Chapter 39
Imogen
I wake alone despite Lincoln being here when I fell asleep. It’s been the same for the past seven nights. He holds me after
sex, and sometimes we talk for a little while. He’s always there when I drift off, but never here when I wake. A small wave
of sadness washes over me, because it would be nice to wake up next to him. Perhaps curled up beside him, or with his chest
at my back and his arms around me. I’ve spent most of my life on my own and I have always been perfectly content with my own
company, but now there’s Lincoln. And though I’ve never woken up with anyone before, I’m sure it would be wonderful.
I slip out of bed and turn on the shower, grabbing the new bottle of shower soap he bought me yesterday on his trip into town.
He brought me a whole fresh supply of toiletries even though I still had plenty left of the others. This time, I noticed that
he chose fragrances I’ve mentioned liking, such as jasmine and wildflower. And that he thought of me when making those choices,
knowing that he listens when I speak, makes me feel cherished in a way I never have before.
Freshly showered, I make my way to the kitchen, meeting Lincoln in the upstairs hallway. Immediately he pulls me into his
arms and runs his nose over my still-damp hair.
“Good morning, angel.”
“Good morning, sir.”
He growls, actually growls, then he takes my hand in his and leads me down the stairs to where Pierre is preparing some kind
of pastry.
“What is it to be this morning?” Pierre asks with a smile. He was quiet for a couple of days after the anniversary of his
wife’s and daughter’s deaths, and both Lincoln and I were there for him in all the ways he allowed us to be—if only with kind
words or allowing him space when he seemed to need it. And on one occasion he even allowed me to give him a hug, which I cherished
every second of. But he has been his usual pleasant, if bitingly sarcastic at times, self again since.
“My usual,” Lincoln tells him.
“And for you, mademoiselle?”
“Can I try some eggs and toast too?”
Pierre declares his agreement and Lincoln goes to the counter, and as has become our new morning routine, he pours us each
a coffee.
“Can you fetch me some eggs from the pantry, mademoiselle?”
“You know you should think about keeping chickens,” I say, stepping into the pantry.
“Chickens?” Lincoln asks, an amused tone to his voice.
I pop my head out of the doorway. “Yes. You eat so many eggs and you have plenty of room.” I’ve always wanted a pet, and chickens
wouldn’t just be pets; they’d be useful too.
“And who would look after the feathery little devils?” Pierre scoffs.
“I would! I’d love to look after chickens. I promise I’d take really good care of them. You wouldn’t even know they were there.”
Pierre hums softly, a rascally look on his face. “And we could roast them. They are delicious with the right sauce.” He smacks
his lips together.
“Pierre, no!” I shriek.
“Where do you think chicken comes from, mademoiselle? If not from a chicken?” He throws his hands in the air.
“But these would be different. I’d know them.”
“Ah, you would name them all, wouldn’t you? Silly mon chou.” He chuckles and shakes his head.
Lincoln claps him on the back. “If Imogen gets some chickens, you cannot put them in a sauce, old friend.”
Pierre grumbles but I can’t help smiling so widely that my cheeks hurt. Lincoln didn’t say no. In fact, he seemed totally
open to the idea. Maybe one day, when I’ve cleared plenty of space in the garden, I’ll officially ask him if we can get some—a
chicken proposal. He’s always telling me to ask for what I want, after all.
I head deeper into the pantry, searching for eggs when I notice the box on the shelf. A large box of Milky Way bars. It makes
my throat clog up with emotion. As a child who was never allowed candy, I enjoyed the bars that Lincoln bought me a few weeks
ago immensely. But I didn’t dare ask for any to be added to the monthly grocery shop. I’ve never seen them in the pantry before,
and to find them now and know that once again Lincoln has thought about my needs, makes me feel overwhelmed with happiness.
I grab the eggs and make my way back to the kitchen.
Lincoln hands me my coffee and I smile at him. He gives me a half smile back, running a hand over his jaw. He never attempts
to hide his scars now, and I don’t notice them either. Well, not any more than I notice the rest of him. They remind me of
how similar we are, that we’ve both endured and are still standing. And they’re simply a part of his face—the most handsome
face I’ve ever seen. “You bought Milky Ways?”
He blows on his coffee. “You said you liked them.”
“Thank you, Lincoln.” I feel the blush creep over my cheeks at the use of his name, which I usually only reserve for the bedroom.
He drops a soft kiss on the top of my head. “You don’t have to thank me for food, angel.”
“How were your eggs and toast?” Lincoln asks.
I glance at my almost-empty plate. I’ve been experimenting with different foods all week and trying to decide what I actually
enjoy eating, which for some reason seems to have pleased both Lincoln and Pierre. “Very filling and quite tasty. Still not
as good as waffles though.”
He gives me that wonderful half smile.
“Maybe we could both have waffles tomorrow?”
“I have to leave tonight, angel.”
I try my best not to look disappointed but obviously don’t do a good enough job. I glance down at my plate so he doesn’t see
the tears burning in my eyes. I’ve never been a crier, and yet here I am welling up at him leaving. It’s weak and against
everything I was ever taught, but I can’t help it. He cups my chin, tipping my head until I’m forced to look at him.
“What’s with the sad face?”
“I’ll miss you.”
He leans across the table and dusts his lips over mine. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that, angel.
And I’ll miss you too.”
If missing him makes me weak, then that would mean he’s weak too, and Lincoln Knight is definitely not weak. “Why do you have
to go away so much?”
He grinds his jaw. “It’s what I do.”
“Like your job?”
“Kind of. It’s hard to explain.”
“I’m sure I’m smart enough to understand.” I regret the sassy remark as soon as it leaves my mouth, but it only makes him give me that lazy grin of his. I’ve come to realize he likes my feisty side, which is a good thing, because I really like it too.
“You most definitely are, angel. One day I’ll tell you, but for now . . . Let me just do what I do, okay?” His dark eyes burn
into mine.
“You’re not going to another auction are you?”
He pushes back his chair and walks around the table before dropping to his knees and taking both my hands in his. “I swear
to you that you are the only person I have ever paid for, Imogen DeMotta. And believe it or not, I did that to protect you.”
I brush away the tear that leaks from the corner of my eye. “I do believe that, Lincoln.” That’s true, even if I don’t understand
it.
He rubs the pad of his thumb over my lips. “I like when you call me Lincoln.”
“I like calling you that too.”
He smirks. “Like it even better when you call me Linc.”
My skin flushes with heat. I only ever call him that when he’s teasing me, or making me orgasm. “Can I still call you sir
too?”
He kisses me softly. “Call me whatever you prefer, angel.”
“I like when you call me angel.”
He kisses me again. “You are my angel.”
My entire body is singing with happiness and contentment. I love this feeling of being able to be so open with him. I adore
being able to show my desire for some affection and him simply enjoying offering it with no agenda. “I love it when you call
me baby too.”
He growls when he kisses me one more time, and the sound rumbles through my bones. “I have to go prep for my trip, but I’ll
be done by this afternoon and I’ll make you moan all the names you call me before I leave, baby. How does that sound?”
“That sounds perfect, sir.”