By the Hour (The Pleasure Principle Series #2)

by Roni Loren

  She groaned and let her head fall against his chest. “I hate you.”

  He set his chin atop her head and closed his eyes, feeling strangely contented for the first time all afternoon. “I hate you, too, doc.”

  She tapped her head against his chest. “Why does that make me want to kiss you?”

  “Because you loathe me so hard?”

  She lifted her face to him, humor in her eyes. “So hard.”

  He released her hands and cupped her face. “Feeling’s mutual. You’re a nightmare.”

  She smiled and looped her arms around his waist. He didn’t need any further invitation than that. He lowered his mouth to hers, taking what he’d wanted since walking in the office, taking what she’d refused him that first night together.

  When his tongue touched hers, her softly expelled moan was enough to get his blood rushing straight south. Elle in her doctor’s coat, all buttoned up and late for rounds, melting like butter in a hot skillet under his touch. He wished she had more than a minute. He wished he could lift her onto her desk and put the In Session sign on the door, give her the afternoon work break they really needed.

  He let his hand slide to her ass, cupping her and angling her against him as he deepened the kiss.

  A knock sounded to his left and before he could register what that sound meant, the door swung open. “Dr. McCray, I—”

  Chapter 15

  Elle jolted back from Lane at the sound of the intruding voice, and Lane lifted his hands as if he were being held up by the police.

  Both of them turned to the door to find an emoji version of Oriana—all wide eyes and O-shaped lips—staring back at them.

  Elle’s mind raced, trying to come up with some conceivable reason why she was on duty and in a lip-lock with The Grove’s sex surrogate. But her ability for speech had apparently bolted out the door hand in hand with her dignity.

  Ori spoke first. “Uh, I am so sorry. You didn’t have your sign up and—I just…” She jabbed her thumb behind her. “I’m leaving.”

  “Ori, wait.” The words jumped out of Elle’s mouth unbidden.

  “Wait?” She looked like a bird trapped in a cage, begging to be freed from the situation. “I really should go.”

  Lane gave Elle a what-the-hell look, but some of the blood had rushed back into her brain, kicking it into gear. “Yes. Shut the door for a minute. Please.”

  Oriana sent Lane an S.O.S. look, but when he didn’t jump in to help, she reluctantly shut the door. She gripped her elbows. “Dr. McCray, I—”

  Elle held up a palm. “Ori, please. You don’t have to apologize. It’s my fault I forgot to put the sign up on my door. But I need you to understand what you saw.”

  She winced and glanced away. “I can figure it out. I really don’t need—”

  “I’m considering seeing Mr. Cannon for…therapy.”

  Lane’s attention snapped to her, shock in his eyes. Shock and…hurt.

  Elle cleared her throat, pushing through the pang of guilt that sent through her. She could not have her co-workers think she was dating Lane. She wasn’t dating Lane. And that rumor would spread like wildfire. She couldn’t handle that kind of attention. The whispers. The jokes. The raised eyebrows when she referred patients to Lane.

  Making it a therapy thing insured the rumor would stop here. Confidentiality was law at this place. “It’s a very private matter and we were just seeing if there was enough…compatibility to proceed with sessions.” She fought not to cringe at the words. “I’m sure you understand that this is very confidential.”

  Ori’s lips rolled inward and she nodded. “Of course, Dr. McCray. I would never say anything to anyone. Therapy or otherwise.”

  Ori was giving her the opportunity to come clean, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Elle nodded, her gut telling her she could trust Ori when she said she wouldn’t say anything. She had always been a consummate professional. But Elle couldn’t let go of the lie. “Thank you. I appreciate your professionalism. Now, was there something you needed?”

  Ori straightened and glanced between the two of them. “Nothing that can’t wait. I’ll go over it with you after rounds.”

  “Fine.”

  Ori took that as her cue, gave them both one more darting look, and then she hurried out the door, shutting it behind her. Elle heard her In Session sign being slipped into place.

  Elle let out a defeated breath and turned to Lane, feeling the weight of his stare on her. “I’m sorry.”

  His jaw flexed and the warmth he’d had in his eyes earlier was gone, flint replacing it. “What? You’re sorry that you’re so embarrassed by me that you’d rather tell someone you had sexual problems than admit we’re seeing each other? Is that what you’re sorry about?”

  Her stomach hollowed out. “Lane. It’s not that, it’s—”

  “Whatever,” he grated out. “I can’t deal with this right now. I have a client arriving any minute. Your time renting me for the afternoon is done. Someone else requires my services.”

  The way he said services and renting sent terrible images through her mind. Was he off to kiss someone else? To put his hands on her? Make her feel good?

  She’d known that all along but had managed to compartmentalize it since they’d made their agreement. But now he was throwing it in her face because, why shouldn’t he? She’d just denied him like he was some disease. She’d hurt him.

  And that hurt her. More than she expected.

  “Please don’t walk out like this. We should—”

  “Later, Elle. You don’t want to talk to me right now. It won’t end well for you.” He strode past her, his gait calm but his quiet fury palpable. The door shut with barely a click.

  She almost wished he’d slammed it.

  It’d be easier to be mad, but the feeling wouldn’t come.

  Instead, she sank into her chair, her chest burning and hot tears jumping to her eyes. Tears of frustration. Of shame. Confusion.

  Why couldn’t she have just told Ori the truth? Elle and Lane hadn’t been breaking any rules. They’d been in a private office. Oriana wouldn’t have betrayed their confidence.

  But no, Elle had to screw it up. Do the most hurtful thing possible and deny Lane. Embarrass him. Push him away like she did everyone else.

  She stared down at the sparkling ring on her finger, a ring so perfect she couldn’t have picked out a better one herself, and tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Seeing the ring made her ache for a life that could’ve been, a woman who could’ve been, if she’d met someone like Lane before she’d become…this. Before she’d learned that no one in her life could be trusted to have her back, that if you let your guard down, the people closest to you could rip out your heart without warning and leave you. She didn’t want to always be waiting for that knife in the back, but if she couldn’t trust her heart to her husband, her parents, or her own sister, how was she supposed to trust a man she’d just met? Especially one who had the job Lane did.

  If she let her feelings get involved, she wouldn’t survive another betrayal like that. It would break her.

  She’d worked so hard to get to this point. She was proud of how far she’d come after her marriage had fallen apart and she’d fought her way out of depression. She loved her job. Loved being able to help her patients. Loved the research she did. This way of life worked for her.

  No, that little voice inside her taunted. It had been working for her

  Because right then, staring at the closed door, face damp with tears and shame burning in her belly over how she’d treated Lane, she’d never felt so epically alone.

  And lost.

  And she had no idea how to fix it.

  Lane showed up at her door at seven that night with a bag of takeout and his backpack. The sight of him standing on her doorstep was almost too much to take in. Relief stole her breath. After what had happened in the office that afternoon, he hadn’t returned her calls and she’d been convinced that she’d wrecked e
verything, that he’d never speak to her again. But Lane didn’t look mad. He just looked…normal. And handsome. And like everything she needed tonight.

  She wanted to talk to him. To explain.

  “Lane,” she said, her voice coming out more earnest than she wanted. “I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t expect…about this afternoon—”

  He shook his head and handed her the bag of food. “Later. I’m here to eat and to work on my paper. Are you still willing to help with that?”

  She frowned. “Of course. It was my suggestion.”

  “Fine. Let’s get to it, then. It’s been a long day.” He stepped inside and headed toward the kitchen.

  She shut the door and followed him to the back of the house, a chill left in his wake. When she got to the kitchen, he was already grabbing plates from her cabinet like he knew the place. She cleared her throat, searching for a topic other than their argument. “How’d your appointment go this afternoon?”

  He cut a look her way. “You know I can’t discuss clients that aren’t yours.”

  “Of course.” She tried to busy herself with taking the boxes of fragrant Thai food out of the bag, but her brain wouldn’t shut up, which meant her mouth wouldn’t shut up. She dumped some noodles onto one of the plates. “I tried to call you, but I guess you were busy. Was it an…extensive session?”

  “You mean did I have sex with her?” The words were clipped, the tone pointed.

  She winced. “I—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You and I aren’t sleeping together tonight.”

  She swallowed hard. “Right. That’s not what I—”

  “Or ever again.”

  The flat statement had her head snapping upward. “What?”

  “That part is done.” He stabbed his chopsticks into the other container and served himself some food. “I was being delusional this whole time. I thought we could have some fun with each other, maybe even be friends, but this afternoon confirmed what I already suspected. This arrangement can’t work. You never wanted it to. I should’ve just let you go with Isaiah and saved us both the trouble.”

  The stinging words were delivered without emotion or humor, none of Lane’s trademark good nature seeping into them. “But…you’re here.”

  “I’m here because we made an agreement, and I told you I keep my word. You’ll help me with my paper. I’ll still pretend to be your fiancé to help you get through the wedding weekend. But sex can’t be a part of that.” He looked up, green eyes clear and resolute. “I made a rule for myself when I walked away from hooking. I would never fuck someone who didn’t respect me—as a lover, as a friend, as a human. Maybe that’s what sent me down the path of becoming a dominant, but the rule still stands outside of that world, too.”

  The words cut into her like ice shards. “Lane, I didn’t—”

  “Imagine if I had done what you did today. If we had run into some of my friends and I said, Oh her? Are you kidding? No, I wouldn’t date that bitch. She’s just good at getting me off when I’m too lazy to masturbate.”

  Her spine went straight. “That’s not what I said.”

  He shoved a bite in his mouth and shrugged. “Same sentiment. Only replace bitch with trash.”

  Angry words burned in her mouth, her old defenses rising. She wanted to swing, to fight, because this was hurting more than it should. But she fought the instincts that told her to lash out. Lane was right. She’d realized her mistake as soon as he’d walked out of the door today. She’d screwed up, so she swallowed back the ugly retort and took a breath.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. What I did was wrong. I reacted—badly. I don’t think you’re trash. You can’t really think that.”

  He leaned back against the counter, his gaze cool. “Those are just words, Elle. Actions speak the truth. And today, you acted like you’d rather someone think you had sexual problems than let them think you’re seeing someone like me.”

  “I panicked.”

  His brow arched. “Right. So if we were to go up to the main building right now, you’d hold my hand and tell your night staff we’re seeing each other? Because if that’s the case, let’s go, Elle.” He put out a hand. “Bring me up there and let’s tell them.”

  She glanced at his hand and pressed her lips together, trying to find the words that could explain why that sent so much fear coursing through her, but none would come out.

  He smirked and lowered his hand. “Exactly. Words are just words.”

  “Lane—”

  “But no hard feelings,” he said, peering back down at his food as if it were more interesting than she was. “At least not on my end. We’ll take sex out of it and make it easier for us both. We each need help with something outside the bedroom. I’m still willing to hold up my end. Are you?”

  She stared at him, hating the emotionless facade, hating that there was a wall and now he was on the other side of it. The teasing, playful, infuriating man was gone. In his place was this cool, polite professional. She wanted to scream.

  But she tucked all that emotion down and didn’t make a sound. He was giving her an out. Plus, he’d managed to tell her what his ultimate goal had been anyway—to have some fun and maybe make a friend. Not to fall in love or have something lasting, which proved she’d already gotten too attached and made this into more in her head than it was in reality.

  This was for the best. This arrangement had been doomed from the start.

  She should’ve known better.

  She gave him a prim nod, gathering up her composure like armor. “I can still help you, but you’re released from your word with me. I’ll go to the wedding alone.”

  “Nope,” he said, reaching for his drink and sending her a look he probably used on submissives. “That’s not the deal. We both help or both walk away. I don’t want to owe anyone any favors.”

  She crossed her arms. “But you don’t even like me. And you’re angry with me. What good are you going to do me at the wedding?”

  His lips lifted into the briefest humorless smile. “You’re forgetting who I am. Playing the part of liking someone used to be my job. I promise you an Academy Award-winning performance. I didn’t get to be number one boy at the agency because I couldn’t fake it.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  With that, he picked up his plate and headed to the living room, calling out over his shoulder. “Time to get to work. I have a paper to rewrite.”

  Lane watched Elle at her keyboard, typing his words at a rapid pace, her back ramrod straight, and a hollow feeling pinged through his chest. He’d come here and said what he’d needed to say. The words had tasted like sand in his mouth, but she hadn’t left him any choice. He couldn’t keep this going with her when every few days, she would say or do something to cut him down.

  “You should probably put this paragraph at the beginning of this section,” she said, not looking his way. “It will provide a good intro. It draws the reader in and asks a compelling question that will make them keep reading to find out the answer.”

  “Good idea,” he said, closing his eyes and rattling off more sentences for his paper.

  Her fingers went to work again, the clicking of the keyboard the only noise in the room, but his thoughts got louder, drowning it out.

  In the beginning, this thing with Elle had been a game for him. He could field her insults and prickly attitude. He’d gotten used to people belittling him throughout his life, so he could let it roll off his back these days, dismissing their opinions. But then he’d made a mistake and had started to care about Elle, had seen hidden sides of her, had shared things about himself. Her opinion had started to matter to him. And when people he cared about threw knives his way, it hit those old unarmored parts of him, tearing into tender flesh.

  Today in her office, he’d felt so…diminished. With a few words, she’d knocked him from lover, maybe friend, to hired fuck. To something she needed to sweep under the rug. No way was he going to volunteer for that kind of bullshit.
So, he’d shut it down. He’d still help her because the thought of her going into that wedding weekend alone would keep him up at night, but he couldn’t get in any deeper with her.

  One thing he’d learned early on in life and then again with therapy—you can’t help those who don’t want help. Elle didn’t want his friendship. She didn’t want to change. Didn’t want to let anyone in and would sabotage anyone who tried. He’d been pompous to think he could change her mind.

  So now, he’d treat her like a client who’d hired him to be her date. He’d be convincing, he’d play the part, and then when they got back, he’d shake her hand and wish her luck.

  He’d already told her good-bye, she just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter 16

  Elle hadn’t seen Lane since the night they’d finished his paper. She’d gotten a text from him on Monday letting her know that he’d turned it in and would meet her at ten on Friday morning to head to New Orleans. She’d also seen the money she’d originally deposited into his account reappear in hers. But other than that, there’d been no communication. She hadn’t even seen him at work except from a distance in the cafeteria, where he’d been sitting with Dr. Rush and laughing at something she’d said. That full, hearty sound had traveled across the cavernous room and hit Elle in the gut like a flaming spear. He wasn’t going to grace her with that laugh anymore. Access had been revoked.

  Elle sighed, and as she sat on her porch swing with her roller bag by her feet, she considered taking off on her own to the city. She could save herself the awkwardness of spending a weekend with Lane, relieve him of that obligation, but the thought had a fist tightening around her windpipe. Facing her ex-husband and sister alone was too daunting of a specter to ignore. Lane had been right. She could handle herself but having an ally would make it more bearable—even if it was a fake ally.

  Gravel crunched in the distance and Lane turned into her driveway, his sleek black Corvette feeling like an omen instead of a welcome wagon. No more delays. She was really going to this wedding. She would have to face the people who’d ripped her life down the middle and try to show them how fabulously fantastic she was doing. Put on a show.