“Let go of the balloons, Lane, and come here,” Adam said. “I’m going to make you forget every lesson we’ve ever had. And your brother. And your mother. And the rest of the world.”
Lane let the balloons go and came to him.
And in that instant, with his heart aching for her pain and his whole body shaking with the need to have her, Adam felt something crack and shift inside him.
He wanted Lane in ways he’d never known existed, ways that made him feel reckless, and weak, and exultant and completely out of control.
He was terrified.
Because he knew what it meant.
He’d fallen in love with her.
* * *
Lane smiled as she walked into the living room the next morning and saw the balloons, some of them already at half-mast.
She loved them. Loved the bracelet.
Loved what he’d done to her in bed, lying her face down, propping up her hips with pillows and…well, who would have thought he could find that exact spot in that position, and make her actually scream?
She loved the way he’d said absolutely nothing except her name as he’d taken her…because it made it feel like this time was special, different. Loved how he’d held her so close afterwards. The way he’d kissed her, as though he’d never stop. Loved the note he’d left on his pillow before he’d snuck out this morning—10/10. Well done, Lane! You will ace your exam. Mr. Quinn.
There was only one thing she didn’t love: the feeling that she’d given away a piece of herself. Let it slip so smoothly from her control and straight to Adam, almost without being aware of it. She’d felt no distance between them: she’d wantonly gone and obliterated any hint of distance.
She’d given part of herself away…to a man she would never see again five weeks from now. A man who would bolt for the metaphoric bathroom as fast as DeWayne had bolted to the real one, to wash her off and start afresh with someone else.
She made herself a cup of coffee and sat at the dining table, pondering the problem, wondering what he’d say if she told him she couldn’t give him up once the contract ended.
The best answer he could give? “To hell with the contract—I still want you.”
Lane’s lips twisted. The real answer was more likely to be: “Sorry Lane, but remember when I told you the thought of commitment makes me break out in a cold sweat? Well, I meant it.”
She could recall, word for word, what he’d said about relationships that night at Benedetto’s: you have to accept that life sends you curveballs—but you can choose whether to catch them or let them go. And I choose to let them go. And Lane knew she was one of those curveballs he’d be letting go.
This was not the way it was supposed to be, with her senses overwhelmed and her insides quaking and her chest heavy with this awful kind of hopeless yearning.
The question was, how did she stop it? How did she go about re-establishing the parameters and reclaiming some control over herself?
She could terminate the contract early, before she got in any deeper, she supposed. But her throat seized up at the thought. No. Not yet.
Why not?
The time wasn’t right. There was still so much to learn. She wasn’t ready. She just couldn’t!
All right. Something else. Something that meant she could keep him in her life as long as possible, and yet restore a semblance of balance. Their dates, she knew, had been getting ridiculously frequent. If she cancelled some, got them back to two nights a week—that would be a start, wouldn’t it?
She dug out her phone, checked her diary. And her throat seized up again. Adam’s name occupied the spaces for eleven—no, twelve!—nights over the next two weeks. Not good. Not good at all. She should never have let herself grow so dependent on his company.
Then she saw the entry she needed.
Four nights from now was the opening of the bank’s latest sponsored art exhibition.David would be there.
So she would take Adam.
A nice underscore of the original intention of the contract.
Good for resetting her haywire brain.
Good for convincing Adam she was fine and dandy and not in need of a commitment he wasn’t capable of.
Good for her pride.
Good all round.
Lane looked at her charm bracelet and sighed. She was warped. There were no two ways about it. Because at the back of her usually sensible mind was a sneaking, sniveling, unworthy desire for Adam to hate David. For him to tell her he…
What? Loved her?
“And if that doesn’t prove to you that you need to get this relationship back into perspective, nothing will!” she said aloud to herself harshly.
Yes, time for Adam to meet David.
Chapter Twelve
After four days without seeing Lane, Adam started to wonder if he was a sex addict, because he sure went through withdrawal if Lane wasn’t within easy reach.
But he’d survived.
And he would survive tonight, too. Even if the thought of her publicly acknowledging she was with him, telling the world—or at least her corner of it—they were together, made him feel strange.
He wasn’t making sense on this subject, even to himself. One minute he was riled up because he felt like a male escort; the next minute he was scared because he wasn’t feeling like a male escort. One moment he was happy she’d invited him to a public outing; the next he was freaking out because that smacked of taking things to the next level.
He might love her—but he didn’t want to love her.
The same way he didn’t want to buy her any more presents—and yet he was currently holding a velvet pouch containing a string of amber he’d seen in a jewelry store window.He wanted so badly to see the dark honey translucence of the beads against her skin. To see her wearing the amber and nothing else.
He visualized that as he climbed into his car. As he drove to her house. As he parked. As he opened the squeaky gate, walked up the path, knocked on the door.
But when she opened the door, the reality of her knocked out his visualizations.
She was wearing the red dress. Her hair was piled on her head in a profusion of copper curls. She had darkened her eyelids with smudgy gray shadow and reddened her lips—or Erica had, more likely.
She was stunning.
But she didn’t seem to notice his awestruck expression. She checked her watch. “Shall we go?”
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
She looked up, wide-eyed, then blushed. “So are you, in that suit.” She made a nervous gesturing motion with her hands. “So…?”
When he stopped at his car—he’d brought the Jag instead of the jeep tonight—Lane stopped in her tracks for a moment then shrugged.
“Nice car,” she said, but she didn’t seem particularly interested the way women often were. Well, she drove a Ford Focus—fancy cars clearly weren’t a high priority interest for her. He opened the door for her and she slid inside, inelegantly, as usual, which he found completely endearing.
Lane was silent during the drive, responding only when Adam asked her a direct question—and so coolly, Adam began to feel uneasy.
“Is something wrong, Lane?” he asked, as he pulled into a parking spot as close to the venue as he could find. He could see she was making an effort to relax her hands.
“No. Should there be?”
“You just seem a little—”
“I don’t want to be late, that’s all. I put Sarah on the guest list—it seemed to fit, you know, because she’s doing the PR for that big arts festival—and she’ll be waiting for us.”
Adam helped her out of the car and took her arm. They walked in silence, Lane tripping only twice in her new red shoes. She seemed to be getting used to wearing heels.
The exhibition was in a redeveloped rail yard building in one of Sydney’s thriving urban areas near the Central Business District. The old carriage works had been transformed into a multipurpose arts and culture space. It was Adam’s favorit
e kind of redevelopment—embracing the building’s past while adapting it and modernizing it for the future, and he was looking forward to spending time inside with Lane, discussing the architectural features.
But first… He stopped her outside, and kissed her.
Instead of looking dewy-eyed at him, the way he’d come to expect, Lane seemed distraught. Something was definitely wrong, and Adam would have been happy just then to go back to the car and drive away.
“Sarah, remember,” she said. “We’d better go in.”
Adam was at a loss as Lane walked agitatedly in ahead of him, but he soon got the message.
She looked around quickly then with the briefest “Excuse me for a moment,” she headed across the room, in the direction of a handsome blond man. Adam watched the man turn, saw his eyes widen and slide over Lane’s body in male appreciation. Lane returned the man’s smile, and he touched Lane’s arm. Way too intimate.
Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck spring up; at about the same time he identified the roaring in his ears as a rush of temper-laden blood through his veins. He didn’t know how long he stood there feeling his insides turn from fire to ice before his sister’s voice penetrated the sick fury in his head.
“Adam? Hello? Adam!”
With an effort, Adam dragged his gaze from Lane.
Sarah smiled up at him. “Is this a swank turnout or what?”
“Perhaps you’d better tell me what she’s brought me to.”
“It’s a traveling exhibition, very cool. There are some stunning pieces but it’s strictly display only—nothing for sale—so don’t get attached to anything. According to the curator—that cute guy with the glasses over there—it’s a great opportunity for—” She broke off. “Adam…?” She turned to follow the direction his gaze had snapped back to three times since she’d started talking.
She gave him a knowing look. “Ah, okay.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“You mean David Bennett.”
“So she’s still going to…you know…with him?”
“She hasn’t mentioned his name for ages, but I guess so,” Sarah said, frowning at him. “Why?”
“I thought maybe…” He stopped, shrugged. “Nothing.”
Sarah stared at him. “Well, I don’t believe it. Erica’s hit the nail on the head again.”
“What the hell has Erica got to do with it?”
“You. And Lane! Erica said it was obvious—well, to everyone except the two of you—what was going down. So…what exactly is going down?”
But Adam didn’t answer. Because Lane was coming his way. Bringing David Bennett. And David Bennett was smiling—and he had dimples. Dimples, for God’s sake.
Lane made the introductions—David, Adam, Sarah.
David had a good, firm handshake—so Adam gave his a little extra crunch. But other than a tiny flicker of surprise in the eyes, David didn’t flinch. Damn him.
“Do you enjoy art, Adam? Sarah?” David asked.
Sarah beamed. “Adam’s the collector in the family.”
David turned to him. “Anything in particular?”
“Aboriginal. And contemporary Chinese.” Short. To the point. Perhaps churlish.
“We have some wonderful Indigenous pieces on display tonight. No Chinese, though. I’m a collector of Aboriginal art myself. I have a wonderful Emily.”
“I’m sure you do,” Adam said. And a Susie, and a Jenny and a Lane, he added silently—though he knew David meant the famous Aboriginal painter Emily Kngwarreye, and that his assholery was not warranted.
Lane, looking a little deer-in-the-headlights, piped up. “David also collects etchings.” Then she blushed.
Adam felt his lip curl. “Etchings? Seriously?” he asked, and would have been amused at David’s sudden eye-pop…except that he wanted to punch him.
“So what do you do, Adam?” David asked, obviously trying for a diversion.
Lane answered for him, looking distinctly nervous at this point. “Adam’s an architect.”
A determined smile from David. “Ah. What do you think about the Barangaroo development on Sydney Harbour?”
“I’m more into heritage buildings.”
Adam was impressed at David’s ability to ignore what could only be described as blatant unfriendliness, chatting right on about some of Sydney’s heritage buildings—the Queen Victoria Building, Customs House, some of the old churches…
He was charming. Erudite. Knowledgeable. Well mannered.
Bastard.
How they got onto discussing Adam’s Chinese art collection, Adam wasn’t sure, but at least it prompted Sarah to drag Lane away to meet some joker called Felix from Beijing; he was relieved to have her out of too-good-to-be-true David’s orbit for a while.
* * *
“What’s the great urgency?” Lane asked as Sarah pulled her across the room, her mind still with Adam and David. With every second step, her eyes strayed back to them as they talked about who knew what.
“Felix is organizing a series of investment seminars in China and I mentioned you. He thought maybe you would be an excellent panelist, given you speak a little Mandarin, and I’m sure the bank would see it as great publicity, too. But first…” Sarah lowered her voice, “…I’d like to know what’s going on with you and Adam.”
“Sarah!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Lane, I don’t want the nitty gritty details. I’m just curious about why you brought David Bennett over to meet him.” She paused and looked hard at Lane. “It seemed a little…pointed.”
Lane was taken aback at Sarah’s clear disapproval. “Adam already knew about David. It’s just…part of the arrangement. You know, for Adam to get a—a feel for the type of man I want to attract. This was the first chance I had for them to meet, that’s all. Do you think it bothered Adam? Because I…” She paused, thought, and shook her head. “No, why should it? He’s a total, unrelenting tart, remember? He won’t be pining for me when the contract lapses in four and a half weeks.” She’d kept her voice so even, so placid—completely at odds with her gnashing insides.
“Lane, can’t you see the way he looks at—” Sarah stopped and stared at Lane’s carefully serene face. “You know what? Work it out yourself. And find Felix yourself, too—he was near the big blue sculpture.”
Lane stared after her friend, who flounced off—actually flounced! She worried about Sarah’s reaction, her disapproval, all through her conversation with Felix. The way Adam looks at…who? Surely he didn’t…surely he couldn’t…
She finished her conversation with Felix quickly and returned to Adam, only to find him surrounded by a coterie of female admirers. Lane pinned a smile to her lips, stood to one side and looked around for Sarah. Ha! She’d love Sarah to see this.
A tinkling laugh drew her attention sharply back, in time to see Adam remove a perfectly manicured hand from his arm.
Where were all the meat cleavers when you needed one?
In four and a half weeks, he would not have to remove that hand, she reminded herself with masochistic relish. In four and a half weeks, Adam could do whatever he wanted with whomever he liked, have as many hands clawing at him as his arm would fit. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. Ridiculous! She blinked her eyes furiously, willing them away and looking anywhere, anywhere, but at Adam.
She caught sight of David across the room. He didn’t look quite so handsome tonight. Even with that edifying spark of passion in his eyes. A spark that suggested to Lane that her time with Adam had given her some special sexual aura. She certainly felt sexier these days. She was fairly certain David would welcome any advances she made.
Lane barely managed to repress a shudder.
David, oblivious to her waning—make that waned—interest, waved at her. Conscious of Adam approaching her side, Lane waved back.
Her elbow was grasped firmly. “Let’s go,” Adam said shortly.
“I’ll just find Sarah. Because I should—”
&
nbsp; Without another word, Adam pulled her out of the gallery. He tightened his grip and pulled her closer when she stumbled, but he didn’t slow down. They reached the car and he opened her door, virtually pushing her inside before getting behind the wheel.
Then he grabbed her, hauled her half out of her seat and kissed her, hard enough to cause her to cry out in shock. He gripped her shoulders, his mouth devouring hers. An almost violent desire surged through Lane, and she grabbed the back of his head, jamming his mouth against hers.
She tasted blood and cried out again, pulling away. There was a bead of blood on Adam’s bottom lip, and she touched it with a trembling fingertip. “Adam, I’m so sorry.”
Adam grabbed her hand. “Thank God. I thought—I thought I’d hurt you.”
Lane ran her tongue over her lips. “No.” She leaned forward and slid the tip of her tongue over his tiny wound.
Adam groaned. “We’ve got to get to your place. Fast.” He shoved the key in the ignition and without waiting for an answer, started the car.
Not that Lane had any intention of disagreeing with that plan. She was so weak for him, she might not have said no to him taking her right then and there.
She thought back to Lesson Nine—getting touched in inappropriate places—and reached her hand over to Adam’s thigh, trailing her fingers over the fine black wool and up.
* * *
Adam kept his eyes firmly on the windshield and tried to regulate his bloody crazy heartbeat. A few deep breaths, a quick, silent prayer, and he thought he would make it.
Until he risked a look at Lane.
She was staring ahead, too—and the cool clarity of her profile contrasted with the feel of her hand on him almost undid him. He had to get her indoors.
“Lane, I’m about to drive like a bat out of hell so take care there.”
When they got to her house, he promised himself, he would get himself under control. Sensitive. Romantic. The Notebook-ish. Peeling the dress off her, laying her gently on the bed…
But they didn’t make it to the bedroom. They didn’t even make it out of the entrance hall. Or their clothes. As soon as the front door closed, they were kissing wildly.
The Contract Page 13
