By the Hour

by Roni Loren

  The things he liked about her were the very things that made others turn away. He didn’t put up with those things. He was drawn to them.

  She’d found someone who saw her, who she really was, and he’d stepped closer instead of running in the other direction.

  And she’d fucked it completely up. Was still doing that.

  “It’s really big of you to attend the wedding, but you probably shouldn’t be the one to do the poetry reading.”

  The familiar voice startled Elle out of her thoughts and sent disgust slithering down her spine. She didn’t turn to look at the man who’d sidled up next to her. “Go away, Henry. I’m holding this for my mother.”

  “I was making a joke.”

  “Did you not hear me?”

  He gave a put-upon sigh, as if she were being so very unreasonable. “You know, it doesn’t have to be this way. I have no ill feelings toward you, Elle.”

  She couldn’t help the snort that escaped. She looked at him. “Oh, you don’t harbor ill feelings toward me, the wife you cheated on. Duly noted. That’s very big of you, as you’d say.”

  “Right, I’m always the bad guy.” He gave her a disgusted look and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Let’s not pretend like I destroyed our marriage on my own. You abandoned me way before Nina became a factor. You were married to your job and in love with your own status. When we slept together, you acted like you were doing me a favor. When we were out with friends, you always had to one up me, make me look like I wasn’t as smart or as successful as the precocious doctor.”

  She stared at him, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. “So you get a free pass to cheat because I wasn’t the doting wife who worshipped her husband and made him feel like the big man? Insecure, much?”

  “Whatever, Elle. I was just trying to offer a truce for Nina’s sake. I hate seeing her unhappy, and the gulf between you two eats at her.”

  “It should. That’s what happens when you stab someone who loved you in the back. She deserves whatever she got.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Goddamn, you always had a mean streak but when did you become such a bitter bitch?” He glanced out at the audience. “No wonder you had to hire some hooker to drag here with you this weekend.”

  Her body went cold, her muscles stiff, but she fought to keep her expression unchanged. “If you’re talking about my fiancé, you need to—”

  “Come on, Elle,” he said, cutting her off and looking her way. “Be a better liar. He’s years younger than you and you’re not going to jump into marriage. I called a cop friend and checked Lane out because something didn’t feel right. He has a prior arrest on his record for solicitation.”

  Elle’s heartbeat thumped like a bass drum in her ears.

  “So either you hired a prostitute or you’re marrying one. I’m sure your mother would love to know she has a gutter rat staying under her roof.”

  Elle’s rage meter climbed, making her vision blur at the edges. “Do not…call him that.”

  “So, I’m curious,” Henry said, on a roll now. “Are you just paying him to be on your arm or are you actually letting his filthy dick touch you? Because God knows the places he’s stuck—”

  Elle wasn’t sure how it happened. But one second her fingers were digging into the heavy book of The Bard’s greatest hits and the next, she was swinging it at high velocity. The move was so quick, she surprised herself, but more importantly, she surprised Henry. The massive tome connected with the side of Henry’s face with a satisfying thwack, and Henry let out a high-pitched howl.

  His hands flew up to his face and blood poured from his nose. Elle could hear the shocked voices of the people who’d been preparing for the rehearsal, could see them in her periphery, but she didn’t turn away from Henry.

  “Doc!” Lane’s voice sounded urgent but distant.

  Someone shrieked, maybe her sister.

  Henry’s eyes filled with rage, the man behind the polished mask. He launched himself at her, grabbing her roughly by the arm and shaking her, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You fucking bitch! What is the matter—”

  That was all he got out before a hand was darting out, grabbing Henry’s other arm and wrenching it behind his back.

  “Let her go or you’re going to have a broken arm to add to the nose. And I might not stop there.” Lane’s voice was a growl, vicious in its calmness

  Henry winced when Lane jerked a little harder, and he released Elle. But a sneer filled his face. “So your whore fucks you and acts as bodyguard? Hope you’re paying him well.”

  Lane’s eyes met hers over Henry’s head and he roughly released Henry’s arm.

  Nina ran up, eyes wild. “What are you doing?” She glanced at Henry’s bleeding face. “What did you do?”

  “I hit him in the face with Shakespeare,” Elle said simply. “Tell your fiancé not to insult mine and to stay the hell away from me.”

  Henry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose. “Her fiancé is a hooker. She had the nerve to bring that kind of filth into our wedding.”

  Everyone was gathered around now. Hearing it all, looking Elle’s way, shock on their faces. Her mother was among them, eyebrows lifting high on her forehead, silent questions stacking up.

  Lane’s expression was a stoic mask.

  “Henry, what are you talking about?” Nina said, her voice bordering on hysterical as she tried to help him clean up. “She didn’t hire him. Lane was at her house when I went to visit her. Why are you fighting with her? This is our wedding rehearsal.”

  “I’m not lying.” Henry said, anger still rippling through his words. “I checked his record.”

  “Illegally checked,” Lane finally said. “You saw a charge that was false and dropped.”

  “They’re lying,” Henry said, looking to the crowd gathered. “She knows who he is.”

  All heads turned toward her, the faces of family, her mother’s friends, some curious, some appalled, some eager for gossip.

  Elle set the book down on a nearby table and pulled her shoulders back, keeping her expression placid even though her arm was stinging from where Henry had gripped her and her anxiety wanted to take over. She stepped around Henry and his mess and went to Lane to take his hand. “Yes, I do. He’s a brilliant surrogate and counselor in the sex therapy department at the hospital I work at. He’s a man with a kind heart and the patience of a saint.” She looked up at Lane, finding his gaze heavy on her. “And he’s the best man I know. So yes, I know exactly who he is.”

  Lane’s eyes softened, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. He rubbed the tender spot on her arm where Henry had gripped and he kissed the top of her head. “Ready to celebrate your birthday, doc?”

  Birthday. The safe word. She’d never been so happy to hear it. She smiled and leaned into him. “So very ready.”

  Without worrying about who was looking or what they were saying about her, she slipped her arm around Lane’s waist and let him lead her out of the courtyard.

  She’d miss the Shakespeare reading.

  A shame, really.

  She’d heard it was very impactful.

  Especially when swung at full speed.

  Lane and Elle’s footsteps went silent as they escaped into the carpeted hallways of the hotel. The blast of air-conditioning hit her heated face and made her suck in a breath. She was still trembling, but now it had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with adrenaline.

  Lane grabbed her hand and turned to her as they made tracks toward the lobby. “You okay, doc?”

  “I’m not sure. I think so?” She couldn’t think straight. Part of her was soaring because she’d just stood in front of everyone and told the truth, but the other part was reeling from what Henry had said to her about her role in the breakdown of their marriage. The words were eating at her like hungry caterpillars.

  They passed a large potted fern and Lane tugged on her hand, dragging her into an arched alcove.


  “What are you doing?”

  Lane pulled her to him and captured both her hands between their bodies. His eyes scanned her face, searching. “Did you mean those things you said?”

  She blinked, temporarily dazzled by the intensity in his gaze. “Which part?”

  “The things you said about me. Tell me they were an act. Tell me they were to piss your ex off, that you were putting on a show.”

  “Why?” she asked, her voice breathless to her own ears.

  “Because then I won’t have to break the promise I made to myself.”

  Her heart picked up speed and she wet her lips. “The book was for him. The words were the truth.”

  Something broke in his expression, the scaffolding giving way. Lane released her hands and cupped her face. “You just told everyone you know that I sleep with people for a living.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “They’re going to be talking about you for months.”

  She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Let them. Their opinions don’t matter to me anymore. I’m tired of trying to…prove that I was unaffected by what happened, that I just brushed myself off and moved on. I didn’t. I shouldn’t have been expected to. It changed me. Something like that is supposed to. The woman I used to be would’ve never gotten involved with a man like you.”

  He flinched slightly.

  She let her hands flatten along his chest. “But I’m not her anymore. I don’t want to be. I don’t ever want to feel like I did after Henry cheated on me, but I’m tired of being scared to feel something for someone. Hearing him tonight, I realized he’s still controlling me. What he did to me is puppeteering my life. And that”—she met his gaze—“pisses me the hell off.”

  Lane nodded, his expression not revealing anything.

  She took a deep breath. “You might hurt me. This might blow up in my face. But I’m tired of playing his game. These last few weeks with you, even the hard ones, have made me feel things I thought were long dead. You matter to me, Lane. I’m sorry I keep pretending that you don’t.”

  “Elle.” He closed his eyes and said the word like a prayer, like he was letting out a long-held breath.

  She didn’t know how he was going to respond. Vulnerability blanketed her and her heart tried to jailbreak through her ribs. Every instinct was telling her to run, but she forced herself to stay in his arms.

  When the silence stretched on, she began to sweat. “Say something, Lane. I don’t know what to…do with this.”

  He looked down at her, a rueful smile touching his mouth. “I don’t either. But how about we start here?”

  He tilted her face toward him and kissed her. The connection started off slow, a simmer, a let’s-figure-this-out-together kiss, but soon her fingers were curling into his shirt and she was making a needy sound in the back of her throat. The whimper seemed to flip a switch in him. His tongue dipped into her mouth and her hands mapped his back. This was not the chaste nonsense they’d done in front of her family. This kiss held the fire of those early kisses back when they were hating each other and sparring. Urgent. Needful. Wild.

  Her back hit the wall and his body aligned against hers, hard fitting to soft. Her skin burned through the thin material of her dress and her lungs protested for air, but she didn’t want to stop. This. She needed this. They’d been pouring water on this forest fire since the day she’d ruined things in the office, had tried to ignore how they were flint and steel to each other, but all of that thwarted need poured into the kiss now, singeing her from the inside out.

  Lane’s mouth trailed down to her neck and she gasped for breath, her head tilting back and her shoulders rising with panted air. He caressed her breast through her dress, a gentle thumb grazing her nipple, his voice a growl against her throat. “It took everything I had earlier not to go back on everything I said and peel you out of this dress. You look like fucking sin, Elle. One I’d commit over and over again and happily go to hell for.”

  She groaned, her hands gripping him as if she’d float away if she didn’t have something to hold on to. Over and over again sounded like an excellent plan. She cosigned that plan. She shifted her hips, a shiver racing through her as the hard length of him brushed against the place that ached most.

  They had too many clothes on. She needed him against her naked. Her eyes flitted open and she caught sight of the tiny security camera in the corner, reminding her where they were and where they were not. “We might not go to hell, but we might get arrested if we keep this up.”

  Lane lifted his head and followed her gaze. His grin was pure wicked schoolboy when he turned back to her. “Someone is getting a show during their night shift.”

  He waggled his fingers at the camera in greeting.

  She laughed. “We should charge.”

  He leaned in and kissed her again. “No. No more money exchanging hands.”

  “Good idea.”

  “But let’s skip jail tonight.” He stepped back, adjusting his jacket, and then held his hand out to her. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on.”

  She took his hand, her blood still pumping with desire and her flaming cheeks probably telling the tale for anyone who passed. He guided her toward the lobby, but instead of heading out front to the valet, Lane parked her on one of the pretty Victorian couches and went to the front desk.

  A few moments later, he returned and held up a keycard. “How about a little more privacy and a few less family members?”

  Her lips curved. “We don’t have any of our things.”

  He offered his hand. “I only need one thing tonight—you out of that dress in a room with thick walls and a plush bed. We’ll worry about the walk of shame tomorrow.”

  She took his hand and let him drag her against him again. She pressed her lips to his for a quick kiss. “No more shame. I’ll proudly walk into my family’s home tomorrow with you on my arm, looking like I’ve been manhandled.”

  He touched his forehead to hers and cupped the back of her neck. “Oh, you’re so going to be manhandled, doc. I need to pay you back for all this torture you’ve put me through.”

  She gave him an I-dare-ya smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Chapter 20

  The door to the hotel room had barely clicked shut when Lane hauled her up against it and fitted his body to hers, his mouth capturing her lips with fevered urgency. She melted into the door and shoved his jacket off his shoulders, trying to keep herself steady while he kissed her senseless. She needed him naked. Now. His jacket hit the ground.

  Big hands roamed her body, seeking, owning. He pushed her wrists above her head, pinning her with ease. She could feel that dominant side of him in every movement, every fevered touch. It was barely leashed, that need to take over. Their lovemaking had always been combative. He pushed, she pushed back. She didn’t submit. She loved that game. But being trapped against the door and feeling the intensity of it all had erotic curiosity pinging through her. Curiosity and…trust.

  The feeling was unfamiliar. Powerful. Freeing.

  Lane worked his way down her plunging neckline, his lips making heat streak straight downward, and she moaned, every muscle in her body straining toward him. She tried to hold on to her thoughts. “Lane…”

  “Hmm,” he murmured as he pushed her dress aside and then dragged his tongue over the curve of her breast, sending smoky desire curling through her. “Do you need me to fight with you?”

  She loved that he asked but hated that he had to.

  “No.” Her senses homed in on his touch, the pressure on her wrists, her damp panties, her pounding heart. “You said I owe you for the torture. I want to pay you back.”

  He stilled and looked up, shadows crossing his face. “No more paying.”

  “Not money. I need my hands.” He released her and she flattened her palms on his chest and eased him back, giving herself room. He watched her with careful eyes as she kicked off her heels. Without giving her old demons time to catch up with h
er, she lowered herself to her knees. “I mean, this.” She wet her lips. “I’ll give you the control. I’ll…be whatever you want tonight. Show me who you are when you go to those clubs.”

  Lane’s brows lowered, his expression dark. “Elle…”

  She reached for his belt buckle, her hands shaking a little. She hadn’t gone down on a guy since her ex, had never want to put herself in that subservient position again or risk those memories ruining things mid-moment. But right now, the desire to touch Lane, to taste him, to give him the kind of pleasure he gave her, was stronger than her past.

  She unbuttoned his fly. His cock was a hard outline beneath his slacks, the sight alone making her sex clench. But when she reached for his zipper, he put a hand on her wrist, stilling her.

  Her gaze jumped up to his.

  His jaw flexed, like it was taking everything he had not to let her get on with things. “Don’t do this because you think you owe me something. I don’t want you to be my submissive.”

  Her hand trembled in his grip, her nerves fully surfacing. Was he saying she couldn’t be what he needed? That she couldn’t fulfill that part of him? “Why not?”

  He ran his thumb over the top of her hand, his attention heavy on her. “Because that’s not who you are.”

  She grimaced. “You don’t know that. Maybe I have a side you don’t know about.”

  His eyes narrowed and he released her wrist to cup her chin. “Okay. Beg me to suck my cock, Elle. Tell me how desperate you are to taste it, how you’ll do anything for the privilege.”

  The words sent her gulping, the images making her skin heat—her lips wrapping around him, his taste on her tongue. But she couldn’t make the words come out of her mouth. She wanted him. She was ready to push past this mental block she’d had for so long. But beg him for the privilege of getting him off? “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He grinned, mischief in his eyes. “And that, is exactly what I mean. Not a submissive.”

  Her fingers curled into fists. “But you’re a dominant. That’s what you’re into.”

  He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “I like being dominant in bed. That doesn’t mean we have to fit in some neatly labeled box. I’m into you. You feed that part of me more than you realize. You like to fight back and be overpowered and give me hell over it. You don’t submit until you have no other choice. You know what that does to me?” He guided her hand to his rock-hard erection, wrapping her fingers around him. “It pushes all of my buttons, doc. All my dirtiest, darkest buttons.”