by Roni Loren
But a few minutes later, when a tall black man with movie star good looks, a designer suit, and a smile that had melted off more than one woman’s panties walked through the door and strolled up to Elle’s table, Lane’s best intentions disintegrated into a ball of flame.
The man was a friend.
An old one.
And Lane only had one kind of old friend.
Everything inside him rallied into one loud battle cry. Oh, hell no.
Chapter 8
Elle gathered every bit of her internal reserves to remain calm and businesslike as Isaiah walked up to her table. She’d left two lemon wedges in the center of the table on a napkin. That was the subtle signal they’d agreed to, but she hadn’t noticed him glance at what was on the table. He’d walked in the door, tall, confident, and gorgeous, had locked eyes with her almost immediately, and had headed her way as if he’d known without a doubt she was the one he’d come here for.
She didn’t know whether to be comforted by his confidence or concerned that she somehow looked like the woman who would hire an escort. But she didn’t have time to worry about it because he was at her table in the next breath. He smiled down at her, revealing friendly brown eyes that crinkled at the corners and a perfectly executed five o’clock shadow. “Elle?”
“Yes.” She stood too quickly and her knee bumped the table, making her tea slosh. Real smooth, Elle. She put out her hand, her doctor’s handshake ready to go. “And you must be Isaiah.”
“I am.” He took her hand, but instead of letting her get away with a formal, businesslike shake—which would have helped her get herself together—he squeezed her hand gently, put his other hand over their clasped ones, and kissed her cheek. All warmth and ease. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The word pleasure rolled off his tongue and somehow managed not to sound seedy. She was thankful for that. If he got cheesy in any way, this wasn’t going to work.
He released her hand and nodded at the table. “Shall we?”
His accent was one she couldn’t quite place, easy on the ears, like a bit of Brit underneath something else. “Of course.”
He pulled her chair out for her and then took his seat, motioning for the waitress at the same time. He put in an order for a sweet tea and then turned to look at Elle. “You want to order anything, love?”
The endearment startled her for a second, but he’d said it in a friendly way, as if he’d call a stranger that. She was a stranger. A stranger who was about to discuss paying him for dirty, kinky sex. She cleared her throat and said the first thing she saw on the appetizer menu. “How about the balls?” Everything inside her cringed. “The artichoke balls.”
The word balls seemed to echo in the cafe like she’d said it with a bullhorn, and her cheeks went hot. God fucking dammit. She was blushing. She didn’t blush.
This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. She could do this. So what if this very attractive man was here as an escort? No one else knew that.
Isaiah grinned. “The balls sound fantastic.”
When the waitress walked off, Elle pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “Balls are fantastic. I’ve always been quite fond of mine.”
She snorted, unable to hold back the awkward laugh. “I promise I’m usually more put-together than this.”
He tapped her hand. “Hey, truly, no worries.” He leaned forward on his forearm, creating a quiet space between them. “This is out of pretty much everyone’s comfort zone. Give yourself a break. As for the balls joke, it’s going to happen. You’ll find that no matter how hard we try, we’ll hear double entendres in our conversation. It’s inevitable.”
She took a breath, trying to regain her composure. “Thanks. We should’ve met at a restaurant that served wine.”
“No can do. I have a rule that first meets can’t involve alcohol. This is a decision you have to make with a clear head.” The waitress dropped off his tea, but his gaze remained on Elle. “And this part is going to feel awkward at first because we don’t know each other yet. It’ll be fine. Just relax. Awkwardness never killed anyone.”
She rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension there. “You’re right. I know that. Part of my job is lots of awkward first meetings.”
He lifted a brow, which reminded her that she’d been scant on the personal information when she’d gone to the kink club and asked if the owner could set her up with a reputable service.
She took a sip of her tea. “Sorry. I’d rather keep my work life stuff separate.”
The waitress dropped off the appetizer and made sure they didn’t need anything else before leaving them alone again. Elle stared at the food. The artichoke balls were their specialty and a New Orleans mainstay—little baked bites of mashed artichoke hearts mixed with parmesan, egg, and breadcrumbs. They smelled delicious, but Elle doubted she’d be able to eat anything tonight.
Isaiah nodded, tossed his straw aside, and sipped his drink. “Not a problem. It’s up to you to decide what you want me to know and what you don’t. But for what it’s worth, my job is built on discretion. I wouldn’t have it anymore if I couldn’t keep people’s secrets.”
She smoothed her napkin on her lap. “How long have you been doing this?”
His lips hitched up at the corner. “I’m getting that you don’t want to play the game of we pretend we’re just two people on a date.”
The let’s-put-the-cards-on-the-table response soothed her some. “No. This whole thing is only going to work if we go the straightforward route. I’m not fooling myself that this is something other than it is. And I’m not so delicate that I can’t handle the idea that you do this for a living. This is a business exchange. I want it to be a mutually agreeable one. So we talk, lay it all out there. Then, if you’re not into what I’m suggesting or if you find me unappealing in some way, we end it here and move on.”
He leaned back in his chair, easy and comfortable. “You’re a beautiful woman who knows what she wants. I have a feeling I’ll be into that. And to answer your question, seven years.”
The accent was gone now, the façade dropped. “Wow. That’s a while.”
He laughed. “That surprises you?”
“A little. I guess I imagined it’s a job someone does in the interim to make money for the next thing.”
He shrugged. “It started that way. I became a dancer—a stripper, if we’re going to be no bullshit about this—to earn money for grad school. But then I got the opportunity to go this route, and it stuck. I still have my degree. I could do something else. But I’d take a pay cut, and it’d be a hell of a lot less fun. I’m not here under duress, if that’s what you’re wondering. This is my choice. I’ll stop doing it if it ever feels like it isn’t.”
The words settled something inside her. Part of her had been worried about that. That she was taking advantage of some guy who was forced into the role either by need for money or by someone else.
“Thank you. That’s good to know.” She took one of the artichoke balls and put it on her plate, splitting it in half and thinking.
“And you’re not here because you can’t find a man willing to sleep with you.”
She looked up, surprised. “What?”
He had popped a bite of food into his mouth and he waited until he was done to explain. “I’m just letting you know that I’m aware of that. I’m not sitting here thinking you’re desperate. You’re an attractive, intelligent woman who I’m guessing has a pretty high-powered career. It wouldn’t be hard for you to go out and pick up an equally successful guy. So you’re talking to me for other reasons. Maybe we should discuss those, so I can know what you need from me.”
She appreciated that he was so matter-of-fact about it, but him asking what she needed from him didn’t settle right inside her. He was telling her he could be whatever she wanted, and she knew that was how it worked. She was paying, and as long as she didn’t ask for something outside of the param
eters of what he was willing to do, he could be what she asked. The doting boyfriend. The kinky lover. The sexy stranger. That was his job. To play the role she wanted. And God knows, he was hot enough to inspire fantasies. Everything she could want—good-looking, intelligent, straightforward, good sense of humor.
But she was having trouble imagining him sparring with her in the way she craved. He seemed so nice. And nice was great for a friendly chat, not so great for what she needed. Though, she hadn’t really given him a chance. He could be a wild sadist behind closed doors. He’d been an escort for seven years. There probably wasn’t much he wasn’t capable of. She needed to keep an open mind and be honest about what she was seeking. She also needed to accept that it’d be a role for him. There was nothing authentic about this arrangement. That was the trade-off for the neat, clean boundaries.
She smirked and shook her head. “To be honest, what I probably need from you is for you not to like me.”
His eyebrows lifted at that. “All right. Explain.”
She rubbed her lips together and tried to figure out how to word it. “I don’t like to be doted on. I don’t like romantic. I…my ex-husband was really good at that. And it was a lie. I don’t react well to…sweet. I know it probably sounds screwed up, but sweet can trigger panic in me and ruin the moment.”
“Because you always think it’s bullshit?”
“Because, in my experience, it usually is bullshit.”
He considered her. “But what if it’s not? What if a guy would genuinely enjoy taking care of you?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure that guy exis—”
“Excuse me.” The smooth, cool voice cut right through her words.
Elle’s attention flicked upward, the familiar voice sending a dart of alarm through her. Lane was standing a step away from the table, his gaze fastened on her and his eyes full of challenge. Her thoughts scattered like a strong wind had hit them.
“Uh…”
“Cannon?” Isaiah’s voice pulled Elle out of her two-worlds-colliding stupor. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Lane’s attention slid to the other man, a devil-may-care smile touching his lips. He stepped closer and put out his hand. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”
They did the half-hug, half-thump on the back like old buddies and Elle just stared. Her escort and Lane knew each other?
Isaiah glanced her way and smiled. “Elle, this is Lane, an old friend from school. Lane, this is Elle.”
Elle. Well, that was vague enough.
Lane smiled. “Yes, we already know each other.”
Isaiah looked between the two of them again. “Oh?”
Elle tried to force the shock off her face and act like a normal human being. “Yes, we work together.”
“Oh, great. Well, Elle was just indulging me by listening to my pitch about why I am a far superior financial planner to the one she has now. I’m hoping she’ll move her accounts over with my company, but she’s a tough customer.” Isaiah handled it all with smooth social grace. He was clearly used to being on his toes and playing it by ear. In his job, he no doubt traveled in some high-powered circles and would have to know how to hold his own and have a cover story.
Lane’s attention returned to her, something dangerous in his eyes. “Oh, she’s a tough customer all right. She’ll be your toughest one yet.”
Isaiah glanced her way, a thoughtful look on his face, but he gave the appropriate laugh for Lane’s joke-that-wasn’t-a-joke. “Well, it was good seeing you. We should get together for a drink soon and catch up.”
“Absolutely,” Lane agreed. He gave Isaiah a pat on the back and then stepped closer to Elle. “Elle, it was good seeing you.” She stiffened as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. His mouth brushed past her ear. “Bathroom hallway. Be there in two minutes.”
The whispered words shot through her system like a flare of heat, but she sent him a narrow-eyed look. Who the hell was he to order her around? “See you at work, Lane.”
The head shake he gave was nearly imperceptible but she got the message. Not that she was going to heed it. She turned back toward Isaiah and smiled. “So tell me more about your plan.”
Lane walked off but not out the front door. He turned the corner and she knew he’d be in the bathroom hallway, expecting her to show up. Well, he could hold his breath and wait. If nothing else, seeing him had cemented her reasons for inviting Isaiah here. Isaiah was the right choice. No drama. A sexy, friendly guy who was willing to provide what she wanted without requiring anything else.
“Sorry about that,” Isaiah said, settling back in his chair. “If it helps any, I don’t know where Lane works. I haven’t seen him in a long time, so he didn’t reveal anything about you.”
She shrugged, giving up on the hope of total anonymity. “It’s fine. Things like that are going to happen. I need to be prepared to run into people who may know me. I’m a doctor.”
He smiled. “I’m impressed.”
“But now you understand why discretion is so important.”
“Of course. Like I said, your secrets are safe with me. Now, back to—”
But he was cut off by the waitress stopping by to take their orders.
Elle ordered a random sandwich from the menu and her gaze strayed to the clock. How many minutes had passed since Lane had walked off? Was he still in the hallway? What did he want to talk about? Her heart was still beating too fast from seeing him here. She shouldn’t care, but she couldn’t shake the thought that he was there waiting for her. No way was she going to be able to concentrate on the conversation she needed to have if Lane was hovering in the back of her thoughts. Damn that man.
After Isaiah put in his order and turned his smile back to her, she slid her chair backward. “Excuse me for a second. I’ll be right back.”
“No problem. Everything okay?”
“Of course. Just too much tea.”
He smiled an easy smile and she made her way to the restrooms. When she turned the corner, she didn’t see Lane, and some weird combination of relief and disappointment filled her. She let out a breath. He’d left. Okay. Good. Now she’d be able to work this thing out with Isaiah and not think about the way just having Lane’s words brush against her ear had sent a trail of goose bumps over her skin.
She pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, deciding she might as well go if she was there, and then touched up her lipstick afterward. The woman staring back at her in the mirror looked determined, resolute. She could do this. Just because Isaiah hadn’t yet sparked that rush of desire in her didn’t mean he wouldn’t. They just needed to get past the awkward planning and negotiating phase first.
Elle stepped back out into the hallway, feeling calmer, and was quickly blocked by a wall of muscle. She let out a startled gasp and almost ran right into Lane’s chest. He smiled down at her. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
Chapter 9
I knew you couldn’t resist. Elle’s fists curled tight at Lane’s pompous words. The words were one-hundred percent true, but no way in hell was she letting him know that. “I had to pee.”
“Uh-huh. I need a minute.” Lane reached down, grabbed her wrist, and tugged. Before she could protest, he pulled her through a half-open doorway behind him.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding privacy.” He closed the door. The storage room was small, half-lit, and smelled like industrial cleaner and stale coffee. Various discarded decor items were propped against the wall. An old menu board. A mirror with a crack in it. A broken chair. He turned and faced her, leaving barely any space between them. “I figured this chat was best had without an audience.”
“Chat? No. I don’t have time for this. I need to get back to my date.”
He smirked. “You mean your financial planner, right?”
She gave him a warning look. “Maybe he’s both.”
“Or maybe I know exactly what he is.”
The words punched the air from her lungs but she forc
ed her face not to react. “Whatever, Lane. Let me out of here before I scream.”
He moved aside. “You know what they used to call Isaiah?”
She scooted by him. “I don’t care about stupid college nicknames.”
“The Golden Tongue.”
She stiffened, the words halting her step.
“Because he could sweet talk his way into a rich housewife’s bed like no other.” Lane’s voice was quiet in the small space. “He could get the ones you’d never think would go for that kind of thing. But the temptation he’d lay out for them was too much to say no to. Because he knew how to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. How perfect they were, how smart, how talented, how he couldn’t bear to see such beauty wasted on a husband who didn’t take the time to take care of his wife.”
Elle went cold all over and turned to face him.
He stepped close again, his eyes holding challenge. “Is that what you want, Elle? Some smooth-talking guy to whisper lies in your ear and then get you off on time so he can get paid and go to the next appointment?”
She closed her eyes, her breath stuttering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He pressed a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up and forcing her to open her eyes in the dim light. His gaze was intent now, edging on concerned. “Look, I know what’s happening out there. Let’s not stand here and play the who-can-lie-better game. He’s not your financial planner and he’s not your date. You’re about to pay for sex. I’m telling you it’s a bad idea.”
Her jaw clenched and she had to breathe through the urge to lie again. “Why? Because it’s not the therapeutic kind you dish out, so you get to judge me?”
Lane’s expression hardened. “No. Because I don’t know Isaiah from college.”
The words didn’t register at first. She blinked a few times. “What?”
The smile that touched his lips was a bitter one. “I guess this is the part where you get to hear that you were right when you called me a whore. I’m not now, but I used to be. Isaiah and I were roommates and worked for the same company—if you could call it a company.”
