Pleasure Principle: Off The Clock Part 21

He gathered her closer and brushed his lips over her forehead. "Get some rest, Rush."

She snuggled closer to him, and he pulled the blanket over the both of them, the sweat chilling on her skin. "I can't sleep here."

"I know. But stay for a little while. You went somewhere during that. You need to come down easy from it. Plus, I'm not ready to let you out of my bed yet."

She wasn't sure what he was talking about. But she'd gone somewhere all right. She almost felt drunk with it, her thoughts sticky and her muscles lax. "Okay."

"I'll wake you up before it gets too late," he said softly, but her mind was already halfway to sleep.

She dreamed of it never getting too late. Of staying.

22.

Donovan picked at the gravy-soaked fries on his plate, staring at the doc.u.ments in front of him, the steady flow of conversation around him in the dive restaurant a background hum. He'd driven into Bellemeade to Parrain's Po-Boys for a roast beef sandwich and to go over the most recent report his private investigator had sent him, but he was having trouble making sense of it.

Donovan flipped through a few more pages. Bret had outlined some discrepancies she'd found and some circ.u.mstantial stuff. But Donovan couldn't seem to make it line up in his head. He rubbed the spot between his brows. Maybe his late night was catching up with him.

In the early hours of the morning, he'd woken Marin and had made sure she got back to her place. She'd been sleepy and quiet, and he'd been tempted to ask her to stay. But they had to be careful. Beyond risking someone seeing her leave his place, she had her brother to worry about.

But he'd wanted to keep her in bed with him, naked and curled up next to him until the sun came up. Unlike a typical night, he'd actually had to fight off sleep while he lay there with her. After that spectacular b.l.o.w. .j.o.b and seeing Marin indulging her own pleasure in such a wanton, shameless way, he'd felt sated and sleepy. Content. His mind had been oddly quiet. So much so that he'd had to set an alarm on his phone just to make sure he didn't let her down and sleep past time.

But when he'd rolled over this morning to empty sheets, he'd wished that he'd figured out a way to keep her there. He would've woken her up with his tongue between her thighs, relis.h.i.+ng those sweet sounds she made when she got close to o.r.g.a.s.m, and then he would've spread her out beneath him and f.u.c.ked her deep and slow. He'd had erotic dreams all night of sinking into her body, of what she would feel like around him, of her losing herself to the moment. She was so responsive and gorgeous when she surrendered to it.

And that's what it had been-surrender. He'd watched her slip into that in-between place he'd learned about from studying BDSM. Subs.p.a.ce. Marin may not be a dyed-in-the-wool submissive, but when she let go of control, she really let go-willing and pliant, like she would let him take her anywhere. She'd tackled last night like she tackled everything else in her life-all in, no half-a.s.sed measures. If she was going to do something, she was going to be the best at it. It was d.a.m.n erotic.

He adjusted his position in the booth, trying to will himself not to get hard at the table thinking about it. Even though he'd just had her last night, he couldn't get her out of his head. He needed more. Wanted to glut himself on her. They only had thirty days and he felt like they were burning daylight.

But when he'd asked her last night if she wanted to get together for lunch today, she'd said she had plans. He wasn't sure if that was true or if she'd just needed some time and s.p.a.ce, so he hadn't pushed. But now he was kicking himself for not setting up another time to meet. Usually he spent Sat.u.r.days catching up on work, running errands, or volunteering therapy hours at the kink club in New Orleans-a packed schedule his drug of choice. But he hadn't had the energy or desire to do any of it. All he'd wanted to do was track Marin down and change her mind about today.

G.o.d, he hated this s.h.i.+t.

He didn't have s.e.x brain. He had Marin brain. He shoved another fry in his mouth. What the f.u.c.k was wrong with him? He didn't do this. He didn't spend time worrying about a woman. He needed to get his head together, focus on this report, and get something productive done for the day instead of staring into s.p.a.ce and fantasizing like some h.o.r.n.y kid.

He tried again to read through Bret's notes as he finished up his lunch, but the sound of laughter broke through his barely there concentration. He glanced toward the door, trying to locate the source and stilled, a fry halfway to his mouth, as he watched Marin step inside the restaurant. She had a parted-lip smile on her face, like she'd been the one who'd just laughed, and she was directing that grin toward the blond man she was with. A familiar man. Lane.

Lane pointed toward the line of people waiting to order at the counter and then slid his hand onto Marin's lower back to guide her that way.

Something ugly and sharp rushed up in Donovan, the taste of it bitter on his tongue. He dropped his fry onto his plate, his appet.i.te gone. What. The. f.u.c.k.

Lane was a friend and a colleague. A good dude. But he was also something else, something Donovan had found out by accident one night in the city. And the way his gaze slid over Marin's backside when she stepped in front of him in line was more than co-worker interest. Donovan's fist curled beneath the table. He and Marin had agreed to no one else in their bed during this arrangement, but she hadn't specified not going out with anyone. He thought it'd been implied, but maybe not. Maybe he'd read everything wrong.

Donovan watched as Marin stepped up for her turn. Lane leaned around her, one hand braced on the counter and pointed to the menu board, telling the cas.h.i.+er something. Ordering for Marin? Marin put her hand on his arm and seemed to thank him for whatever it was he'd done. Possessiveness flashed through Donovan-like a whip snapping loud and sharp in his ears.

He watched as they waited for their food, chatting animatedly. He should probably leave. He was done with his food and not having any luck with this report. But he couldn't bring himself to get up. When they grabbed their trays and turned his way, Lane was the first to notice Donovan sitting there. Lane broke into an easy smile and leaned over to Marin to tell her something.

Marin looked up, those big hazel eyes widening when she saw Donovan. He schooled his expression into impa.s.sivity. Lane put his hand to Marin's back again and guided her toward Donovan's table.

"Hey, Dr. West. Looks like we weren't the only ones with this idea today," Lane said amicably.

"Seems so." Donovan peered over at Marin. "What are you two up to today?"

Before Marin could answer, Lane jumped in. "I figured I'd show Marin some of the local haunts, introduce her to the best shrimp po-boy, and help her get the lay of the land."

Or the lay of something. Donovan tamped down the thought before it could slip out.

"I also thought it'd be a good chance for me to get to know more about Lane's role," Marin said. "I'm admittedly ignorant about the ins and outs of it."

Despite Donovan's annoyance, he couldn't let that one go.

"The ins and outs?" He lifted his brows and Lane coughed over his laugh.

Marin groaned. "Ugh, you know what I mean. G.o.d, the double entendre traps are everywhere in this freaking job."

Donovan smirked. "You get used to it. You two want to join me?"

Lane glanced down at Donovan's mostly empty plate. "Nah, looks like you're wrapping up. We won't bother you with shoptalk on the weekend."

Marin s.h.i.+fted on her feet. "Maybe some other time."

Right. Of course. Some other time when she wasn't on a date with another f.u.c.king guy.

He was about to stand up and just get the h.e.l.l out of there. But then Marin cleared her throat, forcing him to look her way again. Marin held his gaze for a moment, those eyes conveying so much, and something settled inside him.

Okay. This wasn't what he was labeling it as. Lane was definitely interested in Marin-that much was pretty transparent. But Marin . . . well, he was reading something entirely different off of her. And that something had his predatory instinct unfurling.

Donovan c.o.c.ked his head toward the main part of the dining room. "Why don't you grab a table before they all fill up, Lane? I'm going to steal Dr. Rush for a minute. I've been working on one of our cases today and need to ask her something."

He tapped his report as proof.

Lane smiled and reached out to take Marin's tray. "Sure. I'll go get us set up."

"Thanks." Marin handed over her food.

"See ya, doc," Lane said with a quick nod.

When Lane sauntered off, Marin crossed her arms and gave him a look full of saucy challenge. "Yes, Dr. West? What pressing case may I a.s.sist you with?"

He leaned forward on his elbows. "You do realize he thinks this is a date, right? Or at the very least, a prelude to a date."

She made a derisive snort. "Oh, please, he does not. We're here for exactly what I said. Plus, I've heard interoffice relations.h.i.+ps are frowned upon at The Grove. He wouldn't ask me to a local place where we could run into anyone."

"Lane is a contractor with us, not a full-time employee. And I promise you he doesn't give a s.h.i.+t about that rule. In fact, I bet you that before you finish lunch, he asks you to go somewhere tonight." He grabbed his papers and set them in front of her, making it look like they were discussing work.

She braced her hands on the edge of the table, pretending to read the pages and giving him a lovely view down the collar of her s.h.i.+rt. She didn't look up at him when she spoke. "You're on, West. What are we betting?"

Donovan grinned and leaned back in his chair. "If he doesn't ask you out, I will take your next on-call night for you."

"And if he does?"

"If he does, then you're going to say yes."

She straightened. "What?"

"You'll say yes, and then you'll text me the time and place of where you're going."

Deep furrows appeared in her brow. "Why?"

"Ah, that is the price of the bet. You don't get to know. You just have to promise you'll say yes, send me the details, and then go on the date."

She frowned. "He's not going to ask me."

He shrugged and gathered the stack of doc.u.ments in his hands. "Then I guess you have nothing to worry about."

Marin looked like she was going to say more, but Donovan slid out of the booth. He put his back to where Lane had gone and gave Marin a slow, up and down look, making sure he lingered on all the good parts.

She smoothed her lipstick, and her nipples instantly became visible points beneath her s.h.i.+rt. He wanted to bend down and take them between his teeth, mark her skin. He wanted to see that sated look on her face again. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. From the outside observer, it looked friendly, professional. But no one else could feel how she shuddered beneath his grip.

"You're already thinking about it, aren't you?"

She swallowed, her throat working. "What?"

"How it's going to feel when I finally f.u.c.k you."

"I-"

He let go of her. "See you later, Dr. Rush. Enjoy your date."

He strolled off, fighting a hard-on and thrumming with antic.i.p.ation. There were a lot of things in life he wasn't sure of. But he'd seen how Lane had looked at Marin. He recognized it because Donovan looked at her the same way. And Lane was smart enough not to let her slip by without at least trying.

So when his phone buzzed half an hour later with a text message, he could only smile.

He lifted his phone, laughing at Marin's colorful use of language and angry emoticons, and saved the address she'd sent him.

Game on.

Marin had no idea what she was doing-just that she was doing it. Like Donovan had predicted, Lane had invited her to go with him tonight and see a band at one of the many jazz clubs in New Orleans. She'd made the bet with Donovan. She was supposed to say yes even though she had no intentions of dating Lane.

But she didn't want to lead a guy on. And she didn't want to renege on a bet. So in the end, she'd told Lane that she'd love to go but that they'd be going as friends, that she wasn't ready to date anyone right now. Lane had taken it in stride with his easy charm and laid-back att.i.tude. The guy really did have a talent for making people feel comfortable. She could see how vital that would be in his profession.

But when she peeked through the curtains and saw that he'd pulled up in front of her place in a sleek black sports car, a little flurry of nerves surged. Nate, who'd gotten inexplicably p.i.s.sy when she'd told him she was going out again, slid into the spot she vacated, openly staring at her visitor. "So this is the dude you went on a date with last night?"

"No."

He looked her way. "No? When the h.e.l.l did you have time to meet two guys to hook up with?"

"I'm a grown woman. I do not hook up."

"Okay, Kelly Clarkson. Whatever you want to call it. But you looked rough this morning."

She made an affronted sound.

"Just speaking the truth, Mar."

Marin frowned. She'd made sure to be back here before Nate had gotten home from his s.h.i.+ft, but the kid was too observant for his own good. "I had trouble sleeping."

"Uh-huh." He peered back out the window. "Hard to sleep when you're too busy hooking up."

She groaned. "What's your problem? You were the one wanting me to get my own life."

"I don't have a problem," he said, petulant tone back.

She swatted his shoulder as she toed on her heels. "Stop looking out the window. He's going to see you. And for the record, I'm not going on a date with this guy. It's a friend thing."

"A friend thing that you dressed up for," Nate said without looking her way or moving away from the window. "Whoa."

She searched for her keys in the pile of stuff on the coffee table. "What?"

"He's like seriously hot. Now I get why you're dressed like that."

Marin rolled her eyes. "You've just got a thing for blonds."

"And broad shoulders and messy hair and, d.a.m.n, that guy works out. Is he bi?"

"I have no idea. Plus, you have a boyfriend, and Lane is way too old for you, so back off."

"Yeah, my boyfriend." Nate sank back down on the couch, ending his leering routine at the window, but his moody expression unchanged.

Marin sighed. Nate was eighteen but still a teenager in so many ways. The moods were impossible to predict or dissect. It was probably best she was going out tonight. She and Nate would just end up snapping at each other more if he was determined to be like this.

When the doorbell rang, he hopped up. "I'll get it."

"Nathan."

But he was already striding in front of her and swinging open the door. Lane stood on the porch, hands tucked in the pockets of his gray slacks and his s.h.i.+rtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing impressive forearms. He smiled at Nate. "Hi, is this Dr. Rush's house?"

Nate stepped back and swept an arm in front of him. "Yep. Come on in. I'm Marin's brother, Nathan."

Marin tried not to roll her eyes. Despite Nate's apparent irritation with her, he was all swagger and smiles for Lane. Never doubt the power of a good-looking guy to bring out Nate's magnanimous side.

Lane shook Nate's hand. "Lane Cannon. Good to meet you."