Weekend Getaway

Chapter 8 - Awakening

Chapter 8

Brooke exited the bathroom and focused on her return to the table.  She didn't notice the tall figure who shoved off the wall and followed her.  Thoughts were racing with questions involving Lincoln and his behavior that night.

She walked along the side wall, passing closed doors of  small private party rooms.  Most were occupied by small groups.  Their group was so big, they rented the main hall.

The music of the next song blared into Brooke's ears, completely hiding the soft click of a door opening. It also drowned out a squeal of surprise when a strong arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her into a dark vacant room.

With the lights off, Brooke couldn't see who had grabbed her but a rush of cold terror coursed through her body.  Brooke's heartbeat pumped wildly in her ears.  Had Dorian found her? Would he finish what he started before she left him?  Then a familiar spicy cologne hit her nose. Her heart still beat wildly, but no longer in fear.

Brooke took a step backwards, then another and another until her back hit the wall. She reached out, pawing in search of the lightswitch.  A broad arm rose to press its hand on the wall beside her head, blocking Brooke's search for a source of illumination. She then felt the warmth of the opposite hand settle on her hip.  The steady rhythm of deep breaths filtered through the room, the heat and hint of whiskey fanning her cheek.

"Lincoln," Brooke exhaled, realizing her voice sounded more like a moan than declaration.  She swallowed.  "You scared me."

"That wasn't my intention," he whispered, leaning forward enough. She felt the heat radiating off of his body.

"OK," she commented, confusion in her tone.  "We...I...the others will wonder where we are..."

"And?" He shrugged nonchalantly.  The small amount of light from the window in the door spilled a shadow over his muscular form, casting him into a mysterious silhouette.  "Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you." She chuckled dryly, clenching her hands into fists at her sides to fight the urge to touch him. "Why are you mad at me?"

Lincoln leaned in farther until the tip of his nose brushed hers.  "I am most certainly...not mad at you."

"Then what is your deal?" she snapped, shoving his chest.  He barely moved and she groaned in frustration.  "Yesterday you were all but spouting sonnets, then tonight you parade around with some hot blonde, at my birthday party!"

"Hot blonde?" Flinching from her words, Lincoln stepped back, allowing the filtering light to reveal his eyebrows raised and head cocked in confusion.  It took a moment, but soon a smile slowly spread across his face. "Oh, you mean Ellen?"

"Sure," Brooke grunted, crossing her arms under her chest.

Taking a step forward again, Lincoln closed their distance. "You are adorable when you're mad, did you know that?"

Now it was Brooke's turn to raise her brows.  Her eyes widened in bewilderment.  Itquickly morphed to a fierce glare.

"Stop toying with me, Lincoln!" she snapped only causing him to chuckle again. "You made it clear I'm not your type so go back to your date!"

"Brooke." Lincoln sighed, his amused grin hidden by the shadows as he leaned toward her face again.

"Just let me get back to my party," she huffed, exasperated and trying again to shove him away. This close proximity was too tempting and rejection was a very real anxiety which caused her breaths to shorten.

"No," he answered, his voice gruff.

Lincoln's grip on her hip only tighten, causing Brooke to pause in her feeble attempts to push him away.  His hand left the wall to cup her neck, fingers raking into her curled tendrils. This affectionate move was foreign to Brooke and she froze, pressing herself harder against the wall.