No!
Surely Sarah didn’t think Adam was … surely he couldn’t be … jealous?
What did Adam have to be jealous about?
Still, when she left Felix, she made her way as quickly as she could to Adam, anxious to explore the intriguing possibility … only to find Adam surrounded by a coterie of female admirers.
She pinned a smile to her lips, stood to one side and looked around for Sarah. This would set Sarah to rights, seeing the Casanova at glorious work. She would love Sarah to see this.
A tinkling laugh drew her attention sharply back, in time to see Adam remove a perfectly manicured hand from his arm.
Where were all the kitchen utensils when you needed them? A rolling pin … carving knife … No, a meat cleaver was what she needed.
Not that a meat cleaver would change anything. Because in five and a half weeks, Adam wouldn’t have to remove that hand. In five and a half weeks, Adam could do whatever he wanted with whomever he liked, have as many hands clawing at him as would fit on his arm.
Lane felt the sting of tears and blinked her eyes furiously, willing the stupid, useless things away and looking anywhere, anywhere, but at Adam.
She caught sight of David across the room. He didn’t look quite so handsome tonight, even with that edifying spark of passion that had lit in his eyes when he first saw her. A spark that suggested to Lane that her time with Adam had worked at some level, giving her at least a veneer of sexual allure. She certainly felt sexier these days. She was fairly certain she could acquit herself reasonably well in bed with David now.
Lane barely managed to repress a shudder at the thought.
David waved at her, looking both curious and cautious. And suddenly, mysteriously, sparkless. Conscious of Adam approaching her side, Lane nevertheless waved back.
Her elbow was grasped firmly. ‘Let’s go,’ Adam said shortly.
‘I’ll just find Sarah. There’s something I need to—’
But without letting her get another word out, Adam pulled her after him, out of the gallery. He tightened his grip and dragged her closer when she stumbled, but he didn’t slow down. They reached the car and he opened her door, virtually pushing her inside before getting behind the wheel.
Before she could even buckle her seatbelt he was grabbing her, hauling her half out of her seat, and kissing her hard enough to cause her to cry out in shock.
He gripped her shoulders, his mouth devouring hers. An almost violent desire surged through Lane, and she grabbed the back of his head, jamming his mouth against hers.
She tasted blood and cried out again, pulling away. There was a bead of blood on Adam’s bottom lip, and she touched it with a trembling fingertip. ‘Oh Adam, I’m so sorry.’
Adam grabbed her hand. ‘Thank God. I thought—I thought I’d hurt you.’
Lane ran her tongue over her lips. ‘No.’ She leaned forward and slid the tip of her tongue over his tiny wound.
Adam groaned. ‘We’ve got to get to your place. Fast.’ He shoved the key in the ignition and without waiting for an answer, started the car.
Not that Lane had any intention of disagreeing with that plan. She was so weak for him, she might not have said no to him taking her right then and there.
She thought back to Lesson Nine—getting touched in inappropriate places—and reached her hand over to Adam’s thigh, trailing her fingers over the fine black wool and up.
***
Adam kept his eyes firmly on the windscreen and tried to regulate his crazy heartbeat. A few deep breaths, a quick, silent prayer, and he thought he’d make it.
Until he risked a look at Lane.
She was staring ahead, too—and the cool clarity of her profile contrasted with the feel of her hand on him almost undid him. He had to get her indoors.
‘Lane, I’m about to drive like a bat out of hell so take care there.’
When they got to her house, he promised himself, he’d get himself under control. He’d be sensitive. Romantic. The Notebook-ish. Peeling the dress off her, laying her gently on the bed …
But they didn’t make it to the bedroom. They didn’t even make it out of the entrance hall. Or their clothes. As soon as the front door closed, they were kissing wildly.
Once, Lane pulled back, murmuring something about his mouth injury.
‘It doesn’t matter. Bite me, scratch me, mark me any way you want,’ he growled as her fingertips touched his mouth. He pushed her up against the wall, reaching up under her dress, thankful for the shortened front skirt.
Frantically, she pulled at his tie, shoved at his jacket. She started unbuttoning his shirt, but grew impatient and gave up, instead grappling with the fly of his trousers, pushing his pants down just far enough.
He yanked her underwear aside, not bothering to remove it. She wrapped herself around him, and without further preliminaries, he thrust into her. He could feel her teeth pressing into the skin of his shoulder, hear the almost sobbing breaths that burst through her lips. Smell that musky perfume. Then she was begging again, begging, and he thrust harder, if that was even possible.
They climaxed together. Fast. Strong. Shuddering.
For a long moment, they stayed as they were. Lane pinned to the wall by Adam’s big body, her legs wrapped around his waist, her head on his shoulder.
Adam felt a sense of sweeping relief. She still wanted him. Was still as wild for him as he was for her. He couldn’t believe she could burn like this for someone else. Hadn’t believed it. Wouldn’t believe it.
He took a step, her legs still around him, then dipped suddenly.
‘Adam!’
‘I was just getting this,’ he said, and dropped the velvet pouch between them, their bodies providing a cradle for it.
‘What is it?’
Adam nuzzled her ear. ‘A gift. It fell out of my pocket while we were … engaged.’
Lane closed her eyes. ‘I need to talk to you.’
He kissed her neck.
‘About David,’ she said desperately.
Adam froze. Let her legs slide down from around him. Pulled slowly out of her, stepped back, looked at her as he hitched up his pants.
‘What about him?’
‘I think—I think I should make some coffee,’ Lane said, and took off for the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Adam watched her with an almost manic intensity as she clattered nervously around the kitchen.
He tossed the leather pouch onto the counter, and the slight noise it made as it slid against the bottle of whisky—his whisky—made her flinch. Adam had brought over the whisky, a toothbrush, some shirts, jeans. Infiltrating her home one item at a time because this was where they spent their time. Never at his house, not since that one time when he’d lost control after the shopping trip; never his private, personal space. It was daunting, now, to remember that he’d kept himself separate from her in that way.
He’d discarded his jacket and tie as he’d stalked down the hall after her, and now tossed them carelessly onto one of the kitchen stools. His shirt was still open. The button of his pants was undone. He looked so sexy Lane itched to touch him and start all over again.
When she held out a brimming cup of coffee to him, he ignored it, and poured himself a Scotch.
Here’s a thought: why don’t you ask Adam? Sarah had said, and that was what Lane intended to do, daunted or not. Sarah knew Adam better than anyone, so if Sarah thought there was something to be gained by pushing him on the subject of David—and Lane had to believe she did, given her attitude at the gallery—it had to be worth a try.
Taking one of her deep breaths, Lane leaned against the counter and fixed steady eyes on Adam over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘What did you think of David?’
‘Does it matter what I think?’
‘Yes. It does. To me.’
‘Okay then. He looks like a man who knows women very well. Being good in bed usually goes with t
hat, unless the guy’s an arsehole. And he’s not an arsehole, is he?’
Hmm. That wasn’t exactly the answer Lane had been looking for. ‘No, he’s not … um … one of those,’ she said, not quite sure how to direct the conversation where she wanted it to go.
‘Excellent,’ Adam said with a show of teeth. ‘Fingers crossed he’s good in bed, then.’
Not exactly what Lane wanted to hear. She tried again. ‘But do you think I’m ready? You know, skills-wise? For … for a man like him? Are you … Are you comfortable about that?’
Adam took a quick swig of his Scotch. ‘The invitation to the gallery tonight was nothing to do with introducing me to your colleagues, only to him.’ It wasn’t a question and it wasn’t an answer and Lane had no idea where they were heading.
‘Except insofar as David is, in fact, a colleague,’ Lane said, then winced inwardly at the inadequacy of that.
Adam thought it was pretty inadequate too, judging by the way he laughed, albeit mirthlessly, as he topped up his drink. ‘I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest he’s a little more than a colleague, Lane.’
‘No. I mean, yes. Oh, I don’t know what I mean.’
He took another swallow of whisky, lightning fast. ‘He looked at you tonight like you’re his favourite dessert, so I’m sure he would’ve been up for it if you’d chosen him for your little experiment. Would have saved you a lot of money.’
‘It wasn’t about the money.’
‘That’s not what you keep telling me.’
She jerked, slopping coffee over the rim of her cup. ‘All right, I’ll tell you: yes, he knows women. And those women all say he’s good in bed. And I …’
‘Didn’t want to fail with him.’
‘No, I guess … I guess I didn’t. But now I—’
‘Now you’re almost ready.’
‘Almost?’ she said faintly.
‘Yeah, sorry but I can’t release you just yet, Lane. Still got a few tricks up my sleeve to impart.’
‘But you will release me.’ Not a question. An articulated fact. Just to get it anchored in her head.
‘What is it, Lane? Worried you’ll never be ready?’ Another swallow of whisky as he looked at her hands. ‘Yes, I can see you’re anxious to move on. I can see the nerves. You’ve got a tell in those hands of yours. The same way you’ve got a tell when you lie. Go on, lie to me, Lane. Tell me you’re in love with him.’
‘I’m not in love with anyone.’
‘And there it is. The little eye flick to the left. Lying. So—you’re in love. With him.’ Adam looked into his glass. ‘Flattering,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I must be pretty damn good if you can respond to me the way you do when you’re in love with someone else. Or is it a case of you thinking of him when I’m making love to you?’
‘Why would you care?’ Lane asked. Tell me you do, please tell me you do!
Adam raised one mocking eyebrow—it was the damaged one and that somehow made it worse. One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘An odd quirk of mine. Call me old-fashioned—just like Sarah—but I figure if you’re stupid enough to make a commitment to someone—and loving someone is a commitment in my book—then you don’t have sex with someone else. Even my parents figured that out, hence all those divorces. So much more honourable than adultery, you understand.’
‘But you know it’s different in our case. You know I needed—’
He cut her off. ‘Don’t even. Just look at the facts. You like facts. You’re in love with this Bennett guy, but in bed, when you’re under me, hot and—’
‘Don’t. Please don’t!’ Lane covered her ears with her hands, then immediately dropped them because this was not the time to hide from the truth, this was the time to face it.
‘Don’t worry, Lane. I’ll still teach you. I’ll just have to keep reminding myself when you’re moaning in my ear that the woman I’m inside is in love with someone else. And thanks, incidentally. Always nice to have my views confirmed. Commitment—what a joke.’
‘Not a joke,’ she whispered. ‘Not funny.’
But Adam ignored that and poured more whisky. ‘You’re sure, Lane?’ he asked, without looking at her. ‘Sure you want him?’
She was trying to word a response when he spoke again.
‘No, rewind, pretend I didn’t ask that. I know he’s been in the picture since the beginning. I just didn’t know …’ He took a quick swig of his Scotch instead of finishing the sentence. ‘Answer, instead, why you bothered to show him off to me tonight in particular.’
What to say? How to say it? This was a disaster, and she just had to get out of it with some dignity. ‘With only five and a half weeks left, I think our lessons need to have a firmer purpose,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘I mean, I don’t want to waste time with you doing everything to me.’ Oh, that’s right, punish yourself while you’re at it!
Adam put his whisky down and started buttoning his shirt. ‘You mean you want me to stop giving you pleasure and show you how to do the work.’
‘Yes. I—I need to know what gives you—I mean, a man—pleasure.’
He watched her closely for a long moment. It was a strange sensation, the two of them looking at each other in a kind of double-glazed silence.
And then Adam seemed to pull himself together. ‘Fine, I’ll give it some thought,’ he said. ‘Are you free on Tuesday?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, we’ll make a start then. And Lane?’
‘Yes?’
‘Remember, we have a fidelity clause. You’re mine for the next five and a half weeks. Only mine.’
***
You’re mine. Only mine.
Those words had caused goose bumps to rise all over Lane’s flesh.
Even when Adam had left and she was alone in the kitchen, doing something as mundane as washing up her coffee cup, even knowing they were only words, short-term words, the memory of his saying them thrilled her.
She reached for Adam’s discarded whisky. Raised the glass to her lips. Rubbed her lips over the rim where his mouth had been. Took a tiny sip.
You’re mine.
Oh, God. She was. She was his. Only his. His. The glass slipped from her fingers and smashed on the kitchen floor.
That sobered her.
Yes she was his—for the grand total of five and a half more weeks.
‘Here’s a thought: why don’t you ask Adam if it bothered him?’ Well, she’d asked him, and now she knew, conclusively and irrevocably, that it didn’t bother him.
She should be happy to have the certainty, to know where she stood. But her brain clearly wasn’t in working order, because despite everything that had gone on tonight, she couldn’t seem to accept that Adam would leave her. She was, in fact, already plotting to use this new series of lessons on how to please Adam in bed to her advantage. Working out how she could be such a good student, so fantastically, phenomenally good at pleasing Adam, he wouldn’t want to leave her.
Lane sighed. Much good it would do her. She could still feel his disillusionment when he’d said that if you committed yourself to loving someone, you didn’t have sex with someone else. All she’d managed to do with her talk about David was give Adam definitive proof that romantic commitments were worthless. She should have seen that coming. But too late now—she’d trapped herself.
As she turned to leave the kitchen, her eyes lit on the present Adam had brought her, tossed carelessly on the counter.
She opened the pouch almost fearfully and found the strand of amber. Her breath caught in her throat as she ran the beads through her fingers. Beautiful. Perfect. She slipped the beads over her head, feeling the warmth of them against her skin, imagining Adam’s hands smoothing there, and wasn’t surprised to find that she was crying.
***
It was becoming a habit.
Adam, sitting in a motionless vehicle outside Lane’s house,
brooding over her.
So, she was expecting him to come up with a series of lessons that would have her driving him absolutely freaking crazy, was she? Crazy—partly from lust and partly from the knowledge that she’d soon be using those lessons on another man. Not some nebulous lover of the distant future he hadn’t quite believed in (hadn’t wanted to believe in), but one very specific man, whom he’d now met and had to admit seemed a decent guy. Way too good-looking, of course—to the point where it had to be considered a fault, because David Bennett was the kind of guy women would throw themselves at in a constant stream—but nevertheless, not particularly hate-able. Well, except for the fact that Lane loved the mongrel bastard.
Life basically sucked.
It was ironic, really. Women had been chasing Adam for years, but he’d been running too fast for them; and now that he didn’t want to run, the woman he wanted didn’t want to catch him.
He’d always thought the gene for possessiveness wasn’t in his DNA, just like the gene for true love he’d been ignoring all his life, but tonight he’d discovered it bloody well was! He didn’t want someone else to have her, couldn’t bear for someone else to have her. Because he wanted her.
With Lane he wanted every-damn-thing. He wanted the way she cared about what his godawful step-parents had done to him, and the way she loved his sister, and clicked with her kick-arse friend Erica. He wanted the clumsy tumbles, the nerdy brain, the too-literal arguments, the straightforward truths, and the embarrassment over naming body parts and sex acts. He wanted the wounded, classy, infuriating, valiant core of her.
But she was only using him for sex.
Lane had talked about getting her comeuppance in life, but it seemed to Adam he was the one getting that.
So … what to do?
Fall out of love seemed the obvious answer. But since he had no idea how he’d fallen in it, he wasn’t convinced figuring out how to fall out of it was a valid plan.
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