All of it. Her failed marriage. Her screw up with Donovan. That she was almost forty and alone on her birthday. That she was—So. Fucking. Angry. All the goddamned time.
She needed oblivion and to get out of her head and to just be for a little while. She needed to leave, go to some other bar, find some other man in some other place. Escape the knowing gaze of Lane Cannon. But that was not what came out of her mouth. “I need to forget that you’re you and I’m me and that we don’t like each other.”
A half-smile touched his lips, a slow lift, but there was no humor in his eyes. His gaze was intent, searching…soul-stripping. “I like you just fine, Elle McCray. In fact, I’m liking you more and more each second that you look at me like that.” His thumb traced along the spot where her neck met her shoulder—hardly a touch but most definitely on purpose this time. “Tell me what would make you forget.”
She swallowed, trying to ease the sudden dryness in her throat and ignore the gathering warmth between her thighs, the brush of her hardening nipples against her bra. She was losing control of this fast and wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or panicked. “Do I have to spell it out? Or are four-letter words too long for you?”
The smile became a full one now. A predatory one. Her insult seemed to only egg him on. “Bold suggestion from a woman who was trying to scare me off a minute ago. You don’t even like me.”
“No. I don’t.” She closed her eyes for a second, trying to regain her breath, and whispered. “That’s the best part.”
The confession slipped out and he tipped his head as if he were processing her words, assessing her. But then his thumb pressed against her spine. “I promise you. That definitely won’t be the best part.”
Her neck felt hot, the air in the room thick. “No?”
He bent close to her ear, his scent drifting over her. “No. The best part will be when I’m deep inside you and you’re riding your edge, begging for this guy you hate to give you exactly what you need, to drive you so out of your mind that you have no choice but to forget everything except the way I’m fucking you and how good it feels and how much you want it.”
She closed her eyes again, the words rushing over her like open palms on naked skin. Fuck. “We can’t…I don’t…”
Lane sat back. “Tell me to go away again, Elle. Lie and tell me you want me to go away and I will.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she wet her lips, nerves and good sense trying to take hold. She shifted her gaze to the party. It felt like spotlights were burning down on her and Lane, exposing all their secret whispered words. But no one was paying attention to them. And even if someone looked over, all anyone would see were two people talking. No one would be able to see how fast her heart was beating or how damp her panties had gotten. No one would see that the man who spent his days patiently guiding people in intimacy training had just offered to fuck her until she was begging.
She needed to say no. To end this. “We can’t leave together.”
His smile went smug. “Don’t want to be seen slumming it with someone who doesn’t have a doctorate?”
She shot him a look.
“Give me your address. I know you live on campus. You can leave first. I’ll wait a few minutes and then head over.”
Before she could think too hard about it, she nodded. “I’m the only house on the northwest side of the pond. My name’s on the mailbox.” She took a breath. “No one can ever know about this. I don’t want to talk when you get there. You will use protection. And if I say no to something, you stop.”
“Wow, a checklist. No romantic wooing for you, McCray? No drinks by the fireplace while we get to know each other?”
“If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re looking at the wrong woman. And let’s not pretend you actually want to get to know me. We have nothing in common.”
He narrowed his eyes, considering her. “Leave your door unlocked. Keep the lights low so no one sees me coming in. And don’t change out of this dress.” He let his gaze slide down over her with slow deliberation. “I want to have the pleasure of ripping it off of you.”
A shimmer of anticipation went through her at that image. Maybe this was exactly what she needed tonight. An ill-advised, forbidden night with a guy who looked like he could keep a dirty promise. She drained her wine and then picked up her handbag, rising on tingling legs. “’Til then.”
He stayed in his seat but grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “One more thing.”
She tugged her arm free of his loose grip in case anyone looked their way. “Yes?”
“If you lock your door, I’ll walk away and never come back. You can dislike me all you want, but you won’t play games with me. At least not that kind.”
She nodded, the undercurrent of authority in his voice doing more to her than it should. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky had a darkness to him, things lurking in his tone that scared her a little. She wished seeing that didn’t make her want him ten times more. “Nothing will be locked. You’ll have full access.”
The look he gave her promised filthy, tawdry things. “Full access.”
“Yes.”
To everything her body had to give.
And nothing her heart did.
She left him sitting there and walked out of the party without saying good-bye. She hadn’t found any friends tonight, but maybe she’d found exactly what she needed for her birthday.