Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“I—” I start, swallowing around the sudden tightness in my throat. “I don’t know if this is necessary.”
Lincoln takes a careful step closer. “I think it is.” His voice is hoarse, and I can see his knuckles whitening where he grips the edge of the box. “Besides if someone goes through our stuff—if we’re at a party where people might wonder if we’re really that… open—then having it could reinforce the idea that we’re comfortable exploring that side of marriage.”
My gaze flicks to the toy, then back to him. It’s still surreal, seeing him holding something like that. A swirl of longing and panic churns in my gut. “So… we’re just going to bring it with us? Hide it in a bag or something?” My attempt at sounding casual falls flat.
He nods once, curt. “Yeah. That’s the plan.” Then he runs a hand over his hair, exhaling unsteadily. “But there’s more to it. If we’re going to really sell this, we should at least act like we’re not shy about… about being intimate.”
A flare of passion flashes through me. I’m equal parts mortified and intrigued. I’ve been trying so hard to keep a boundary between us, reminding myself every day that Lincoln is my bodyguard, my brother’s friend, and that we’re only doing this for the mission. Yet the tension has been mounting since that night at Club Greed, and even before that if I’m honest with myself.
Now, though… I can’t pretend I’m not tempted. If Devereaux’s parties are half as scandalous as the rumors say, we might be expected to do more than just stand around holding hands. But crossing that line isn’t something I can take lightly.
I let out a shaky breath. “You’re saying we… test it out?”
His gaze snaps up, and I see the raw conflict in his eyes. “Only if you want to. Honestly, it might be enough just to own it, but if we have to prove anything…” He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture.
A thousand thoughts race through my mind. Dean’s face, furious if he finds out. The electric thrill of Lincoln’s touch when we danced. The heavy awareness of our bodies in the living room, hallway, or even just at this table. My mouth feels dry. “Lincoln… this is… I don’t want to compromise this job just because we get in too deep.”
He sets the toy down again, his shoulders taut. “Believe me, I don’t want to compromise anything either. But we also can’t walk in there unprepared.”
I cross my arms, trying to steady myself. The rational part of me knows he’s right; if we look squeamish at the slightest hint of adult indulgence, Devereaux or Rolfe might see through our cover. But the idea that I might have to push that boundary with Lincoln—really push it—is enough to set my nerves aflame.
“You really think they’ll check our stuff?” I ask quietly.
He nods. “It’s possible. These people are careful. Rolfe especially. Anyone coming to a private event is suspect until proven otherwise.” Then he hesitates, his voice dropping lower. “Look, I’m not gonna force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. This… it’s your call. But I wanted us to have options.”
The house feels still around us, the hush almost suffocating. I take a moment to swallow, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. “Okay,” I say at last, my tone shaky but determined. “We’ll bring it. As for… using it…” My cheeks burn at the admission. “Umm…” I don’t even know what to say.
He nods again, relief and tension warring in his eyes. “I think you should get comfortable coming for an audience.”
Oh my god.
A silence falls, heavy with possibility. My gaze drifts to the item on the table, then back to Lincoln. Every inch of me is aware of how close he is, the subtle warmth radiating from his body, the way his chest rises and falls with each measured breath. The moment is so charged I half expect him to reach for me—to kiss me or something equally reckless. Part of me wants him to.
But neither of us makes a move.
Finally, I shift my weight, clearing my throat. “We should, uh, probably eat something. Dinner. We haven’t eaten since lunch.” I realize how lame it sounds the second it’s out of my mouth. I can’t even respond to his words.
“Yeah,” he agrees softly, stepping back to give me space. “Let’s do that,” his eyes smolder into mine, “...first.”
I rub my palms on my jeans, trying to banish the lingering hum of tension in my limbs. “Right. Before...” my implication sits heavy in the air.
He nods, reaching to gently place the toy back in its box. The sight of it disappearing from view makes my stomach clench with a mix of relief and a spark of lingering curiosity. This is all so much—too much to process in one night. But at least we’re being honest about what might be expected of us.