Free The Sins of Lincoln by Alyssa Nightly Page A

falling all around them, they hiked up the trail towards the cabin and Mav said, “Sky’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    “Red sky at night, sailors delight. It’s going to be a beautiful day tomorrow.”
     
     
    CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
    Mav is not Lori
    After a quiet supper, Will was out the door, headed into town to check on the Lincoln Killers. The sound of the Harley firing to life still carried with it something of a thrill for Mav. Her attraction to biker-types was not limited to the look of a leather vest over tattoo-covered muscles. She liked the sound of the bike. She liked to hear the engine’s power. And she liked the way it felt when she rode with her arms around Brock’s body. The feel of his hardened torso pulled against hers, along with the heavy thunder of the motor sent a vibration into Mav’s core, and it hit her just in the right spot—the tingle was there and it only grew in intensity.
    Brock had been quiet at supper and Mav knew she’d have to be the one to break the ice. With Will out of the cabin for a prolonged period, it may be her only chance to be alone with the man in her dreams.
    “I can get those,” said Mav just before Brock began to do the dishes.
    “No, no. It’s not a woman’s job to do the dishes.”
    “Where does that come from?”
    “What?” replied Brock as he started in on a large pot.
    “You aren’t like any man I’ve been around. Most men look at me like I’m just another chick. You know, just something to keep around the house to clean up, and have sex with.”
    Brock’s teeth clenched together. Even the muscles on his jaw had the capacity to bulge, and it only added to his chiseled look. “It’s my upbringing.”
    “Your parents? Did they teach you to respect women like that?”
    Brock stared at her a moment. “No.” She could tell he was on the verge of sharing something. “My father. My father was abusive. He was an alcoholic. The way he treated my mother was awful. I couldn’t stand him. Well, I swore that I’d never be like that.”
    Mav let her hand creep gently up his back, and onto his broad shoulder. Brock visibly reacted to her touch. At first, he appeared startled, but then he settled into it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That must have been terrible for you to watch.”
    “He’d come home drunk, and go after my mother. When I was little, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. He’d come home and hurt her, you know, hurt her that way. I never understood why she stayed with him. I guess she had no way out.”
    Mav slipped in behind him and put both hands around his waist and ran her hands across his abs. He was so warm to hold. The tenderness seemed to disarm him, and he continued. “When I got bigger, I learned to hate him like nothing I’ve ever hated before or since. I’d wait up, late. And when he got home, I’d go downstairs and provoke him. He’d come after me, instead of my mother. But, as bad as it was, his rage had a chance to escape, and my mom would be spared.”
    Mav hugged him tight against her chest. The tingle between her legs increased, as it had done for the past couple of weeks. Just being around him, and not being able to touch him, had been excruciating. She knew it was now or never, and decided to make one solid effort to tear down the mental wall he was still clutching—his heartbreak over the death of Lori, someone he had loved deeply.
    “Brock?”
    He turned his head towards her as she continued hugging him from behind. “Yes?”
    “Who am I?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, who am I? To you. Who am I?”
    “I don’t know what you’re asking. You’re Mavery Healy.”
    She reached up high, and with the gentleness of a feather on silk, she ran her hand over his face, closing his eyes. “Close your eyes and tell me who I am.”
    Brock did not reply. Instead Mav felt a tremble in his chest and a change in his breathing. He struggled and fought back his emotions before they surfaced.
    Mav continued.