The Player's Club: Lincoln by Cathy Yardley

more. “Let me take you to dinner.”
    “What, did I miss a challenge memo? Does Terrence have another old girlfriend he’d like to open up to?” she asked, with a shaky laugh.
    “No. I just want to know more about you.”
    She smiled sweetly—she was more vulnerable than he ever thought he’d seen her. Then her expression fell.
    “Don’t pity me, Lincoln. I would seriously hate that.”
    He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she leaned toward him. He kissed her forehead, her temple. The curve of her jaw.
    “I don’t. I couldn’t.”
    “All right.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll put these diamonds away, then I’ll let you feed me.”
    She pulled away enough for him to look into her eyes. “Want to come up while you wait?”
    Probably a bad idea, he thought.
    “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I do.”
     
     
    JULIANA WAS FLUSTERED when Lincoln followed her into her condo. Today, the club had been the furthest thing from her mind…well, Lincoln was never the furthest thing from her mind, a fact that bothered her constantly. She didn’t have time to listen to hormones, and a romantic entanglement with a man who made her crazy—and who hated how she was planning on making a living, and who judged her, and who thought paparazzi ought to be exterminated like roaches—was probably one of the stupidest things she’d ever considered. And she’d chosen some doozies in her day.
    So why are you going to dinner with him?
    “Why don’t you take a seat,” she said, as she strode with purpose toward her bedroom. “I’ll only be a sec.”
    She saw him eye the couch, then look at her, his gaze low lidded and slumberous, a slow smile dawning on his face. She felt her body heat, but before she could return the smile and possibly walk back toward him, she forced herself to head to her bedroom.
    The jewelry was jumbled in a velvet bag. She took it out, separating as best she could, before any of the delicate gold and platinum chains could form nasty knots. She’d have to do more research—she’d been such a good customer of Henri’s, she’d expected a little sympathy, at least. No dice there, she thought, more philosophically than bitterly. She probably should have known better.
    “What happened here?”
    At his question, she shut her jewelry case with a snap, hurrying back out to the living room. “What? Where?”
    He pointed to a bright, clean square of paint on her living-room wall. She felt her cheeks color.
    “Oh, that.” Her laugh sounded forced, even to her own ears, so she bulled through. “A painting I didn’t want anymore. A friend of mine decided to take it—it suited her sitting room so much better.”
    He was staring at her, as if he were staring through her, right to her soul…right through her lies. She smiled brightly. “I’ve been thinking of redecorating, anyway,” she added.
    His expression was clear: sure you were. But to his credit, he didn’t say anything.
    “Do you want a drink?” she asked, moving to her kitchen and opening her small wine fridge. After the day she’d had, she could certainly use a drink.
    He nodded, walking next to her. Her kitchen was not that large; he seemed to take up all the spare space in it. She could feel him, looming behind her, not in a threatening way. But in a large way.
    She poured two glasses of Riesling—the only pale wine she had left, she noted with chagrin—and turned to hand one to him.
    He was right there, in her space, looking at her fixedly. Suddenly, she had trouble breathing.
    “Boy, is it hot in here,” she breathed, “or is it just you?”
    He smiled, that boyish smile she so rarely saw on him. The smile she was beginning to love.
    “Juliana,” he murmured, and took the wineglasses out of her hands, then put them back on the granite countertop. Then he put a hand on either side of her, resting on the counter, effectively trapping her.
    Her heart fluttered wildly, and she tilted her head to look up at him. “Don’t…don’t