Chapter 51
Imogen
Lincoln drops a soft kiss on the top of my head, the kind that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Enjoy your book,
angel. I’ll be back up in a few hours.”
“Are you going to your lair?” I flash him a smile.
“It’s not my lair, vixen.”
I flutter my eyelashes. “That’s what Pierre says it is.”
He grips my jaw in his hand, squeezing firmly—it’s possessive and commanding and I love it. “It’s just the place where I work.
I adore this bratty side you’re developing, by the way.”
“So do I, sir.”
He growls, pressing a kiss on my lips. “I’ll be back soon. Be good while I’m gone.”
When he lets me go, I already feel bereft from the loss of his touch. “Will you ever allow me down there? I’d like to see
where you work.”
That makes him stop in his tracks and he turns back around to face me, his face unreadable.
“There’s nothing much of interest down there, baby.
Just some security monitors and computers running programs.” Feeling emboldened, I stand and walk toward him, deliberately swaying my hips as I do.
His eyes narrow to thin slits, raking over my body.
“I know what you’re trying to do, angel. ”
I reach him, draping my arms around his neck. “Is it working, sir?” I purr, rubbing my breasts against his chest.
He mutters a curse, and then his hand is on my ass, squeezing it tightly. “I should put you across my knee and spank your
ass red for being such a distraction.”
I’m pretty sure my cheeks turn red at his words. “I think I’d like that, sir.” No, I would definitely like that.
He brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “My wicked little temptress.”
“I just don’t like being apart from you. Is that a bad thing?”
“No, baby. I don’t like being apart from you either.” He runs his nose over my throat, inhaling deeply, rumbling like a tiger
about to pounce on its prey. “I like being as close to you as humanly possible as frequently as possible.”
“So let me come to your lair with you. I’ll bring a book. I won’t bother you.”
He stares at me for a few seconds, considering my request. I’m sure he’s going to say no. “If I let you see it, will you stop
calling it my lair?”
I almost squeak with excitement. “Yes.”
“Fine. But don’t touch anything, okay?”
I flash him a wicked grin. “You mean I can’t touch anything at all?” I run my hand over his chest.
He does that sexy half smile. “You can always touch me, angel.”
Pushing up onto my tiptoes, I press my lips over his and he slips his arms around my waist, pulling me tight to him. This
may be the first kiss I’ve ever initiated, and from the way his cock is growing stiffer by the second, I think he’s enjoying
it. It’s also me who pulls back first, leaving him gasping and staring into my eyes. He grips my jaw again, squeezing until
my mouth opens. “Brat,” he mutters.
Then he grabs my hand and leads me to his basement lair.
He unlocks the door and it opens into a spiral staircase that descends into the shadows below.
This feels so much like the mansions in the gothic novels I’ve been reading, while also serving as a reminder that there is still so much about this house, and about Lincoln, that I don’t know.
He walks down the stairs, not speaking, but looking back just once to check I’m still behind him.
I hesitate at the doorway, fingertips brushing the cold stone walls.
A deep breath fills my nose with the scent of cold metal and damp earth, laced with a hint of the cologne that Lincoln wears.
The space smells so much of him. I take another deep breath, grip the iron railing and descend the staircase after him.
The door behind me closes with an almost imperceptible click, and now the stairwell is bathed in a soft blue glow.
At the bottom of the steps, the space opens up into a cavernous room. A bank of computer screens fills one wall, responsible
for the eerie blue light. Each of them display different moving and flickering images. A worn leather desk chair sits idle,
like it’s awaiting his return. The floor is concrete. The walls bare brick. A steel door leads to another room at the far
end of the space. It, too, has a lock.
“Where does that lead?”
Lincoln reaches for my hand and squeezes it in his. “My armory.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. I’ve seen the knife he wears strapped to his thigh when he leaves,
but this is something much more intense. “Your armory?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly what kind of work do you do, Lincoln?”
He dusts his lips over my temple. “All kinds of work, angel. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Easy for him to say when he feels the need to have an entire armory locked in his basement. “Are we safe here?”
He presses a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Always.”
The one-word answers tell me to stop asking questions, but I can’t. “Then why do you have an armory?”
“Because the people I run into aren’t always nice people, angel.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “Like the Brotherhood.”
“Exactly.”
Another shiver. Is there something about Lincoln that I’ve been missing? Something underneath his kindness that’s genuinely
dangerous? “Do you work with them?”
“No.”
This is growing even more confusing. “So, how do you run into them, then?”
His tongue darts out and he licks his bottom lip. “Do you trust me?”
I take a moment to consider my answer before I reply. “Yes.”
“Then don’t ask me questions I can’t answer. I promise you I don’t work for the Brotherhood. I abhor what they do. And I would
never ever put you in danger, and that is all you need to concern yourself with.”
I trust him but that doesn’t mean I want to be kept in the dark. I reach up and trace my fingertips over his scars. “You keep
so much of yourself hidden from me, Lincoln.”
His eyes fill with pain and he pulls me into a hug, pressing my face to his chest and stroking my hair. “Only the dark parts,
angel. But I show you the deepest and most vulnerable parts of myself. Nobody else gets that part of me but you.”
“I want to see your darkness too, Linc,” I whisper. “I want to see all of you. Will you ever trust me enough to show me who
you really are?”
He kisses the top of my head. “One day, angel. I promise.”
I let myself melt into his embrace, trusting that he would tell me if he could. Whatever secrets he hides, they seem to torture
him, and I know how that feels. So I trust what I can see and feel. His care. His protection. His love. And for a girl like
me, that should be more than enough.