Handle With Care (Shacking Up 5)

We finish lunch and make a plan to eat pizza and binge-watch TV later in the week.

I’m gone nearly two hours by the time I return to the spa to finish my afternoon of glorified babysitting. I assume they’ll be done with the whole beautifying routine. I requested they give him a facial if the whole beard disappears. I chuckle to myself at his potential irritation.

The first thing I notice when I enter the spa is a man checking himself out in the three-way mirror. His suit hugs every muscle of his incredible body perfectly. His hair is cut short, but the top is longer, almost like that mobster style that’s made a comeback recently. He’s clean-shaven, and even from across the room, I’m pretty sure he’s a delicious specimen of man. I sure hope Lincoln cleans up half as well.

As I pass him, his gaze shifts, snagging on me. I add extra sway to my hips and throw a smile his way. I might not have time for dating, but I can still be flirty from a distance. He turns, a smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth.

“Like what you see?” he calls out.

The cocky comment gives me pause, and then I realize I recognize the voice. “Lincoln?” I try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

“I can’t tell if that shocked look on your face is a good or a bad thing.” His grin tugs nervously upward.

“Holy hell.” I cross over to him. “Oh my God. I can’t … This is…” I’m full-on gawking, but seriously, he looks like a totally different person. “Dear sweet baby Jesus riding a unicorn.”

“Uhh…” Lincoln’s brow furrows. It’s a very different expression now that I can actually see his face. And what a face it is.

I can’t seem to put words together in a sentence. I’m too busy being blown away. I reach up and run my fingers over his smooth cheeks. Good God. His jaw is made of all things magic, square and strong and just … bitable. His lips are full, and they look incredibly soft. I have the restraint necessary not to touch them, although I suddenly have the irrational urge to find out how they’d feel against mine.

I follow the contour of his jaw with my fingertips and sigh—or possibly moan—when I reach his chin. He has a dimple. A sweet little dimple that softens all of the hard masculine angles of his gorgeous face. I cover it with my fingertip. Chin dimples are my kryptonite. I’m not sure why I bothered with panties today since I’m pretty sure they’ve just incinerated.

“Want me to check for you?”

I look up from where my finger is still pressed against his chin dimple. “Huh?”

Lincoln is full-on smiling. And it’s beautiful. His eyes light up with mirth. The right side of his mouth tips slightly higher than the left, making his grin lopsided. His front tooth is turned ever so slightly, a tiny endearing imperfection. He’s magnificent. “Your panties, Wren. I’m happy to check the state of them for you, if you’d like.”

Dammit. I said that out loud.CHAPTER 7IT’S NOT ALL BADLINCOLNMy phone—which I’ve taken to leaving in the kitchen at night so my sleep isn’t disrupted by the constant emails and messages that come in at all hours—is currently buzzing away. I can hear it from down the hall, but I have zero desire to get my ass out of bed to find out who’s calling.

I glance at clock on the nightstand. It’s 7:02 a.m., which means it’s probably Wren. As trying as it is having someone tell me how to dress, I will say that being around her is entertaining.

While I haven’t seen her in person since the suit fitting, she’s been messaging me constantly over the weekend about upcoming events and things I need to be briefed on this week.

She may not like my attitude, but based on her comment at the spa, she likes what she sees. She also told me I’m not allowed to grow a beard ever again. In fact, she threatened to set up a laser hair-removal appointment if I allow it to go past two days of growth.

So, of course, that means I haven’t shaved all weekend.

My phone goes off three more times before the alarm to the penthouse beeps. Several seconds later, it’s followed by the echo of heels clicking down the hall and a knock on my bedroom door.

“Lincoln, are you awake?”

“Yeah.” It comes out heavy and thick with sleep and gravel. And maybe a hint of excitement. Wren is quickly becoming the highlight of being in New York. She’s witty, snarky, and no BS. So far, she’s the only person here apart from G-mom who doesn’t pander to me. It makes me feel less shitty about my circumstances.

“I’m opening the door,” she warns.