She gripped the lapels of her robe again. “What are you doing?”
“Let’s do this in stages. I want you to start with dancing in the dark. I won’t be able to see you. In fact”—he grabbed a bandanna he used at the gym from his bag—“I’ll blindfold myself so you know for sure I can’t see you. I’ll put my chair near the light. Try to work your way toward me, pretending I’m a customer in the scene. If you feel comfortable enough at any point, take off the robe. I won’t be able to see you unless you want me to. You can pull off the blindfold whenever you want. Or not at all, if you’re not ready.”
Carlotta eyed him. “You promise you can’t see through that thing?”
“You have my word.”
She rolled her shoulders and shook out her hands. “Okay, I guess it’s worth a shot.”
Lane hit play on the music and dragged the chair over to the small circle of light. He tied the bandanna around his head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t used to being the one blindfolded, but he hoped this would help. He was giving her privacy while still pushing against her fears. Carlotta was afraid of being evaluated, of the judgment. He couldn’t do that if he couldn’t see, but she would have someone else present, which would be a step in the right direction.
She inhaled a yoga-deep breath in time with the music and then the sound of her bare feet against the smooth wood floor filled his ears. He could get a sense of where she was in the room but didn’t turn his head toward the sound in case she was worried he was looking.
The music increased in tempo, the beat heavy and grinding, music appropriate for a strip club, and a hand brushed over his knee. He forced himself not to smile as the heat of her body swept by him. She was close enough to touch. She was in character.
He cheered silently for her. He couldn’t seem to get passing grades in his classes, but at least he could do this. He could help someone.
The sound of swishing fabric drifted over him. The robe being removed? He dared to hope.
“You look like a guy who’d do dirty things to me.” The words whispered against his ear, husky and full of promise. It was a line from the script delivered with the perfect amount of come-hither sex appeal. Carlotta had slipped into character.
But the tone and her nearness had his brain cutting Carlotta out of the picture and inserting someone else into the scene. Not the dark-haired beauty working through her issues, but instead a sharp-tongued blonde with a voice that went raspy when she got turned on.
You look like a guy who’d do dirty things to me.
Lane tried to shake the image from his head. He did not need to be thinking about Elle right now. He was working. He needed to focus on Carlotta. She deserved his full attention.
Hands curled over his shoulders and lips brushed his ears. “What if I said I want you to do dirty things to me?”
Fuck. He had no idea if Carlotta really sounded that much like Elle or if his mind was screwing with him. But his dick certainly had an opinion. He could feel the beginnings of a hard-on pushing against his zipper.
Focus. He tried to talk himself down. He was a master at self-control with his clients. He’d worked with some of the most beautiful women of Hollywood and had managed to temper his reactions to only what the patient needed. He didn’t get hard unless it was necessary. But right now, his body was rebelling.
In his mind, it was Elle dancing around him, Elle’s voice in his ear. “Carlotta…”
“Shh…” A finger pressed over his lips. “My name’s Ginger.”
Lane swallowed hard, trying to bring himself back to what was actually happening. But before he could, Carlotta took his hand and placed it on her breast—her bare breast. Somewhere, his mind registered victory. She’d stripped down. But the other part of him was still fighting the fantasy of Dr. McCray. He forced the other woman from his thoughts and caressed Carlotta, searching for what he was supposed to be doing. “I thought customers couldn’t touch
, Ginger.”
“For you, I’ll make an exception.”
Feeling Carlotta beneath his palm helped drag him back to reality. Her skin was soft and supple, but her breasts were small, nothing like the lush handful Elle had offered. Lane didn’t usually have a preference either way. He’d been with enough women to appreciate the many different variations of the female form, but right now his libido seemed to be hung up on the doctor. And feeling the differences helped center him.
Carlotta shifted in front of him and he felt her fingers playing along the back of his head. Then she was tugging. The blindfold fell away and he opened his eyes.
Carlotta was in front of him, nearly straddling him, and wearing nothing except the tiny gold G-string. She braced her hands on his shoulders and he left his hand where it was. She was shaking beneath his touch.
He lifted his eyes to hers and found worry on her face, but also fierce determination in her gaze. Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Like what you see?”
That was still Ginger talking, but it wasn’t a line from the script. Carlotta was facing the fear of being observed through her character.
Lane let his gaze travel along her body and trailed his hand down from her breast to her hip. “I like it so much I think we need a visit to the VIP room.”
Carlotta let out a whooshing breath and stepped back. She put her hands on her knees, her back rising and falling with quick breaths. Lane recognized the panic attack but didn’t rush to help. She was strong enough to work her way through it. They’d been practicing how she could handle it if one happened on set.
He calmly got up, retrieved her robe, and draped it over her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s it. You’re in control of it, not the other way around. Breathe it down. I’ll get you some water.”