“Call you back,” I mutter, humiliated but grateful Whit didn’t say his name.
He shuts off the faucet. And…Is he biting back a smirk?
“Ahh, if it isn’t Ebony Grace Livingston,” Lincoln drawls, his voice so low, the texture so gritty, it sends a jolt straight through me.
I quirk a small, tentative smile. “Lincoln Bridges…in the ladies’ room.”
His eyebrows lift with amusement, and…Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
The moment our eyes connect—reallyconnect—I feel it. The warmth, that quiet pull I’ve tried so hard to ignore. His soft, familiar gray gaze, a striking contrast against all six foot, four inches of his sculpted frame drenched in rich, dark skin.
Shit.
We’re standing a handful of feet apart now, and I’m acutely, biochemically aware of the fact that we’re alone.
The attraction is still there.
Dammit.I feel it everywhere. Behind my ribs and in the weightless sensation of my left hand, my bare finger. And now I don’t have the protective fence that shut out temptation in college, nor a marital shield. The undeniable connection between Lincoln and me hasn’t faded.
And the timing couldn’t be worse.
This isn’t just another elite wedding to plan. This istheevent that’ll mark my reemergence back on the scene of premier event planning. Everyone who’s anyone will be watching, and Cornelia—who is as genius as she is cunning—will be right there in her floral jacquard coatdress, ready to settle her vendetta. Every step of the way, judging, micromanaging, sabotaging me with outlandish wedding demands to get her licks back for my daring to leave her son and besmirching the Livingston name.
I absolutely cannot afford distractions, no matter how much my self-imposed celibate body craves this man.
Professional ruin is at stake.
Lincoln opens his mouth to speak, but I can’t take the chance he’ll say something cute. Or worse, sweet.
“So, do you always make a habit of loitering in here, or is it just my lucky day?” I interrupt him, my attention shamelessly locked on him drying those massive hands.Jesus,were they always this big?
Lincoln leans back, catching my stare. His gaze is steady, taking me in. “I guess I could ask you the same thing.”
Straightening, I try to compose myself. My chin tilted up, I’m inching toward an open stall and clinging to self-restraint.
Then, like no one told him he woke up and chose violence, Lincoln gives me that signature smirk, dragging his tongue across his full lips as he tips his head to the side. “Just curious, you know, since this is, uh, themen’sroom.”
Heat rushes my skin as my eyes lock on the unmistakable urinals—which I might’ve noticed sooner had I not been distracted by my divas and nature’s call—and Lincoln Bridges’s hands.
Ohmy goodness.
He chuckles, and…Why am I always sowrong around this man?
Right then, two things hit me. I can’t let Cornelia win, and sitting face to face with Lincoln for this planning meeting? It’s about to take everything I’ve got.
Chapter Four
Masks and Models
Lincoln
“It’s just at the endof the hall…” I say, my voice rough as I take long strides, hand shoved in my pocket to fish for my office key. I toss a glance over my shoulder at Ebony—still a few paces back—looking just as unsure about being crammed into another small space together as I feel.
The key ring’s got two keys on it. And still, I almost drop the thing as I struggle to unlock the door, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Heaven forbid she stands anywhere near me for a few seconds longer.
Yeah, sure, we’re supposed to be working together. That’s fine. The attraction has always been there for me, simmering under the surface, but imagining if she’d walked into the bathroom two minutes sooner?
