She’d handed Marybell the box, fancifully wrapped in all shades of pink with a smile and an Em hug.
Tag slipped the straps off her shoulder, pulling her down for a kiss. “I guess if I have to, I’ll have my way with you,” he teased, running the palms of his hand along her sides and over her spine.
She shivered, pressing into his length, her nipples beading tight. “Then we’d better get to it, huh? Joe will have to go out in another hour or so, and we are potty-trainin’.”
“Always with the ‘hurry up, Tag.’ You are a hard woman to please.”
She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear before urging him to pull his T-shirt off. She didn’t hide her sigh at the beauty of his body this time. This time, she openly admired him.
He twirled a piece of her hair around his finger. “Have I told you how much I love your hair? It’s soft. I like.”
“You didn’t like my spikes?” She’d be hurt, but she had to admit, she liked her normal hair, too.
Bending low, he pulled a nipple to his lips, flicking his tongue over it. “I loved your spikes. But I think I love this more.”
Marybell moaned against the top of his head, arching into the heat of his mouth while tugging at the button on the top of his jeans.
Somehow they managed to find their way out of their clothes, and naked, Tag sat up against the bed, his shaft hard when she reached for him and straddled his lap.
She stroked him, letting her lips glide along his neck, over his jaw until their mouths met. “Hmm, that’s good,” he breathed out, clamping his hand over her wrist. “You have amazing lips, Ms. Lyman.”
She mirrored his sigh when he lifted her and settled her on his cock, sliding down along it until she sat completely on his lap and filled her up. “You have amazing everything.”
Tag’s hands kneaded her hips, the rhythm they’d found with each other easy, slow. “It feels like it’s been a hundred years since we did this last,” he muttered, hissing when she rolled in a circle.
Her arms went around his neck, her cheek on his head when she smiled. “It’s only been two days.”
Tag cupped the undersides of her breasts, rolling his fingers over her nipples. “Let’s make sure we never go that long again. It was torture.”
She giggled just before biting her lip at the exquisite pleasure of his agonizingly slow thrusts. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” she asked; then her breath hitched and the stingy sweet push of release swept over her.
Tag’s thigh muscles flexed, tensing and releasing until he groaned in her ear and she knew he was satisfied, too. He squeezed her tight. “Never, ever again.”
Marybell nodded. Never again. “Hey, you forgot to tell me what comes after nondates.”
He lifted his head and grinned her favorite grin ever. “The memo, right?”
“Yeah, I didn’t get that one. So, what comes after nondates?”
Pressing his lips to hers, Tag gave her a soft kiss. “Forever.”
She smiled up at him, finally understanding what Dixie meant by being so happy you were full up.
She was full up.
Full up forever.
* * * * *
Wonder where it all began?
Turn the page for TALK THIS WAY,
the Call Girls prequel novella,
available for the first time in print!
Dakota Cassidy
Talk This Way
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
One
Atlanta, Georgia, 2012
“You work here?” Flynn McGrady asked, giving the small coffee shop a once-over.
Catherine Butler fought a hard roll of her eyes, putting a fake smile on her face just in case her cranky boss was watching her. “Ogres drink coffee?”
“Only the ones who eat little kids.” He rubbed his flat stomach with the width of his tanned hand and almost grinned. “We have to wash them down with something. Bones have sharp edges.”
Oh, heavens no. No way was Flynn McGrady ever going to make up for being the biggest ass-hat this side of the county line. Not even with his devastatingly dimpled almost smile.
Nope. She clutched her pen and pad to quell the rumble he evoked in the pit of her belly, looking down at the Formica table he sat at to avoid his eyes. “Then what can I get for you?” You fun-stomper.
“What do you suggest?”
Someone far braver than I yank out whatever’s stuck up your incredibly hard, drool-worthy backside? “Depends on what you like. There’s a menu board right over there.”
“But I’m asking what you like.” He gave her a view of his rock-hard jaw in all its defiance.
“I like customers who can read.” She pointed to the chalk menu board she’d spent an hour drawing on happy faces bouncing above steaming cups of coffee that was sitting on the shiny silver counter.
More rock-hard jaw, plus the added tic of aggravation, equaled his teeth clenching. As much as she hated to admit it, he made her pulse flex its underused muscles, and had from the first day she’d laid eyes on him at the Oakdale Nursing Home, where both their mothers were temporary residents.
“And I like baristas who are helpful,” he groused up at her.
Arlo, her boss and resident tyrant, came into her line of vision, beefy arms folded over his chest, sourpuss in tact. Damn. She’d been on his watch-like-a-hawk list ever since she’d tried to talk a senior customer out of the triple mocha latte that wasn’t really a triple at all.
Arlo was a cheapskate and Howard, one of her favorite customers, was on a fixed income. He came in every day at noon while his wife was across the way at Oakdale in physical therapy to have a cup of coffee and a sandwich he brought from home, and Cat had fallen in love with his dedication to their marriage.
Howard’s words about his love for his wife, his devotion to her, touched her. Made her yearn for something that had been elusive to her thus far.
Love. And a relationship that lasted longer than a few months before she lost interest and took off onto the next shiny thing that caught her eye.
So, she couldn’t just stand by and watch Arlo overcharge him by fifty cents for absolutely nothing. But encouraging his employees to stiff the customers was just one of the perks of working for Arlo. That and his grabby paws.
While she needed this job desperately in order to help pay for her mother’s care at Oakdale, she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her conscience over it.
Cat shuffled her feet when Arlo glared her way, keeping her voice low. “Listen, Mr. McGrady, I realize we’ve had our differences at the nursing home. I meant no harm when I brought your mama those alleged ‘racy’ novels. But you have to admit, it’s helped her remember her words.”
Flynn opened his pretty mouth to speak.
But Cat’s hand flapped up before Mr. Pissy Pants could jump in and protest. “I realize the words leaned toward the colorful, but they’re still words, right? After a stroke, it’s important to be able to express yourself. Just ask Dr. Fairlane. He said as much. Now, the nursing home is one thing. But this is my job. Please, save your grudge for the proper venue.”
Please. After today and her chat with Oakdale’s administrator, who’d reminded her she was behind on her mama’s bill, she was already on ice so thin you could see through it.
Oakdale was a privately owned nursing facility, one of the best in the country. It was exclusive and provided not just permanent residence, but temporary situations for short-term rehabilitation. And it cost a small fortune.
Medicaid had shot down the idea of a stay at Oakdale, but with her mot
her’s diabetes impeding her healing process, and the fact that she couldn’t be with her around the clock, Cat wasn’t willing to take any more chances with her recuperation. They’d sold her mother’s home for a small profit, and decided to worry about where they’d live once she was healthy again.
After a whole lot of sweet-talking, and all of her meager savings, Cat had managed to secure a spot for her mother, and she wasn’t letting go. Even if she had to hook for cash to keep it.
She could admit she wasn’t very good at keeping jobs. Just ask her twelve or so former employers of the past several years. But this one? She needed this one more than any job she’d ever had in her entire life.
“Words are very important. On this we agree, Miss Butler. It’s the type of words we disagree on. Couldn’t you have at least brought her something tame? Maybe some Dr. Seuss?”
Cat secretly smiled remembering Flynn McGrady’s mother, Della, forcing the words from her immobile lips while sitting in the middle of the crowded rec center. “Oh, c’mon. Green Eggs and Ham isn’t nearly as rich with expression as ‘Spank me harder!’ Now that was a statement chock with emotion, crystal clear and perfectly executed. Relax, already.”
He visibly cringed, the tips of his ears turning red. “I can’t believe they let you mingle with the other patients.”
Cat bristled, though, she had to admit, if her mother said something so racy, she’d probably cringe, too. “I can’t believe you’re not over-the-moon that your mama spoke for the first time today since she had her stroke.”
He fiddled with the corners of the paper napkin on his table, his nimble fingers folding the edges neatly. “You’re taking credit for her ongoing recovery now?”
“I’m takin’ credit for lightening up an otherwise depressing situation. Nothing more.”
Flynn looked up at her, all deep blue eyes and thick, gravelly voice. “And you think hanging posters of romance novels with half-naked men on her walls is uplifting?”
Cat arched an eyebrow meant to shower him in haughty attitude. “Well, maybe not to the insecure male. But other than you and your blusterin’, there have been no complaints, especially from Della. You must have known she loved romance novels before her stroke. That there wasn’t a single one of her beloved books for her to read when you brought her to Oakdale astounds me.”
“We didn’t know she could still read.”
Her cheeks sucked inward while Arlo hovered and her damn phone vibrated in her pocket. Probably Oakdale again, wondering where her payment was.
Yet, she couldn’t let this go. Flynn had made all sorts of stink when his mother had chirped those words, as if Cat had brought Della something illicit from the naughty store.
She’d only given her what made her happy, and for the first time in the three months since Cat had met Della at Oakdale, when Cat handed her a copy of The Sheik’s Alien Twin Babies’ Nanny or some title she couldn’t remember, Della’s lips had lifted in a lopsided smile. She’d looked right at Cat, her once dull, defeated eyes full of what she was convinced was hope.
So too daggone bad on her cranky, ill-mannered, hotter-’n-sin son. No racing heartbeat and sweaty palms were going to deter her from encouraging Della.
“You didn’t exactly check, either. All I did was surround her with the things she loved before her stroke. I asked your cousin Emmaline...Amos, is it?”
Flynn nodded his dark head with a grating sigh. “That’s her.”
“She’s lovely, and sweet, and helpful. Em, as she asked me to call her, told me everything she knew that might make your mama happy when she was passing through Atlanta and dropped in to pay Della a visit. Maybe, instead of always ordering everyone around, if you stopped and paid attention once in a while, you’d know in her recovery, your mama needs the things that used to comfort her. Romance novels bein’ high on the list.”
You’re going too far, Catherine Butler....
Flynn’s eyebrows rose. “Now you’re questioning my intentions for my mother’s rehabilitation?”
Stop now, Cat. Stop before you draw attention to yourself simply because you never know when to hush your mouth. It’s his mother, for mercy’s sake. It’s not like he never visits her or spends all of his time ogling pretty nurses when he does. He’s just disagreeing with your unconventional methods.
Cat sucked in some fresh air and focused on not losing job number thirteen. “No. Now I’m questioning what your order is.”
“Is there a problem here, Mr. McGrady?” Arlo sidled up alongside her, his beefy body and moon-shaped face infiltrating her view. “We’ve had some complaints about Cat, so if she’s givin’ you some kind o’ trouble, you speak up. I like to see my customers leave here satisfied.”
Cat stiffened. That wasn’t true. No one had complained. Wait. Maybe one customer had, but he’d been horrible to the new mother, who had been frazzled and tired, and trying desperately to soothe her crying baby.
So she’d slipped and spilled coffee on his fancy new suit? Accidents happened. She’d offered to pay to have it cleaned. He’d declined and called her a clumsy bitch, but he’d left and after that, everything was right as rain.
Arlo put his equally beefy hands on his hips, just waiting. “Mr. McGrady?”
Hush now, Cat. How many times do I have to remind you, sometimes you have to catch flies with honey ’cos the vinegar will send you to the unemployment line?
Her mother’s words. Words to live by, surely.
“There’s no trouble here, Arlo,” Cat insisted.
“No trouble at all, Arlo,” Flynn repeated, staring Arlo down with his intense eyes and granite expression.
Arlo pursed his thick lips, obviously unconvinced. “You sure now? Don’t cover up for her. She can be pretty sassy with that mouth o’ hers, always disruptin’ folk, buckin’ authority like she knows how to run this place.”
Cat’s mouth fell open. She never bucked anything. In fact, she’d probably been the quietest she’d been in her entire life during her employment with Arlo.
Could she be accused of being overly passionate about the unfairness of overcharging seniors for weak, watered-down coffee? Or defending a new mother just trying to catch her breath without the jeers and eye-rolling of an insensitive, rude caveman?
Yes. But that was hardly bucking the system. Mostly she’d been nonbucking.
Still, what happened next was due only to the fact that she’d always had trouble heeding her mother’s infamous words.
She had no honey left in her pot to catch a fly with.
It was all just vinegar.
There went unlucky job number thirteen hot on the heels of an incoming call from the Oakdale administrator, Casper Reynolds.
* * *
Shit.
The last thing he’d meant to do when he’d wandered into the coffee shop was get the only person at the nursing home who’d been able to coax his mother into responding to anything in three solid months fired.
Nothing he’d said could change that tyrant Arlo’s mind, either. He’d bargained, offered to pay her salary for six months and threatened to report him to the labor board, but all with no luck.
Arlo was a caged tiger, and he’d latched on to firing Cat like she was his only source of protein.
Flynn McGrady watched from his rental car as Cat’s long legs ate up the parking lot of the coffee shop connected to the nursing home. Her chestnut-brown hair billowed behind her in thick streams streaked with gold, her cheeks were fiery red and her chest heaved beneath the snugly fitting blue T-shirt she wore.
In that moment, he realized how beautiful she was, with her creamy skin, full peachy lips and bright almond-shaped eyes. He’d never taken the time to really look at her. She was always excusing herself and rushing off somewhere when he came to visit Della.
Cat Butler was like Mother Teresa at Oakdale. Everyone loved her. There wasn’t a patient in the connecting health-care facilities or senior in the nursing home who didn’t. She baked cupcakes when someone graduated
from a wheelchair to a walker and turned it into a ceremony where she presented the lucky graduate with a certificate they could frame, and she encouraged everyone to join the party.
She played board games and cards with all the seniors, and made sure everyone was always included. She’d brought costumes in for an impromptu costume party and organized a senior parade along the halls.
In review, Cat was loveable, and he was an asshole. He’d overreacted to what his mother said.
He wanted to go and apologize to her. Smooth this over. Get her job back for her somehow.
She dropped down on a bench under a tree, resting her face in her hands. It looked as if her shoulders quivered while the sunlight slipped between the trees, casting shadows along her spine.
Perfect, and you made her cry, jerk.
He’d been a surly asshole with her from the moment he’d sat down at that table and realized she was the saintly angel from Oakdale. Since his mother’s stroke, if he listened to his sister, Adeline, he’d been an asshole period.
It was the endless commute back and forth from his home in New York to Atlanta to see his mother each weekend and find she’d made little progress, as he tried to manage his internet-based company from two places at once, and also juggle her health care, that left him so cranky. At least he kept telling himself that.
Not a good enough excuse, Flynn.
He’d only egged on Cat because she’d managed to get his mother interested in something—finally. He was almost resentful. Nothing he’d bribed Della with, bartered with her for, had garnered the effect on her like Cat’s idea about those romance novels had.
And in fairness, he’d been a little embarrassed, too. It was, after all, his mother garbling out the words Spank me harder! in front of a roomful of people.
Now he had to find a way to make this right. Cat was his mother’s favorite visitor. They’d forged this bond, this secret sort of means of communication that made Della’s face light up, even if her lips still couldn’t unite a smile with her emotional state.
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