Chapter Twenty-six: Only Us

Chapter Twenty-six

Willow

ONLY US

Performed by Carrie Underwood with Dan + Shay

It was hours before we emerged from his bedroom with wet hair and clean sweats clinging to our bodies. Mine were his sister's that he'd grumbled about even as he'd given them to me. His were a navy-blue pair he'd partnered with a white Henley that fit him like a glove, showing off corded biceps, broad shoulders, and a rippling six-pack. A sight that had my insides clamoring for him all over again, even though we'd spent an entire morning lost in each other.

But the rumbling of our stomachs had finally drawn us from his bedroom.

As we headed downstairs, fingers twined, I knew it was wrong, that staying would make me hate myself. But he'd lured me once again with his lovely words and even lovelier kisses. He'd said it was already too late to stop the pain if I backed away now, and I knew it was true for me too. I could already feel the open wound that would sear through me when I walked out his door. I was branded by our time together.

But I also knew it would only get worse for both of us the longer I stayed.

We were playing with fire. The first time my face appeared next to his on some online site, it would burn my world to ash—and my mom's along with it.

And yet, surrounded by the flames Lincoln stoked just by looking at me, I couldn't force myself away. I'd never thought of myself as weak or stupid. I'd been a liar because I'd had to be. But I'd never been selfish and spineless. I was both of those things now because I didn't want to lose the feelings that swarmed through me when Lincoln touched me, when he looked at me as if I was something miraculous.

So, as we walked into his kitchen, I bargained with the fate Lincoln believed in, trading the happiness of these handful of hours we had left in today for a lifetime of missing it. I'd brand us both when I left, but the mark would fade. It had to. Like a very old tattoo that had lost its vibrancy, the heartache would become something less.

When I offered to make breakfast, he shook his head, told me to sit, and then brought the leftover strawberry chiffon over to the table with two forks and no plates.

"Dessert for breakfast," I laughed, running my hand through his dark hair, pushing back the lock that forever fell forward.

"The breakfast of the very best champions."

While we ate straight from the dish, my eyes kept going to the canvas he had propped up on the counter. It was me more than Sienna. And yet, it wasn't fully me either.

The woman was lying in a meadow surrounded by thorny vines and blossoming flowers. Butterflies flitted through the air. You could almost smell the heady scent of the grass and hear the buzz of the insects. But the woman's eyes remained firmly closed. She didn't budge. She was locked away in a deep slumber cast by some spell. I wasn't sure how I knew she was cursed rather than just sleeping. But I did. She was stuck there like Rip Van Winkle…no…

"Sleeping Beauty?" I asked.

He looked over at the drawing and back. "I was inspired while you slept through the last half of A Knight's Tale ."

"It's weird."

"What?"

"Seeing me…but not me…" I waved toward the drawing pad I'd borrowed the day before as well.

"I can't seem to stop. Every time I look at you, an entire kaleidoscope of images hits me. So many that I'm considering naming the gallery An Homage to Willow ." His lips quirked, and I smacked him in the chest with a hand.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"There's that word again. Maybe I should require you to pay a penalty each time you use it." His eyes flared, and my body responded. Even sore in the very best kind of way, I still ached for him.

If I only had this singular day, I'd make the most of it. I smiled coyly at him from under my lashes, and said, "You could try to charge a penalty, but there'd be little you could do to enforce it."

His voice was gritty and dark when he responded, "You wanna make a bet?"

I shouldn't like it. I shouldn't want to dance along the sensual edge those words promised, but I did. I shrugged as if I doubted him, allowing Katerina's oversized sweatshirt to bare a shoulder.

"I can make you beg to pay the penalty, Sweetness."

I scooped up some of the dessert, licked the fork while he watched with heated eyes, and then leaned in so close our lips brushed. "Ridiculous," I taunted.

I was flat on my back on the table before I could take another breath. The sweatshirt was gone, and one taut tip was covered with strawberry cream. Then, he was feasting on me. Nips and laps and feathery touches that had me writhing, had me aching and crying out…and finally…begging.

? ? ?

We spent the day like we'd begun it—alternating between sleep, making love, and devouring food. I'd wake to him drawing me. He'd wake to me skimming through art on my phone, trying to find the perfect next dessert piece. And once we were both awake, we'd start the whole process over again with hands and mouths and bodies joined.

By the time the doorbell rang with a delivery from Remi's Italian Restaurant, my body had finally called give , and the bubble had started to pop once more. I wasn't sure when Lincoln had cleaned up the broken glass, but the missing pane he'd boarded over reminded me of what had happened the night before. We hadn't heard back from Hardy either, and I still hadn't told my mom about the latest threat.

Worse, it reminded me of what could happen if I stayed.

The smell of the pasta and garlic bread turned in my stomach as guilt landed home, starting the timer counting down on our time together.

I'd savor these last few moments.

But I had to let him go. I had to be strong enough to do it.

As I plated the food, Lincoln came up behind me, hands running over my bare skin beneath the sweatshirt, and my sore, tired body ignited. I pushed them away, laughing as I said, "You're impossible."

"Another word I might have to enact penalties for." His eyes twinkled, and heat flooded my face. He slid a finger down along my cheeks, as if tracing the color. "I love your blush."

My body froze at the L word falling from his lips before I rolled my eyes at myself. He hadn't said he loved me . As if realizing I was two seconds from freaking out again, he shifted the mood by lowering his voice and saying, "I love it even more when your flush and hot because I'm inside you."

His words spiked the desire all over again, scoring me with its spark. I swallowed hard and shoved a plate at him. "My body has screamed give , remember?"

"I remember. And I also remember every moment that led to your body screaming."

We'd just sat down at the table when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and greeted whomever it was with a barked hello that reminded me of the first time I'd been in his kitchen. A grumpy man who completely contradicted the smiling man from two seconds before. A man who was no more the real Lincoln than the one I'd seen on magazine covers.

I loved that I knew the real him even if I couldn't keep him.

The L word that had slipped into my thoughts as easily as it had slipped from his lips made my head spin dizzily.

"So, you're saying it couldn't have been Poco last night." Lincoln's words had my fork clanging to the plate. He turned to me with a frown before saying, "Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker." He put the phone down, hit the button, and then said, "Okay, go ahead."

"Special Agent Johnson reported in early this morning," the voice on the other end said, and I assumed it was his Secret Service contact, Hardy. "Poco was at Flat Mike's in a back room when the rocks were thrown, and from there, he went to a woman's apartment a town over, staying holed up there until early this morning."

Acid crept up my throat. If it wasn't Poco…that left Aaron and the Viceroys.

Lincoln reached for my hand, squeezed it. "So where does that leave us?"

"He still could have paid someone to throw the rocks and leave the note," Hardy said. "I'll have Johnson swing by and pick it up before he heads back to D.C. But at the moment, I'm not sure I can do more. My hands are pretty much tied unless you let the Secret Service protect you again. My boss isn't going to just let me keep sending our agents down rabbit holes—not when we all have actual assignments."

I could tell Lincoln was thinking about it. That he was willing to sacrifice the privacy he'd come to Cherry Bay seeking just for me. I shook my head vehemently. The frown between his brows grew, and he turned back to the phone. "I'll think about it and get back to you."

Hardy sighed. "Be safe, Picasso."

I heard the legitimate concern and caring in the man's voice. I may never have met him, but I still liked him because I could tell Lincoln was much more than just an assignment to him. They were friends.

Silence settled down between us. The food on my plate just made the bile in my throat grow, and I pushed it away, rising from my chair. Lincoln stopped me before I got too far with a soft hand on my wrist.

"Hey," Lincoln said softly. "You heard him. This could still be Poco."

"I have to call Deputy Marshal James. I need to call my mom. I shouldn't have waited this long. I shouldn't have—" He pulled me into his lap, arms surrounding me. Comfort. Safety. Belonging.

Oh, how I ached to keep it. Keep him.

His phone buzzed again, a text tone rather than a ring. Whatever he saw made him growl once more. "What the hell?"

"What's wrong?" I asked, and I leaned in, only to freeze.

The person texting had sent an image of Lincoln and me. We had our hands twined together just as we had when we'd left his house to go to the store yesterday.

Everything slowed. My vision turned spotty, and my lungs forgot to breathe.

The painful cramp in my stomach finally broke my trance, and I made a mad dash for the hall bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet in time.

I'd done it. I'd burned my life down and Mom's along with it.

We'd be relocated. Our life here would be wiped away.

I banged a fist on the wall next to me in fury and frustration. All self-directed.

The only tiny blessing in this was that at least Lincoln would be safe because it would force us apart.

He'd followed me into the bathroom. I could feel his presence, feel the wall of emotions he was experiencing tipping into my own bucket already full of them.

"Willow… Damnit. I'm sorry. But this hasn't hit the news cycle yet. That picture was from my parents. We still have time to stop it before it comes out."

I sat back, leaning against the wall, looking up at him as he clutched the top of the doorframe so tightly his fingers turned white. Debate waged war in his eyes.

"I've cost my mom everything. I've been so damn selfish," I whispered.

"You haven't done anything. My mom's press secretary, Merci, is working on it. She already put a kibosh on another image of me at The Tea Spot."

"With me?" I asked, gut churning nastily again.

He shook his head. "No, it was just me."

He closed the distance, hands going to my elbows, lifting me off the ground and wrapping me in a tight embrace. I buried my face in his chest and let his warmth seep into me.

If only we could stay like this.

If only we could get the bubble back.

If only I hadn't been so stupid and selfish, reaching for what I knew wasn't mine, reaching for the open flame, all while knowing the consequences.

His phone went off again, and a rumble of objections vibrated through him.

He stepped back, pulled his phone from his pocket, and swore under his breath before tugging me down the hall into the study. He'd shut the shutters the night before when the rocks had been thrown, so the room was dark, but the calm I'd first felt when I'd entered this room, the calm I'd thought had felt like him, was missing entirely now.

How could so much have changed in so little time? As if each moment had been years.

The only other time I'd felt this way was the day Dad had been shot. Those long seconds of watching him die. The hours that had felt like months with the police asking question after question after question on repeat. That had felt like a nightmare. This time with Lincoln had been the opposite. A heavenly dream.

Both had ended in my life changing. Mom's life being crushed.

I looked at the brass clock sitting next to a golden Buddha on a shelf. Mom would be at dinner with her students. She'd texted me earlier, saying the kids had won, and they were going out to celebrate. They weren't scheduled to leave Richmond until sometime tomorrow morning.

But she'd never stay. She'd come running.

How was I going to tell her I'd tossed our lives away for a few moments of pleasure?