Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
With a sigh, I slip out from under the covers and tug on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. The safe house is quiet, except for the faint hum of the HVAC system. I glance at the clock on my nightstand—6:47 a.m. I guess that qualifies as morning. Might as well get some coffee and try to salvage this day.
When I open my door, the hallway is dim. I pad across the floor on bare feet, heading toward the living room. The house feels too still, that post-night hush lingering like a ghost. As I round the corner, I’m expecting an empty couch and maybe a quiet kitchen. Instead, my heart nearly leaps out of my chest at the sight before me.
Lincoln is in the living room—shirtless—doing push-ups, his broad back rippling with every controlled movement. His arms flex beneath his weight, biceps and triceps bunching. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, accentuating the lines of muscle on his shoulders. He’s wearing a pair of dark athletic pants, hanging low on his hips, and each time he dips down, I catch a glimpse of his abs tightening. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a startled gasp, but I doubt he’s heard me over the sound of his own breathing.
I stand frozen, not sure whether to tiptoe back to my room and pretend I didn’t see anything or to clear my throat and announce my presence. Maybe I should be used to this by now—Lincoln, the big, strong soldier type, working out at insane hours. But I’m definitely not prepared for the actual sight of him in motion. It’s… mesmerizing. A flush creeps into my cheeks, and I realize I’m practically ogling him like some swooning teenager.
The embarrassment pushes me to move. I open my mouth, trying to say something, anything—maybe “Morning” or “Uh, hi, I’m here”—but the words die on my tongue. He lowers himself again, forearms bulging, and a wave of yearning washes over me as I remember how those arms felt around me last night. Suddenly, I’m not sure I can speak without my voice cracking.
My feet shuffle on the hardwood, and Lincoln’s head snaps up. He stops mid-push-up, holding himself aloft with jaw-dropping stability, and looks right at me. For a second, neither of us speaks. My heart pounds too loudly in my ears.
Finally, he exhales, easing down to the floor and pushing up to his knees. “Morning,” he says, voice a little winded from the workout. But even in that single syllable, I hear the same deep timbre that played in my dreams all night.
I force myself to breathe. “Morning,” I manage, folding my arms to keep from fidgeting. “I, uh… didn’t realize you were up.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, then reaches for a small towel lying on the couch to blot away the sweat at his hairline. “Got an early start. Couldn’t sleep.”
I exhale a shaky laugh, stepping more fully into the living room. “Yeah. Me neither.”
He nods, as though that’s all the explanation needed. His gaze flicks over me, taking in my tank top, shorts, and messy hair. I feel self-conscious for a split second, but then I remind myself it’s just Lincoln. Then again, it’s not just Lincoln. Not anymore.
“How long have you been at it?” I ask, nodding toward his makeshift workout space.
He stands, the muscles in his torso shifting in a way that sends a flutter through my stomach. “About thirty minutes, I guess. Didn’t want to wake you, so I stayed in here.”
“You didn’t,” I say quickly. “I was already awake.”
We fall into silence again, a tangible heaviness settling. My eyes keep drifting to the expanse of his chest, the faint line of hair trailing down his abdomen. I pull my gaze away and clear my throat, determined to focus on something else. “So… coffee?” I blurt.
His lips twitch in a near smile, and he tosses the towel on the couch. “I was about to offer. Figured we could both use some.”
“Yeah, definitely.” I straighten my spine, crossing my arms to hide the goose bumps prickling my skin. “Lead the way, soldier.”
He arches an eyebrow at the nickname but doesn’t comment, turning instead toward the kitchen. I follow, the tension still humming in the air. Passing through the archway, I’m struck by how bright the kitchen is in the morning light. The large window above the sink frames a view of towering pines outside, their branches swaying slightly in a gentle breeze. Under different circumstances, it could be serene. But my nerves are too high to enjoy it.
Lincoln heads straight for the coffee machine, reaching for the filters and beans we stocked on our first day here. I lean against the island, arms still folded. “So,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “What’s the plan for today?”