Page 56 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“Very good,” he says softly. He’s standing so close to me that I can feel his body heat and smell that damn cologne. He presses a palm to my lower back and guides me back out to his bedroom. He dims the lights.

“How about that?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly. His voice alone could make a woman’s ovaries burst.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Anything else?” I ask him, taking in a deep breath to steady myself.

“Music,” he says as he crosses to the screen on the wall. Oh hell, here we go again. This is what got us in trouble before. Alarm bells go off in my head. My brain is putting my senses on Defcon 1. I can almost hear the sirens wailing between my neurons.

I clear my throat. “I-I think you got that,” I stutter.

I hear “I’ll Be Seeing You,” by Billie Holiday blaring through the speakers. I look over at him.

“Dance with me,” he says as he strides across the room and offers me a hand. I feel my hand slip into his of its own volition. He pulls me to him, looking into my eyes. I only move because he moves. The magnetic pull between us propels my body back as he steps forward. Neither of us speak as he spins me around his room. Our eyes remain locked. His stare burns through me, and I know if his arms weren’t wrapped around me, holding me up, I’d fall to the ground.

I think he’ll pull back as Billie’s voice dwindles in the background. There’s a brief moment of silence where, I swear, he can hear my heart thumping in my chest. It’s in that moment I realize I’m not breathing.

“Breathe, my little bird,” he whispers in my ear. Just as I think he’s pulling back, “At Last” by Etta James comes on, and he keeps dancing with me, keeps watching me. Every hair on my body is standing at attention. His big hand is caressing the skin that has been exposed just above my skirt. “Your skin…is so soft,” he coos.

I know for sure that I’m dreaming. Yes, that’s it. I’m dreaming. I’m definitely not dancing to my favorite music, in Lincoln’s arms, in his bedroom. He’s not wearing the clothes that I just picked out or the cologne. This is all a figment of my imagination.

“This isn’t a dream,” he says softly. I quirk my head at him, wondering if I spoke my inner monologue. He chuckles and spins me around. I can’t help giggling as he pulls me back against him. Billie Holiday’s voice comes back on with “The Very Thought of You.”

“How…” I trail off as I stare up at him.

He gives me a sly smile. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he says. I roll my eyes, and he looks sharply at me. I flush and look down at our feet, finally breaking the intensity of our locked gazes.

“Lark,” he says, and I peer up at him from under my lashes. He removes his hand from my back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his gentle caressing. Then, I freeze as he cups my face. My face seems impossibly small in his hand. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.

“I haven’t been able to think about anything but our kiss,” he admits as his thumb continues to caress over my bottom and then my top lip. “Your mouth is perfect. You. Are. Perfect.

“I want to kiss you again, Lark. I want to do it sober. I don’t want it to be a faint memory, hazy with alcohol. I want to feel your skin on mine. I want to taste you,” he says to me. My mouth must have fallen open because he runs his thumb over my bottom teeth. My tongue involuntarily juts out to meet his skin, and he groans.

The music stops, but he doesn’t. Just as he leans into me, “All of Me” by John Legend comes on. “I found the perfect song,” he whispers against my lips before I feel his breath mix with mine. He literally takes the air out of my lungs as his lips trace mine, followed by his tongue. His movements are slow as though he’s testing me. I feel his other hand come up to cup the other side of my face. He tilts my head, giving him the access that he wants to my mouth, and then he makes me his. He claims me with his kiss. My hands come up to his chest. Part of me wants to push him away, but I don’t. I grab on to his shirt, fisting it so the fabric creases between my fingers.

I’m going so far down the rabbit hole, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to find my way back out again.

He pulls back after what might be hours but is likely just minutes. I’m certain the earth has tilted on its axis. I grip his shirt now, not in lust but in fear that the gravity keeping me planted on the ground has dissipated and if I’m not latched on to him, I’ll simply float away. John Legend is still singing in the background and his words…I look into Lincoln’s eyes.

“Yes, sweet girl. I mean every word of it,” he admits. I see the vulnerability dance across his face for the briefest of moments, so brief, I’m left questioning if I really saw it at all.

I shake my head, willing myself to step back to reality.

“Celia…” I manage.

He shakes his head. “No.”

I nod. “Yes. It’s perfect for you. She’s perfect for you,” I urge, as I swallow my pride, my feelings, my love for him.

He shakes his head again. “You, are perfect for me,” he replies.

“But—”

He places a finger over my lips. “Celia and I…aren’t happening because I need someone else. Someone who completely understands me. Someone who loves me even with my many faults. But not just ‘someone.’ I need you, Lark. Please,” he pleads as his eyes go from dark with desire to…no, that’s not possible.

“The kiss was a mistake, Lincoln. I never should have…” I stop myself because I honestly don’t know what to say to him.

He leans down slowly and presses a soft kiss to my lips, and then my jaw, and then my neck. I feel his fingers come up and begin pulling up my tank top.

“If you don’t want this, then say so now,” he murmurs as the hem of my tank top reaches the bottom of my breasts. I feel his finger caress my skin there and suddenly I don’t give a damn. I want Lincoln Grant, and I fucking want him right now.

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