“I was going to lie and say it was your winning personality, but…” Lincoln stops, his eyes dropping to my chest as I laugh. “Seriously. Don’t worry about your scar or your dad or anything else. We’re going to have fun, dance, you’re going to wow this marine biologist, and then I’m taking you home where I’m going to worship every”—he kisses my lips, and then my neck—“square inch”—he kisses my ear, and my exposed shoulder—“of your body.”
