And another thought. This ain’t no hookup. Not if I have a say.
18
Mathilda finally slept after her third orgasm of the night—or rather, early morning.
When she woke up, they were still spooned together. Every bone in her body vibrated with satisfaction. The rain had finally stopped, and the first rooster was uttering that ancient, primal crow. In the jungle, that usually happened before the first light of dawn, possibly because the sun rose so quickly here. There wasn’t much “dawn” to speak of.
She lay for a moment marinating in the aftermath of such a physically cathartic encounter. She’d needed an escape, and she’d gotten one, thanks to one extremely virile billionaire. Just her luck that she had such fantastic chemistry with the exact type of person she preferred to avoid.
But maybe she should get used to it. As Marchioness of Aberdeen, and someone with loads of money, her social circle would probably consist of upper-class types like that.
If they were all like Lincoln Kerr, maybe that wouldn’t be a problem. He was so completely unexpected in so many ways. Not only was he protective and surprisingly thoughtful, but he was the most attentive lover she’d ever been with. One night together, and she was going to be spoiled forever. Someone like Carlos the truck driver—a perfectly good lover himself—wasn’t going to be enough anymore. She was going to crave that rush, that fire, that kaboom.
What was she even thinking about? If she married Duncan, she wasn’t going to be looking for other lovers. He wanted to develop a real relationship. He’d always wanted a family, according to his letter. He took commitments seriously and looked forward to the day when he had a wife and children he could build a life around. To be honest, he sounded like a real sweetheart.
He’d included an envelope containing several photos too. She had to admit he was a cutie. Thick hair the color of buttered biscuits, eyes filled with wicked wit, sort of quirky and ironic looking, older than twenty-three. In one photo he wore black graduation robes from Eton. In another he was all dressed up for the races at Ascot, a straw hat perched on his blond head. He was looking for work as a graphic designer, but not especially hard. He didn’t seem to have a firm direction in life.
Her overall impression was that he was a charmer.
She wondered what she looked like on paper. Her parents had sent him some photos, according to him, and they had met with his approval. On the surface, she came across as a pretty blonde, she knew that. The two of them could have been brother and sister, in fact. Maybe her parents had sent a photo of her playing tennis at their club. Perhaps they’d managed to find one in which she was actually hitting the ball—it happened so rarely that it would be a miracle shot. Hand-eye coordination was not her thing. But give her a mountain hike or a wilderness bushwhack in search of a rare bird, and she could go all day.
Would she have to give up those passions if she became a marchioness? Would she have to stick to tennis, or cricket, or croquet or tea parties or?—
She put a hand on her chest to calm her suddenly rapid heartbeat. Oh shit. She hadn’t experienced this feeling in so long, she’d nearly forgotten about it. It always started like this, with her heart going a mile a minute. Then she’d become unable to catch her breath. Get lightheaded. Panicky. Lost. Time and space would warp around her while she fought to not lose her shit.
Grounding herself—that was what worked. Activate her senses, find a smell, an object, something to touch, to anchor herself to reality.
Lincoln’s bicep did the trick. Solid muscle, warm skin. She clutched it firmly and did some breathing exercises she hadn’t used since she’d left Connecticut. The familiar jungle smells helped—rain-washed banana leaves, moist earth, the coffee someone was making.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She glanced over at Lincoln, whose dark eyes were filled with concern. Snatching her hand from his arm, she saw that her fingernails had left marks on his skin. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I was…sorry.”
“It’s all right. No blood, no foul.” He smiled at her. “That’s what my brothers and I used to say.”
“Your brothers?” She jumped at the chance to change the subject from her embarrassing near-panic attack. Rolling onto her side, she pillowed her head on her hands. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Two.”
Such a brief response. “Older? Younger?”
“I’m the oldest. My brother Louie is next, he’s a social worker in Tennessee, married, three kids. Ethan is the youngest. He’s…well, he lives in a residential home for the disabled. Don’t worry,” he added quickly when her eyes widened, “he loves it there. It has everything he needs and he feels safe there. It’s only a half-hour drive for my parents so they see him all the time. He’s doing great there. He even mentors new arrivals and helps them get settled in. The staff sometimes jokes about hiring him.” His expression softened to one she’d never seen on him before—tender, vulnerable. It touched her heart.
“I’ve heard that kind of care is expensive. It’s a good thing you’re a billionaire.”
His body gave a sudden jerk.
“Did something bite you?” She sat up and scanned the edge of the bed. “This net is supposed to keep everything out, but sometimes it gets untucked.”
Lincoln shoved the covers off his body. “Mathilda, I have to tell you something. Right away.”
He sounded so serious that she abandoned her search for a gap in the mosquito net. “What’s up? Please tell me the condom didn’t break. Any of them.” They’d used three, after all.
“No no, that’s not it. I…I need to apologize?—”
“No.” She cut him off with a gesture. “I’m the one who needs to. I gave you such a hard time about being a CEO billionaire, and the whole time I kept the truth about my family hidden. I’m usually an honest person, I swear. It’s important to me. At least you’ve never hidden who you are.”
He flinched, looking absolutely miserable. “Mathilda, would you please just listen for a minute.”
