Devil In Her Bed Read online

  The silk slip-dress in a coral pink graces just past mid-thigh, and highlights the golden undertones of my ebony skin. The plunging neckline is daring, with no intention of playing peekaboo nipples. To fix any boob blunders, I opt for a shawl before meandering to the dining room.

  The dining room is on the top deck. My entire body sighs at the sight of Lincoln Zager. His presence commands attention in a room where one trinket costs a pretty penny but the next one blows the bank. I can imagine women falling over themselves here, and if Lincoln’s friend is as handsome, there is no antidote to misplaced virtue.

  The fireplace is lit, sending a river of warmth along with the chill of misted salt air. Can-lights are dimmed in certain areas, but my eyes stop on Lincoln Zager. He is handsome in his own way. Every desperate housewife in Willow Bluff has imagined him breaking the monotony of life, with his dangerous gaze.

  Tonight Lincoln is dressed in a dark gray wool blazer, with a black linen shirt. He’s seated at a table for two, leg crossed. A snifter of amber liquid against thin, commanding lips adds to the aura of his distinguished demeanor. Damn, I just imagined myself bowed before him as his gaze connects with mine.

  “Siobhan.” He says my name as if it's the sole definition of beautiful.

  Tongue cleaved against the roof of my mouth, it’s a feat just to gulp.

  He stands. His hand runs softly over the satin of my shawl before he pulls. The shawl slides to the floor. Those hungry lips of his curve slightly upwards. Then, an instant later, he pulls the pin from my hair, which was holding it into a bun.

  Lincoln’s cocky smile is in full effect. “Fuck me! You are bloody gorgeous, woman! Even more stunning than I recall. See, Siobhan, I doubted I could go much longer without seeing you, much less sharing the dinner I promised.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for going out of your way…”

  “For dinner with the best running partner in the world? I would realign the stars and moon.” He nods toward the seat that he just pulled out for me. “And why? You might ask.”

  Damn, yes, I want to know why. I nod hesitantly while descending into the chair, pensive about how readily readable I am.

  Lincoln runs his hand alongside the sharp angle of his jaw. “You’ve intrigued me. These days, not much is fascinating even while on a holiday.”

  As he steps over to his seat, I scoff, “Oh, so is my situation similar to a vacation, one of your many getaways?”

  “Here I thought we were learning more about each other, and you’ve already pegged me as vain enough to gather amusement from your misfortune. Do you recall how preposterous I acted during our first encounter, the moment I thought you were following me?”

  Instantly, shame honkers me further into the plush chair, but I reply, “Yes, I recall.” You scared the crap out of me.

  “Hmmm, I assumed we had this discussion already. In my frustrations, I lashed out. But no, I had not considered your situation to fulfill some sort of twisted interest, and I resent anything I could’ve done to persuade you to think of such. On the contrary, I rather enjoy you. Your body,” he begins. My entire physique is alight with fireworks, emotions I had long ago lost. Lincoln adds, “Your strength…”

  “My strength?” My eyebrow cocks. He must be versed on the old me.

  “Yes, your agility, power, strength. That's what I respect. I don't prefer girls imitating women, like I told you during our first encounter. And on the contrary, my wardrobe isn't all Tom Ford suits, Italian loafers and tuxedos.”

  “You also have guns,” I chime in.

  “Hell yeah, I've got a shite load of guns.”

  “Oh okay, so you keep business close?” He's telling me how heavy his balls are? I was accustomed to so much innuendo in my day that an opposing marketer smelled of sex and testosterone. But I have always secretly loved it, when the dicks measured long.

  “Sure I do. Guns aren't toys either. They're powerful, Siobhan. Not for any old bloke to handle.”

  Lincoln stares as if at any second he will devour me. It takes every morsel of my being not to lick my lips and offer myself to him. My gaze almost glides away in fear of him perceiving my dirty intentions. Despite the feeling of suffocation, I am not a weak woman. But I’ll be the last female to be baited and murdered by a stalker…

  Licking my lips, I ask, “Tell me more about these big guns.” My eyebrow arches. “You said that your company also puts money back into research so I assume you're not just ushering out ammo to crazy hillbillies and gangsters.”

  He gives a sly chuckle. “I have a stake in gun laws, sure, but I have a wide variety of clientele, which includes ‘the land of the free and the home of the brave.’” He quotes the Star-Spangled Banner.

  “So you're helping the entire USA with the right to bear arms.”

  “Sort of. As a stakeholder in the politics of weaponry, my mission is to continue to make money off guns. So I understand the need to support statistics on counter-terrorism. My philanthropic efforts in research allows me to work very closely with the military and intelligence agencies.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “So not only do you hand out guns to all, you want the country to be smart about it. You're a very intelligent man.”

  He chuckles at my slight dig.

  “So is that where you were this week or do you have a wife and children that you had to attend to?”

  “You are on a roll.” He chuckles again. Then his face is serious. “No wife and rugrats, I haven’t been blessed in that capacity yet. Marriage has never been in the cards for me, due to circumstances. Once I’m lucky enough to marry, my wife will be at my side in many aspects of life. Do recall my dislike of ‘girls’ posing as women, I require an equal. And I’m not a big fan of men who don’t value their children. Our offspring carry on our legacy. Children are malleable and I won’t offer tidbits of my time with them at the expense of my company because they’re worth more. When I have children, they will be fully aware that they’re loved; my wife will as well. That being said, I spent the majority of this week at the headquarters of my company.”

  I’m quiet for a moment as his words sink in, so assertive and magnetizing that I have to gulp down a bit of desire before I respond. “I admire your stance on women and children. But I was just playing devil’s advocate regarding your position on weapons, though I won't divulge my stance on guns.”

  “I like that.” He nods, gaze sliding up my face and down to my breasts. Heat tingles over my entire body.

  The chef’s gusto breaks the trance between us as he presents the first course.

  ***

  Later, Lincoln and I have settled on the top deck as the stars twinkle above. Laid-back music streams through invisible speakers. Though earlier he preferred me without the shawl, I’m comforted in his tailored blazer. The heat from Lincoln and the scent that can only be described as all male, envelops me.

  Dinner had been filled with talk and wit. It’s a delight to dine with someone so intelligent. In retrospect, the confusion I felt at our first encounter when determining that he didn’t find me attractive, is because he’s more concerned with becoming my friend first, then a lover. Though I have only been in one relationship, the universal norm is skewed toward barbaric men with heightened sex drives. Yet the passion as we talked, all makes me crave him more.

  “All right, Siobhan, we’re traveling at thirty knots and expect to dock around noon. Though Coco’s Revenge is capable of doubling the timeframe, I’d rather have you for a longer length of time,” Lincoln says. “Longer if you’re willing…”

  Interest piqued, my teeth tug over the softness of my bottom lip. “What do you have in mind?” I inquire, not one for surprises but I could lose myself in the depth of his voice.

  “A few pit stops along the way to clear your mind, Siobhan,” he says thoughtfully. The rough padding of Lincoln’s thumb massages against my cheek as he adds, “Perhaps I’ll finally get you to smile.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Smile?” Lincoln, I swear you�
��ve gotten me as close as I ever will get to smiling. I huff. There is no amount of suave persuasion on his part that will make me forget that my heart has been torn into tiny bits and completely obliterated.

  His thumb trails down my high cheekbone and roams over my jawline. He is debonair, and everything about him incites all of my emotions. “You are a sight to behold, Ms. Lowe. I’m on a mission to place a smile on your out-of-this world gorgeous face. And I see you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Siobhan

  And I see you… Mr. Zager’s words twine together in my ears. There’s a cool sea breeze to the west of us as we coast along the highway in Monterey, California. We are pedaling at top speed on rented bicycles. No way in hell can I chalk this up as two friends enjoying an outing. From the instant I stepped foot onto Coco’s Revenge, from being wined and dined last night to those enchanting words that were declared just above a whisper, and the here and now, Lincoln has become the sea. He is eroding the titanium plate which was built around my heart.

  “Are you slowing down?” Lincoln asks, almost twenty yards ahead. I'd swear if I were a child, I'd probably run and cry. Though his tone is hard and competitive, his voice has a slight edge to it that is laced with energy and fun.

  Nudging my chin to the west, I joke, “I thought I saw a dolphin off in the distance.”

  His pedaling slows, and I catch up. Then I give it my all and soar past him. The laughter bursting forth from such a muscular physique causes the right side of my mouth to tip upward. God, I want to smile. A full-blown cheesy-ass smile. Would that dishonor the love of my life?

  About an hour later, my body is tingling, lungs concaved from the lung-shattering last mile we completed. I'm dressed in just a sports bra and biker spandex shorts that would outrage my father.

  I climb from the bike and chug down a bottle of water. My gaze slithers to Lincoln, over the hard planes of his back and how his muscles are stacked just right. His head is skyward as he drinks from his own water bottle. I freely watch the sweat glistening down the ridges of those deeply flexed back muscles. Then my brow furrows. There are scars on his upper back that I hadn't noticed before.

  Leave it to those misty mornings in Willow Bluff to censor imperfections. I bite my lip in wonderment of how those little striations got there. I want to touch them to mend them in ways he has attempted to mend my heart.

  Lincoln turns around. I glance away.

  “You’re curious about these beastly scars?” He is blunt.

  Left eyebrow arched, I attempt to play the fool. “Huh?” I feel like my godson, Everett Junior, who likes to point and ask why someone forgot the rest of their leg.

  “You are so far from being a form of entertainment for me, beautiful. I was intrigued by you the instant I laid eyes on you. You had scars and it was evident in your eyes.”

  I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, fully engaged in his words.

  “We are one in the same. I’ve got bloody fucking battle wounds, beautiful. Though your skin is flawless in every way,” he says, hand roaming over my shoulder, “your emotional scars have enhanced your beauty. Siobhan, you are gorgeous and strong.”

  “Thank you.” My smile wavers though his obsidian gaze has me enraptured.

  “Now for my scars, right?” Lincoln places his hands on the top of his head. The same heaviness I felt while exposing myself is on his shoulders. “My mother’s family are the Zagers. The family business is controversial, albeit with the horde of negative opinions about guns and all. See, I understood your take on not offering your position on guns. Furthermore, I've always said it isn't the firepower. It's the fucking man—or lack thereof—pulling the bloody trigger. On the other side of the spectrum are wankers like my father. That bloke didn’t need a gun to get his point across.”

  A burning sensation blossoms in my eye ducts. Lincoln just told me a wealth about a brutal father in a half of a second, all the while shoving aside emotion. It’s astonishing, all the crying I’ve done in the past. Today, I am crying for someone other than myself and the loss of love.

  “I'm so sorry,” I mumble. Crap, I was knee deep in my own pity party since he can't fully understand what it's like to be stalked. But I have always looked at Lincoln as having his shit together. More than that, the man exudes ambition. Something tells me that his father’s treatment upped the ante when Lincoln took over his mother’s family business.

  Lincoln gestures toward the shore. “No apologies necessary. Pain can only control you as much as you allow it. Instead of being a ninny. I evolved. I am a better man.”

  “Yes, a better man. But not all boys have a high level of self-efficacy when being treated— please don’t take this harshly—like shit. Any male needing to use strength as a means to control someone smaller, isn't a man at all.”

  “That's wise.”

  I scoff. “Yeah right. I’m wise? Lincoln, everything you've said to me has been wise. You have overcome your scars.”

  “The majority of them,” he replies.

  I want to tread lightly and inquire more but Lincoln adds, “Usually people inquire about my vocal cords.” Kicking off one tennis shoe after the other he adds, “I’ve scared a lot of rugrats with the story of how my vocal cords were reconstructed after a childhood squabble with my father.”

  Though I’ve hooked my index finger into the heel of my Nikes, my eyes stay on him. Is it a story? I could see him intimidating children as a form of entertainment or to curve their misbehavior, but is it truly a story. “A story?”

  “The story of my life.” He begins to walk. And I'm left wiping tears from my eyes.

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelfth birthday precisely.”

  I gasp. Lincoln about-faced, his demeanor intense, assessing danger on my part. “Oh my gosh, I am okay, Lincoln. I’m just in shock. You were not able to defend yourself at twelve years old.”

  “Nah, I was a rather tall bloke then.” He takes my hand, guiding me around a bit of stray seaweed. “Please watch your step so we can view those dolphins you thought you saw earlier.”

  “Tsk. Wow, we both know I’d grown a little tired, don’t gloat.” I smile. It's simple and it feels good. And it’s a first in over a year, albeit akin to riding a bike due to the natural physical act of it all.

  “What?” He smiles back.

  “Thanks for your honesty.”

  His thumb brushes across the crease at the corner of my mouth. “I do believe my mission is complete. But I'm starving.”

  “Mission?”

  “Your smile. It's been ages, I'm sure.”

  I nod. He reads me easier than a nursery rhyme. We step over a short bed of rocks and I again gasp in shock.

  “Bloody hell, I'm on high alert each time you do that.” His tone is short.

  “Sorry.” I grin and then say, “You had this picnic prepared for us? Sheesh, Lincoln, it’s as if you knew we were going to vacation.”

  “Not exactly, but I promised our first date would be full of surprises. I take it my improvisation is a smashing hit?”

  “Out of the ball park.”

  ***

  After a lunch of lobster rolls, salad, and fresh fruit, Lincoln and I kick back against a cashmere blanket. I was unable to wheedle more out of him about his family life besides the fact that he “had a good mother.” His parents were never married, and I can only guess that England has their own version of “Papa was a rolling stone.”

  The afternoon sun is a warm kiss against my skin.

  “This day has been amazing. If you keep upping the ante, I’ll have to take a dive in the ocean, catch a fish with my bare hands and cook it for you for dinner.” I chuckle, feeling goofy. “I can’t think of anything more spontaneous at the moment.”

  He rolls over to his side. “There are many, many ways for you to acknowledge your gratitude. The simplest form would be by way of those lips. If you never wear lipstick again, I couldn’t be more elated. They’re thick, the perfect hue, and I've stared at the
m. Imagined tasting them. And...”

  “Whoa, now, let's keep this strictly PG-thirteen, Lincoln. We are perhaps acting off endorphins due to our bike ride.” Why did I just say that? Childish joke aside, I am afraid of him. Of desiring him. Of becoming accustomed to having him around.

  “Bollocks, we should've forgone the ride and went straight to rolling around on the blankets?” He feigns disappointment, his hand grazing through my hair. “Although, you insist that us exercising is what has us so drawn to each other, barbaric endorphins and such, I don’t think forgoing the run or bike ride for the sack would work. There’s nothing lazy about that body…”

  The way he eyes my physique, I can just imagine all sorts of acrobatic activities. Regina was right about a hard fuck. My mouth is swimming with desire, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of watching me gulp it back. It will probably have him thinking of me deep throating his semen—or is it just my mind lurking around in the gutter? “Well, you have cleared my mind like a good workout partner should.” Crap, what am I saying? Why am I fixated on emphasizing that we are just exercise partners?

  “No, not in the least, Siobhan. I have no intentions of clearing your mind. I want your mind so locked in a tizzy that you lose yourself in me, beautiful.” He reaches over and brushes my lips with his.

  Those lips leave me even more flustered and confused and yearning burns across my skin.

  “Oh I see that statement struck a bit of fear in your heart. Lose yourself.” Lincoln’s sinfully dark eyes spark. He knows good and well, it wasn’t the damn statement. That kiss, no tongue, just his mouth brushing across mine was no less than a trick! He whispers into my ear, “I'll take nothing less than to have you forget your name and everything about you, replacing it all with a craving for none other than me.”

  His fingers begin to roam in my hair at the nape of my neck. “Will you consent, Siobhan?”