The anger in his voice, his stance, has me feeling something and it’s far from dry.
I swallow thickly before I say, “Yeah, well, why are you hating on my flowers so much? What’s not to like?”
He glares at me and then looks away as if I’ve touched some nerve.
Weird.
“They don’t strike me as Poe flowers,” he says.
“Poe flowers? Do I even want to know what that means?” I squint at him.
“Not bold. Not you. I’d have picked a dozen red roses with their thorns still on the stems,” he growls confidently.
I push back into my chair.
Whoa. Am I that obvious? I hate that he has me pegged, but not as much as I hate wanting flowers from a man like Lincoln Burns.
“Because roses aren’t overdone or anything,” I bite off, trying to save face.
“You prefer something more exotic? Fine. Maybe something dark blue and fragrant from a rainforest in Bolivia. Regardless, I don’t see light purple being your thing.”
I look at him, my brow pushing down.
“It’s not intense enough,” he explains, his jaw tightening with a hot look that cuts right through me. “You’re all bold color, Nevermore. Not washed-out pastels.”
My heart stops like a stuck clock. I’m horrified because that might be the nicest compliment any man has ever given me.
“They’re just flowers, dude,” I whisper. I can’t even fake being angry. “Who wants to go blind looking at a little splash of color?”
Again, a lump lodges in my throat as he gives me the heaviest look ever.
“You,” he says. No hesitation.
Oh my God.
“What-ever, Dishonest Abe,” I say, snapping my face to the side and rubbing my cheek, wishing I could wipe away blushes.
He chuckles. “Very on point today with the banter, sweetheart.”
I look back at him with an annoyed blink.
“Did you just call me sweetheart?”
He shrugs both shoulders, a brash portrait of a man with no regrets.
“Why shouldn’t I? I know you better than the little gnat who sent those,” he tells me.
Crap. If only he were wrong.
How did I almost marry that loser, anyway? Jay never said anything half as sweet as Lincoln.
Granted, I was young and stupid and stuck in a pretty narrow dating pool. Too young for the big moody hero-men in town, who always had their sights set on some other lucky girl.
Maybe I dodged a legit bullet when the asshat didn’t show up at the church.
I’m still up in my head and slow to react when Lincoln grabs the bouquet off my desk.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” I snap.
“Since they’re for charity, I’ll handle these for you. Unless you had a specific charity in mind to give them a new home?” His eyes drill into me, knowing damned well I don’t.
Even so, my mouth drops as I stare back at him.
“As a matter of fact, I know someone who could use them,” I say. He doesn’t make any move to give them back and I fold my arms. “Lincoln Burns, if you give my flowers to another woman, I’ll cut your balls off and bury them under Eliza’s floor.”
He throws back his head and lets out a barking laugh.
“Hell of a way to treat your friends, much less your boss. Why not your floorboards, Nevermore? Or is having my balls up in your business too much for you?” The way he smirks almost skins me alive.
Holy shit. This man. This conversation.
All things that should not be happening.
“It’s logistics, you freak. Eliza’s also my neighbor. I don’t live on the first floor, so burying it under my floor wouldn’t quite work—”
“So you’d rather have your bestie driven nuts by my balls haunting her? Didn’t the man in Poe’s story start hearing the dead guy’s heart? I wonder what sound my jewels would make if you followed through on your little threat.” He looks at me grimly and steps forward, fully invading my space. “I think they’d be shouting Nevermore all the damn time.”
I try to give my best dead-eyed nod, but I can’t help laughing.
This is so dumb. Though I’m impressed he paid attention to something besides making money and growling at people long enough to remember “The Tell-Tale Heart.”
“That’s...creepily well thought out. And also incredibly stupid. Have you ever chopped people up before, Lincoln?” I wonder out loud.
“Nope. Never had to think like a lunatic until your crazy ass showed up. Must be rubbing off.” His lip curls slightly as he looks at me, unmistakable desire heating his eyes.
“Meh. I’ve never had a boss steal my personal property before either, but here we are.”
“Not stealing, Dakota. I’m delivering it to the homeless. There, I found you a good cause and saved you some work.”
I’m about to scream.
How can anyone be such an insufferable dill weed and also Mr. Generosity all at once?
“You sure? I doubt Wyatt eats hydrangeas,” I tease.
His brows furrow and his eyes go incandescent.