“You don’t have to let my dog on your furniture, Wallflower.”

She shrugged as the white ball of fluff found her usual spot, curled on Daisy’s pillow. “I don’t mind. I’ve been thinking of getting a dog, actually. Maybe a cat. So that when you leave, it’s not so lonely.”

Her head whipped around as she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean—I mean, of course you’re leaving, I didn’t mean to guilt trip—”

“I didn’t take it that way,” he said, shoving off the doorjamb with his shoulder, coming into the room uninvited. Or maybe the invitation was written all over her face. She didn’t even know anymore. But she was tingling.

Why was she tingling?

“By all means, get a cat or a dog, but you deserve more than that,” he said quietly as he walked toward her. “Give this guy a chance. Promise me.”

She laughed nervously as he came nearer. “Didn’t I already say that was what I was going to do?”

“I heard what you said. I need you to mean it. For my own peace of mind.”

She looked into his eyes and read the subtext that he wasn’t saying. Give yourself a chance with this guy, because you don’t have one with me. Don’t wait for me.

To ward off the stab of pain, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Oh my gosh, is that the time!” She turned toward her closet. “I need shoes. Lipstick. Do you think red, or pink, I can’t decide—”

Lincoln reached for her, strong fingers wrapping around her elbow, and she stilled, her heart in her throat, and started to turn back toward him.

His fingers tightened, preventing her from turning, even as he stepped closer. “Your zipper.”

“Oh,” she said, a little breathless. “Right. One of the perils of single life. It can be done, you just have to like, stretch first, and—”

“I’ve got it.”

Daisy’s eyes closed as she felt the brush of his fingers at the base of her spine. He stepped even closer as he slowly dragged the tab upward.

He paused at the middle of her back, and Daisy’s eyes flew open as she felt the brush of his thumb over the back clasp of her bra. In a desperate attempt to feel pretty and desirable, she’d pulled one of her fancy bras out of the back of her drawer. It was pale pink satin overlaid with black lace.

“Are all your bras this sexy?”

His voice as low as she’d ever heard it.

How to answer?

She shook her head. “It’s sort of a…date bra.”

“Ah.”

For a second, she thought he’d leave it at that, continue guiding the zipper on its ascent. Instead she felt the brush of his thumb again, this time a bit lower, tracing the skin of her back, just below the strap.

“So it’s that kind of date. The kind with an afterparty.”

“Well now, I don’t know that I’m that kind of girl,” she said, drawing out her accent in an attempt to infuse a little humor into the tension-filled moment.

He said nothing, his finger brushing again, both commanding and feather-light.

“What did your research tell you?” she asked, trying again for levity. Anything to stop the stab of want that threatened to make her knees buckle. “Do we Southern girls put out after the first date?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“The guy. The girl.”

“Well, this girl is undecided,” she said sassily. Except it didn’t come out sassy. It came out breathy. Sexy.

She tried again for levity, a bit desperately. “But should it go well, I wouldn’t want to be caught in my uglies, now would I?”

“You say that as though I’ve spent a fair amount of time thinking about your underwear.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I have,” he interrupted, his voice a low growl as his thumb moved lower, tracing along her spine. “I’ve been thinking about things I shouldn’t.”

Her eyes closed again, and she started to turn, but his fingers spread wide on her back, firmly keeping her faced away from him.

His hand slid up, gently pushing her hair over one shoulder, leaving her neck bare. “I’m no good for you, Daisy. No good for any woman, not now. But if I were—”

“Lincoln—”

“But if I were…” he said, his voice low and harsh, talking over her. “If I were, I’d press my lips here.”

His fingers brushed the back of her neck, and she shivered.

“I’d kiss you here, and then move around to the side of your neck. Find out if you like being kissed there.”

I do.

“I’m torn on what I’d do next,” he said. “Torn between sliding my hand down here.” His finger brushed against the clasp of her bra once more. “Unfastening this, because pretty as the bra is, naked is always better.”

“Or maybe—” His breath was ragged. “Maybe instead, I’d push the dress forward, baring your shoulders. And I’d turn you toward me. See if the bra’s as pretty in front as it is in back. Seeing if your body’s as pretty as your face, but I’m damn well sure it is.”

Do it, she wanted to beg. Turn me. Take me.

“But if I did that…” he said, his fingers trailing along her side until his hands spanned her waist. “If I did that, then I’d have to kiss you. And I can’t kiss you, Daisy.”