks with my husband. “That’s not meant for you.”
“The book? Fine. I brought my own.” He gathered his duffel close and patted the side pocket where a paperback featuring a half-naked man on the cover was poking out.
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “I meant the floor bed, jackass.”
“Well, it’s sure as fuck not meant for you.” Though his tone was light, the words were harsh—a directive he expected me to follow.
My brows flew up as I stared at the absolute audacity of this man. “Excuse me?”
“Hate the break this to you, snickerdoodle, but you have a fucked-up back. As much as you’re bound and determined to pretend otherwise.” He gave one firm shake of his head. “I’m not letting my wife sleep here.”
I didn’t know which part got under my skin more—letting or wife.
“You don’t get to let me do anything,” I said through clenched teeth. “And I’ve slept on worse.”
“And paid for it the next day, I’m sure.” He tapped the blankets that were poorly padding the floor. “This little torture mat is barely fit for a rabid raccoon. I’m not about to watch you wince your way through all the shit on your to-do list tomorrow just because you’re stubborn.”
My pride swelled, ready to bite back at his asinine proclamation and set him straight. Except as I squared my shoulders, my back twinged—the traitorous bastard—and it took everything in me to swallow a grimace.
He dropped his voice, his words coming out soft but firm. “That’s what I thought.”
God, he was insufferable.
“Well, you’re not sleeping there either,” I snapped. “It’s not made for a seven-foot behemoth with an ego the size of North America.”
“Think about the size of my…ego…a lot, do you, hellcat?”
“I swear to god, Lincoln…”
He waved me off. “I’ll be fine down here.”
Fine? Yeah. He’d be fine because he didn’t have a back that hated his guts or nerve pain shooting down his legs every second of every day.
But I also knew he’d hold this selfless act over my head for the rest of eternity.
A chivalrous little martyr. He’d toss it into every conversation he could—hey, remember that time you let me destroy my spine for your comfort? —and he’d enjoy it.
The man was an absolute pain in my ass.
If I had to listen to him brag about how heroic he was for letting me have the bed, I’d snap and strangle him. And then I wouldn’t get the damn grant, which left me right back at square one.
“Fine,” I growled, stomping over to my side of the bed before tossing back the covers. “We can both sleep in the bed.” I stabbed a finger in his direction. “But I swear to god, I better not wake up to your stupid boy parts poking me in the back.”
I’d barely gotten the words out before he leapt to his feet and headed—still shirtless—straight for our shared doom.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said, that smug little grin back in place. “But fair warning—this bed’s fucking tiny. And my dick is…not.”
I ground my molars together and had never wished harder for lasers to burst from my eyeballs. Just incinerate the hell out of him, right on the spot. “I will throw you over the loft railing. It won’t kill you—probably. But it would hurt.”
“With your back? I don’t know, wife.” He shrugged those giant shoulders, completely unbothered. “Seems unlikely.”
“You’ve heard of mom strength, right? That has nothing on fake-wife fury.”
Instead of being offended or concerned about his safety, he just laughed and settled on the other side of the bed. Except there was no other side of this tiny double bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight, which meant I dipped too, shifting just close enough to feel him slip in beside me. And that was the last damn thing I needed—to be anywhere near enough to brush against him, skin on skin.
Except that was exactly what happened.
No matter how either of us moved or settled, one of us was always touching the other. Our knees bumped, my elbow brushed his forearm, his biceps ruffled my hair. And through it all, I swore I could feel every damn one of his breaths against me.
To give myself some space, I scooted over and reached for the light switch, plunging us into darkness. But that only made it worse.
Static buzzed in the minuscule space between us, hot and charged and completely maddening. Because all I could think about—all I could fucking think about—was that damn kiss at the courthouse. The one I wasn’t supposed to enjoy.
The one I hadn’t been able to forget.
“This gonna work, wife?” Lincoln asked, breaking the silence.
“Don’t call me that.” I yanked the covers toward me a little harder than necessary, which only caused him to chuckle.
“Well, in that case…good night, Mrs. Steele.”
I could hear his smile in the darkness. “I’m not above choking you just to get you to shut up.”
“Nice. I already told you, I’m into it if you are. But in that case, we should have a safe word. I pick grumpelstiltskin.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned my head, growled into my pillow, and prayed for peace as Lincoln chuckled behind me.
My restraint was desperately close to snapping. But I just had to remind myself that I could get through anything. Even him.
As long as I had some time to get used to my fake marriage to this jackass before the public got their claws into it, I’d survive.
I hoped.