She hesitates and then asks, “How many sexual partners have you had?”
“Too many to count.”
“Oh.” I can’t see her face, but she sounds saddened by that.
“I’m forty-two years old, angel. I have a past and it’s not one I’m particularly proud of. Would you rather I lied about my sexual experience?”
“No. I was just... Were any of them serious?”
“No. Mostly women I hooked up with for one night.”
She chews on her lip. “Have you ever bought a woman before?”
Anger burns hot and explosive in my chest. I hate that she thinks that I’d do that, even though she has every reason to. It’s not like she knows why she’s been such a brilliant, painful exception. I bought her, after all. “No.”
“Lincoln,” her voice is small and quiet. “Why did you buy me?”
Because I once promised someone I loved like a brother that I’d always protect you, no matter what the cost.That’s the truth and she deserves to know that, but it would reveal the truth of my identity, and then she would know I am the monster everyone believes I am. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me, but I cannot bear for her to know what a sick piece of shit I truly am. So, I tell her another truth.
“Because I wanted you, angel.”
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’tjustbe 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.”
