Chapter Seventeen
SHORT CIRCUITED
Lennox knew the suite would be ready before he opened the door.
He had planned it that way. Still, the second he and Lane stepped inside, the sight of it hit him differently than he expected.
Not because the decorator had gotten it right; she had.
Not because the flowers were fresh, the wine was chilled, and the city skyline stretched beyond the windows like Winston Hills had dressed itself in diamonds just for them.
It hit him because Lane stepping in and stopped instantaneously to take in their suite. She was frozen in place, and the only reason he knew she was still breathing was the subtle rise and fall of her breasts. Lennox closed the door behind them and continued to watch her take it in.
The room had been transformed while they were gone with dahlias bloomed in deep burgundy and black-purple arrangements across the coffee table.
Lavender was woven through everything, leaving the room fragrant without overwhelming the space.
Roses of various shades of blush and deep red filled in the rest of the space as the petals bloomed beneath the golden glow of dimmed lamps and flickering candles as desire flourished.
On the table near the windows sat two chilled bottles of Maison Noire, with wineglasses standing beside them.
A small tray held dark chocolate, strawberries, figs, honeycomb, and little bites from Olive and Oak that Knox had arranged.
He was sure he and Dana sent it with love, and he appreciated the gesture.
Lane still hadn’t said anything and that worried him more than a threat would have.
Lane had a response for everything: insults, jokes, deflections, observations, warnings, nicknames, and threats.
Silence from her was never empty, usually meaning her feelings had gotten too big for her mouth to control.
Lennox stood still, giving her the space to process those thoughts and feelings uninterrupted.
Her hand lifted slowly toward one of the lavender stems, but she didn’t touch it. She looked from the flowers to the wine, to the skyline, and finally back at him.
Her eyes were glassy, but no tears fell. Something warmer lived in her gaze. He could feel her need for him radiating off her body.
“Lennox,” she whispered.
“I wanted you to come back to a space where you were the only thing in mind,” he said.
Lennox knew Lane more than she cared to admit, and he knew she was thinking of “If there’s a wedding dress in the closet, I’m calling for rescue,” jokes, but they never came.
Instead, she crossed the room quickly to get to him.
Fast. Lennox had only enough time to inhale before she reached for him and rose on her toes as she grabbed the front of his robe and kissed him.
The kiss wasn’t soft or careful because it wasn’t the kind of kiss meant to ask a question or test the temperature of the room.
It was her answer—it was her yes. It was Lane’s mouth opening beneath his with so much passion and vigor that Lennox’s back hit the door before he realized she’d moved him.
Her hands fisted the silk of his robe, pulling him down to her while her body pressed into his.
The warmth of her curves in his hands instigated a hunger he wasn’t hiding from anymore; she undid him in all the best ways.
The kiss continued to elevate, going from seductive to sinful to downright explicit in seconds.
Not because of technique, though Lane kissed like she’d been designed to ruin the memory of every woman before her.
It was the feeling underneath it that made Lennox’s blood turn molten.
She was no longer guarded and rationing portions of herself.
She was choosing him openly and fiercely as her lips seared his flesh while her hands touched him in worship.
Lennox groaned against her lips while one arm banded around her waist, letting the other slide to the back of her neck.
He held her there, anchoring them both before the force of what she was giving him knocked him clean through every plan he’d made for the night—herself, mind, body, and soul.
Lane bit his bottom lip lightly as his control almost left the building.
“Lavender,” he breathed.
She kissed him again before he could say anything else because words were not his strongest language right now.
Her hands pushed beneath his robe as her palms continued to explore the hard planes of his stomach.
She touched him like she had been waiting all night.
Dinner had been the main course, Provocateur had been the palate cleanser, and Calla’s words had been dessert.
The sweetness unlocked something Lane no longer wanted to keep behind ice.
Softness with the right person is strength.
Lennox had watched Lane blossom in real time when loved properly, and he refused to go back.
He turned them, pressing her gently against the door with his mouth still on hers. He pulled back just enough to look at her—big mistake. His breath caught as he stared at her; her lips were swollen from their kiss. Her eyes were dark and soft at the same time.
Lennox’s voice dropped. “Look at you.”
Lane’s breasts rose and fell beneath her lingerie. “Don’t start admiring me like a museum piece,” she whimpered.
“You’re a masterpiece, MY masterpiece,” he uttered against her lips.
Her lips parted to speak, but he’d rendered her speechless again. His compliment further unraveled her. He wanted Lane to get more comfortable with being adored without having to find a joke. Lane swallowed, then lifted her chin to stare at him, asking if he’d planned all of this.
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not trying to assassinate me romantically?” Lane asked.
“I’m courting you,” he let her know.
“That is exactly what a romantic assassin would say,” she purred.
His mouth curved. “Then I’m guilty.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. “You are.”
He leaned in until his mouth hovered over hers. “Of what?” he inquired.
“Making it hard to stay scared,” her voice raw and vulnerable.
The answer punched through him; of all the things she could’ve said, that one found the softest, most dangerous place inside him and made a home there.
He cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “You don’t have to stop being scared all at once, and you don’t have to give me everything tonight. I only need to know what you need, Lavender,” he urged.
Lane looked at him for a long moment.
“You,” she said, making his heart kick when she stepped closer, sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck. “Not because you planned the perfect night. Not because of the flowers or the wine or the suite. Not because of Calla or Olive and Oak or this little skyline ambush.”
“Little?” he asked.
“Don’t interrupt my vulnerability,” she told him before continuing, “I want you because you’ve been trying. I notice that you ask now and even when I’m a lot, you don’t make me feel like too much. You don’t run from your feelings; you let me in so we can feel them together.”
Lennox closed his eyes and let her words massage him.
She was pouring into him, reaffirming him, and he never wanted it to stop.
There were words he needed to say, three of them.
He felt them pressing against his ribs, demanding air, but he held them back because tonight Lane was stepping toward him.
He wouldn’t make her sprint just because his heart had finally accepted what his body and mind had known for months, so he kissed her instead.
Slow at first, like a thank-you—a vow he didn’t speak but instead poured into the way his mouth moved over hers. Lane softened into him with a sound that nearly buckled his knees as he deepened the kiss into a lush hunger. He pushed the silk down her arms until it pooled gently at her feet.
Lane stood before him, aroused and breathing hard, with her eyes fixed on his.
Lennox took a step back to admire Lane and, to his surprise, she let him look and drink her in.
He took in the curve of her hips beneath the garter belt, the dark green polish on her pretty toes, the softness of her stomach, and the strength in her thighs.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“Lennox,” she blushed.
“You are.” He stepped forward again, hands settling at her waist. “And I don’t mean polished beautiful. Not done-up beautiful. Not body-in-a-dress beautiful.”
She tried to look away, but he caught her chin gently.
“Stay with me, Mama,” he told her as her breath trembled before focusing back on him.
“I mean you’re beautiful when you’re trying not to cry because somebody was kind to you,” he continued, “Beautiful when you’re threatening my life over boundaries.
Beautiful as fuck when you’re laughing over diner catfish.
Awe-inspiring when you’re scared but still love me fully.
Ethereal when you’re soft and allow me to hold that softness for you. ”
Lane’s lower lip trembled once as he kissed it.
He couldn’t help himself when it came to touching her, and he wouldn’t if he could.
Her arms came around him again, her body flush against him, making blood rush to his dick.
He walked her backward, Lane trusting each step even though she couldn’t see where he was taking her.
When the backs of her legs met the edge of the sofa, she lowered onto it, pulling him with her.
Lennox braced one hand beside her hip, leaning over her without covering her completely. “Still green?”
Her smile was soft and wicked. “Very green.”
“Good.”
“You planning to keep asking?” She asked Lennox.
“Every time I need to.”
Her expression flickered with wonder and surrender. “Good Robot,” she whispered.
He laughed against her mouth. “Keep praising me and see what happens.”
“I’m counting on it,” she flirted.