Off the Clock

by Roni Loren

  “You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  She swallowed, her throat working. “What?”

  “How it’s going to feel when I finally fuck you.”

  “I—”

  He let go of her. “See you later, Dr. Rush. Enjoy your date.”

  He strolled off, fighting a hard-on and thrumming with anticipation. There were a lot of things in life he wasn’t sure of. But he’d seen how Lane had looked at Marin. He recognized it because Donovan looked at her the same way. And Lane was smart enough not to let her slip by without at least trying.

  So when his phone buzzed half an hour later with a text message, he could only smile.

  He lifted his phone, laughing at Marin’s colorful use of language and angry emoticons, and saved the address she’d sent him.

  Game on.

  * * *

  Marin had no idea what she was doing—just that she was doing it. Like Donovan had predicted, Lane had invited her to go with him tonight and see a band at one of the many jazz clubs in New Orleans. She’d made the bet with Donovan. She was supposed to say yes even though she had no intentions of dating Lane.

  But she didn’t want to lead a guy on. And she didn’t want to renege on a bet. So in the end, she’d told Lane that she’d love to go but that they’d be going as friends, that she wasn’t ready to date anyone right now. Lane had taken it in stride with his easy charm and laid-back attitude. The guy really did have a talent for making people feel comfortable. She could see how vital that would be in his profession.

  But when she peeked through the curtains and saw that he’d pulled up in front of her place in a sleek black sports car, a little flurry of nerves surged. Nate, who’d gotten inexplicably pissy when she’d told him she was going out again, slid into the spot she vacated, openly staring at her visitor. “So this is the dude you went on a date with last night?”

  “No.”

  He looked her way. “No? When the hell did you have time to meet two guys to hook up with?”

  “I’m a grown woman. I do not hook up.”

  “Okay, Kelly Clarkson. Whatever you want to call it. But you looked rough this morning.”

  She made an affronted sound.

  “Just speaking the truth, Mar.”

  Marin frowned. She’d made sure to be back here before Nate had gotten home from his shift, but the kid was too observant for his own good. “I had trouble sleeping.”

  “Uh-huh.” He peered back out the window. “Hard to sleep when you’re too busy hooking up.”

  She groaned. “What’s your problem? You were the one wanting me to get my own life.”

  “I don’t have a problem,” he said, petulant tone back.

  She swatted his shoulder as she toed on her heels. “Stop looking out the window. He’s going to see you. And for the record, I’m not going on a date with this guy. It’s a friend thing.”

  “A friend thing that you dressed up for,” Nate said without looking her way or moving away from the window. “Whoa.”

  She searched for her keys in the pile of stuff on the coffee table. “What?”

  “He’s like seriously hot. Now I get why you’re dressed like that.”

  Marin rolled her eyes. “You’ve just got a thing for blonds.”

  “And broad shoulders and messy hair and, damn, that guy works out. Is he bi?”

  “I have no idea. Plus, you have a boyfriend, and Lane is way too old for you, so back off.”

  “Yeah, my boyfriend.” Nate sank back down on the couch, ending his leering routine at the window, but his moody expression unchanged.

  Marin sighed. Nate was eighteen but still a teenager in so many ways. The moods were impossible to predict or dissect. It was probably best she was going out tonight. She and Nate would just end up snapping at each other more if he was determined to be like this.

  When the doorbell rang, he hopped up. “I’ll get it.”

  “Nathan.”

  But he was already striding in front of her and swinging open the door. Lane stood on the porch, hands tucked in the pockets of his gray slacks and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing impressive forearms. He smiled at Nate. “Hi, is this Dr. Rush’s house?”

  Nate stepped back and swept an arm in front of him. “Yep. Come on in. I’m Marin’s brother, Nathan.”

  Marin tried not to roll her eyes. Despite Nate’s apparent irritation with her, he was all swagger and smiles for Lane. Never doubt the power of a good-looking guy to bring out Nate’s magnanimous side.

  Lane shook Nate’s hand. “Lane Cannon. Good to meet you.”

  Nate raked his fingers through the sideswept hair that hung over his forehead, a sure sign he was trying to look cool. Marin choked down an amused snort.

  She stepped forward, and Lane sent a warm smile her way. “Wow, you look great.”

  “Thanks.” She’d chosen a simple black dress and amped it up with a few silver jewelry pieces. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but she also had no idea what to expect tonight. What the club was like. What Donovan had in mind for later. Because she assumed there’d be a later based on how he’d looked at her today. Her body stirred at the thought. She grabbed her purse off the sofa. “You ready to go?”

  He offered her his arm. “Always ready to take a beautiful woman out on the town.”

  Nate sent her an I-told-you-so look and then smiled Lane’s way. “Y’all have fun. Remember, curfew’s at eleven.”

  Marin smirked. Nate had probably been waiting to say that one for years. She gave him a look when she passed him. “Be careful at work tonight. And make sure you lock up when you leave.”

  He slouched against the doorjamb, looking sullen again. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

  She was tempted to prod Nathan more, see what was going on with his attitude, but she let it slide for now. Lane was waiting and she didn’t have time for an argument. She gave Nate one last wave, and Lane lead her out to the car. As she settled in the seat, she tried to relax, tried to let the day go and focus on the present. Lane folded himself into the driver’s side and sent a smile her way. “Your brother seems like a good kid.”

  “Don’t be fooled. He thinks you’re hot. He’s nice to hot guys.”

  Lane chuckled, a deep-in-the-chest, genuine sound. “Well, I’m flattered then. Too bad I don’t have the same effect on his sister.”

  He said it with a light tone, so she responded in kind. “I never said you were a strain to look at.”

  He turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the road that led out of The Grove. “True enough. And I absolutely respect this as a friends-only outing. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m happy to have the company.”

  She clicked her seatbelt into the lock. “I doubt you have trouble finding that.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised.” The orange streetlights flashed over his profile in an uneven pattern, revealing nothing of his expression. “Women find out what I do for a living and either want to save me, send me to church, or put me in jail. Freaks out pretty much everyone. Even some people at work.”

  She frowned. “I never thought about it that way. I guess that would be a lot to deal with in a relationship.”

  “Yep. It is.” He shifted gears and sped up as they hit the open road. “Which is why it’s probably wise you’ve decided to just be my friend. Our odds are much better.”

  She sighed and peered out the window. “Well, I could definitely use one of those.”

  “Me, too.” He drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. “It’s one of the things you need to survive with jobs like ours—friends who understand the craziness . . . and/or a steady supply of mood-altering substances.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, seems the standard welcome gift around The Grove is wine. It’s a wonder we don’t all end up on the R and R wing.”

  “Luckily most of us know our limits. Though they do have hurricanes at the place I’m taking you to tonight. Be warned, that drink has tak
en out more than one employee from The Grove in its day. Tastes sweet and innocent, but before you know it, you’re climbing atop the speakers, pulling off your shirt, and singing along to Katy Perry songs.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m speaking from personal experience, of course.”

  She laughed. “Katy Perry?”

  “It was a bet. I’d had two hurricanes.” He gave her a mock serious look. “I really can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  “Please tell me someone videoed that.”

  He looked back to the road. “Marin, be careful. I’m a firework.”

  His deadpan tone set her off again and the laugh bubbled out. “I’ll be sure to stick to wine tonight then. You definitely don’t want to hear me sing.”

  “Hey, you never know. It could be fun.” He sent her a sideways glance. “And maybe if you get tipsy enough, you’ll tell me why West looked at me today like he wanted to challenge me to a duel.”

  Marin’s smile stalled. “What?”

  Lane draped his hand over the top of the steering wheel and leaned back, relaxed as you please. “Look, I’ve known Donovan for a while now. He’s a good doctor and smart as hell. But he’s a cool customer—not a guy you’d want to play poker against. And I’m telling you, I’ve never seen him look at a woman like he looked at you today.”

  Marin forced herself not to react. She could not slip up like this. Had they been that obvious? “Lane—”

  He shrugged. “Don’t worry. I don’t tell people’s secrets. And you don’t need to say one way or another. It’s just, sex is my job. I know heat when I see it. And you two just about burned me down in the crosshairs today. So I wasn’t surprised you turned me down for a date if you have that going on.”

  Marin rolled her lips together, watching the dark road disappear beneath their tires, her heart pounding so loud she was sure Lane could hear it.

  “Just be careful.” The words were quiet, the message loud.

  She peered his way.

  He kept his gaze forward, but his hands flexed around the steering wheel. “All that fire can burn you right up, you know? Leave nothing but ashes.”

  She sensed the warning was coming from personal experience, but the words reverberated through her, making her stomach twist.

  “Right,” she said lamely.

  Lane got quiet after that, and she let him. No need to continue the dangerous conversation. It would lead nowhere good. So she tried to focus on counting the mile markers instead of letting her worried thoughts overtake her. But she didn’t get a respite for long.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her lap, startling her from the mindless task. She lifted her phone, expecting a message from Nate. But the name on the screen wasn’t his.

  Your safe word is BLUE. Be ready, Rush.

  Little black letters on a white screen. But strung together they changed everything in one quick second. Her lungs deflated, edgy desire stabbing through her, and her muscles went tight.

  Donovan. He was out there somewhere tonight and ready to play a game.

  She glanced over at Lane.

  Don’t get burned.

  She could already feel the flames licking at her feet.

  23

  Marin decided to nurse one drink while enjoying the music in the club. She didn’t know what Donovan had planned for later, for one. But she also didn’t want to risk a loose tongue with Lane. The guy was easy to talk to and though he obviously suspected something was going on with her and Donovan, she didn’t want to slip up and confirm it. Let him have his suspicions.

  Lane, to his credit, hadn’t brought it up again or pushed for any information. Instead, he’d told her about the band, about living in the city, and he’d picked out a few appetizers from the bar menu for them to snack on while they chatted. Marin felt herself relaxing after a while, enjoying the music and the company. She told Lane about her brother and about how she ended up at The Grove. He gave her the inside scoop about some of the people they worked with. And he artfully dodged questions about how he’d ended up in his chosen career when she asked.

  It was comfortable and pleasant and . . . fun. She realized how long it’d been since she’d just hung out with a friend. So when he asked her to dance, she didn’t feel strange or awkward taking him up on it.

  He swept her out onto the floor and pulled her into his hold, settling his hand on her lower back but not dragging her too close. On her first step, she managed to stomp his toes. “Shit. Sorry. I should’ve warned you that my dancing experience is limited.”

  He smiled down at her. “Don’t worry. I’ve got tough feet. We’ll go slow.”

  He guided her into a turn, his lead effortless, and she settled into his grip.

  “There you go,” he said. “The trouble happens when both people try to lead. Your job is just to relax and let me take you where you need to go.”

  She bit her lip, fighting back a smile.

  His brows went up. “What?”

  “Nothing. I can just see why you’re good at what you do. Why clients let you take them where they need to go. You inspire calm and confidence.”

  His lips lifted at the corner, his expression openly pleased. “Thanks.”

  He spun her around with a flourish and then gathered her back into his hold. The music swirled around them, the dance floor filling with couples. “I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

  “What?”

  “Your job.” She stepped on his toe again and winced, but he waved it off. She adjusted the position of her feet. “I mean, sexual attraction is such a huge, unpredictable thing. How do you work all that out? Keeping things professional with people while still accessing what you need to . . . get the job done? What if you don’t find them physically attractive?”

  He laughed, the white lights of the disco ball dancing across his face in a polka-dot pattern. “Dr. Rush, are you asking how I keep boundaries yet still get turned on enough to perform, even with people who may not be my type?”

  She grimaced. Yep, that had been what she was asking. “Sorry, inappropriate question.”

  “Maybe. But it’s a valid one.” His fingers flexed against her back as he moved her a little closer. “I learned a long time ago how to switch modes. I’m either in work mode or personal mode. In work mode, I focus on the tasks, on being a guide. I don’t sleep with all—or even most—of my clients. But if the situation calls for it, then I provide that. Getting an erection isn’t that monumental of a task. Every woman has something beautiful about them¸ especially after I’ve gotten to know them in sessions. But I’m not there to get off anyway. And I find that it’s better if I don’t take my own release in sessions. It keeps things really clear about why I’m there.”

  Her steps stuttered a bit, but he caught her before she could stumble and whirled her into another turn. “Wait, you don’t orgasm in your sessions?”

  “Not usually. Unless a client has a specific need that requires that experience.”

  “Wow.” She shook her head. “That seems like it’d be torture.”

  Her phone buzzed loudly against her hip, her small purse doing nothing to hide the vibration from her or Lane. She ignored it and they kept dancing. But then it buzzed again.

  “Need to get that?” Lane asked, backing up a few inches to give her room.

  “No, it’s fine, I— Well, no, I probably should check, in case it’s Nate.”

  “Go ahead.” He released one of her hands but kept his other on her back, swaying her to the music and keeping them from bumping into others.

  She pulled out her phone and slid her finger across it. The message filled the screen.

  I spot you across the bar. You look beautiful, and I know you’ve come here with someone else. I can see him holding you like he wants you in his bed. I bet he’s already imagining what you’d feel like beneath him. But he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that my eyes are on you, that you’re already mine, and that tonight, it’s going to be my hands on you, my cock inside you . . .r />
  A gasp slipped out of her, and her feet turned to stone against the floor, halting their movements. They were familiar words. Words from Donovan’s recordings. She glanced around, scanning the crowd, looking for him. But the place was dark and crowded, the faces only shapes in the shadows.

  Lane looked down at her in concern. “Everything okay?”

  She blinked, dragging herself out of her shocked state. “Uh, yeah, sorry. It’s . . . yeah, everything’s fine.”

  Lane frowned. “Is it your brother?”

  She shook her head and forced her feet to move again after earning an annoyed look from a passing couple. But her blood was pumping hard and her body lighting up with awareness. Was Donovan really here? The thought should’ve worried her. Stalker behavior, no thanks. But this wasn’t that. This was one of the fantasies from college. Your safe word is BLUE. That had been the message earlier.

  This was the game. She was now the girl in the recordings.

  Her skin prickled with heat.

  Lane’s gaze was heavy on her. His eyes narrowed slightly. “So it was West.”

  “Huh?”

  Lane kept dancing, but his focus stayed solidly on her. “You’re flushed, and I can see your pulse jumping at your throat.”

  “I really need to stop hanging around with therapist types,” she groused. “Y’all are always looking for every little thing. I’m fine.”

  She moved her hand to drop her phone back into her purse, but in her haste, she fumbled it. The phone clattered to the ground. Before she could make a grab for it, Lane had let her go and swept it out of the way of an oncoming couple. His eyes, of course, skimmed over the screen.

  “Lane, don’t.” She yanked the phone from him.

  But when he looked over at her, something new had flared in his green eyes. He guided her back into his hold with ease. “Well, looks like I was right.”