Page 130 of Lennox Lane

“I’m being loved on and seen by beautiful people in lingerie.”

“So yes.”

She fought a smile. “Yes.”

The conversation eased after that, moving into laughter and stories. Calla told Lane about the first time James tried to be smooth and knocked over an entire glass of water during dinner. Amiyah described how Calla once intimidated a banker into approving a community grant without raising her voice. James claimed he had no flaws. Both women corrected him at once. Lennox looked comfortable in the middle of all that love.

Lane watched them.

Calla, James, and Amiyah weren’t perfect. No love was. Lane knew better than to romanticize anything just because it looked beautiful under soft lighting. But there was something between them that felt sturdy. A triangle built with intention and desire. Surrounded by friendship and respect and stabilized by accountability and protection.

Softness with structure.

Lane understood why Lennox wanted her to see it. Not because he was trying to hand her someone else’s blueprint. He wanted her to know softness was strength with the right person. Eventually, the night began to thin around the edges. Calla had another obligation, and Amiyah yawned behind her hand while James pretended not to notice and absolutely noticed.

Lennox stood first, then helped Lane up.

Calla walked them to the door. “When you two visit Winston Hills, don’t forget to come see me,” she winked.

Lane smiled. “I’d like that. Maybe Lavender Haze can hit the stage to make the room swelter with some poetry.”

“Let’s get that on the calendar,” Calla’s brows lifting.

Lane laughed softly. “Just say when.”

Calla stepped closer and took both of Lane’s hands. “You’re allowed to be loved without earning it through suffering.”

Lane simply nodded and wrapped Calla in a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered as Calla squeezed her tight.

James dapped Lennox up again and hugged Lane with respectful warmth. Amiyah hugged her next, soft and sincere, whispering, “You’re welcome anytime,” against her ear.

By the time Lane and Lennox stepped back into the corridor, she felt strangely full, but not heavy.

Like Calla’s words had found empty places and filled them, they slipped back into the waiting car and pulled away from Provocateur in comfortable silence. She wasn’t the same woman returning, not entirely. Lane rested her head against the seat and let Calla’s words wrap around her. Softness with the right person is strength. Lennox didn’t speak. That was how she knew he understood. He only reached across the console, palm up. Lane looked at his hand and placed hers in it as Winston Hills carried them back through the night.

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.