“Probably.” He snorted.
“Do more pushups?”
“That too.” He ducked his head, catching and holding her gaze. “I don’t know why you put up with me. But I’m glad you do.”
Oh, she didn’t know what to do with serious Linc. She needed jerk Linc to come back, make an off-handed comment to annoy her. Stabilize her. Because if he didn’t feel what she felt, if he was just being nice…
“What are friends for?”Friend. Not husband. She diffused casual into her voice, despite her heart threatening to thump right out of her dress and into the pond.
“You’ve been a much better friend to me than I have been to you.”
“That’s not true. You were there when Bayou Beignets burned…” She distinctly remembered the way he held her, protected her, tucked her face into his broad chest so she couldn’t watch.
He shook his head. “I mean lately.” He was so close, moving closer. Drawing their joined hands up to his chest. His facial hair, clearly as stubborn as he was, had long made an appearance post-wedding.
Unable to help herself, she used her free hand to run her thumb over his jaw, exploring the square line of his face, the scruff over his chin. His eyes hooded, darkened, and a jolt of regret sliced through her midsection.
What was she doing?
“I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand free, heat flaming her cheeks. “I don’t know what?—”
But he took her hand back, returning it flat against his cheek.
Oh.
Then he turned his face to press a kiss into her palm.
Oh. Definitely not a friend move. Her legs tingled, wobbled. Tentatively, she continued her journey, tracing his lips with one finger, then two. The top one dipped in the middle, and he had a small scar where most people might have a dimple. How had he gotten that one? Had she never asked?
She wanted to know it all.
Wanted to know him.
“Linc…” Her finger then trailed down his corded neck, running horizontally across his collarbone, until both hands slid to land on his chest. Even through his shirt, his muscled pecs flexed under her fingers. On instinct, maybe. Because Linc would nevertryto impress her—he
didn’t have to.
Didn’t he know she stayed that way?
With a growl in the back of his throat, he picked her up, pulled her against him, face-to-face. Her heart threatened to burst. Joy…trepidation…adrenaline. She easily wrapped her legs around his waist, held on tight. His hands exploded fire on her hips, his lips inches from hers. Her stomach trembled. What had he called her the other day—brave? Oh, she felt anything but.
Felt like she was throwing gasoline into a pile of fireworks.
Yet somehow—rather bravely—her arms snaked around his neck and held on. A question lit his eyes, and she forgot how to speak.
But she knew how to say yes. And thiswasher husband, after all.
Risking everything, she pulled him toward her, closing the short distance until their lips met.
* * *
Zoey’s lips were softer than he’d imagined, so surprising Linc inhaled a quick breath. This was how he should have kissed her at her wedding—the way she deserved. Full stop. Because nothing about Zoey was halfway or halfhearted. She gave her best to everyone around her, to her own detriment, and rarely asked for anything in return.
He was more than happy to volunteer it.
Linc supported her with one arm, his other burying deep into her hair at the nape of her neck, deepening the kiss. His senses lit on fire. Zoey.HisZoey.
She kissed him back as if she’d wanted to for as long as he had. Maybe that was true, or maybe it’d never crossed her mind. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except her. This.
