by Roni Loren
Maybe she should’ve picked up the Friday night on-call duty and saved herself this ruminating. Fridays were always busy on-call nights. At least she could be useful up at the hospital. She’d sat for two hours with a new patient this afternoon, listening to a former child actress describe all the things she’d done in exchange for roles so that she could keep money coming for her family. The woman had turned to drugs to blot out all the memories, but they were roaring to the surface post-detox.
It’d made Elle want to personally maim every single adult who had taken advantage of this talented young woman, including the family that hadn’t protected her. The woman had ended up bawling in Elle’s arms. Elle didn’t make it a habit to hug patients because of boundary issues, but sometimes people in pain just needed to be held and told that they were going to make it through whatever it was. When the patient had thanked Elle and even managed a hopeful smile, Elle’s chest had filled with warmth. She’d felt useful. Happy.
Work seemed to be the only place she felt that way.
The doorbell rang. She startled, nearly dropping her bowl of ice cream, and glanced at the clock. Almost ten. Her stomach clenched.
Was her mom at the door? Was that why she was calling?
Elle set her bowl aside and let out a breath, dismissing the thought. Her mom hated driving at night. She wouldn’t go through that much trouble to see her. It was probably some issue at the hospital. Late-night knocks weren’t all that uncommon since she lived on the grounds of The Grove’s sprawling campus. Maybe they needed extra help. She pushed herself off the couch and headed to the door.
When she swung it open and found Lane lounging in the doorway with that smug look of his, it took her a second to process his presence and what it meant. But when she did, her anger shot straight to the surface. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His brow lifted. “I believe the agreement was I’d be doing you.”
The words raised all her hackles—and she had a lot of those. “That’s not how it works.” She braced her hand on the door, ready to shut it. “You can’t just show up. You’re supposed to call first.”
“Never agreed to that.” He ducked under her arm and stepped past her without invitation, his fresh-laundry scent drifting in with the night air. “I had a late session, thought I’d stop by.”
“A session,” she said after quickly peering outside to make sure no one was nearby to see Lane coming in. She shut the door behind her. “Meaning you slept with someone else and wanted round two?”
He tilted his head, his gaze traveling over her so-not-for-public-viewing outfit of plaid PJ pants and an old T-shirt from a pharmaceutical company. “You know I can’t discuss clients.”
She crossed her arms. “Right. Of course. Well, how about we don’t discuss a thing at all? You can leave.”
“You don’t want me to leave,” he said, as casual as you please. “You just hate getting caught off guard.”
“No. I was going to cancel our agreement anyway. And even if I wasn’t, I would now because if you think I’m going to take sloppy seconds when you haven’t even showered off the last woman, you can go to hell.”
He grabbed her melting ice cream off the sofa table, took a big bite, and smiled a lazy smile. “Take off your clothes, Elle.”
She scoffed. “You’re delusional.”
He took another bite and watched her, those green eyes daring her as he licked chocolate syrup off the back of the spoon. “Well, we could watch a movie instead. You’ve paid for my time.”
“You have even less of a chance of that. Keep the money. I don’t care. Just leave.”
He set the bowl aside and strolled closer, his movements calm, but his gaze not leaving hers. She took a step back, hitting the sliver of wall separating her entryway from her living room.
He braced a hand above her shoulder on the wall. “You got your feelings hurt because I didn’t call on your timeline. No need to shut the whole thing down over that.”
“There are no feelings about this. Don’t give yourself that much credit.”
“So self-centered. It’s all about you, huh? Did the busy doctor ever consider that maybe I have a lot going on, too? I have clients. I’m in school.” He leaned close to her ear. “That doesn’t mean I forgot. That doesn’t mean that this morning when I woke up hard and hot from a dream, that I didn’t stroke my cock thinking about what I wanted to do to you when I got the chance.”
The heat in her body spiked at that image, but she fought to hold onto the threads of her irritation. “You should go home and do that again. That’s all you’re going to get.”
His lips brushed her ear, sending shivers down her neck. “Take off your clothes and show me that you’re not wet, then.”
Her jaw clenched. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. She was not going to let him win. Or see that she was more than a little turned on with him this close, with her mind painting pictures of his hand pumping his cock, of him spread out naked on his bed and coming with her name on his lips. “No.”
“No isn’t the magic word. Take off your clothes or safe word.”
She closed her eyes, her heart pounding hard. So much of her wanted to comply, wanted to just give in and feel good and not think. She could let him touch her. They could have a hot night, scratch each other’s itch, not sleep alone tonight. But the fantasy wasn’t enough to eclipse the reality. She had rules. Standards. Promises she’d made to herself.
He didn’t get to do this to her. He didn’t get to come in and take what he wanted, when he wanted. He didn’t get to do this after he’d had sex with someone else tonight.
Even so, the word didn’t want to come out, the sound stuck in her throat, but she forced it. “Birthday.”
The word was whispered but powerful—a whoosh of air that snuffed the flame burning in the space between them, a chilly breeze replacing it.
Lane instantly pushed away from the wall, giving her all the space she could need. His expression was unreadable but all traces of smugness were gone. He gave a brief nod. “Okay then. I’ll leave. Good night, Elle.”
She blinked, the simple declaration catching her off guard. “That’s it?”
“Yes. That’s it. That’s how it works. The safe word isn’t a game. It’s a promise and a parachute cord. If you’re not ready for this, I’m not going to try to persuade you.”
He said everything so matter-of-fact that it startled her out of her anger for a moment. “Oh.”
He blew out a long breath, suddenly looking exhausted. “If this were a normal arrangement, like if we were at a club or something, I’d talk with you about what made you safe word. We could see if there were ways to adjust things to make it work for you. But you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want to talk about…anything at all with me. I thought maybe we could work around that, but this proves we can’t. There’s got to be some level of trust there and there’s not. And if you’re not willing to talk to me like a human being, there never will be.”
Elle stared at him, absorbing the words and trying to process them. She didn’t know how to deal with him when she wasn’t fighting with him. So she said the only thing she could. “I don’t know how to do that.”
Something akin to relief loosened his expression. “Okay, honesty. Good. I can work with that.” He stepped closer. “How about you start by telling me what made you safe word? There’s no wrong answer. You can call the word for any reason at all, but I can’t help or adjust things if I don’t know. Was I scaring you? Are you just not into it tonight?”
She closed her eyes. Breathed. “No, it’s the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You having sex with a client and then coming here. I can’t—” Her voice caught and she shook her head.
“Hey…” The word was soft against her senses.
But she didn’t let him finish. If she was going to say it, she needed to do it now before she chickened out. “My ex-husband cheated on me, all r
ight? He used to fuck someone else and then would crawl in bed with me.” She dared a glance up. “I found out later that he’d sometimes…get me to go down on him, knowing he hadn’t used a condom with her. Some private joke or fetish or whatever.”
Mild horror crossed Lane’s face and his breath whooshed out of him.
The confession hung heavy in the air, and she immediately wanted to snatch it back. It was so goddamned humiliating. She closed her eyes again, shame burning through her.
Hands cupped her shoulders. “Elle…”
The pity she heard in his voice was enough to snap her out of the moment. She opened her eyes and shrugged out of his hold. “Never mind. Just go please. You’re right. I don’t want to talk to you.”
But Lane didn’t move away. Instead he shifted closer, putting his hands on her face. “Hey, look at me.”
“Don’t therapy me, Cannon. I swear to God, I will knee you in the balls.”
He met her eyes, his gaze steady. “I didn’t have sex with someone else and then come here. I wouldn’t do that to you. That’s the trust part we have to find.”
She let out a breath. “Oh.”
His hands moved down to her shoulders. “I’m not going to pretend I have a different job, but I also respect you enough to be upfront. I spent most of my day trying to rewrite a paper, which has sucked up a lot of my week, and then tonight I sat in on a session with Marin and a client we’re both working with. I planned to call you tomorrow, but when I drove by and saw the TV light flickering, I couldn’t resist. That’s it. No ulterior motives or plans to piss you off.” He smiled. “Okay, maybe I enjoy pissing you off a little.”
She smirked. “And getting me to confess my embarrassing secrets.”
“That’s not embarrassing. That’s your ex being an abusive asshole. Don’t discount what it was.”
“Knee to the balls, Lane,” she warned. “Knee. To. The. Balls.”
He raised his palms. “No therapy, I promise. Plus, I don’t want you to turn that shit around on me. I was an escort. My tales of things I’ve had to do would keep a therapist in business for years.”
She smiled at that. “Well, now you’ve got me curious. I need the most embarrassing one ever. Then, we can be even.”
He shook his head. “No way. I made no deals.”
Now she was the one to stalk forward. “Come on, Cannon. Don’t be a scaredy-cat. We’re building trust here, right? Trust involves dirt. You’ve got some of mine, now I need some of yours.”
“Now you want to talk about trust? When you can scent blood in the water? You’re ruthless, doc.”
She stopped in front of him and put a finger to his chest. “Spill.”
He gave a put-upon sigh. “Fine. I was once hired for a bachelorette party. They used me for party games.”
Elle let the hand she’d pointed with flatten out on his chest, enjoying the feel of his heart beating against her palm. Based on the quick beat, he was more nervous saying this stuff than he was letting on. That comforted her somehow. “What kind of party games?”
He pressed his hand over hers and slid it lower until it was resting at his waist. “One was naked charades. Another involved tossing plastic rings at me. I’ll let you figure out what they were trying to ring.”
She winced. “Ouch.”
“You’re telling me. Try staying hard while drunk women with terrible aim throw things at your junk.”
She snorted and let her fingers explore a little, sliding along the warm strip of skin between his shirt and jeans. “What’d you think about to stay…up for the job?”
“Boobs,” he said with a solemn nod.
A laugh burst out of her. “That’s it?”
“I was eighteen. Didn’t take much back then.”
She looked up, frowning. “Eighteen? When did you start—”
He lifted his hand and pressed it over her lips, cutting off her question. “I’ll tell you, but if I agreed not to play therapist, I need the same assurance from you.”
She nodded.
He lowered his hand. “I was sixteen the first time. I was failing out of school, my parents were about to kick me out of the house, and someone made me an offer I couldn’t turn down. The rest is history. Buried history.”
Her stomach twisted at that. Knowing Lane was an escort as a grown man was one thing. Thinking of someone preying on a vulnerable kid and dragging him into that kind of life was another. But she’d promised not to psychoanalyze, so she held her tongue.
“And now we’re done talking,” he said, giving her a look. “Do you want to un-safe word, Elle? Or should I go home?”
She wet her lips and tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Option one. Happy Un-Birthday, Lane Cannon.”
“Great. So we’re going to watch a movie, then?” He grinned wide.
She pushed him, almost tipping him over the edge of the couch, but he grabbed ahold of her and took her down with him. They landed in a heap, almost rolling right off onto the floor. “No movie. Unless it’s reenacting one where the hot stranger does really bad things to the lady of the house.”
He stared up at her. “I’m all for that. But tell me one thing first. Were you really planning to call things off?”
She settled on top of him, feeling the heat of his growing interest pressing against her, and braced her hands on his chest. “Yep.”
“Because I wasn’t calling you on your schedule or doing things the way you wanted me to.”
She shrugged. “Basically.”
“And now I am?”
“Pretty much.”
His smile was slow. “You may not be submissive, doc. But you certainly have a masochistic streak.” He took her by the wrists, rolled her off of him, and sat up.
She blinked at the sudden change in position. “What are you doing?”
He took her hands and kissed her knuckles. “Go to your bedroom, take off all of your clothes, and wait for me.”
She stared at him for a moment, wary of his tone, but when he didn’t say anything else, she nodded. “O…kay. Not a do-it-on-the-couch kind of guy?”
“No more questions. Go. Do what I asked and don’t leave the room unless I call for you. If you leave your bedroom without my permission, I’m going to go home without touching you.”
She frowned.
“My rules,” he said, cocking his head in challenge. “That was the deal. I’d take your money. You’d deal with me calling the shots. Or are you backing out of that deal?”
“I’m—” She cut herself off before she could give her knee-jerk response and tell him no. He was right. They’d made a deal. He would be in control of this part. She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
He released her hands and smiled. “See you soon.”
But that turned out to be a lie. Because after stripping off her clothes and sliding into bed, she waited. And waited. The clock minutes seemed to drag. And with each one, she got more annoyed. And then angry. And then downright pissed. She knew he hadn’t left because she could hear him downstairs, watching television, probably eating more of her ice cream. But she couldn’t go and see what exactly was taking so long because if she left the room, he would keep his threat and leave.
So, she waited more.
Her vision began to blur after looking at the clock so often. And right past midnight, she couldn’t focus any longer. It’d been a long day and her anger had burned the last remaining bits of her energy. This was some sort of test. She mentally told Lane to fuck off, but she wasn’t going to fail it.
Sometime before one, she fell asleep.
Chapter 11
Lane stared down at the woman curled on her side in the bed. Her shoulder rose and fell with steady breaths, and the thin sheet draped over her revealed every gorgeous dip and curve of her naked body. In sleep, her face was blessedly relaxed, the usual frustrated wrinkle in her brow gone for a little while. He wanted to reach out and run his thumb over the smooth spot, but he kept his hands at his side.
He hone
stly hadn’t expected her to make it as long as she did. It’d been a test, but a particularly hard one for her. She thought she wanted control. She thought she wanted to dictate every little thing, but that was what she did every day and it wasn’t satisfying her. It was too easy. People were too easy to push away or cow into submission. And that response from everyone else told her exactly what she suspected—that she wasn’t worth the trouble of pushing back. That’d they’d rather comply than deal with her.
She was trying to prove Lane fell into that category. She’d threatened to pull the plug on this because he hadn’t done things her way. He needed to show her that her method wasn’t going to work with him and that it wasn’t what she really wanted anyway. So he was testing her. She probably didn’t realize that she was testing him right back.
What are you going to do about it, Lane Cannon? That was what she asked in every move she made with him. But he saw through that haughty facade. She gravitated to him despite their personalities clashing because she wanted the challenge. In school, she would’ve never taken filler classes. She’d look for the teacher who would make her work, the subject matter that would push her capabilities. She needed that in bed, too.
She also needed to trust that he could give it to her, that he wouldn’t be scared off by her attitude and defensive tactics. So he’d waited her out. Now, this was his prize. Seeing the all-powerful doctor as vulnerable as anyone could be. Naked. Asleep. No shield or barbed words to protect her.
Not that he blamed her for the shields. She hadn’t told him all the reasons they were there, but he’d gotten a glimpse tonight. Her ex-husband hadn’t just betrayed her, he’d humiliated her, abused a sacred trust. Used her for some sick-minded game or ego-stroking. Lane didn’t know the guy, but he already wanted to nut-punch him.
Lane stepped closer to the bed, feeling a bit like a creeper for watching her sleep but unable to help himself. She was always beautiful, but in a sophisticated, untouchable way. That cool attitude was actually a turn on for him. She wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a challenge. But like this, she seemed ten years younger. Sweet, even. He glanced at the bedside table. She had a notepad and pen next to her cell phone—ever the efficient doctor—but he smiled when his eyes skimmed over the note.
