Chapter 56
Lincoln
“So you’re actually leaving the house with her? Entering the civilized world?” Pierre asks after I told him about my plans
for the day.
I rummage in the pantry for the antique picnic basket that was here when I bought the place sixteen years ago. “Not exactly.
Just a picnic while the weather is still mild enough for us to enjoy it.” I won’t risk anyone seeing either of us, so yes,
we’re leaving the house, but mingling with the civilized world is a definite no.
“Does she know?”
“Not yet, but she will when she gets out of her bath and sees the new clothes on the bed.” Along with the note I left her.
It’s been a week since she asked me what being in love felt like, when we told each other how we feel. And since that time,
I’ve fallen in love with her more every single second. I cannot imagine a world where she doesn’t sleep in my arms, and I
believe she loves me too, but still Fraser’s words continue to plague me. The Queen is the most powerful piece in the game.
“Are you letting her off her leash to see if she’ll run?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
I snarl. “She’s not a dog, Pierre.”
“True. But are you doing that, knowing what you now do?”
“Weren’t you the one who told me I couldn’t keep her locked in here forever? You know she was never allowed to leave her grandfather’s
estate, right?”
“Also true, but you still haven’t answered my question.”
Spotting the hamper I’m looking for buried deep at the back of a cupboard, I pull it out and brush off the surface dust. “I
actually want to do something a little special for her, even if it is only a picnic,” I tell him truthfully. “But, while we
won’t be venturing anywhere close to town, we will be in walking distance of the road. Close enough that she’ll be able to
hear any passing vehicles.”
“And you’re thinking she might run?”
“I’m thinking I’d like to see what she’ll do when presented with the opportunity to escape.”
He frowns. “That’s exactly what I said.”
“Lincoln!” she calls from the kitchen, and when I stick my head out of the pantry, she’s wrapped in a towel with her hair
soaking wet, clutching the new white dress I gave her to her chest. She obviously left the matching underwear on the bed.
“Are we really going out somewhere?”
I hold up the picnic hamper. “Just for a drive and then a picnic, angel. If you want to?”
She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Yes, I want to.”
“Then go get ready while Pierre and I make our picnic.”
She squeaks, actually squeaks, and then runs out of the room.
“She seems very excited,” Pierre says dryly.
“She’s about to leave the house for the first time in almost half a year, of course she’s excited,” I snap defensively.
“Just an observation, sir.”
An observation we shared. Because I also felt a fleeting wave of panic at her excitement too.
What if she does run? And what if that means none of this is real?
I’m not sure how I will react if I were to find that everything between us were a lie.
I’m sure my blackened heart would be destroyed forever.
I swallow down my doubt and leave it there for now.
“I’m so excited to see where we’re going.” She cranes her neck, peering out the window and trying to see past the forest of
trees. My eyes stray to her legs. The new dress with the violet lace trim that sits perfectly against her olive skin has ridden
high enough to expose almost all the soft skin of her thighs, hinting at the sweet temptation beneath, currently encased in
the new purple lace underwear set I also bought for her. I know that because I lifted her dress to get a glimpse when she
came running down the stairs earlier. And when she purred at my attention, I almost slipped my hand into her panties right
there and finger-fucked her in the hallway. But my girl wants a picnic, and a promise is a promise.
I grab hold of her hand and lift it to my mouth before pressing a kiss on her knuckles. “It’s just a nice spot I know, angel.
Nothing special.”
“It will be special to me,” she says, eyes shining with happiness.
Yeah, there’s no way she’s one of them. She’s too fucking sweet and innocent to be a member of the Brotherhood. Pierre’s words
come back to haunt me. If she’s one of them, and she was raised as one of them, she would cut out your heart and smile while she did it. I push his words away, not needing him in my head right now. Besides, she chose to wear a pair of flimsy sandals with her
new dress. If she were going to run, she’d have made an excuse to wear her sneakers, surely?
“Yeah, it will be special to me too.”
She beams widely. “I’m glad to see you’re not wearing your mask, sir.”
“Why would I?”
“You usually do when you go out in public, don’t you?”
Maybe it’s Pierre’s suspicions getting in my head, but for some reason that rankles me. “We’re unlikely to see anyone where
we’re going, angel. And if we did, it would be a hiker. Nobody likely to come close enough to see my face. Or yours.”
That doesn’t seem to faze her at all and she goes back to staring out the window with all the excitement of a child on Christmas
morning. I spent two Christmases with her as a child, although she was much too young to understand what it was. I push those
memories away too, because they’re a reminder of how I’m betraying her father. Protect her for me, he said. One hundred percent sure he didn’t mean like this.
But we are where we are, and I’m in far too deep to stop this now.
“That was all delicious.” She lies down on the blanket, her hands resting on her stomach. “That was my first picnic ever.”
I lie next to her on my side and link my fingers with hers. “Mine too, angel.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You never went on any as a kid? Or you know took anyone else special for a picnic?” She blushes at the last few words.
“I already told you I never had relationships before. Just casual sex. Definitely never anyone I wanted to take on a picnic.”
“I’m happy to be your first, Linc,” she giggles and I fall in love with the sound. This is how she should be all the time.
Carefree and happy. “And you never went as a child either?”
“My childhood wasn’t exactly about picnics, baby. It was about survival.”
She traces her fingertips over the scars on my cheek. “I guess we have that in common.”
“I guess we do.”
“Will you tell me about your childhood, Linc?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know something about you. You know so much about my past, but I know nothing about yours.”
“There’s not a lot to know. I grew up in foster homes. I got into a lot of trouble. But I figured my shit out eventually.
Realized I could read computer code the way that other people can read a book, and I never looked back.”
I don’t tell her I was recruited by the Brotherhood at the age of fourteen and brainwashed into believing they were the good
guys until I was twenty-four. And then when I found out they weren’t, it was too late to save the one person I should have
protected. And they hurt her. Maybe even worse than that are the decisions I made afterward, which destroyed the only people
who were ever a real family to me.
“So you have no family?”
I cup her jaw, my grip possessive. “I have you.” She has no idea how honest I’m being. Her smile makes my heart race, and
I’m in danger of revealing too much about my past. I roll on top of her and silence any follow-up question with a kiss.
When I let her up for air, she traces her fingertips over my scars. “How old were you when you got these?”
“In my twenties.”
Her eyes narrow and she studies them intently. “How did you get them? They’re very . . .” she chews on her lip “ . . . unique.”
I was shackled to the back of a motorcycle by my neck and driven a few hundred yards down a gravel road before I somehow managed
to pull the fucker off and beat him to death with his own chain. Obviously, I don’t tell her that, and simply say. “A motorcycle
accident.”
She doesn’t reply, goes on trailing her fingertips over the damaged skin. Down my neck, dipping beneath the collar of my T-shirt. “Did they hurt a lot?”
“Not as much as you’d expect. I think I was used to pain by then.”
She nods, like she knows how that feels.
I want to change the subject from our pasts, before I say too much. Before I’m confronted with so much of mine that I feel
compelled to tell her the truth. I know I’ll have to one day, but not yet. Not when she’s looking at me the way she is. I
run my nose over her jawline, drinking her in. “Do you like the new underwear I got for you, angel?”
Her cheeks flush an adorable shade of pink. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
“Would you like to see it all now, or wait until we get home?”
I don’t miss that she just called my house her home, and I fucking love that she did. “That depends on whether you’d like
to be fucked in this field before we go home.”
“Yes please, sir.”
“Yeah?”
Sinking her teeth into her juicy bottom lip, she nods. I slide my hand beneath her dress, over the soft supple skin of her
thigh and a possessive growl rolls out of me. She arches her back, pressing herself into my touch.
“This dress is beautiful on you, baby, but I think it will look much better off you.”
“Yes,” she pants.
She helps me to pull it off over her head and lies back, her hair spread around her head like a dark halo.
I let my eyes rake greedily over her body.
The bright purple underwear looks stunning against her olive skin.
Her pert brown nipples peeking through the sheer fabric of her bra, begging for attention.
And don’t get me started on the panties and the strawberry-shaped wet spot currently staining the material at the apex of her thighs. “Fuck, you are perfect, baby.”
Her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink. “Thank you, sir.”
I slip my hand into her panties and she spreads her legs to accommodate me. “And you’re such a good fucking girl for me.”