“Do you need help with something?” I asked, voice sharp, eyes sharper.
She startled, a bit of her sangria sloshing over the side of her porn glass. “Oh! Um, no. Thank you.”
“Really? Seems like maybe you do. You’ve been standing here longer than it takes our chickens to lay eggs.”
She breathed out a nervous laugh, her eyes darting between me and Lincoln, who’d stepped in close behind me—close enough his heat seeped into my spine. “I’m just having a little trouble deciding what to get. I was wondering if I could sample the honey.”
“We don’t serve samples of honey.” I flashed her my teeth, my smile moreI will cut youthanlet’s be besties. “Or husbands.”
Lincoln’s feet bracketed mine as he slid his left arm around my waist, palm splayed across my stomach, his chin resting on top of my head. Solid. Steady. Possessive as hell. I didn’t even have to look to know he was grinning like the smug jackass he was.
Sangria Barbie breathed out what barely passed for a laugh, made an excuse about meeting a friend, and scampered off. Probably to flirt with someone else’s fake husband.
I blew out a heavy breath and turned to face Lincoln, ready to tell him to get back to work, but the look on his face stopped me cold. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and hooded. And now that my rage fog had receded a bit, I realized I’d felt the solid weight of him against my back while he’d been standing behind me. One flick of my gaze down to the front of his jeans confirmed as much.
My brows flew up as I met his eyes, then dropped my voice to hiss, “Are you seriously turned on right now?”
His grin spread slow and easy, just like the honey he was selling so well. “You low-key telling another woman to fuck off while standing in front of me like I’m already yours? Yeah, wife. That kinda did it for me.”
Before I could respond to him, he dropped a kiss on my lips. Then he stepped around me and greeted the people waiting in line—now a dozen deep.
That was how the rest of the day went, minus any more Sangria Barbies. And Lincoln was enjoying every second.
He was effortlessly smooth, smiling like the damn sun was shining out of his dimples and somehow flirting with every single person in line withoutactuallyflirting. That might’ve had something to do with the fact that every word, every wink, every compliment somehow circled back to me.
I’d never heard someone say the wordwifeso many times in one afternoon, but he managed to fit it into every single conversation like he was competing for the world record.
Hiswife’sstrawberries were delicious.
The honey hiswifeharvested was the best in New England.
The jam hiswifemade was already sold out, and he’d been lucky enough to taste-test every batch of hiswife’srecipes.
And forget about the number of times he’d touched me.
He kept brushing against me when he handed off bags. His fingers lingered on the small of my back when he was close. And every chance he got, he looped an arm around my waist to tug me into his side like that was exactly where I belonged. Pressed kisses against my temple. Told me how great I was doing and how much I was killing it.
The real problem wasn’t that he was doing any of those things. It was that I waslettinghim.
I didn’t step out of his grasp, didn’t move out of his reach. Found I couldn’t.
Because every time he touched me like I belonged to him and every time he looked at me like he couldn’t wait to get me home, I forgot to breathe. And when he said wife with such possession and pride, the grumpy cat inside me that usually lashed out with hisses and sharp claws just curled up in my chest and purred.
Through it all, I tried to keep my face neutral. Focused on what needed to be done. Tried to pretend this was perfectly normal and none of it was getting to me. Not even a little.
But my cheeks were flushed and my panties were wet and my nipples were hard enough to cut glass. And, by the knowing glances Lincoln kept sending my way, that smug bastard knew it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LINCOLN
Willa hadn’t saida word since we’d started packing up the booth once the festival was over. Didn’t so much as breathe in my direction on the drive home. Didn’t spare me a glance as I threw the truck into park or when she climbed out and yanked open the tailgate or when she grabbed a stack of empty crates from the back.
Nope. She just stomped up the porch like a hurricane with hips. And goddamn was I ready for this storm.
She’d been like this since the moment Blondie had touched my wrist—steely eyed, more short-tempered than usual, and so fucking hot I’d had to hide behind the booth more than once just to rearrange my dick.
The funny thing was, I hadn’t even intended for us to land here.
