The caveman part of him grunted in indignation at that.
He grabbed his coffee again and took a gulp of the now lukewarm brew. He should leave. No good would come of this. But he didn’t get up. He sat there and drank the not-great coffee and tried not to feel like a stalker. Maybe seeing her on a date would be what he needed to get her out of his head. Make it clear to his rogue libido that she wasn’t an option. Then he could move on and stop obsessing about the night they’d had together.
That was the rationale in his head. The plan.
But a few minutes later, when a tall black man with movie star good looks, a designer suit, and a smile that had melted off more than one woman’s panties walked through the door and strolled up to Elle’s table, Lane’s best intentions disintegrated into a ball of flame.
The man was a friend.
An old one.
And Lane only had one kind of old friend.
Everything inside him rallied into one loud battle cry. Oh, hell no.
Chapter 8
Elle gathered every bit of her internal reserves to remain calm and businesslike as Isaiah walked up to her table. She’d left two lemon wedges in the center of the table on a napkin. That was the subtle signal they’d agreed to, but she hadn’t noticed him glance at what was on the table. He’d walked in the door, tall, confident, and gorgeous, had locked eyes with her almost immediately, and had headed her way as if he’d known without a doubt she was the one he’d come here for.
She didn’t know whether to be comforted by his confidence or concerned that she somehow looked like the woman who would hire an escort. But she didn’t have time to worry about it because he was at her table in the next breath. He smiled down at her, revealing friendly brown eyes that crinkled at the corners and a perfectly executed five o’clock shadow. “Elle?”
“Yes.” She stood too quickly and her knee bumped the table, making her tea slosh. Real smooth, Elle. She put out her hand, her doctor’s handshake ready to go. “And you must be Isaiah.”
“I am.” He took her hand, but instead of letting her get away with a formal, businesslike shake—which would have helped her get herself together—he squeezed her hand gently, put his other hand over their clasped ones, and kissed her cheek. All warmth and ease. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The word pleasure rolled off his tongue and somehow managed not to sound seedy. She was thankful for that. If he got cheesy in any way, this wasn’t going to work.
He released her hand and nodded at the table. “Shall we?”
His accent was one she couldn’t quite place, easy on the ears, like a bit of Brit underneath something else. “Of course.”
He pulled her chair out for her and then took his seat, motioning for the waitress at the same time. He put in an order for a sweet tea and then turned to look at Elle. “You want to order anything, love?”
The endearment startled her for a second, but he’d said it in a friendly way, as if he’d call a stranger that. She was a stranger. A stranger who was about to discuss paying him for dirty, kinky sex. She cleared her throat and said the first thing she saw on the appetizer menu. “How about the balls?” Everything inside her cringed. “The artichoke balls.”
The word balls seemed to echo in the cafe like she’d said it with a bullhorn, and her cheeks went hot. God fucking dammit. She was blushing. She didn’t blush.
This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. She could do this. So what if this very attractive man was here as an escort? No one else knew that.
Isaiah grinned. “The balls sound fantastic.”
When the waitress walked off, Elle pinched the bridge of her nose.
“What?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “Balls are fantastic. I’ve always been quite fond of mine.”
She snorted, unable to hold back the awkward laugh. “I promise I’m usually more put-together than this.”
He tapped her hand. “Hey, truly, no worries.” He leaned forward on his forearm, creating a quiet space between them. “This is out of pretty much everyone’s comfort zone. Give yourself a break. As for the balls joke, it’s going to happen. You’ll find that no matter how hard we try, we’ll hear double entendres in our conversation. It’s inevitable.”
She took a breath, trying to regain her composure. “Thanks. We should’ve met at a restaurant that served wine.”
“No can do. I have a rule that first meets can’t involve alcohol. This is a decision you have to make with a clear head.” The waitress dropped off his tea, but his gaze remained on Elle. “And this part is going to feel awkward at first because we don’t know each other yet. It’ll be fine. Just relax. Awkwardness never killed anyone.”
She rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension there. “You’re right. I know that. Part of my job is lots of awkward first meetings.”
He lifted a brow, which reminded her that she’d been scant on the personal information when she’d gone to the kink club and asked if the owner could set her up with a reputable service.
She took a sip of her tea. “Sorry. I’d rather keep my work life stuff separate.”