One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

“You think I ever lie about anything besides Regis rolls?” he asks with a grin.

Laughing, I roll my eyes.

“I find it pretty hard to believe a man like you hasn’t had more—uh—attractive partners.”

Why, yes, that is my own terror speaking.

“Believe what you want,” he says casually, right before he melts me with another kiss that only Lincoln Burns could ever give. “Now, I have to ask, did your muse get any fresh inspiration?”

I stare at him for a hot second.

Then I snap my head down and sink my teeth into his arm.

“Hey!” He pushes me off him, laughing. “Did you just bite me?”

“Yep. Because I warned you to quit talking about that stupid poem.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” he says firmly.

“It was.”

“I liked it. Best words anybody ever said about me.” He thumps his chest once for emphasis.

“Oh, God. You had to say that, didn’t you? I was crying, Linc.”

“And you’re not crying now. I still love that I have my very own blond stalker writing poetry about me—and she’s a freak in the sheets, too.”

I elbow him playfully in the side.

“I’m not your stalker.”

“Shame. I adore your type of stalking, Nevermore,” he says, kissing me deeply before I can even blush.

Slowly, but surely, those kisses lead us to our feet and then to a master bathroom that could fit three of my freaking apartments. It’s a sleek, modern design with sparkling glass, a sauna room attached, and spotless white tile gleaming next to midnight-blue-and-gold cabinets.

He takes my hand and leads me underneath a stream of water that pours from two waterfall showerheads. I think I’ve gone to another world while Linc gently washes my back.

When we get out of the shower after so much more kissing, he dries me off with an oversized towel. He wraps me up in it neatly before lifting me off my feet again.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Nothing you won’t like. Trust me.”

Smiling, I bat my eyes.

“Why does that make me so nervous?”

“Don’t know. You worry too much, Nevermore.”

We sail back into the bedroom, where he sets me on the edge of the bed and unwraps the towel slowly, one side at a time.

Then he’s kissing me again, only stopping to drop to his knees. His mouth moves to my belly button and slips down.

“What are you doing now?” I ask breathlessly.

He answers, but not with words.

When his tongue finds my clit, I understand.

God, do I understand.

His tongue flicks back and forth, sweeps inside me, moves like he’s writing his name inside me.

Lincoln grabs my thighs and holds them apart, pushing me against his face, bringing me home.

“Oh. My. Whoa,” I mouth slowly.

“I’m coming for your muse, sweetheart,” he whispers, stopping just long enough to look up at me with fire in his eyes. “Hold the fuck on. Lie back. Let me give you colors worth the words.”

He grabs my legs the same way he did earlier and resumes his position after I’m flat on my back.

Then it’s just his mouth, my pearl, and a scream lodged in my throat.

His tongue is relentless, gliding down my seam, taming my pussy with wild abandon.

With trembling legs pressed to his face, his beard and his heat and his unforgiving mouth throw me into the hottest climax of my life.

I blink my eyes open and wonder why I’m sleeping on a cloud.

This bed is a sort of soft I didn’t know money could buy. I’m nestled under a fluffy white blanket that might as well be a marshmallow. The furniture around us is marble-topped.

Why am I not in my apartment again?

Oh, right.

The best hours rush back to me. My mouth drops open.

Oh, shit. I’m that girl.

The girl who sleeps with her boss—and relishes it.

I’ll face the fallout later, but right now, I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.

I need to get dressed and make excuses so I can get home and freak out about how much I’ve blown up my life.

Rolling to the side of the bed, I start groping around on the floor for my clothes. Nothing touches my hand. I pull the comforter across me and sit up to look. The floor is clean.

Huh?

I scoot to the other side of the bed and try again. I find nada.

What the hell? Where are my clothes?

I jump out of bed and quickly search around the entire bed. Everything is just gone.

I spot a plush white bathrobe lying near the foot of the bed, though.

It’s ginormous, but I tie it around me anyway, unlock the door, and start searching for Lincoln. I’m going to have to swallow my pride and ask if he’s seen my clothes, I guess.

As I move downstairs, I think I hear—whistling?

Yep. Definitely whistling.

I follow the sound and find him in the kitchen, which could rival Eliza’s place with heavenly cinnamon and vanilla perfuming the air.

“Morning, Nevermore.” He holds his arms out.