One Bossy Proposal: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)

“Eliza, huh?” Wyatt asks, pulling Nevermore from what looks like a trance.

Not just her.

It’s the kick in the ass I need to rip my eyes off the mellow, curious thing next to me. I’ve been staring, and not politely. The only thing hungrier than my eyes tonight is my blood, which seethes like it has an active current every time I stare at Dakota Poe too long.

Even at night, she’s like the goddamned sun.

This indecipherable, overwhelming sight that burns so small yet still has this undeniable power over my entire world.

When the fuck did that happen?

When did I start gnashing my teeth with denial? If I’d never date her—if I can’t damn well date her—I shouldn’t be growling it like a man holding in secrets while he’s being waterboarded.

Wyatt’s practically a brother and always will be. Though after the shit he’s been suggesting tonight, I’m sorry I didn’t write out a full-blown love declaration for Meadow to find with his signature forged at the bottom.

“Eliza is my friend,” Dakota says vacantly, turning the coffee cup in her hands and staring into it. “My downstairs neighbor, really, but we get along great. She’s obsessed with inventing new coffee flavors, and she’s always experimenting.”

“They any good? The coffee itself, I mean,” Wyatt says, wagging a finger. “Here’s my rule: if it’s no good black, then it’s no damn good at all. Don’t think you can cover up a shitty weak brew with an assful of sugar and half a teat of cream.”

Dakota blinks at him and then bursts out laughing.

I shake my head like it weighs a hundred pounds.

He’s always had a way with words.

“Dakota wouldn’t know good coffee. She likes her lattes sweet enough to kill and loaded with cinnamon or salted caramel,” I grind out.

Predictably, Nevermore glares, but ignores my crap.

“Eliza hits the jackpot sometimes with her stuff. The rest could use some work, but I mean, that’s part of the process. Darker roasts aren’t her strong suit. I think she’s been working on that, though.” Dakota fingers the corner of her lip, deep in thought.

I hate how adorable she is.

But not nearly as much as I fucking loathe the angry ache she puts in my balls. Why did she have to crack a joke about beating off with my right hand again?

I haven’t jacked off in ages, but tonight, it might be the only way I’ll ever get to sleep with her up in my head.

“How would you know anything about dark roasts? I’ve gotten your coffee order before. It’s milk and sugar with a splash of coffee thrown in.”

“Shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes to the moon.

“Creative. Remind me why I hired you to write copy again?” I know I’m being an asshole.

I’m taking out everything Wyatt stirred up on her, and if I have any sense, I should sew my yap shut.

“Um, apparently so you could make me pull double duty as your assistant while your real one went on maternity leave?” she throws back with the usual venom.

That shouldn’t make me smile. I hide it behind my coffee cup as I take another long pull off the drink.

“You got a boyfriend?” Wyatt asks, reloading his cup with more coffee.

Dakota looks at me just as I swallow.

She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are bright. Nervous.

They make me wonder why.

“Wyatt, she’s out of your league,” I say numbly. “Stick to girls who like to garden and can put up with your shit.”

Wyatt chuckles and gulps his coffee. “Relax. I wasn’t asking for myself.”

“Wyatt.” The look I throw his way could flay him open.

He holds a hand up.

“Hey, no harm, no foul. Just askin’.” He looks at Dakota. “You want a story before I hit the hay? Oh five hundred will be here soon enough.”

“When was the last time you were up at oh five hundred?” I ask.

“Tomorrow. Busy day.”

I stare at him, glowering, wondering what sort of story he’s about to tell.

“Hell if I know, Burns. But your girl doesn’t want to hang out all night in front of my tent, so take her home after this.” He stops and takes a deep breath, holding his hands in front of the fire like the drama queen he is. “Okay. So, I moved around a lot as a kid, and I lived a year or two in this little mountain town called Heart’s Edge. They had this spooky old mine everybody always said was haunted, so one time me and my friends went exploring, not knowing these weird military contractor guys were setting up shop—”

“She’s not my girl—keep your facts straight,” I interject. “That goes for your damn ghost story, too.”

“I’m really not,” Dakota adds with a glassy look. “I just work for him.”

She rips her eyes away from me.

Damn. Why does she look hurt?

“But you aren’t working now and you’re having a good time. You laugh a lot and you smile real pretty,” Wyatt tells her, always the charmer.

She doesn’t deny it, just gives back a friendly smile.

“Where are your friends, anyway? If you’re not his girl, you must have more fun with them than your worn-out old boss who can’t handle his tail being pulled.” Wyatt gives me a shameless grin.

I’m so close to decking him square in the face tonight.

So close.

Dakota shrugs. “Eh, I haven’t been here that long. I’ve kept my head down, mostly. Eliza’s really the only new friend I’ve made.”

“Where you from?” Wyatt asks.

“Dallas, North Dakota,” I answer for her. “Odd little place that’s barely on the map like your mountain town. They’ve got a lot of oil, movie stars settling down, and even the occasional tiger.”

“So you were listening when I told you about it.” Dakota looks at me and smiles, raising her brow.

I snort, but wonder if I’m digging my hole deeper. She shouldn’t look so impressed that I listen to her.

“How long have you been here?” Wyatt asks, a question I don’t know the answer to.

“About eight months come June,” she answers.

“You should have made more than one friend by now,” I say, sipping my coffee. “What, no poet groups worth their salt around here?”

“I’m a working writer. You’d be surprised how hard it is to relate to the self-appointed starving artists who relish their part-time jobs and rolling out of bed at noon every day to hack at a few words. Also, I really like the girls I work with, but I haven’t been at Haughty But Nice long enough to socialize a ton. At my old job, no one really talked to anyone. And if they did, it was because they were trying to cut you down. A real crab-in-bucket place. I like Anna and Cheryl but we work a lot. There isn’t much time to hang out.”

I nod at her, feeling a twist of guilt because I’m the reason she doesn’t have the free time to socialize.

“Yet you have time to stalk the boss,” I say, trying to brush it off.

“Someone has to keep you in line and Wyatt’s a busy guy,” she says with a nod at my friend.

Damn her, I laugh.

“Yeah, speaking of busy, I was just getting to the good part so pipe down and listen,” Wyatt says, shifting back into full bard-mode. With his wide eyes and grizzled beard, he certainly fits the part. “So everybody had stories about the mine, especially this cool old lady who owned the inn, Miss Wilma…”

We listen as Wyatt drones on about getting pumped up on local legends and pushed into mischief by his friends. It won him a close encounter with a mountain lion who decided to settle into that old mine and came flying out after him when one of those late-night contractors started running a jackhammer somewhere deep in the old mine.

All this time on the street may have made him more dramatic, but I’ve got to admit, it’s hard not to wrap a protective arm around Dakota by the time he’s wrapping up.

I also know there’s a darker edge to his story.

That Sweeter Grind place was founded by a couple sisters from Heart’s Edge, and their locations have partly taken off thanks to the notoriety of that little town’s craziness in the national press.

“Linc, you disappoint me,” Wyatt says. “With Dakota being new and all, why don’t you take her for a ride in that fancy car and show her around? Like I said, I’ve gotta hit the hay. Oh five hundred and all.” He stands and lumbers back to his tent.

I watch him unzip the flap, crawl inside, and zip it back up, blotting out the world.

Don’t get me wrong.

I wouldn’t ever wish for Wyatt’s anguish, but there are times when I envy him for being able to disappear at the flick of a zipper.

Also, I make a mental note to kick his ass for egging on Dakota the next time I visit.

“Now that you’ve had your ghost story, guess that’s our cue to go,” I say.

“Your friend has a knack for storytelling. He sucked me right in. Umm—what should we do with the cups?”

“You have any coffee left?”

She nods and hands me a lukewarm cup that’s still half full.

I gulp it down—one more caffeine hit for the road never hurt—and stack her cup inside mine.

“It’s dark, so stay close,” I say, reaching for her hand.

It’s raw instinct. I’m not sure how she’ll respond.

She laces her fingers through mine, twining our hands together with a tightness that surprises me.

“You know what I hate about you stalking me?” I ask as we walk through the cool, oddly quiet night.

“What?” she clips, already over my crap.

“You had fun so you’ll keep doing it,” I say with deadpan delivery.

“Oh my God! Stop. I am not stalking you. I don’t stalk anyone, especially not you. I wouldn’t even stalk you if we had a zombie apocalypse and you were the only person left alive who I could trust not to eat my face.” She makes a frustrated sound. “Get over yourself. I just wanted to see what you were doing with the flowers…”

“I gave them to a homeless person just like I said, didn’t I? And I still haven’t acquired a taste for human faces. Sorry, that’s a deal breaker,” I tell her, fighting back a smirk.

“You’re so dumb sometimes.”

I lash her with a look. “And you could learn to take a joke, Miss Tight-ass. I’m in charge of a forty-year-old fashion powerhouse and I still ham it up.”

“Oh, what-the-hell-ever,” she whispers. “You did surprise me playing matchmaker. Who knew?”

She’s right. It is out of character, but I couldn’t resist.

Besides, Wyatt got even without knowing what I did, so I’d say winning him a little attention from something that isn’t a cinnamon roll is fair game.

“Did you have fun, Nevermore?” I ask her more seriously.

“Yes! Thanks for letting me hang out. You could’ve just run me off.”

“Purely for Wyatt’s sake. The company is good for him,” I tell her, frowning because I’m barely a better liar than she is. “It’s still early. Should I show you around Seattle or have you seen most of it already?”

For a moment, she hesitates, looking at me like she wonders if I’m setting her up for another kiss neither of us can bear mentioning.

“Fine. What can it hurt? Let’s cruise.”

Her smile hooks my gaze as we walk. I quicken our pace, leading her closer to Louis and the waiting car.

“Damn you! I told you for the last shitting time—” A huge guy in a stained wife beater shirt comes barreling out of the last tent before the sidewalk, swinging a bottle of whiskey and waving his arms at someone else still inside. “I’m tired of this shit, you bitch. Try me again and I will burn this whole fuckin’ place down.”

Dakota gasps and leans into me, damned near jumping into my arms.

I lock a protective arm around her.

“It’s okay. He’s just drunk and angry. I’ve got you,” I whisper, picking up the pace as I shepherd her out of here.

I don’t blame her for being scared, even if there’s no direct threat.

It’s nothing I haven’t heard here before.

Life in the camp is hard. It’s an explosive stew of hurt people, and a few of those people are one bad argument and too much booze away from violence.

I’m almost dragging Dakota along with me. Three paces later, we’ve passed the guy, and I look back to make sure he isn’t moving on whoever’s inside that tent.

Sure, I mind my own business. Though if I thought he was putting anyone in danger, I’d step in to stop it after a quick call to the police.

Dakota doesn’t move away until we’ve reached the car, and I make no effort to let her go. Wyatt’s words from earlier echo in my ears.

In an alternate universe where tonight was a date, this could be a chance for a life beyond work with a beautiful woman. Wyatt doesn’t know she’s also brilliant.

There’s some truth to it, dammit.

Trouble is, it’s the most dangerous truth. There are days when I wish I’d lost my leg in Iraq instead of him.

Then I wouldn’t have seen the ravages of love with Wyatt, with my mother, with Regina.

I wouldn’t have taken a dagger in the back from someone who fed me poison from her lips wrapped in promises.

I love you, Lincoln. Now and forever.

My brain throbs, remembering the most toxic phrase of my fucking life.

I should just bring Dakota home. Call it a night and not indulge fantasies that can only grind what’s left of me to a nub. But a promise is a promise, and I’ve always kept mine.

When we reach the car, I throw open the door for her.

“Do you see why you shouldn’t follow me here alone now?” I whisper gently once I’m in the seat next to her.

“Y-yeah. I’m sorry,” she says glumly.

“That’s not an I-told-you-so, Nevermore.” I’m actually glad she followed me today. “Just a nasty reminder that this place can ambush you.”

She nods slowly. The soft city lamps catch her hair and light it like rose gold.

“I get it. I’ll stop stalking you now.”

I give her a serious look.

“No need to do anything so extreme.”

She smiles. “If I’m not supposed to follow you here because it’s unsafe…what’s the alternative?”

“Next time, before you turn into the park, call me first. Tell me you’re behind me,” I say.

“And you’ll do what? Give me a raise for eavesdropping?” she jokes hopefully, raising her eyebrows.

“Nah. I’ll tell you to get lost or escort you in.”

“Oh, Linc, you’re hilarious tonight,” she says with a small snort.

“Only Wyatt calls me that,” I growl.

“And me,” she says insistently.

Brave girl.

I pause to mull it over before I give her a firm look and say, “Okay, Nevermore. And you. I suppose it’s fair considering what I call you—and Linc is a big improvement on Captain Dipshit.”

Damn if we don’t both laugh at that.

Damn if I don’t fall deeper into her while her face screws up, her cheeks glow, and her green eyes catch this honest, happy fire that traps me in the sweetness that is Dakota Poe.

We drive around Seattle for over an hour—probably to Louis’ delight and fat overtime pay—and when I’m out of places to show her, I take a chance and throw my cards on the table.

“Do you want to come back to my place for a glass of wine?”

She gives me a worried look. I’m about to tell her I misspoke when her lips turn up.

“I dunno. Can you cook? I’m about to gnaw my own arm off.”

“I can order the finest takeout this city offers. Pizza or Thai?”

“I can do DoorDash on my own and you didn’t answer my question,” she says with a smile. “Do you cook?”

I shift in my seat before I glare at her.

“For you, Nevermore, I’ll surprise you.” That’s putting it mildly. I haven’t done a simple spaghetti aglio e olio in ages and hope I remember how.

Her laughter echoes through the back of the car.

“So, that’s a yes then? Linc, you’d better wow me.”

Goddamn, do I want to.

And you’d best believe I don’t mean with food.

Dakota stands against my balcony railing, peering out at the night sky after dinner.

She sips from her wineglass when she’s not wearing a permanent smile.

I’m feeling mighty proud I put it there. Thank God I remembered how to make that stupid pasta without burning the garlic into a rancid mess.

Deciding to try my luck, I step up behind her, closing the space between us.

“Fair is fair, Nevermore,” I say, feeling my blood heat when her eyes catch the city lights.

“What, you’re asking me to cook for you now? I suppose it’s a fair trade,” she says.

“Might take you up on that someday, but that’s not what I’m getting at,” I tell her. “You know who I gave the flowers to and why. When will you tell me who sent them?”

She goes quiet, staring out over Puget Sound and the few pinprick lights from passing ships.

Fuck.

I don’t want to ruin this, but I have to know.

“They’re from my stalker,” she says finally, her eyes meeting mine. “And not the fun kind who puts up with all of my crap and always breathes cinnamon rolls.”

“Someone’s stalking you for real?” Everything inside me turns to steel as she nods. “Dakota, talk to me. I’ll get you a protection order ASAP.”

Hell, I’d love to do more than that.

Like use every resource I have to hunt down whatever worthless ratfuck would do that to her, and have a nice, long talk with my fists.

I’m not a violent man.

I’ve only lost control once.

It should say a lot that she brings out baser impulses I’ve tried to bury, searing my vision red every time I imagine her in danger. It should run me off.

But when she turns to face me fully, running is the last thing on my mind.

“Lincoln, I don’t think he’s truly dangerous. Just really, really annoying. He won’t give up. And I think he found some website to buy phone numbers by the boatload because every time I block one, he finds a new way to come at me,” she says glumly.

My jaw tightens.

Dangerous or not, that’s not something any stable man would do.

I don’t like the sound of this one fucking bit. Silencing a growl, I pull her into my arms.

“Who are we talking about? A bad date? Some asshole ex-boyfriend?”

She clutches her glass so hard I see her fingers go white.

“The idiot who chickened out of marrying me.” She trembles slightly when she says it.

That only pisses me off more, turning the red I’m already seeing into ruddy murder-darkness.

“We’ll get a restraining order. They can cover digital harassment like the sort this little pissant is engaging in. Plus, if he’s calling you from random numbers and sending shit to the office, it’s a corporate security issue, too. I won’t stand for having my people threatened and attacked at my workplace. It’s a safe space. We can’t let this go on.”

She shakes her head, her soft hair spilling down her shoulders against my hand.

“I—Lincoln, please don’t take this the wrong way, but… I don’t want your help with this. I can handle it.” She swallows. “If I have to keep blocking him, so be it. Maybe if it escalates, then—”

“If it escalates, I’ll break his face,” I snarl. She looks up at me, her green eyes wide and glistening. I clear my throat. “Sorry. Not really. Not unless he was about to hurt you, I mean.”

Truly, I meant what I said the first time, and the fact that I’m willing to go that far almost scares me.

“Linc…”

“If you change your mind, I’m here for you. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve got your back as a boss and…” I pause, unsure what to even call this ball of tension and banter and gentleness between us. “As a friend.”

She looks up at me, but not before swiping her cheek, catching a tear.

“Thank you. I appreciate that, even if you’re being a little harsh.”

“What’s wrong?” I urge, pressing my finger to her face, wiping away the wet grief she doesn’t need to hide.

“W-what do you think?” she stammers.

“I’m not a mind reader. Talk to me.”

I shake my head.

She bites her bottom lip. Another tear falls, bigger and angrier.

“It’s just… I mean—okay—s-so I know I dodged a bullet not marrying the asshole. But why do you think it took him a whole year after the wedding to think he made the wrong choice? Like what made him leave in the first place?”

It’s like I can feel the stone pelting her heart, the way this boy shattered her.

Even if he was her age, he’s a fucking boy.

No man would ever abandon a beautiful, smart woman after promising forever.

No man would come crawling back like a snake a year later, angling for a shot at killing what’s left of her heart.

I wipe her face with my hand again.

If I ever see this guy, I’m going to kill him. Straight up annihilate him and expedite him to hell.

Who waits until their wedding day to leave a woman? And this woman? He’ll never find anyone else like her, and he doesn’t deserve her.

But right now, she’s crying in my arms over his damage. I wish I could erase him from her memory, her whole life.

“I-I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. God, what’s wrong with me?” She presses her face into my chest while my hand runs through her hair.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nevermore,” I whisper.

I mean it.

There’s something completely fucked in his head.

She needs to know she’s wanted, that she’s not crazy for hurting or confiding in me. She’s damn sure not crazy for aching to feel desired.

I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life.

She wants it too. I know because she said it in verse when she slipped.

It’s not like the night I missed my chance thanks to a dumbass driver without a muffler. When I wait for her to look up with my eyes burning, she doesn’t lean in or tilt her head.

She doesn’t know it’s coming.

There’s a halting second where I just hold her. Her surprise grows when my arms drop from her shoulders to her waist, pull her in, cradle her tighter, and I can’t hold back.

I press my lips to hers like a man who’s starved, even knowing full well she’s just as ravenous.

In a split second, she opens her mouth and whimpers against my lips.

All soft, pleading sweetness.

She’s fucking shaking.

I’m not sure if my heart is still beating, but I won’t miss my chance.

I’m not missing another opportunity with this woman. Not tonight or ever.

With a hot rumble in my throat, I push my tongue in her mouth, slowly and fiercely.

I’ll show her she’s not some pitiful conquest. Not a mistake born from emotion and all the weird turmoil around us tonight.

I need her to see she’s cherished.

Her teeth graze against my tongue. I groan now, dipping in, tasting her fully and loving and hating it because I know I’m already addicted.

Goddammit, Dakota.

Her arms tighten around my shoulders.

I feel her nails pressing against my shirt, scratching, begging.

With a rough sound, I move in, pushing her against the wall, taking what’s mine and exiling every doubt from my brain. We’re way past reasonable thoughts.

We’re two mouths, two bodies, two souls drawn together by a thread of pure lust. When she gives me those soft green eyes, I break, driving my tongue against hers as it flutters softly against mine.

This is it.

All I have to do is grab her, toss her over my shoulder, and—

Clank!

There’s a sharp, fragmented noise that startles us both.

Something cold and wet runs down my back.

Dakota jumps back, breaking our kiss, blinking in confusion.

“Nevermore?” My voice is ragged, far more desperate than I want it to be.

“Sorry. Oh, the wine,” She bends, trying to collect the remnants of her wineglass.

“Leave it. You could cut your hands.”

“Leave it?” she echoes.

I nod, and this time when I pull her closer, I’m far more demanding. I’m not losing her over a broken damn glass I’ll sweep up later.

She doesn’t hesitate, at least, folding her arms around my neck.

Her lips find mine automatically.

Our tongues meet again, twined and hungry.

It’s getting hard to breathe. Even the air itself with this woman—that Dakota hint of mint and sweetness—makes me feel more intoxicated than the two glasses of Cabernet I tossed back earlier.

“Oh, God,” she moans, leaning into me, her knees going weak as I kiss her off her feet.

My grip on her tightens, shoring her up, my fingers tingling with pins and needles. I need to feel her, roam her bare skin, squeeze her nipples, plunge into her drenched depths.

These hands need to take her apart and claim every piece.

I swallow something hard in my throat, moving away from her mouth to kiss her jaw, then igniting a neat line of fire down her neck.

“Linc, what are you doing?” she whispers with an innocence that makes my cock seethe.

“The fuck does it look like?” I snarl, nipping at the space under her ear with my teeth.

She shudders so intensely she almost falls over.

“Do—” I stop to run my tongue along her jawbone.

“Oh.”

“You want—” My lips swipe across the top of her neck.

Her arms tighten around my neck. She’s trembling.

“Me to—” I trace my tongue down her skin before I breathe out, “Stop?”

“O-only if you want to.” She draws in a deep breath, staring with wide, needy eyes.

Is that an easy out for me, or does she think I’m not enjoying this?

“I’m asking what you want, woman,” I rasp. “Tell me now. Sixty more seconds of this and I can’t hold back.”

“I-I wish this could last forever,” she whispers, her lips pursed in a biteable pout.

I chuckle. “You being poetic or trying to tease me into the ground?”

Our eyes lock.

“You choose.”

Enough.

My choice is fucking sealed, written in the lust churning through my veins.

I lower my head, pressing my forehead against hers like I’m marking her skin. “I can’t make this night last forever, but I’ll make it memorable.”

Again, she shudders, tempting my hands to start tearing off clothes. I don’t care if they’re a shredded heap on the floor soon, I’ll replace them all.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” she whispers.

I move one hand to her hair, running my fingers through light-blond silk. I shove my lips to hers again, taking her mouth good and deep before I answer.

“Not until now. I’ve never said that shit to another living soul.”

It’s all she needs to hear.

Her hand comes to my face, covering my bottom lip, her finger lingering. Stroking. Teasing. Caressing me to sin.

She leans in, her tongue tracing the inside of my lip before I feel the harsh tip of her teeth.

I’m out.

I’m no longer in my own fucking body in this state.

With a rough snarl, I scoop her up in my arms, toss her over my shoulder, and start moving with my hand grabbing her ass.

Dakota lets out a messy squeal.

“Lincoln! What are you doing?”

I don’t answer. Not with words.

I just carry her to the outdoor sofa behind us and fling her down under me. I need to cool off in the night before I self-combust. I pull her on my lap, already addicted to the soft contrast of her hair in my hand and all the ways I want to take her apart.

“Look at me,” I whisper hoarsely.

“What?” Her eyes are glowing.

“You heard me.”

The moment she does, I twine her hair around my fingers. I clasp it and pull, firmly but gently, worshipping the way her head falls back. Her eyelids flutter shut and a gasp slips out of her.

I almost come in my pants.

“Goddamn, Nevermore,” I whisper. “God fucking damn.”

The side of her face moves against my chest and she wraps her arms around me. We stay like that for a fraught minute, both of us trying to breathe, obsession running like a current in my blood.

“It’s a beautiful night,” she whispers.

“You have no idea,” I growl back, making sure she knows I mean what’s laid out in front of me.

I’ve been on fire since our lips met, and the way she’s pressed so snug against me isn’t helping one bit. But the smile she gives me a second later makes my desire go nuclear.

“Now who’s teasing?” Her eyelashes sweep low and her face glows red.

I have to devour her. Have to.

Have to do it right now in the quiet hole of night while I’m a flaming wreck, leaving any grim consequences for morning.

“You drive me insane,” I tell her.

“Oh, please. You have no idea what it’s like to be at arm’s length—always a kiss away from disaster every day.”

Away from you, she means.

Her confession makes my entire being throb.

“No, but I do know what it’s like fighting tooth and claw to keep an enticing woman away even after you know she’s thought about fucking you. Hell, after knowing she’s written about it.”

She blushes and bites her lip and I am so completely gone.

I grab Dakota’s waist, my fingers digging into her skin, raw hunger strumming every nerve I have like a heavy metal ballad.

“It was totally inappropriate,” she whispers.

“That’s a funny way of saying it was hot as hell,” I growl back. “I only gave you shit about it because of the effect it had—”

“Effect?”

“You don’t know? You don’t know how many times I’ve jacked off to being your Ivory Adonis, Nevermore? And I’m not a man who makes a habit of using my hand.” My voice is rough gravel being tossed around. “Even before you butt-emailed me that poem, the times I thought about it—”

“No way!” she hisses, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“You’re just playing it up now. I can’t believe you thought about that with me. I’m just average and you’re…” She swallows thickly without finishing that thought.

I smile like the devil.

“Average isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe you. I only wish you knew your own worth, Dakota Poe,” I whisper, moving in.

“What worth?” she whispers faintly.

My nostrils flare as I inhale her, my soul bristling at how close, how aroused she is.

Her stubborn disbelief makes me want to show her how wrong she is. A lesson in red madness that’ll take all night and leave us both spent.

“Now, you’re just pissing me off,” I whisper. “You refused to sell me a cinnamon roll for five hundred dollars. You’re not intimidated by me, and you’re so beautiful it almost knocks me on my back. When I tell you how special you are and you don’t believe it…you don’t even know, Nevermore. You cannot comprehend the shit I want to do to you to prove it.”

I feel her shudder.

“God, you’re shameless, Mr. Burns,” she whispers.

“Don’t call me that.”

She blinks at me.

“Mr. Burns. We’re past that. I’m Lincoln when we’re alone like this, and nothing else,” I breathe against her lips, my cock throbbing every time I remember how much I love hearing my name on her tongue.

“…do you think we’ll be alone like this more than once?” she asks eagerly.

“You think we won’t? You’re the one who wants this to last forever. I’m no poet, but forever usually means more than one night.”

“Fair point, Romeo.” She picks up my hand and kisses my fingertips, slowly and softly and one at a time, turning me inside out.

I close my eyes and sigh.

It’s all I can do to delay shredding her clothes, throwing her under me and spreading her legs.

“Enough talk. We have a lot of night left and very little patience.” I kiss her forehead.

“Promise you’re okay with this?” she whispers.

I reposition her in my lap so I can seal that promise on her lips, pushing my tongue deep into her mouth.

I write my vow on her person and steal it with a stolen whimper pulled from her lungs.

I sign the fucking thing with my hand on her tit, finding her nipple, and pinching it like it’s already mine because—goddammit, yes—it is.

I promise by devouring Dakota Poe until she’s a quivering, red-faced, hot little mess.

I’m almost blue from the frustration in my balls spreading by the time I rip myself away from her for a few ragged breaths.

“There. I promise, Nevermore,” I say sternly.

She looks at me and smiles before her mouth joins mine again in sticky sweet bliss.

I hold her as close and as tight and as jealously as I can.

I wish I could keep this moment pure, innocent, special. But with my body starved for hers, I don’t have a prayer of being a choir boy tonight.

My hips rear down against her, pressing into her like an animal in a mating dance, my cock growing harder by the second. We’re both in a fever, rolling on the sofa, taking our turns on top and bottom with a storm of biting kisses.

“You even fight me for kisses,” I muse, pressing my hands against her back when she’s on top of me, staring into her eyes.

When I start to shift her over so I can push my hand between my hard-on and her leg, she moves first, swings a leg over mine, and straddles me.

Fuck.

A hoarse sound grinds out of me as I move my hands to her hips, dragging her against me greedily.

“You’ll slaughter me,” I tell her, deadly aware this can’t end anywhere else but my bed.

“Slaughter? Did I do something wrong?” Her emerald eyes go round with mischief. “Should we—I mean, I—we—umm—should I stop?”

Does she hear herself?

Should the sun not rise tomorrow?

My teeth are bared as I take her lips again, moving my tongue in and out, languidly but fiercely, leaving no doubt what I want from her.

“…but you said I’m driving you crazy,” she whispers when I break away.

“Only in the best way, Nevermore. Have me committed, just as long as I get you naked.” I can’t believe she’s still giving me nervous eyes. That little screwball did a real number on her.

I’ve got to convince this woman she can trust herself, trust her own emotions, trust the fact that she’s hot perfection any man would feel eternally grateful for.

“Sorry. Lincoln, I just—”

“No more excuses. Shut up and kiss me again,” I growl, fisting her hair and helping guide her mouth to mine.

My lips find hers again. I relish in the sweet, unsure way her tongue traces mine.

Every movement.

Every sigh.

Every heartbeat.

Every nip.

Her teeth catch my bottom lip as she has a burst of confidence and then falls away trembling.

I’m about to complain, but her mouth moves to my neck. She kisses and explores me with a frenzied interest that tells me she’s wanted to for a long damn time.

“Oh, God,” she moans, clutching my shoulders for support.

She has no clue.

How badly I want to be buried inside her with her body thrown around mine. Her kisses are a flash flood in the desert.

Sweet as heaven, but they won’t come close to quenching the thirst, the animal need driving every inch of me.

Her small fingers brush the skin under my shirt collar. She pulls it down.

Cool night air tickles my skin and then the warm caress of her tongue.

Mania, your name is Lincoln Burns.

Inhaling sharply, I cup my hands under her ass and stand, keeping her in the same position as I urge us upright.

“Where are we going?” she asks in a tiny voice that says she already knows.

“Inside,” I answer.

I’m not fucking waiting for her legs to work. I lift her again, pull her into my arms.

She starts at the base of my neck with the sweetness of her tongue, her teeth, and the full glory of her tease. She’s made it up to where my neck meets my jaw by the time we’re moving through my place.

With a lot of deep breaths and miraculous focus, we make it upstairs to the hall outside my room.

Her fingers come to the top of my shirt. She runs one over the bare skin of my throat and then places her other hand on the top button.

“If I were to push this out of the hole—”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” I say.

That’s all the encouragement she needs.

She’s smiling like I’ve never seen as the button pops free.

I open the door to my bedroom and lead her to my four-poster bed, dropping Dakota in the middle of it.

“Straight to the point, huh?” She blinks up at me, always using that damned mouth to tease even when it’s not on me.

“I plan to make you squirm,” I promise.

“Um, I think you’ve already done that…”

I try like hell not to grin because she hasn’t seen anything yet.

I take my shirt off slowly, my dick pulsing, fully intent on teasing her back.

She stares at me longingly, her mouth slightly parted in raw curiosity.

As I slide the shirt off, she crawls to the edge of the bed, sits up on her knees, and runs her hand down my chest.

I close my eyes and sigh.

“So gorgeous,” she whispers.

“Not half as great as yours, and it’d be a shame if it was.”

She laughs. “But you haven’t seen mine yet!”

Yeah, that’s a problem I plan to rectify soon.

“We can fix that. Come the hell here,” I order, tugging her up and reaching behind her. I unzip her sundress halfway and work the straps down her arms.

My eyes are glued to hers until the dress slips down. It falls under her chest, revealing a lacy peach bra that looks like it was custom designed for sin.

That’s saying a lot from a man who’s been more involved in women’s fashion than ninety-nine percent of the male population will ever be.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest like she wants to hide, fresh uncertainty on her face.

“I always thought you’d wear black. Interesting choice,” I tell her.

“Yeah, I…I don’t have a body like yours. Or the models you’ve probably dated.”

“Fuck models and fuck that. I wouldn’t dare have you ruined. You’re perfect the way you are,” I say, sincerity vibrating my voice.

“Umm—I just mean I don’t think I have a body like the kind of woman you’re usually with.” She looks down like she’s searching her own imperfections.

“And yet I’ve never wanted another woman like I want you.” The wild truth of that burns my throat.

She casts a slow glance at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m being honest or just putting her on.

Enough talk.

Enough games with words.

I just smile, take her hand, and hold it to my mouth, kissing her palm slowly, furiously, madly.

By the end of this night, I swear to everything holy that Dakota Poe will know what she does to me.

She’ll finally understand just how deliciously remarkable she is.