be shot down.
A slow smile moved gently across her full, glossy mouth. “That sounds like a nice idea,” she said, surprising them both.
He swallowed and quickly counted trucks in his head to beat back the remnants of his brief sexual odyssey before getting out of the Navigator to open the passenger door for her.
The fullness of her unbound breasts inadvertently brushed his bare arm as she went past him to get in. Simultaneously their gazes locked as that jolt of sensual electricity snapped between them. For a moment, neither moved.
Desiree saw the old flames burning in his eyes and wondered if he could see it in hers as well.
She could have stayed inside the safety of her cabin when she heard his vehicle pull up and come to a stop. She could have stepped outside to investigate in something less revealing. She’d done neither.
Since she’d coldly sent him on his way earlier, she’d had enough time to think, a least a little bit. Who was she fooling? She still loved the man, and he’d said as much to her. The question that remained was, could her heart risk being “in love” with Lincoln again? Did she dare take that chance? The conclusion she reached as she sat on the rocks behind her cabin was that she would never know if she kept running and hiding.
“Thanks,” she whispered, breaking the spell and stepping up into the Navigator.
Lincoln tugged in a deep breath, as the luscious scent of her drifted to him, then shut her door and got in behind the wheel.
* * *
“So…how did you spend the rest of your day?” Lincoln asked after driving for a few minutes in silence.
“I spent it thinking, actually.”
“You want to talk about it?”
She hesitated, debating about changing the subject, then decided to tell him the truth.
“About us…mostly. Me, my life and what I’m going to do with it now.”
He briefly glanced in her direction. “I don’t know what to ask first. But to be truthful I want to hear about you.”
“You always did know how to flatter a girl.” She smiled. She tugged in a breath and slowly let it out as if the air she expelled would somehow provide the pathway for the words to follow.
“A lot has happened since…” She stole a look at him and nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. “Since you and me.” She saw him flinch ever so slightly. “When I left I moved into a small studio in the West Village…”
She told him about meeting Carl during an art exhibit in SoHo, how they’d talked for hours about art and she’d finally agreed to show him some of her work several weeks later. He was completely enthusiastic about her work and encouraged her to pursue her craft and her passion to paint professionally. She’d explained that she couldn’t afford to be a “professional artist,” she had bills to pay and a strong desire for three meals a day.
She didn’t see Carl for several weeks after that until one day she got a call from him asking to meet him for dinner. Over a glass of wine, he laid out his proposition.
“If there’s one thing I can always spot, it’s talent,” he said, slicing into his medium-rare sirloin. “And if there’s one thing I love, it’s art. Now combine art and talent and you have an incredible combination. You have both, Desiree.”
“Thank you. I—”
He held up his steak knife. “I’m not saying this to flatter you. It’s the truth and I want to see you flourish as an artist. I know in my gut that you have what it takes to make it. All you need is money and opportunity.”
“Neither of which I have.” She lifted her beveled water glass and took a soothing gulp while she wondered where the conversation was going.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
He went on to tell her how he was willing to finance her pursuit, set her up with a working/living loft with space below for a small gallery where she could sell her work and which she would be totally responsible for running. She could paint, and when she built a sufficient body
A slow smile moved gently across her full, glossy mouth. “That sounds like a nice idea,” she said, surprising them both.
He swallowed and quickly counted trucks in his head to beat back the remnants of his brief sexual odyssey before getting out of the Navigator to open the passenger door for her.
The fullness of her unbound breasts inadvertently brushed his bare arm as she went past him to get in. Simultaneously their gazes locked as that jolt of sensual electricity snapped between them. For a moment, neither moved.
Desiree saw the old flames burning in his eyes and wondered if he could see it in hers as well.
She could have stayed inside the safety of her cabin when she heard his vehicle pull up and come to a stop. She could have stepped outside to investigate in something less revealing. She’d done neither.
Since she’d coldly sent him on his way earlier, she’d had enough time to think, a least a little bit. Who was she fooling? She still loved the man, and he’d said as much to her. The question that remained was, could her heart risk being “in love” with Lincoln again? Did she dare take that chance? The conclusion she reached as she sat on the rocks behind her cabin was that she would never know if she kept running and hiding.
“Thanks,” she whispered, breaking the spell and stepping up into the Navigator.
Lincoln tugged in a deep breath, as the luscious scent of her drifted to him, then shut her door and got in behind the wheel.
* * *
“So…how did you spend the rest of your day?” Lincoln asked after driving for a few minutes in silence.
“I spent it thinking, actually.”
“You want to talk about it?”
She hesitated, debating about changing the subject, then decided to tell him the truth.
“About us…mostly. Me, my life and what I’m going to do with it now.”
He briefly glanced in her direction. “I don’t know what to ask first. But to be truthful I want to hear about you.”
“You always did know how to flatter a girl.” She smiled. She tugged in a breath and slowly let it out as if the air she expelled would somehow provide the pathway for the words to follow.
“A lot has happened since…” She stole a look at him and nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. “Since you and me.” She saw him flinch ever so slightly. “When I left I moved into a small studio in the West Village…”
She told him about meeting Carl during an art exhibit in SoHo, how they’d talked for hours about art and she’d finally agreed to show him some of her work several weeks later. He was completely enthusiastic about her work and encouraged her to pursue her craft and her passion to paint professionally. She’d explained that she couldn’t afford to be a “professional artist,” she had bills to pay and a strong desire for three meals a day.
She didn’t see Carl for several weeks after that until one day she got a call from him asking to meet him for dinner. Over a glass of wine, he laid out his proposition.
“If there’s one thing I can always spot, it’s talent,” he said, slicing into his medium-rare sirloin. “And if there’s one thing I love, it’s art. Now combine art and talent and you have an incredible combination. You have both, Desiree.”
“Thank you. I—”
He held up his steak knife. “I’m not saying this to flatter you. It’s the truth and I want to see you flourish as an artist. I know in my gut that you have what it takes to make it. All you need is money and opportunity.”
“Neither of which I have.” She lifted her beveled water glass and took a soothing gulp while she wondered where the conversation was going.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
He went on to tell her how he was willing to finance her pursuit, set her up with a working/living loft with space below for a small gallery where she could sell her work and which she would be totally responsible for running. She could paint, and when she built a sufficient body
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