Off the Clock by Roni Loren
Donovan blinked, the accusation making it through the alcohol haze like a fiery arrow. It hit the target and sent a wave of anger rushing through him, clearing his head enough to act. He took Elle by the arms, lifted her off his lap, and stood. “I’m not trying to do anything with Marin. We’re friends. We knew each other in school.”
“Right,” Elle said from behind him, sarcasm oozing off her tone. “Just a celebratory drink and a little face stroking between friends. A few more glasses of wine, and you would’ve been parked between her legs giving her a big welcome to the neighborhood.”
He whirled around. “We were talking about our dead parents, Elle. It was a gesture of comfort. Jesus Christ.”
She tilted her head, surprise morphing her features. “Your parents are dead?”
He stared at her, realizing that they’d fucked for all these months, and he hadn’t told her a damn thing about himself. Not that she’d asked. They’d always been . . . drinking and playing the game. He looked away and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore.”
She groaned and stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, come on, don’t be a baby and pout. Use that anger on me. You know that’s what I like. I like you when you’re pissed.”
He gritted his teeth. He thought of all the times she’d invited him over, how she’d always had bottles of wine at the ready, how she’d purposely try to goad him so he’d get rougher in bed. And though his limits were pretty far outside the norm, her craving for the violent stuff surpassed some of his boundaries. So he’d hold his line, and she’d try to push him past it. It was a dance they danced. But apparently it’d gone far beyond what he’d thought.
She’d figured out why he drank and had encouraged it, had used it to get what she wanted. His stomach turned. Fuck. He thought they played games of control—and they had—he’d just never realized he’d been the one getting played.
He took her hands and unwound himself from her grip. He met her gaze. “We’re done here, Elle.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What? Because of the new girl?”
“Because this, us”—he pointed between the two of them—“was fucked up from the start. Just took me until now to see exactly how much.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, come off that high horse. This works because we’re both screwed up. We get a fix from each other. You’ve known that all along.”
He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. “Maybe I did. But I’m done making it worse. We can be fucked up alone.”
She stared at him for a second and then shook her head. “Go to hell, Donovan.”
Her voice was quieter and when she blinked, her eyes went shiny. Donovan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This woman never cried, never showed her poker hand. He didn’t know what in her life had made her so hard, but seeing her about to cry made him feel like a world-class asshole. She’d used him, sure. But he’d used her right back. There were no saints here.
He walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t waste tears on me, Elle. You’re a smart, beautiful woman. You can do better than this.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not fucking crying. Get over yourself. I know I can do better than you. You’re a prick. I don’t even like you.”
He sighed as he lowered his arms and then walked over to her kitchen counter to grab a sticky note and pen she’d left by the phone. He scribbled down an address, his handwriting more messy than usual with the lingering effects of the alcohol. “There’s a BDSM club in the city. It’s a well-run place with a good membership. I bet you can find what you need there.” He held out the slip of paper to her. “I’m not it.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, you asshole,” she said, not making any move to take the note from him. “You have no idea what I want or need.”
“Okay. You’re probably right. All the more reason for me to leave.” He left the note on the counter and turned toward the door. “Good luck, Elle.”
“So that’s it?” Her tone was a knifepoint, poking him with sharp, stiff jabs.
He kept his back to her, this sense of calm coming over him. “Yep. That’s it.”
He walked out the door and didn’t look back.
15
Donovan showed up to work late and hungover. Marin tried to keep her annoyance at bay while Donovan greeted Ysabel and got his messages, but it spilled over when he strolled into her office, set a cup of coffee on her desk, and sank into the chair across from her without apology. He flipped through a file he had in his hands. “Got a busy docket today.”
“You’re late.”
His gaze flicked up briefly. “I overslept. I didn’t miss any appointments.”
Nope. He hadn’t. He’d just missed the show. “Ysa says you’re late a lot.”
His jaw flexed but he didn’t look up again. “So how’d the research go last night?”
So that’s how he was going to play it? Just ignore that things had gotten weird last night? Fine.
“It went okay. I made a list from the intake form. Skimmed through a few videos.” A lie. She’d done those things, but it had been anything but okay. She’d already been keyed up after her talk with Donovan. Two hours of going through a list of sexual acts and clicking through sexy videos had not helped. But she hadn’t allowed herself to relieve the tension. Not when she knew she would’ve been picturing Donovan during it. No way was she stooping to getting off to thoughts of someone else’s boyfriend. So she’d gone to sleep frustrated. And then she’d walked into a minefield this morning alone because Donovan had been sleeping it off. Fucker.
“Do you have the list? I can make suggestions if I know which areas you feel need the most attention.”
“Yeah.” She flipped open a folder and flicked the list his way, her irritation hard to contain. Then, she grabbed the coffee and sipped, burning her tongue. “Goddammit, do they have to make it this hot?”
Donovan glanced up, wincing a bit at her raised voice. He rubbed two fingers over his brow and then took the paper in his hands to scan over it.
“Headache?” she asked, not lowering her voice.
“Uh-huh.”
She lifted her massive diagnostic manual out of her drawer and dropped it on the desk. It made a pleasingly loud sound. Smack!
Donovan jumped, almost dropping the paper from his hands. “Jesus, Rush, what the hell?”
She pretended to be searching for a certain page. Flip. Flip. Flip. “Guess who stopped by this morning to have a chat?”
Flip. Flip.
He groaned. “Please tell me it wasn’t Suri.”
“Nope.” She glanced toward the door to make sure it was shut and then reached back into her drawer and tossed his wallet onto the desk between them. “Your friend Dr. McCray. She said you left this at her place last night. She also told me that she now understands how a complete novice got a job here. She implied that I must’ve been quite generous in college, doing special favors for the graduate students.”
“She what?” Donovan’s voice boomed in the quiet office.
Marin’s fingers curled against the desk, the rage she’d felt earlier this morning seeping back into her veins. McCray had looked so damn smug. Like she was talking to a child. Marin had wanted to punch that expression right off her face. Beyond the accusation just being straight-up insulting, didn’t women have enough trouble getting professional respect without throwing the you-slept-your-way-to-the-top allegation at each other? “I can’t believe you told her—”
“I didn’t!” Donovan said, lifting his palms. “I would never tell anyone that. I mentioned we were friends in school. She must’ve looked up what years we graduated and made assumptions.”
“Did you also mention that you almost offered to mentor me in your bed last night?”
His teeth clamped together.
“No, I’m sure you didn’t. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that much.” Marin straightened in her chair, refusing to show how much getti
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Whatever. Girlfriend. Sex buddy. I don’t care.” Okay, she did. She totally did. But she couldn’t let him know that. “I’ve got enough on my plate already with this job. I don’t need rumors or marks on my reputation to add to the stress.”
He scraped his hands through his hair and then laced his fingers behind his neck. “I don’t even know what to— Fuck. I can’t believe she went there. I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
“Yes. It is. Did you cancel on her to meet with me last night?”
Something fierce flashed in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, she’s not my girlfriend and there’s no commitment. Never has been. And whatever we did have going on is done anyway. She has no right to dictate what I do with my time.”
“I don’t think she knows that.”
“She knows.”
“Right. She also told me she was just here to give me a friendly girl-to-girl warning. That I was too naive to mess around with someone like you. That you’d just break my tender little heart.” Marin gritted her teeth. “I swear to God, Donovan. I was ready to throw down with her. No one gets to talk to me like I’m a toddler. And if she tries it again, I’m going to get myself in trouble. You need to fix this.”
Donovan lifted a hand in surrender. “I promise. I will. She thinks me ending things with her has something to do with you because of what she walked up on last night. And she assumes you’re an easier target for her wrath than I am.”
“That is a seriously misguided notion on her part.”
He rubbed his brow again. “I need more coffee for this kind of morning.”
“You and me both. But there’s no time. We’ve got a session in a few minutes.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “And if you need aspirin, I have some in my purse.”
A long breath gusted out of him, and he got to his feet, tucking her list into the inside pocket of his jacket. But when she walked past him, he grabbed her hand, halting her. “Wait.”
She stiffened. Why did he have to touch her? Always with the touching. Touching was dangerous. His hand on her never failed to jolt her system, to make wires cross where they shouldn’t. She tipped up her chin. “What?”
His eyes met hers, something unreadable there. “I really am sorry. Sorry that you had to deal with that this morning and that I wasn’t here on time to intervene.” His fingers tightened around hers. “And she was wrong to approach you like that but right to warn you away from me. I’m good at my job, and I’m going to train you with everything I have. But I’m an asshole most of the time and a fuck-up at most everything else. I didn’t mean for you to get hit with any of my shrapnel.”
She frowned. “You’re not a fuck-up, Donovan.”
“Yeah, when it comes to this kind of thing, I am,” he said, his voice tired. “Scary to think people trust me to give them relationship advice, right? The only relationship I managed not to screw up was with my parents and that’s because they died before I had the chance.”
Marin’s chest constricted. “Donovan . . .”
“It’s fine. Those who can’t do, teach—isn’t that what they say?” He gave her a tight smile. “Regardless, I’ll talk to Elle and make sure she directs her anger toward the right person. I won’t let my shit mess anything up for you. I promise.”
Her shoulders sagged, any residual anger slipping away at his weary tone. “I don’t understand why you’d even get involved with someone like her. She seems so harsh and . . . cold.”
His expression darkened and he released her hand. “Because I’m not any better.”
“Of course you are,” she said without hesitation. Sure, a lot of time had passed, but people didn’t change their core personality, and the Donovan she’d known had never been cold. Lost and a little lonely, maybe, but not cold.
He glanced away, his posture rigid. “No. I’m not. I’m worse. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You haven’t seen me—how I am now. You’re still seeing who I used to be. When it comes to women, I’m good at two things. Getting them off. And leaving. I try to find the ones who are okay with both.”
The words were delivered with sharp, slicing edges. They should’ve scared her. Instead, she had the urge to move closer to him. “Quite a resume tagline you got there. Is that the line you drop on a woman when you meet her in a bar?”
He looked up at her and smirked. “Not exactly. Leading in with ‘I’m an asshole’ usually isn’t the best tactic.”
“You’re not an asshole, Donovan. You spend your days counseling people in broken relationships. I’d say your aversion to having one yourself is an occupational hazard not a character failure. As long as you’re not lying to women about what it is, it’s your prerogative.”
“You sound like a wise therapist, Dr. Rush.”
She mimed brushing off her shoulder, trying to lighten the mood and that stormy expression on his face. “Well, you know, I’m learning from the best. Hopefully my naive, tender heart can handle the training with that evil bastard Dr. West.”
He squared his body with hers and leveled her with a look. Even with a hangover, he looked gorgeous in his pressed suit with his hair mussed and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. This less polished version fit him well. “Don’t let Elle get to you. I know you can handle a helluva lot. You already have.”
“I have.” She smiled and then, acting on instinct, grabbed his lapels to straighten and smooth them. “In fact, you probably should be the one worried. I’ve raised a teenage boy and lived to tell about it. You have no idea if you can handle me.” She patted his shoulder and stepped around him to head to the door. “I could be the heartbreaker here. Remember who went looking for whom last time.”
But before she could make her escape, a hand grasped her arm from behind and dragged her back. She gasped when she spun and almost collided with Donovan, her hands landing on his chest to stop the momentum. His eyes flared with something new and dangerous, as he peered down at her. “Don’t do that, Rush. Don’t flirt and sway those hips like that and expect it to roll off me. I’m trying to be good. I will be good. But I have my limits. You’ve got to do your part, too.”
Her response got caught high up in her throat, her heartbeat jumping to join it. The teasing comment had slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She’d wanted to flirt a little, wanted to prove to him and herself that she wasn’t as sweet and fragile as Dr. McCray had accused. She wasn’t experienced in bed. That didn’t mean she was some innocent.
But now she’d poked the lion. Everything in her was screaming that she should run, that they were too close, that this was going off the rails quickly. But all the buildup from the night before, her unsatisfying evening, and the feel of him right here with her was just too much.
It was like they were back in that lab again, all alone in the world and looking for something to hold on to if only for a few hot minutes. Her brain fogged, every one of her physical resources zeroing in on the hum in her body, the ache for that connection. She forgot that she was at work. That this was a bad idea. That he’d just told her that he was good at leaving. All she could see was Donovan. His heartbeat thumped beneath her fingertips. Her fingers curled against his shirt.
He hissed out a breath at the touch.
“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his eyes raking over her face, his expression tense. “Tell me what this is.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Marin.” His voice came out gritty, strained.
There was so much in that one simple plea that it completely undid her, ripped the ties holding her good sense together and left them in a tangle on the floor.
She
Donovan froze, his body going still for a moment under her touch, but then she tightened her hold on his shirt and made this noise. A ridiculous, unstoppable sound that came across way too desperate, way too needy. But it seemed to do something to him. He groaned against her mouth—a dam breaking. His hands went to the sides of her face, cradling her head and angling her just how he wanted her. Hungry. Searching. Hot.
All the control tilted in that one moment as he took over, tasting her lips and dragging her against him. Making noises similar to hers—only sexier, rougher. She melted into it, letting him have whatever he wanted as she succumbed to the sensations rolling through her—the feel of his fingers against her cheeks, the hard heat of his body brushing hers, the bittersweet taste of the coffee on his lips. It was all she remembered about kissing him before but with more urgency, more intensity, more . . . everything.
Marin moaned when he parted her lips to deepen the kiss, and a swift rush of arousal flooded her, making the neglected parts of her throb and ache. His tongue stroked hers, teasing with a rhythm she could only imagine in other places. Her nipples became hard points, straining for touch, and her sex pulsed between her thighs. She wanted to rub herself on him like a cat, find relief. He seemed ready to oblige. Donovan backed her into the wall, his body aligning with hers and his hand sliding down to knead her hip like he was barely restraining himself from tearing off her clothes. Heat against heat, hardness growing against her belly. She was dying. She needed this. God, did she need this.
But a swift knock sounded behind him, shattering the protected moment and blasting through her lust-drunk brain. Marin gasped, and Donovan jumped back and dropped his hands to his sides like she had burned him.
The door swung open, and Ysa poked her head in. “Hey, guys I—” Her words faded as her gaze bounced between them. “Uh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”