She clamped her lips shut.
“Are you willing to give this a real chance?”
She frowned. “Sex?”
His hands closed over her knees. “No. Us. I want you, Elle. Not just in my bed but in my life. Do you want that, too?”
She took a long, steadying breath, old feelings waging war with new ones. “I do. I’m…trying. But even this kind of conversation is freaking me out.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But you’re still here. You just faced a panic attack out there and didn’t run. You didn’t lash out at me. You let us have a sweet moment and you’re still here.”
The words made her throat tight, but she managed a quivery smile. “You better not be therapy-ing me, Lane Cannon. I will punch you.”
He took her hands in his. “Indulge me. Can you give me your trust tonight?”
“With what?”
He touched his forehead to hers. “I want to make love to you, Elle. No mean words, no fighting. Just let me make you feel good my way.”
Any erotic drive she’d had walking into the room went dormant. Her stomach was a pit. Honest words fell from her lips. “I don’t know how to do that. I can’t promise I won’t panic”
His palm cupped the back of her head. “That’s okay. Trust that I’ve got you, that I’ll take care of you. And there’s always your safe word.”
Fear tried to grip her. She didn’t make love. That wasn’t part any relationship she’d had since her marriage, but she didn’t want to shut this down, not after all that had happened tonight. She needed to trust that Lane would keep her safe. She needed to give them both a chance. She took a breath and nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter 21
“Okay.”
The word was a simple one but the trust it required from Elle sent relief sweeping through Lane. She was freaked out, but she trusted him enough to give him a chance. Now he had to make sure he didn’t screw it up.
Elle had been totally in for everything tonight—her guards down, the fun, sensual woman he’d suspected hid underneath all that armor on full display. Hell, she’d announced in front of her whole family that he was a surrogate. But the minute he’d said something sweet to her, he’d triggered her demons and the panic had tried to take her down.
If she were a patient of his, he’d want to talk it out. But Lane knew that’d only make it worse with Elle. They’d talked enough. So, he was turning to the only thing he had left—his instincts.
If they really wanted to make a go of this, of trying to date, he wasn’t going to walk on eggshells. He wanted to be able to tell the woman he cared about how he felt.
“Lie back on the bed,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Spread your legs.”
The command seemed to snap her from whatever thoughts were making her body tense up. She took a breath and scooted back on the bed. She lay on her back and parted her legs. He ate up the view as he shucked his shirt. Even though he’d only come a few minutes ago, his cock stirred with interest at the sight. Elle’s breasts smooth and full in the warm glow of the lamps, her body bare and open to him, those lacy garters making her look like a confection. Goddamn, the woman was sexy.
He reined in his galloping libido and went to the closet, searching for what he wanted. He’d checked for possible supplies when he’d come in and had been pleased to find that the swanky hotel had rubber-tipped clothespins on their hangers. God forbid any guest wrinkle their clothes with metal teeth. Their attention to detail was his boon.
He grabbed a few and tucked them in his pocket before walking over to the bed. He ran the back of his hand over Elle’s breast, brushing the nipple with a barely there touch and bringing it to a hard point. Her belly dipped with a breath.
“Have I ever told you that you have the most beautiful breasts?” he asked, tracing a circle around her areola and watching goose bumps rise.
Her fingers curled into her palms. As he’d expected, the simple compliment unnerved her. Her lovers weren’t supposed to be kind or complimentary. That was what had been burned into her brain by that asshole lacing his lies with sugar. Well, Henry wasn’t going to steal that from her anymore if Lane had anything to do with it.
He brought her nipple between his fingers and clamped the clothespin on it.
She gasped. “What the hell?”
She tried to sit up but he put a palm in the center of her chest and guided her back down. “The more you move, the more it will sting. Just let the feel of it move through you. And try not to think about how it will feel when I pull them off later. The pain of that is going to make you call me bad names.”
“I want to call you bad names right now.”
He smiled, pinched her other nipple, and clamped it without ceremony. “Be nice.”