Her heart thumped hard against her ribs, but she refused to let any emotion show on her face. His observations were painfully accurate. How many times had she squeezed her eyes shut with a guy and pretended the things happening were so much darker, more dangerous?
The look on his face said he knew he’d hit the mark. “Isaiah can’t give you what you want. He might be able to play the role, but that’s not his natural way. He’s not mean enough for you. He can’t do what I did for you. I know that’s what you’re hoping.”
The words pushed needles into her. “You’re such an egotistical jerk.”
“Doesn’t change what’s true.” His hand slid onto her hip, the heat of his palm searing her through her dress. “You’re too smart to trick yourself. You think you’ll be able to pretend it’s all real, but you’ll always know in the back of your mind that he’s in your bed because you’re paying him to be. That he’d be following your orders, not his own desires. And I promise you, that’s going to take the fire right out of it. You’ll see the strings at the magician’s show. The magic will be gone.”
She shook her head, not wanting to hear it. That, of course, had been her fear all along. She’d fooled herself in her marriage, tricking herself into believing she was loved and cherished, that she meant something to someone. When, in reality, she’d meant nothing—not to her husband or her family. She’d sworn she’d never let herself fall into that kind of fantasyland again. She couldn’t read books with happy endings anymore. Fairy tales were bullshit. Even when she weaved fantasies in the privacy of her own head, reality had an ugly way of pushing in and marring them.
Some of the fight went out of her, a cold, empty feeling pinging through her. “Maybe so. But this is what I have to work with. You don’t think I get that I’m fucked up about this? That this isn’t normal? I get it. But it is what it is. I’m a solution-focused person. And no solution is perfect, but this is the one that’s the closest for me. So please, let me go back to my fake date so I can go home and get fake laid.”
“Elle.” Lane frowned, his eyes scanning her expression. She thought that’d be the end of it, that he’d drop it and let her go. Instead, he kissed her.
The shock of his lips against hers stunned her into instant silence, and without thinking, she reached up and grabbed his shirt. At first, she did it with the intent to push him away, but then found herself dragging him closer and parting her lips.
His tongue slid against hers and he groaned, a whole-body sound that sent a flash of heat to all her best parts. The enticing scent of him had already been too much in the tight space, but adding the taste of him against her tongue put her brain into shutdown mode. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she made a noise that sounded way too close to desperation.
His hand grasped the back of her head and his other slid behind her thigh, lifting her leg so he could step even closer. The hard press of his zipper dragged against her belly and he pressed the heat of his body against her now spread legs.
Everything inside her went warm and needy and ready. She clung to him and kissed him back hard, unable to do anything else but follow where her body wanted to go. Fingers in his hair, breasts pressed against his chest, body melting into him.
“Doc, fuck.” The words were mumbled between hungry kisses and grabbing hands. He left her leg hooked around his hip and dragged his hand up to squeeze her breast. Not a light, tender touch, but a rough, possessive grab that made her gasp and writhe. She wanted more, his hand against her bare skin, his teeth tugging her nipple.
But they shouldn’t be doing this. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. “Lane, please. Isaiah is—”
He didn’t let her finish the sentence. He pulled back from the kiss and grabbed her hips to spin her around to face the wall. “You have a word that will make me stop.”
His erection pressed hard against her backside and when she didn’t say a damn thing, his hand slipped between her and the wall and cupped her through her dress. Just the burning heat of his palm was almost enough to bring her to her knees. But of course he didn’t leave it at that. He pressed kisses to the side of her neck and rocked his fingers against her, putting pressure right where she needed it most. Her forehead tapped the wall.
“Tell me what you would’ve done if I’d taken the money that night?” he asked, the words rough against her ear.
She squeezed her eyes shut, the pleasure of what he was doing with his fingers in direct opposition to the anxiety the question caused. “I knew you wouldn’t take it.”
“You wanted to piss me off, chase me out?” His fingers made circles around her sensitive clit, the silk of her panties sliding over it in a maddening glide.
“Yes.”
She gasped as he moved his hand and abruptly hiked up her skirt. His fingers pushed aside her panties, finding her wet and wanting.
“Why?”
Her nails curled against the wall, thoughts harder to put together now that his fingers were on her, inside her, touching her exactly where she needed.
“Because I can’t handle complicated.”
His fingers slowed down to a sensual rhythm, one that had her lifting up on her toes and breathing hard, and the scent of arousal filled the small room.
He kissed behind her ear and then nipped at her lobe. “You never answered my question. What would you have done if I’d accepted the money?”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, fighting not to beg for more of his touch or ride his fingers like some desperate, needy thing. She was so close. “I would’ve asked you to come over the next night. And the next.”
“To use me.”
She scoffed, though it came out sounding more like pleasure than disbelief. “To use each other. Don’t act like you want me for anything but this. You and I have nothing in common besides this.”
He plunged his fingers deep at that. “Why, because I’m a lowly former hooker and you’re the fancy doctor?”
She shook her head, somehow wanting to laugh at that notion. “No.”