Hard Bastard(83)

I made a face and laughed. “Totally soaking. You’re amazing.”

“It’s all Beethoven. He knew his shit.”

I laughed again as he finished the song and stretched. As he did it, I couldn’t help but look at his body again, and I felt a thrill run through me. I caught every detail of his tattoos and the muscles beneath them, but I also noticed a few scars. He may have been funny and talented, but he was still dangerous and gorgeous.

I would never tell him, but I was beginning to get soaked thinking about what he could do with those nimble fingers on my body.

“What’s with the scars?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could distract myself more with thoughts of Lincoln’s body covering mine.

He looked down at himself. “I forgot about them.”

“They look like surgery scars.”

He pointed at one near his ribs. “Yeah, this one is surgery.” He pointed at another, near his abs. His ripped abs. I glanced away. “This one is from the car’s windshield. Actually, most of them are from the glass.”

“That most have been horrible,” I said, looking back.

“I blacked out pretty fast, honestly. The worst part was the uncertainty.”

“What do you mean?”

“With the doctors.” He began to play again, but softly. “They kept saying one thing and then contradicting it. At first, I was never going to walk again.”

“I can’t imagine hearing that.”

“You’d be surprised at what you can handle, if you have to.”

I blinked at him, surprised by the serious expression on his face, but it didn’t last long. He was back to his cocky grin seconds later.

“Having a hot nurse helped the recovery,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “I was waiting for something like that.”

“I figured. Can’t keep the fans waiting.”

I paused a beat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been wondering. Why are you doing this documentary and recovery here, in this house?”

“Seems weird, right?”

“Yeah, it does. I mean, not that I mind you being here and all. Or well, I mean I hate the cameras, but you know what I mean.” I shut my mouth, realizing I was babbling.

He grinned. “Right. I know you love having me around. The truth is actually pretty shitty, though.”

“What, my dad blackmail you or something?” I asked jokingly.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Are you kidding?”

“It’s complicated, Brie. Why do you even care?”

“I’m just curious. What did my dad do?”

“Nothing really. The building I jumped from, it wasn’t exactly legal. We had to break in to get to the top. I was arrested and almost went to jail again, but your dad showed up at my trial and begged for leniency. Said he’d take me into custody, watch over me personally. The judge ended up giving me probation under the condition that I live here for the duration of it.”

“I had no idea.”

I couldn’t believe my dad would do that and not even mention it to me. Bringing my injured stepbrother home to serve his probation was a huge deal, and yet my dad hadn’t even considered telling me. That was typical of our family. If it didn’t need to be said, then it would never get mentioned, no matter how important it might end up being.

“I’m not surprised he never mentioned it. When we left the courthouse, your dad told me that he was going to film my recovery.” He paused for a second and stopped playing. “I said no, but he reminded me that my probation was contingent on my being able to stay at his house.”

I stared at him, shocked at what he was saying. “So my dad really did blackmail you?”

He looked at me. “No, not really. It’s complicated.”

“Sounds simple to me.”

“It’s not. This entire PT thing is expensive, and yeah, I could afford it, but the documentary budget is helping out with that, too. And it’s keeping me out of jail.” He started playing again. “Plus, I’ve fucked up enough. I can at least do this for your family.”

“Still, Lincoln. If you don’t want to do this thing, just don’t. I can talk to my dad.”

“No. I don’t need that.” He gave me a look that nearly took my breath away. It was intense, ferocious, and sexy all at once. “Don’t say a word to him about this. It’s my problem to deal with. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I can help. I mean, I can try to help.”

“You don’t need to. I’m fine, Brie.”

I lapsed into silence and watched him play, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions. I didn’t know much about my father; he had always been a distant person, always so wrapped up in business when I was younger and then his films as I got older. But I never thought that he was a bad person or was remotely capable of forcing someone to do something they didn’t want to do.