Chapter 12

"Dinner's ready." Lincoln's voice startled her so much that she jumped and clutched at her chest. He was right behind her.

"Jesus, warn me next time, Delta Force, or I'll tie a cat bell on you." His lean, muscled form was filling the narrow doorway. His arms were crossed, not in a way that suggested he was mad, but rather relaxed. She had begun over the last few days to piece together more and more of the puzzle that was Lincoln Atwood. There was something to be said for having no modern-day electronic distractions. She realized she actually could decipher more of him because watching Lincoln was one of the few things she could do. And he was damned fascinating.

"Mac and cheese?" she asked.

"You bet, honey." He winked and then turned his back on her as he headed into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered when he called her honey.

He had set up the table for two, clearing away all the guns. There was candlelight and even two glasses of white wine.

"Wine?" she asked, nodding at the bottle. He picked it up and waved a hand at the label like a sommelier at a five-star restaurant.

"I believe this pinot grigio brings out the best tastes of the artificial cheese sauce and shell pasta." He winked at her, and she laughed as she sat down. When he'd seated himself opposite her, she raised her glass in the air.

"A toast," she suggested. When he clinked his glass against hers, she continued. "To saving the world."

He echoed the words, but she didn't miss the flickering shadows in his eyes. She wasn't surprised. Everyone was dead. Almost everyone, anyway. But she had to keep hope alive.

"You think you can really save it?" he asked. His tone was soft rather than hard and mocking like she might have expected at first.

"Maybe. If we can get enough people in the right place, at the right time, with clear heads, we can work on restoring power, gas, waterand from there we start spreading it outward. Once we restore the necessities, we can restore the structure, government, law and order. It won't be easy, but I think it could be done." In the hours she wasn't thinking about Lincoln or her family, she'd been making plans, thinking over how she'd go about resurrecting society if she ever had the chance. She wasn't na?ve enough to think it would be easy, but if she saw a window of opportunity, she'd leap through without a second thought.

She took a bite of the shell mac and cheese. It was as good as before, maybe better. "Do you still have family?"

"I did. My mother and father." He didn't volunteer any more information.

"Do you know if?"

"Gone. I'm pretty sure."

"Where do they live? We can go check on?"

The decisive look on his face warned her not to push any further.

They ate their meal in silence, and she finished her glass of wine, grateful for the distraction of a slight buzz. She helped Lincoln wash the dishes and almost giggled. It was like they were an old married coupledinner, dishes, wine, and candlelight, along with very little conversation.

"Could we listen to some more music?" she asked. She expected him to say no, that they needed to conserve energy, but to her surprise, he agreed.

"Anything in particular?"

"Surprise me." She wiped her hands on the dish towel and finished putting away the glasses in the cupboards while Lincoln turned on his phone. Seconds later "Stand by Me" began to play.

"I love this one!" Caroline exclaimed, and she couldn't resist humming along.

Lincoln started loading his guns into a black duffel bag on the sideboard table by the kitchen. Caroline watched him, her heart hammering as she debated with herself. She did like him, even though he had infuriated her when they first met. His intensity still scared her. But she liked him. She liked the way he always tucked her beneath the blankets, how he'd taken care of her ankle, how he cooked for her, the way he looked in the early-morning light when she caught sight of the faint freckles on his nose and cheeks, and the way he held her when she felt like the world was disintegrating around her.

"ErLincoln?"

"Hmm?" He didn't look at her as he continued to load the last of the spare ammo into the heavy-duty duffel bag.

"Would you dance with me?"

He paused in the act of zipping up the bag and looked at her.

His eyes smoldered, and she knew asking him to do a simple thing like dancing could lead to so much more. But this was the end of the world, at least the human one. Did she really have anything left to lose?

"I don't really dance, honey," he said softly, but she could feel his gaze, like a tangible caress as it swept down her body.

"I find that hard to believe. Please. Just one. Just so I can feel normal for a while." She didn't like begging, but if she got to dance, she'd forget this hell for just one minute, and it would be worth it.

Lincoln abandoned the bag and came over to her in the wide space between the couch and the TV. He looked uncomfortable.

"What? They don't teach slow dancing in Delta Force?" she teased, hoping to put them at ease. He continued to stare at her like he was trying to figure out how to defuse a bomb, not slow dance with a girl.

"I know two hundred ways to kill a man, but I never did get those dance lessons my mom always wanted to take me to."

"Your mom was into dancing?" she asked, genuinely curious and hoping he would tell her more. She wanted details about his life.

"Yeah. She was a ballet dancer when she was young. Nothing major, but she did perform with a North Carolina company for a few years."

"Really? That's amazing. I love ballet. I used to go see the ballet in Chicago."

Lincoln flashed her a crooked grin. "Let me guess, you danced as a child?"

She blushed. "Yes. I was okay, but my mom ended up putting me in gymnastics when she realized I was a little too tall and muscled for ballet."

Lincoln placed his hands on her waist, tugging her close as that dark, clean, woodsy scent enveloped her.

"You're not tall and muscled." He playfully pinched one of her biceps.

"Hey," she laughed. "I was tall and muscled as a kid compared to the other girls. And I am strong. I stabbed you with that glass shard."

"You did. But you were lucky. We're going to have to work on your self-defense." He brushed his hands underneath her sweater just above her waistline, and she giggled as it tickled her.

"And you're ticklish," he mused. His brown eyes twinkled as he teased her. For a second she forgot about the world outside, and she was just here with Lincoln, flirting like she would on a first date. But the wind whistling in the fireplace brought her slowly back down from the cloud she'd been floating on for that brief moment.

She wrinkled her nose. "We can work on self-defense tomorrow. But tonight we are dancing. Eyes up here, soldier," she reminded him when his gaze dropped to her breasts.

"Yes, ma'am." Lincoln's eyes slid languidly up from her breasts to her mouth. She placed her hands on his shoulders as the next song started: "At Last" by Etta James.

"Now, follow my lead." She took a step toward him, and he took a step back. "Just do that in a slow circle, and I'll follow you as you lead."

His face was full of concentration, but his hold on her body was loose and relaxed. "Got it. I think."

And he did get it. Whatever his protestations about not having taken lessons, he didn't need them. Caroline leaned into him, absorbing his warmth and his strength, wishing that this was a normal date with a normal guy. She wanted to close her eyes and see herself in a nightclub in Chicago, or on a balcony outside a fancy restaurant.

When she had first seen Lincoln, she had thought him wild, untamable, and maybe he was, too. Maybe they both were. But how did one escape the new wildness they found themselves in? Or was it better to just let go? To surrender to that primal urge inside her to give herself over to him in hopes that he would do the same?

"I can feel you thinking," Lincoln murmured as he laid his cheek against the top of her head.

"I do that sometimes. Think too hard," she admitted. "My dad always teased me about that. He said it would give me wrinkles someday, but then he'd laugh and tell me to smile more."

"Your dad's right. You get this little wrinkle between your brows."

"Hey!" She laughed a little before settling back in against him.

"Just let go. Feel my heartbeat and measure it against your own." His soft voice was hypnotic as she pressed her cheek against his chest. Beneath the warm wool of his sweater, she felt the slow, steady thump-thump, as dependable as a grandfather clock.

They danced to "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" and "Bitter Fruit," sharing nothing but breaths and matching heartbeats as darkness claimed the world outside. The single camping lantern cast slow-moving shadows upon the walls. She watched as their two distinct shapes blurred together into one being.

I am not alone. Not anymore. It's me and Lincoln against the world.

She almost smiled. There was some comfort in that thought. Caroline lifted her gaze when the last song ended, and silence fell around them. He looked down at her, his hand still on her waist, and she saw tenderness and animal hunger warring upon his features. Driven by a sudden urgency to be closer, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Slow, lingering, hot. Their tongues sweetly dueled, and she pressed her body flush to his. He cradled the back of her head with one hand.

A slow, delicious tingling built deep in her belly as he deepened the kiss, turning the experience raw and carnal. God, she liked that. He kissed her like he wanted to brand her and never let her forget how well he could kiss. She liked the bold, aggressive way he captured her mouth. He wasn't afraid or timid. A bold warrior. A soldier. Nothing frightened him. She knew it was silly to feel like this with him, because it was just her hormones talking, but she liked this and him all too much, and she did feel safe.

Maybe love wasn't possible in a world like this anymore, but she didn't want to give up the possibility of it.

Lincoln explored the hollow of her back with one hand, sliding his palm up beneath her sweater and brushing against her bare skin. The simple contact almost burned, it felt so good. She teased the strong hardness of his lips and moaned in delight as he kissed her in gentle demand, her blood humming in her veins with a song as old as time itself. He held her close, his entire being focused on kissing her, and she melted against him.

Her knees buckled a little as a delightful dizziness washed over her. When they eventually broke apart, their harsh breathing mixed in the silence. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but none of them seemed right. She was clinging to a stranger in the dark because she had no one else. That was the reality of the moment. Nothing she could say could fully explain the sexual and emotional hunger and confusion she felt, of wanting more and fearing more, which melded together inside her.

She blushed and ducked her head.

"I think that," he said at a slow pace, "I earned my mac and cheese kiss."

He trailed a fingertip down her nose, and then with one more sexy bedroom look that made her almost forget her name, he let go of her.

She let out a husky laugh. "Yeah, you did."

"We should get to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

He headed for the stairs, carrying the lantern with him. She watched his tall, lean figure and couldn't help but wonder if the real danger was herewith him. If there one was one thing she'd learned, it was that anything you depended on or cared about could be destroyed or taken away. And not everyone was what they appeared to be.