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 . . .
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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.