“They’re going to be talking about you for months.”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Let them. Their opinions don’t matter to me anymore. I’m tired of trying to…prove that I was unaffected by what happened, that I just brushed myself off and moved on. I didn’t. I shouldn’t have been expected to. It changed me. Something like that is supposed to. The woman I used to be would’ve never gotten involved with a man like you.”
He flinched slightly.
She let her hands flatten along his chest. “But I’m not her anymore. I don’t want to be. I don’t ever want to feel like I did after Henry cheated on me, but I’m tired of being scared to feel something for someone. Hearing him tonight, I realized he’s still controlling me. What he did to me is puppeteering my life. And that”—she met his gaze—“pisses me the hell off.”
Lane nodded, his expression not revealing anything.
She took a deep breath. “You might hurt me. This might blow up in my face. But I’m tired of playing his game. These last few weeks with you, even the hard ones, have made me feel things I thought were long dead. You matter to me, Lane. I’m sorry I keep pretending that you don’t.”
“Elle.” He closed his eyes and said the word like a prayer, like he was letting out a long-held breath.
She didn’t know how he was going to respond. Vulnerability blanketed her and her heart tried to jailbreak through her ribs. Every instinct was telling her to run, but she forced herself to stay in his arms.
When the silence stretched on, she began to sweat. “Say something, Lane. I don’t know what to…do with this.”
He looked down at her, a rueful smile touching his mouth. “I don’t either. But how about we start here?”
He tilted her face toward him and kissed her. The connection started off slow, a simmer, a let’s-figure-this-out-together kiss, but soon her fingers were curling into his shirt and she was making a needy sound in the back of her throat. The whimper seemed to flip a switch in him. His tongue dipped into her mouth and her hands mapped his back. This was not the chaste nonsense they’d done in front of her family. This kiss held the fire of those early kisses back when they were hating each other and sparring. Urgent. Needful. Wild.
Her back hit the wall and his body aligned against hers, hard fitting to soft. Her skin burned through the thin material of her dress and her lungs protested for air, but she didn’t want to stop. This. She needed this. They’d been pouring water on this forest fire since the day she’d ruined things in the office, had tried to ignore how they were flint and steel to each other, but all of that thwarted need poured into the kiss now, singeing her from the inside out.
Lane’s mouth trailed down to her neck and she gasped for breath, her head tilting back and her shoulders rising with panted air. He caressed her breast through her dress, a gentle thumb grazing her nipple, his voice a growl against her throat. “It took everything I had earlier not to go back on everything I said and peel you out of this dress. You look like fucking sin, Elle. One I’d commit over and over again and happily go to hell for.”
She groaned, her hands gripping him as if she’d float away if she didn’t have something to hold on to. Over and over again sounded like an excellent plan. She cosigned that plan. She shifted her hips, a shiver racing through her as the hard length of him brushed against the place that ached most.
They had too many clothes on. She needed him against her naked. Her eyes flitted open and she caught sight of the tiny security camera in the corner, reminding her where they were and where they were not. “We might not go to hell, but we might get arrested if we keep this up.”
Lane lifted his head and followed her gaze. His grin was pure wicked schoolboy when he turned back to her. “Someone is getting a show during their night shift.”
He waggled his fingers at the camera in greeting.
She laughed. “We should charge.”
He leaned in and kissed her again. “No. No more money exchanging hands.”
“Good idea.”
“But let’s skip jail tonight.” He stepped back, adjusting his jacket, and then held his hand out to her. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on.”
She took his hand, her blood still pumping with desire and her flaming cheeks probably telling the tale for anyone who passed. He guided her toward the lobby, but instead of heading out front to the valet, Lane parked her on one of the pretty Victorian couches and went to the front desk.
A few moments later, he returned and held up a keycard. “How about a little more privacy and a few less family members?”
Her lips curved. “We don’t have any of our things.”
He offered his hand. “I only need one thing tonight—you out of that dress in a room with thick walls and a plush bed. We’ll worry about the walk of shame tomorrow.”
She took his hand and let him drag her against him again. She pressed her lips to his for a quick kiss. “No more shame. I’ll proudly walk into my family’s home tomorrow with you on my arm, looking like I’ve been manhandled.”
He touched his forehead to hers and cupped the back of her neck. “Oh, you’re so going to be manhandled, doc. I need to pay you back for all this torture you’ve put me through.”
She gave him an I-dare-ya smile. “I’d like to see you try.”
Chapter 20
The door to the hotel room had barely clicked shut when Lane hauled her up against it and fitted his body to hers, his mouth capturing her lips with fevered urgency. She melted into the door and shoved his jacket off his shoulders, trying to keep herself steady while he kissed her senseless. She needed him naked. Now. His jacket hit the ground.