Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“I haven’t seen you since the masquerade.”
Lincoln nestled into Sharpe’s throat, his hot breath sending chills down his spine.
“Since you ran from me.” He caressed the curve of Sharpe’s jaw. “Did you think I’d give up? Hmm? You thought I’d just forget about you and move on?”
Yes.
“That won’t happen.” Lincoln nipped him on his bristly cheek. “But you’ve tried to forget me, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve been working seven days a week.”
Sharpe wanted to be outraged at the invasion of his privacy, but his voice was barely a murmur. “You been watching me?”
“Yes,” Lincoln answered without hesitation.
He should’ve been pissed, but he wasn’t.
Lincoln’s lips grazed his ear, his breath hot and chilling at the same time.
“If you were at Belladonna, I would never allow your job to be your priority. Nothing and no one would occupy your mind…but me.”
The words slid over Sharpe like fire and ice, searing straight through his armor. His knees threatened to give out, his heart hammering so hard he swore Lincoln could feel it. The bastard was too close, too sure of himself—pressing in with that casual dominance that made Sharpe’s pulse thunder.
Lincoln’s body heat was everywhere, drowning out the cold edges of his perpetual discipline.
Sharpe was a man who lived by order, control, and fearlessness, but Lincoln’s intensity made him tremble. And it riled him that it was desire and not fear.
He’d never be able to let Lincoln go if he got even the tiniest sample of him.
And that terrified him.
Why doesn’t he just give up like everyone else?
“Mmm, I can hear that.” Lincoln hummed. “Stop making assumptions, Detective, and come back to Belladonna.”
And just when you do, Sharpe’s mind snarled, you’ll be tossed out on your ass after being so-called healed. Another notch in this pretty boy’s belt. Another lost cause filed away.
Sharpe squeezed his eyes closed at the headache starting behind his left eye. Stop.
“Channing. Stop listening and just look at me.” Lincoln brushed kisses against his closed lids.
If you fall for his schemes, you’ll be back to square one.
Lincoln’s lips were so soft and warm. He wanted more.
What the fuckin’ fuck am I doing?
Lincoln gripped him tighter at the base of his neck and slid his other arm around his back, up under his leather coat. Sharpe’s vision went white-hot. His instincts screamed to shove him off, to regain ground. But his soul? His starving, restless soul wanted nothing more than to collapse into it and surrender.
His jaw locked, but his body betrayed him—leaning, craving, straining toward Lincoln’s heat. The scent of him, clean cologne, smoke, and ocean air, seeped through Sharpe’s defenses.
His cock ached, hard and demanding, a need chipping at every piece of the wall he’d built.
Lincoln’s voice came again, low and straight to the weakest parts of him, where no one else was permitted.
“You won’t scare me off, Channing. If you push me away…I will return.”
“Why?” he growled. “You can have any fuckin’ man you want.”
“Why the fuck do you think I’m here? Hmm?” Lincoln pushed his lower body into his. “You think I’ve been sitting in the alley for the last three hours because I like the fuckin’ smell.”
Sharpe’s breath tore from him in a harsh groan, his head pounding, chest clenching.
Because goddammit…he wanted to believe Lincoln.
“I ain’t what you want.” He meant to say it with some backbone, but it sounded more like an agonizing plea. “I’m the one no one wants. I’ve been with some—”
Lincoln crushed his lips to his, as if he didn’t care to hear what else he had to say.
It wasn’t cautious or polite. It was the kind of kiss that said, “Will you shut your goddamn mouth already?”
Sharpe stiffened for half a second, fists clenched at his sides, but Lincoln’s mouth wouldn’t let him overthink what was happening. Lincoln’s insistent tongue pushed raw recklessness straight into him.
It burned, breaking him open.
And too soon, Lincoln pulled away just enough to whisper.
“I don’t care about your past, Channing. And you shouldn’t either.” Lincoln cupped his jaw. “Not when your future is right in front of you.”
Sharpe nuzzled into Lincoln’s hot palm before he could stop himself.
“I want back what you took from me.” Lincoln pushed his forehead harder into his.
Sharpe was half-delusional, his dick hard as fuck.
“What?” he croaked.
He couldn’t see Lincoln’s hand in the darkness, but he easily made out the heart he drew in the center of his chest with his fingertip.
“This belongs with me, Channing, and I want it back…now.”
Sharpe’s wants and rational mind were engaged in a painful game of tug-of-war. He didn’t know which side would win, nor which he wanted to win.
All he did know was that he was terrified.
A soft, warm kiss was placed against his lips, chaste but no less powerful than the first one.
Lincoln pulled open one side of Sharpe’s leather coat and stuffed something into his inside pocket.