“Zegas is pursuing all possible avenues.” Muffy pawed Lincoln again. “I need to take him out.”
He didn’t look at either of us as he led the dog across the room.
“We’re not done with this conversation,” Beau said.
“We are for now.”
The click of paws on the floor signaled an excitement that didn’t exist. The dogs were innocent, and I hoped they could help Lincoln in some capacity we couldn’t.
“Can you believe him?” Beau threw her hands up and paced in front of the coffee table.
“If you were in his position, would you want to admit it?”
She flashed me an annoyed look. “No. But that doesn’t make it right. Or me less pissed off at him.”
“He doesn’t want to bother you with his problems.” I wasn’t condoning his actions, though sometimes understanding why people did what they did helped.
“He’s failed on that front. Because I am most definitely bothered.” She yanked on her long hair. “I gotta get out of here. I can’t handle him right now.”
As much as conventional wisdom said it was wiser to face problems, I agreed that she needed a minute to cool off. Once she had, they could talk rationally.
She stormed toward her bedroom and emerged a minute later wearing heels and a leather jacket and carrying her purse.
“Call me if you need me.”
She detoured and gave me a hug. “I will.”
When she was gone, a heavy silence descended. I looked around the room. What did Lincoln see when he was in this space? What did he feel?
There was a coldness to the apartment, yet the more time we spent here, the more warmth it had. I swiped a dog bone off the floor.
It wasn’t quite so put together as it was the first time I’d been here. There was a hint of chaotic mess that made the apartment feel more lived in. Had he noticed that too? Did he hate it? Hate the chaos we’d brought into his life?
I sat on the sofa. In this very spot, Lincoln had given me the space to talk when I needed and to just be silent too.
He had people helping him solve his problems in ways I never could.
Maybe he needed to know someone was there to listen or just be, no matter what.
And I could do that.
Chapter Seventeen
Lexie
“Is it too early to call it a day?”
Lincoln stood in the doorway, back from walking the dogs about an hour later.
“Nope.” I stood. “Eric already did and went in your office a while ago. You don’t mind if he sleeps in there, do you? He seems most comfortable there.”
“I don’t mind.” He held out a hand to me.
I took it and he led me down the hall. Millie detoured into Lincoln’s study, where Eric was still out. Muffy looked torn between following his friend or Lincoln.
In the end, he decided Lincoln needed him more at the moment.
We approached a set of closed double doors at the end of the hallway. Lincoln opened one and Muffy darted inside. Dim lights illuminated when we entered the room.
It was massive and masculine and so much like Lincoln, from the rich wood tones to the dark leather fabrics. And the view from his wall of windows was more stunning than the one from the living room.
The bed loomed in front of us. I’d never spent the night with a man, and the realization that I was about to do it with Lincoln had nerves taking flight.
“Should we leave the door open? In case Eric needs us?”
I threw my arms around his neck. He was thoughtful and kind and even his stubborn streak wasn’t so bad.
He held me like he never wanted to let go, cradling me to his solid body. His hold was powerful and protective, yet tender at the same time. He smelled like Lincoln and a little bit dog . . . and it was perfect.
“I don’t know what we would’ve done without you,” I confessed into his chest.
“You don’t need me,” he said against my hair. “It is me who needs you.”
Down, down, down I went. How had I gone from despising this man to—I swallowed hard—to whatever this madness was I felt whenever he was near.
I kissed his jaw. “Scary, isn’t it?”
He bored into me with that intense gaze. “Terrifying.”
A smile threatened to break free. “At least we’re on the same page.”
“There is that.” He brushed his lips across my forehead. “Make yourself at home. I need a shower.”
I already had, hadn’t I?
He released me and loosened his tie. I loved that sight.
I threw decorative pillows off the bed to the floor, hesitating as he shrugged off his coat. “Which side do you sleep on?” If this show was going to continue, I needed to sit down.
“That one.” He motioned to the windows. Of course. The side with the view.
I quickly brushed my teeth before I turned down the covers and crawled underneath. The thick sheets had that freshly laundered feel and smelled of something crisp and clean.
He disappeared into the closet and emerged a moment later with his socks and shoes now gone too and his white shirt hanging open.
Whoa.
“For an old guy, you’re ripped.”
He scowled. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
I grinned. “Most definitely.”
“I’m not that old,” he grumbled, detouring by the bed to kiss the side of my head.
Note to self: he’s prickly about his age.
He vanished once more, and from the other room I heard the shower.
Do not think about him naked. Do not think about him naked.
How was I not supposed to? He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, inside and out. I was in his bed.
Gah. I’m. In. His. Bed.
The teenager in me that had never grown up began a minor freak-out. This was all so domesticated. So—I wouldn’t think the word.
Normal.
Too late.
Lexie, you are ridiculous.
I glanced down at my sweatshirt, which only solidified my observation. I was too hot. Too amped up. Too much of everything.
I peeled off the sweatshirt, leaving me in a thin tank top.
Breathe. In and out.
I got in a bed every night. And slept most of them. This was just a different bed and instead of a pillow beside me, Lincoln would be there.
I didn’t know the proper procedure for this.
Since when are you worried about procedure?
I was in a hospital unconscious yesterday at this time. Now, I faced the prospect of snuggling with Lincoln for an entire night. And I was fully awake to enjoy it.
“Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”
I slapped my hand over my heart. “You’re like a panther. How long have you been standing there?”
He leaned in the doorway to the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. His dark hair was damp and his body glistened from the shower.
“Long enough.”
Was it normal to find a man’s legs attractive? Because his most definitely were.
I slid down the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. He smirked as if he knew I’d been appreciating his spectacular exterior.
Judging by the lack of a T-shirt as he emerged from his closet again in only sweatpants, I was going to have to get used to the sight of his chest. Could anyone ever get used to that?