by Calista Fox
Tague couldn’t remember the last time someone had dismissed him so effortlessly, flat-out forgetting his presence. Maybe when he was a toddler?
And being the alpha male that he was, he didn’t appreciate Tripp poaching on his territory, no matter how temporary it was.
Tague cleared his throat.
Tripp hopped to. “And for you, sir?”
“Standard cup of joe to go.”
The minimalistic order seemed to take the kid aback. Likely Tague’s hard-set jaw did the trick as well. “Um, that’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Oh-kay,” Tripp said with a tinge of nervous anxiety. Noticeably about to crack under the pressure of Tague’s intense glare. “Full-on or unleaded?”
“What’s the point of decaf?” Tague asked.
“Exactly,” L.L. and the barista said at the same time.
She laughed, low and luxurious.
Tague’s groin tightened.
He handed over a twenty and collected his change, leaving a tip. They moved to the side.
“So,” he ventured, finding the entire exchange just bizarre and enticing enough that it called for him to feel out the situation a bit more. “Should you choose to accept this mission—”
3
“Funny,” she interjected while she yanked napkins from the dispenser and stuffed them into her jacket pocket, along with numerous packets of sweetener.
Tague’s brow furrowed. “You ordered a sugar-free drink.”
“Office supplies,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “For clients. Gets a little expensive keeping them in coffee.”
He let out a small grunt, entertained by her.
“Anyway,” L.L. returned to their previous conversation. “I really just agreed to meet you as a favor to Chip. We don’t have to go any further. I think it’s safe to say I’m not your type.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make that judgment call.”
She gazed at him, her shimmering lips working into a slight pout that created an overwhelming urge within Tague to capture her mouth with his. Those luscious lips were plump and perfect. And he knew very few women who didn’t wear lipstick that would smudge disastrously were he to pull her into his arms on impulse and kiss her.
She regarded him a while longer, then told him, “You’re not like Chip, I can deduce that much. He’s big-brother material.”
“And I’m...?”
“Big Bad Wolf material.” He didn’t doubt there was a sparkle in her eyes as she added, “In spades.”
Tague wasn’t exactly caught off-guard by the assessment. What threw him was that she’d made the declaration, yet still stood her ground against him. Still seemed willing to go toe to toe with him.
She eyed him boldly, even though her gaze was slightly deflected by tinted lenses. His testosterone level hitched a few extra notches.
But before he got ahead of himself and made an indecent proposal right there in the coffee shop, Tague changed the subject. Took back control. “How do you know Chip?”
Her expression remained pointed. “How do I know a divorce lawyer? Is that what you’re really asking?”
“Okay, you got me.” He finally gave her his grin. She’d certainly earned it. He liked her no-holds-barred attitude.
“He’s helping me out with a legal situation,” she told him.
“Your first husband wants custody of the cat and all the Anne Rice books you’ve collected over the years?”
“Ha,” she mocked. “A she’s wearing all black and must therefore be the Mistress of Dark snark. I lived in Paris for three years. Fifty shades of black is all the rage. Seriously, anything with the hint of color makes you stand out like a sore-American-tourist-thumb.”
“I didn’t say I took exception to anything you’re wearing—well, aside from the boots,” he told her. “It’s not exactly fair they’re above the knee.”
She shrugged. “It is twenty-five degrees outside. And my mother has this incredibly disturbing premonition of me dying from pneumonia, particularly because I’m addicted to iced coffee even in wintertime. Hence the mass quantity of knits she sends my way.”
Raising her hands in the air, she showed off ill-fitting gloves.
Continuing, she said, “Note the three middle fingers are about an inch too long, and the thumbs and pinkies are about a quarter of an inch too short, so it takes some effort to stretch them. No physical deformities, I promise.” She reached for a straw and managed to deftly divest it of the paper sheath. “I’m convinced she uses a sea turtle for a hand model. Swear to God, every single pair is sized this way.”
Tague chuckled again. L.L. Branson wore quirky well. “So, is Chip handling your divorce or—”
“Patents,” she quickly said. “I’ve never been married and have no prospects currently, which is perfectly fine, believe me. My plate runneth over with my career, so don’t sweat bullets or anything about one date.”
“I’ll try to keep my massive male ego in check.”
“I’d appreciate that.” She smirked again.
The barista delivered their drinks and L.L. stabbed her straw into the small hole. She sipped deeply. Sighed dramatically. “Ah, bliss.” She handed Tague a wrap for his coffee. “Careful there. Contents are hot, I see. I mean, read.” She eyed the warning on his cup, while the corner of her mouth jumped at her little innuendo. Both the infectious smile and the sexy flirtation drove him wild.
“You have a charming sense of humor,” he told her, warming to her as every tantalizing second passed.
“And you apparently don’t suffer the curse of Florida Mom sending a new pair of gloves every other week.” She glanced down at his long, tapered fingers. “Beautiful hands, by the way.”
Ignoring the heat that flared in his gut at thoughts of what he’d like to do with his hands on her body, Tague said, “My Hamptons mother would send Armani.”
“I figured as much.” Her gaze lifted. Behind the rose-lens-and-gold-rimmed sunglasses, she eyed him unabashedly. “Nice overcoat. I like the silver silk tie. Navy suit. Excellent complement to your coloring. Did one or all of your exes shop for you?”
“I can manage on my own.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” His brow crooked.
“Well, you’ve successfully matched your clothes to set off your midnight-blue eyes and all that strategically tousled onyx hair. Most men I know aren’t that thoughtful with their appearance—unless there’s a woman or a butler dressing them. Are you sure you’re even a lawyer? I’ve never met one with hair that dusted the collar of his impeccably pressed shirt.”
“Lawyer by generation, as it were.”
“Ah. Gotcha.” She sipped her latte, then added, “My condolences.”
“I happen to like what I do.”
“Then strike the witness’s last comment from the deposition.”
They headed toward the exit.
“By the way,” he used her phrasing, his amusement warring with unadulterated lust. “I’ve never been married, either.”
“Good to know.”
Pushing the door open for her to precede him, Tague took the opportunity presented to check out her ass.
Damn! Foiled again.
Her leather jacket covered her butt. However, she did have a provocative sway to her shapely hips as she stepped into the brisk weather.
After stealing a few seconds of mile-long legs he’d kill to see bare, Tague asked, “What, exactly, do you do for a living, L.L.?”
“Chip didn’t tell you?” She sounded surprised.
“No. This all came about rather unexpectedly. I just landed around two a.m.”
“Oh, well.” She shot him a look and smiled. “In that case, I’m a graphic designer.”
In that case...?
“I studied design at UCLA,” she explained. “When I returned to the States after Paris, I lucked out with a fantastic office for an indie home base here on the lively, infamous Avenue of the Americas.” She spread
her arms as wide as possible without clobbering passersby, taking it all in. “How can you beat that?”
“Indeed.”
He found her easygoing temperament and entrepreneurial spirit engaging. And Christ, the mystery of those legs clawed at him in a desperate way that Tague was not at all familiar with, despite having been surrounded by attractive women his entire life.
The stockings alone fascinated him. Were they the ones with the lacy elastic tops holding them in place or were they secured with garters?
He suddenly burned to watch her roll the nylon down her sculpted thighs, exposing inch after inch of skin. And for the life of him, he couldn’t help but imagine what those long legs would feel like wrapped around his hips, squeezing him tight, as he sank into her.
Something told him L.L. was neither inhibited nor inexperienced in the bedroom and that was yet another impossible-to-deny stimulant where she was concerned.
He wouldn’t mind getting a better glimpse of her breasts, either. All those layers made it difficult to accurately gauge if she was a sound C-cup or pushing a D.
Whether she knew it or not, she teased him senseless with her suggestive hints of what she tactically concealed. And, contrary to what she believed, Tague didn’t give a rat’s ass if there were designer names attached to the labels. That was currently the last thing on his mind.
Breaking into his wayward thoughts, she asked, “So, what’s so great about Japan that you stayed there for two years?”
“You didn’t actually read that WSJ article, did you?” Tague toyed with her.
Giving him a saucy look, she said, “I only buy it for the pictures.”
“Clever answer.”
She laughed. “I always take a gander at the front page when I’m picking up Cosmo at the newsstand.”
“Sorry to hear I didn’t hold your attention.”
“Well, you’re doing wonderfully now...” Another dimpled smile kept the adrenaline flowing through his veins.
With her stealing glances at him and biting on the end of her straw as though she’d like to take a bite out of him, Tague was convinced the fiery attraction was mutual.
Interesting turn of events...
To answer her question, and clarify whatever Chip might have divulged about his work overseas, Tague told her, “I’ve traveled back to New York on several occasions, but a large corporation selected me to represent them on a billion-dollar case and it required my continued presence in Tokyo until it concluded.”
“Wow. You really are big-time.” Finally, she appeared impressed.
“I maintain a significant portfolio. Keeps the bosses happy.”
“But makes dating a challenge.”
“I’ve been willing to sacrifice.”
“Clearly.”
He strolled alongside her while she kept at her latte. And continued to slide sly peeks at him that made him gloat inwardly. He held his snicker in check, though.
A few minutes later, L.L. stopped in front of the recently renovated and newly named McGregor building and said, “So, this is me.” Her head jerked toward the entrance.
“Isn’t this home to Kensington & Marks?”
“Yes. Fabulous design firm.”
“Then you’re part of a Fortune 500 company.”
“Not exactly. I know Jace Kensington from school. His dad’s a major partner in the firm and a huge supporter of up-and-coming designers. They offered me space for a decent price. I’m independent all the way.” She rocked on the balls of her feet. “Like I said, I lucked out.”
“Well,” Tague mused. “It was nice to meet you, L.L.”
“Likewise, Tague.”
His name seemed to roll off her tongue all too easily, sensuously. Making him wonder how’d it sound if she whispered it in the dark…on a sigh of longing…in the throes of passion.
Something about this woman crawled under Tague’s skin in a seductive way, and he couldn’t help but say, “If you’re interested in the Waldorf event, I’d like to take you.”
Her charismatic smile was a powerful magnet to his steel resolve. An inescapable reverse effect. He took a few steps closer to her. It made him crazy that he couldn’t get the full visual of her—had no idea what her hair really looked like, what her true eye color was. Couldn’t even speculate as to how she’d look naked and wanting him.
Regardless, she enthralled him.
The intrigue did as well.
“Sounds entertaining,” she said of the party. “I’m sorry to say I won’t be dripping diamonds, but I do have a sensational gown that ought to make up for it.”
“I don’t care if you’re dripping diamonds,” he assured her. “I care that you have a good time.”
They stood mere inches apart. He inhaled her rich scent and cinnamon-laced breath. His cock strained against the fly of his suit pants. Thank God for the jacket and overcoat. He had no idea how she did it, but this very alluring woman made him hard in a heartbeat. And he hadn’t even touched her.
She appeared equally entranced. She opened her mouth to speak. No words came out. Several suspended moments passed, with Tague’s mind wrapped mostly around kissing her. Slipping his hand inside her coat and palming her breast. Squeezing firmly and eliciting a moan of pleasure. Feeling her body meld to his.
Eventually, she gave a slight shake of her head and, finding her voice—though it was nothing but a lusty murmur—she said, “You are not at all what I expected.”
“Hopefully, you’re pleasantly surprised.”
“Remarkably so. And, as it happens, I’m a connoisseur of champagne, so if the Cristal or private-reserve Dom is flowing, it’s a guaranteed good time.”
His brow quirked. “Miss Branson is all about the champagne. Duly noted.”
She took a long drink from her iced coffee, teasing him by drawing this out. Then she gave a nonchalant shrug and said, “Perhaps the evening’s company will be more delicious than the champagne.”
“The managing partners would be glad to hear that.”
“I doubt I’ll even notice them.” Her parting smile was as beguiling as all the others. She whirled around on her four-inch heels and sauntered off. Not fully breaking the trance because, yet again, the sway of her hips held Tague’s full attention. Before she reached the revolving door of the building, she tossed over her shoulder, “Thanks for the latte.”
Then she disappeared inside. Leaving Tague to stare after her.
He grinned, despite the discomfort of an erection he’d never in a million years suspected would be the result of such a quick rendezvous.
When Chip had called him this morning and asked to meet outside of the office before they started their day—and had vaguely mentioned L.L.—Tague had been annoyed about the blind date.
Now he was deeply ensnared—and didn’t even mind suffering the aftereffects of the highly arousing woman his friend had set him up with.
It took Tague longer than anticipated to shake off the spell the spicy graphic designer had cast on him. Eventually, he dumped his untouched coffee in the trash bin at the light and crossed with dozens of other suits on their way to conquer the business world.
He wouldn’t say it was the smartest decision he’d ever made to invite someone as carefree and spirited as L.L. Branson into the lion’s den that was his life. But in all honestly, he couldn’t help himself. Somewhere between her zesty “hi” and her breathless “thanks for the latte,” she’d hooked Tague. He had to find out everything he could about this woman.
Right down to what sexy sounds would fall from those captivating lips when he made her come.
4
L.L. stepped out of the elevator on the twenty-second floor, draining her to-go cup as she crossed the threshold into Kensington & Marks, where the hustle and bustle hadn’t yet started. Only a handful of employees tended to get a jump on the day before ten o’clock rolled around.
Given her diverse, international clientele, whom she mostly worked with remotely via email and Skype, L.L. didn’
t necessarily have to be in the office bright and early at seven-forty-nine. But she felt most creative first thing in the morning, when her mind was fresh and the day was new.
“Hey there, sunshine,” Jace Kensington greeted her with a chaste peck on the cheek.
He was a good-looking guy with shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His habit was to leave his tie hanging on the back of his door with his jacket when there weren’t clients roaming about. His hair wasn’t quite as dark as Tague’s and better behaved, though L.L. secretly liked the purposely mussed style Tague wore. Nor was Jace as tall as the hunky lawyer she’d just met, and certainly nowhere near as formidable.
A tingle of excitement cascaded down her spine at the mental image she conjured of her breath-stealing blind date. Tague Mason had swept her right off her booted feet with his skyscraping height, solid build and tailored clothing. Not to mention his chiseled facial features—a slightly squared, strong jawline, prominent cheekbones and the complementary slash of a nose that had the tiniest imperfection at the bridge, which lent a rugged tinge to the otherwise aristocratic quality.
As for his smile... Lord, it’d taken some work to coax a grin out of him, but when she finally had...
Whoa. It wasn’t only her spine he made tingle—despite that grin being a purely cocky one. He made her pulse race and her insides sizzle.
Yet L.L. was more than capable of getting her feet securely beneath her after such a titillating encounter.
She’d met plenty of attractive men since coming to New York. She’d never dated any of them more than once, and would certainly never get so wrapped up in one that it threatened to derail the speeding train that was her career.
Nor would she be roped into a romantic entanglement that would leave her devastated. Thoroughly wrecked.
Been there. Done that.
Which made it all the more helpful—safe, even—that she wasn’t the perfectly coiffed, looking-to-land-a-well-to-do-husband sort. She and Tague Mason were certainly on different, polar-opposite trajectories. All they had in common, really, was the knack for witty banter and the thirst for good champagne.