His fingers brush across the small of my back, then down the outsides of my thighs. My core responds with a hard throb.
“What else can I do with you, Jules?”
Surprised by the innuendo-laden question, my movements go still.
My breath catches when I feel it—the very prominent outline of his erection now pressing against the hollow of my stomach, right above my pubic bone.
Drag your lips down my neck…
Claim my mouth with yours…
Pin me against any flat surface of this bar and make me scream your name…
That’s what I want to say. But I don’t. Because I’m not a mindless horndog.
I giggle nervously and decide to deflect. “Great acting, Fiancé. For a minute there, you almost hadmeconvinced.”
But the tic in his jaw and the heat rising off his skin tell me that this isn’t an act. He wants me. The way I want him.
“You think I’m acting?” The lust in his eyes darkens. He pauses. “You drive me so fucking crazy, Julissa Lannister. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to survive this fake marriage with you.”
I slap him lightly on the shoulder. “Please don’t make me into a grieving widow. At least not until I get a check from my great-grandmother first,” I tease.
He chuckles as his big hands drag over my curves again. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Thank god the song changes right then, because the tension between us is about to choke me. I slip out of his arms and lead the way to a table in the corner.
I pray sincerely that my movements come across as confident. Because, in reality, my knees are wobbly, my breasts are heavy and my panties are a damp mess.
Lincoln slips into the booth right beside me instead of taking the seat across from me. I like his proximity. Too much. And I’m well aware that I shouldn’t feel this way.
Mere hours ago, I hated the man. Now, I feel…this.
I’m not familiar with these pingpong-ing feelings. With Lincoln, I’m like a billiard ball, shooting from one corner of the emotional pool table to the next.
One minute, I want to strangle him. A minute later, I want to be naked with him. Then in the wink of an eye, I’m plotting to strangle him again. The back and forth is downright exhausting.
He flags down a server and orders some food along with another round of drinks. When our meal arrives, he turns his attention to me, his eyes bouncing around my face in the tavern’s muted light.
“Is everything okay?” he asks me.
“Not really.”
He frowns, surprising me when he reaches out to brush a lock of hair from my eyes. “What’s wrong, Troublemaker?” The concern in his touch seems genuine.
Trying to ignore the way my body’s still buzzing from our dance, I decide to be honest with him.
“Our last ‘date’ went pretty badly. I guess I’m just a bit disoriented with how well things are going tonight. You confuse me, Lincoln Raines,” I say, nibbling on a crispy chicken tender. “I can’t decide whether to put my guard down with you or not.”
If Lincoln were in the mood to fight, we’d fight. No problem. That would feel familiar to me. But thisnicerversion of him? I’m not too sure how to handle this version.
He drags a hand down his face. “That’s understandable. Again, I’m really sorry about the way I behaved. And the last thing I want to do is confuse you. I know I don’t come across as the friendliest person sometimes. To be honest, I’m not. But Iama good guy, Jules. It’s just…” He falls silent.
My body leans closer, wordlessly begging him to keep talking to me. I want to understand this enigma of a man. “What…?”
He inhales roughly. “The questions you were asking me that night, they forced me to look at my failed marriage in a way I’d never looked at it before. It was always easy to just blame my divorce on my ex-wife’s moodiness, or to convince myself that we just weren’t happy together. But you forced me to ask myself questions my pride never allowed me to ask. And I wasn’t liking the answers.”
“Oh…” I say.
