Not that he needed it. Her gaze fell to his chest again, then lower to the towel secured by a mere tuck of material with a definite bulge.
“Don’t you think you should get dressed?” Her strangled tone betrayed her arousal.
She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t look at a nearly naked Linc without wanting to wrap herself around him and hold on tight.
His stupid smirk returned. “Am I bothering you?” he asked.
“Lincoln Kingston, go get dressed!” Using the full name he hated because his father had given it to him due to its stature, or so Kenneth Kingston claimed, she pointed in the direction of his bedroom.
Laughing, he walked off, leaving her to make her way to the kitchen and get some water. She took long sips to cool herself down, then rinsed, dried, and put away the glass before heading to the living room.
Linc’s apartment was basic in its décor, the way he liked it. Chloe, who specialized in interior design, had helped him turn the penthouse into his masculine haven. A sleek black leather sofa with reclining seats on the ends, a glass table with brass frame in front of it, a matching cocktail table, and what Jordan knew to be a painting bought at auction hanging on the wall behind the couch. Every piece in this room cost more than most people could fathom spending on any one item, yet Jordan didn’t love it. She’d prefer a softer, warmer feeling to a place she lived.
“Better?” he asked.
She turned at the sound of Linc’s voice. He’d gotten dressed, all right, but he’d put on a pair of gray sweats, his bulge still noticeable, and she swallowed hard. A mouthwatering happy trail and the V-line leading to where the pants tied low on his hips taunted her. Made her think about running her tongue over his warm skin.
Damn him. It was, she thought, the equivalent of her slipping into a sexy piece of lingerie and parading in front of him.
A hint of challenge lit his eyes, and she refused to back down.
“Yes, much better,” she said through clenched teeth. “What happened with Beck?”
Linc stalked into the kitchen and she followed.
“He was an arrogant, gloating son of a bitch. But he didn’t go looking for a deal with my father. Kenneth brought one to him.”
Linc paused by the fridge while she stared in shock.
“Why?”
He lifted his broad shoulders. “I have no fucking clue what made him turn against us.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Diet Coke. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
He handed her a can, then popped the top of his own.
“So what next?” she asked.
He took a drink, the long column of his throat moving up and down. Everything he did became sexual and heightened the awareness he inspired.
“I have to come up with Dad’s share of the money for closing or Beck can come after a piece of my company.” He finished what was left of the can and slammed it on the granite countertop.
Or, she thought, he could try and reason with Beck by revealing his father’s diminished capacity and get the man to back down. But she knew better than to suggest it again. He’d vetoed the idea and he had his reasons. He wanted to protect his company and so did she.
“So what can I do to help?” she asked.
“You can do what you always do. Be there for me.” His dark gaze met hers and her hands began to shake, and she placed the can next to his.
Good thing, because he stepped closer, backing her against the counter until she was surrounded by him. His physical strength, his heat, and his scent all wreaked havoc with her mind, common sense, and all rational thought.
He dipped his head and his mouth hovered close to hers. Seconds passed in which she had a choice. An angel on one side begged her to back away. The devil on the other urged her to give in and take what he offered. What her body wanted.
Their breaths mingled and she forgot why she was resisting. In that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care, and she kissed him, her lips meeting his. Nothing about their joining was soft. They came together in a clash of mouths, teeth, and tongue, desire rushing through her as she slid her hands over his bare chest, scoring her nails over his skin.
He groaned, and while devouring her with his mouth, he lifted her skirt, finding her tiny scrap of underwear beneath. He slid a hand over her sex, and a shock of awareness rippled through her.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he said, breaking the kiss.
She couldn’t deny the truth, and when he rubbed a finger over the material, finding her clit and pressing in, she shattered immediately. Picking up rhythm, he rubbed back and forth as she came, guiding her through and prolonging her unexpected climax.