Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the words on the shirt. All he saw was Emma.
“Come here.” The two-word command fell from his mouth in a low rasped tone.
Linc led her to his desk, noting she had draped her wet shirt over the garbage can. He sat her on the desk before claiming his chair and wedging between her legs.
“Emma.”
Her gaze glittered around the room before finally meeting his waiting stare.
“This is a mistake.”
Linc bit back his immediate denial and took a breath. “Why? More specifically, what is a mistake?”
“All of this. I…” She picked up the neck of his shirt, putting it over her nose. “This smells like you.”
He hid his smile. Hands on the outside of her thighs, he spread his fingers, wanting to touch.
“Is that a good thing?”
“Definitely. You smell yummy.” She flushed and moved. Or rather tried to but Linc kept her against him. “See, I can’t hold a decent conversation. I keep saying things like that.”
“Emma. We are engaged. You should like how I smell and you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
“No one will believe this.”
“That I was lucky enough to get you to agree to marry me?”
She frowned at him. “Don’t try to butter me up with false platitudes. I don’t need it and it pisses me off.”
“Not trying to butter you up and why do you assume that what I’m saying is false? Emma, you’re a hell of a woman. I’m not making this up.”
“I’m an overweight single mother who never finished high school. Not exactly the catch of the year, especially for someone like you.”
“Somme-onnne likkke meee.” He drew out the words, enunciating each syllable with exaggerated care. He hated those words on her lips.
She flushed. “I mean, a professional ball player. Not your skin color.”
“So your issue with me is that I played a professional sport, not the color of my skin.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have a problem with either.”
Linc lifted an eyebrow. “Then why are you making it about them?”
“I’m not. You’re the one pushing this.”
“The pushing will come later, Emma. Promise. Right now, you need to listen to me. You may not see yourself as a catch, but I fucking do. You put yourself last, giving your all for your daughter. To others that may not be hot, but to me it is. To me, you are sexy as fuck because of how you care for your daughter and how you look. You’re the fucking complete package and I have to tell you, I’m looking forward to late nights in the office.”
He sat up straighter and inched closer to her, maintaining eye contact.
“You and me. A copy machine.”
She blinked a few times, a small smile popping into view. “Don’t they have a function where you can enlarge the size of something?”
The door opened behind them and he looked at Mr. Stevenson peering in. “Forgive the intrusion but I had a few more questions.”
“Be right with you, Mr. Stevenson.” He looked at the woman in front of him. “Tell you what. We’ll do some hands-on research—see if anything needs to be enlarged.” Skimming his hands down her sides, he knotted his shirt along her left hip so it didn’t engulf her as much.
She flushed. “I don’t want to let you down.” Her soft admission was heartfelt.
He placed two fingers in the collar of his shirt that she wore and pulled her closer until their lips brushed. “You’re perfect for this, Emma. Perfect for me. One day at a time. You won’t let me down.”
Linc kissed her then rolled his chair before offering her a hand to assist her off the desk. Mr. Stevenson waited and Linc didn’t appreciate how the man had just strolled into his office.
While Emma picked up her ruined shirt, he went to nudge the Texan out of the room. “Meet you in the art room, Emma?”
“I’ll be right there, just want to wash this out.”
“Okay.” He focused on Mr. Stevenson. “I’m not sure how much more you would like to see today. I know we have the dinner planned for tonight.”
“I’d like to sit down with you and go over what you want to do with the money, should I invest in this center.”
Once again, he bristled. All of that had been outlined in the proposal.
“Sure thing. But we can’t do that today. I have another class to teach.”
“Computers? I saw a room with a bunch.”
“I have a friend who teaches that but right now kids are using it for homework.”
“I will get my wife and we’ll head back to the hotel. Where is your place? Perhaps we can discuss what you’re planning over dinner.”
He gave his address, reluctantly, and as Mr. Stevenson walked off, Linc withdrew his phone and alerted his father. Then he walked into the art room fifteen minutes before the class started. When the door opened, he wasn’t ready to deal with anyone and turned. His complaint became praise as he watched Emma walk in, still wrapped in his shirt.