A way to forget.
And someone to forget with.
Chapter 2
Lane forced himself to stall at the party after Elle had strode out of the restaurant without looking back, hips swinging with the kind of sass that said she knew Lane was watching. He made small talk, joined in on a toast to Marin’s promotion, and generally acted like he had nowhere to be. But after a while, impatience edged in, and he headed over to Marin and Donovan to tell them good-bye.
“Leaving already?” Marin asked, giving him a tight hug. “We haven’t gotten to the bread pudding yet.”
He released her and patted his stomach. “None for me. Gotta watch my figure.”
She snorted. “Right. I think all the single women at The Grove like watching your figure. When you walk down the halls, it’s like watching a tennis match with all the turning heads.”
Donovan smirked at her. “Hey, I’m right here.”
Marin rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder into Donovan’s. “I said single women. But seriously, is everything okay? Did the goodwill mission I sent you on with McCray ruin your night? Because if it did, I’m really sorry. She looked kind of pissed when she left.”
Ha. If Marin only knew. “She didn’t stab me with her fork, so I figure that’s a win. But no, I just have to get up early in the morning. It’s been fun though. Congrats again.”
Marin smiled and Donovan shook Lane’s hand before he headed out, saying good-byes to the others on his way. It seemed to take forever, but he didn’t want to look like he was in a rush. Plus, he wanted Elle to wait a bit.
When she’d left the party, he’d fought hard not to head out right behind her, haul her up against a wall somewhere, and kiss her until she forgot how much she disliked him. Their little chat had left him fighting a hard-on and ready to conquer Dr. Ice (the moniker he’d given her in his head a few months back), but he’d held himself in check. Elle was used to people following after her like loyal subjects—employees, patients, interns. He wasn’t going to be another minion. That was the last thing she needed. That wasn’t what had turned her on tonight. What had tripped her wires had been the very fact that he didn’t cower when she shot her poison arrows at him. It definitely wasn’t because she liked him.
Elle was being honest about that part. She’d slapped a prostitute label on him and believed it. Of course, she had no clue how spot-on accurate she was. He wasn’t an escort anymore, but he’d spent more years in that role than in his current one. And the insult still poked at old, raw things. When he’d heard her call him a hooker that day to another doctor, he’d seen red. He was used to that shit outside of the therapy community but not from within it. He’d worked hard to get to where he was now—legitimately helping people—and didn’t ne
ed anyone knocking him back down into the gutter.
But not until tonight had he realized that her aversion to him wasn’t simply because of his job. She was scared of letting him near her because she wanted him. Tonight, she hadn’t been able to hide her physical reaction to him. He’d caught her off guard. And for a moment, he’d seen how shockingly human she was. Had seen it in her eyes when she’d looked at everyone having a good time. She was fucking lonely. An outsider. She’d created that for herself, but he also got the sense that she had no clue how to fix it. He remembered what that was like—always feeling as if there were a thick glass wall between you and everyone else. Like you were watching a movie and hadn’t even gotten hired as an extra.
It’d made him want to ask questions, to get to know her. But that was not what she’d needed tonight. She wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. Nice scared her. She didn’t trust it. She didn’t want nice-guy Lane. She didn’t want to like him.
That’s the best part. She’d whispered the words but he’d heard the honesty in them. She needed the ire between them. That made it safe for her. She was turned on by their combative words, their insults. He’d been a dominant long enough that he’d seen a lot of different kinks, and God knows he’d seen a dose of most everything in his former career, but he’d never slept with someone who openly disliked him. The thought probably shouldn’t turn his crank, but it had nudged something inside him.
He’d had an exceptionally shitty day, had gotten bad news and had been in a terrible mood on the way to the party. He’d hoped being with friends would help him forget, but instead he’d found something much more interesting by sparring with the beautiful doctor. She owned her role as ice queen, not hiding the fact that she thought she was above him. And man, after the day he’d had, he’d wanted to knock her down a notch.
He’d just never expected her to want the same thing, and he definitely hadn’t expected her to want it in bed. But when she’d put the idea out there and looked at him as if she wanted to take a bite, he hadn’t been able to hold back the onslaught of desire it’d set off. Those pale blond locks of hers wrapped in his fist, those pursed lips begging for his cock, that ever-simmering judgment in her eyes fading into the haze of orgasm.
Yes. All that.
She wanted a hate fuck? He was ready to deliver.
Elle paced her floors and shook out her hands, trying to get rid of the nerves that had insisted on stalking her as soon as she walked into her house. She never got nervous about things like this. It was only sex. Since her divorce, she’d had her fair share of it with a number of men. Some better than others. This would just be another hookup. A one-night stand.
So what if she’d have to see Lane again at The Grove? He didn’t work on the rehab wing, her domain. He was easily avoided. Plus, she was a grown woman who could separate business and pleasure. She’d compartmentalized the hell out of Donovan. Compartmentalizing was a long-practiced art of hers. This would be no different.
If she were really that worried, she would lock her door. Shut down the possibility for good. Because she knew Lane would hold true to his threat. If she locked it, he’d never look her way again. She put her hand on the lock briefly, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn it, not with her blood pumping this hard and the silky panties she’d changed into already clinging to her. She wanted this.
But after twenty minutes of pacing, her focus switched from worrying about the possibility that this would happen to worrying that Lane wouldn’t go through with it, that it had been a tease. A joke.
So when she heard the back door click open, she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound of relief. He was here. This was happening.
She halted in the spot where she was in the living room, waiting in the hazy gray moonlight that filtered through the curtains. She wouldn’t go to him, wouldn’t reveal how eager she really felt.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden floorboards, the one in the hallway creaking beneath his shoe, and then he stepped into the doorway of the living room. Somehow he looked even bigger here in her house. Over six feet of man filling up the unevenly framed antique doorway. The stained-glass pane above the door showered pale, colored light onto his shoulders and left his face half in shadow.
Her throat went tight, bone dry. “It took you long enough. Decided to stay for dessert?”
His mouth curved as he stepped forward, absorbing her sharp tone like she’d said something sweet. “No. I’m having you instead. Hope you’re worth skipping bread pudding.” He eyed her. “Frankly, I have my doubts.”