by Calista Fox
Simon delivered a chiller with the bottle of champagne Loralai had requested nestled inside, then returned to the bar. Micah ceremoniously popped the cork, splashed a sample of bubbly into a delicate flute and offered it to Loralai. She sniffed the fragrant bouquet before taking a sip. With a nod of her head, she passed the glass to Tague.
“I’ll trust your judgment,” he told her.
She drank the rest of the sample. “Excellent selection.” Micah poured for both of them, replaced the bottle in the chiller and resumed his stance off to the side, with his back to them for privacy.
Tague touched the rim of his glass to hers and said, “So, here’s to four-hundred-dollar-a-bottle champagne.”
Her head tilted to the side. “How’d you know?”
“I happen to be a fan of champagne myself. I’d happily share the 1998 Krug Clos d’Ambonnay with you. I have a case in my wine cellar.”
“That’s a two-thousand-dollar bottle of one-hundred percent pinot noir bubbly. Very serious stuff.”
“You really do know your champagne.”
“Call it a hobby. Along with studying chandeliers. I picked out every one for the club.”
“Ah, back to that.” He took another healthy sip, then set his flute aside. “I need you to answer my question about your friend, Meg.” He placed a hand on Loralai’s bare thigh, dangerously close to the short hem of her dress.
She sucked in a breath. Flames sparked against her clit from his touch and pointed look.
He said, “Give me the specifics so I don’t make any misguided moves.”
Beyond this current bold one?
She searched his eyes for the exact meaning behind his words. Desire and passion rimmed his midnight irises. His jaw was set in a hard line. A possessive air rolled off him in waves.
Loralai had experienced that territorial vibe before—when they’d been in the coffee shop and Tripp the barista had given her his undivided attention, seemingly forgetting everyone else in line, including Tague.
A thrill ribboned through her. She squirmed in her seat. In doing so, she inadvertently shifted so that Tague’s fingers skated under her skirt.
Her body ignited. Distracting her from their conversation.
“Loralai,” he prompted.
His thumb swept slowly, hypnotically over her inner thigh. Her flesh quivered at the feathery strokes.
“Yes to the first definition you provided and a semi-yes to the second,” she told him in a breathless voice. “She’s my best friend and recently became my ex-lover.”
“How recent?” His steely gaze remained locked with hers.
“Six, maybe seven months ago.”
“How long were you together?”
“Three years.”
The light strumming along her inner thigh didn’t stop.
Loralai found it difficult to think straight. He reached her on so many levels, it was impossible to process all of the consuming sensations. The heat, the exhilaration, the anxiety, the longing, the insanely erotic feel of his skilled touch.
The way he devoured her with hungry eyes, she had no doubt he experienced the intense arousal himself. Which only seemed to heighten with every passing second.
In a questioning tone, he started to ask, “So that makes you a les—”
“I don’t subscribe to labels,” she told him. “Designer or otherwise. Sometimes I enjoy the finer things in life. Sometimes they feel overindulgent or not in mesh with my personality. I’m not ruled by labels, as I stated yesterday, or confining descriptions. They’re just words, Tague. I can’t be defined by them.”
“Alright.” He gave a slight nod.
“Meg and I were each other’s rebound dates.”
His brow quirked. “For three years?”
“Think of it as life-preservers. We both needed emotional intimacy, more so than sexual intimacy. In fact, we were rarely together since I was in Paris for the most part and she was here, opening the club. She’d gone through a painful breakup, and so we created a safety net for ourselves. We finally admitted that was all it was—all it would ever be. We’d never fall in love with each other. It was a very amiable, mutual split.”
“Have you dated since?”
“Does it matter?”
10
“Yes, it does.”
She let out a soft sigh. “I’m not going to sleep with you tonight, Tague.”
“Did I suggest that?”
Loralai’s gaze dropped briefly to his hand on her leg, his thumb still caressing that overly sensitive part of her body. Making her burn brighter.
He rested his other arm along the top of the plush booth. Loralai held fast to her glass of champagne, fighting the urge to touch him. Already, this spiraled out of control.
She said, “I believe you mentioned your bed.”
The thin lines around his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Why yes, I did. I guess I couldn’t help myself. Make no mistake, I thoroughly enjoy your carefree daytime persona. And this side of you is sensational. As a whole… you are definitely the complete package.”
“Still not your type.”
“Again… You don’t get to make that judgement call.”
“I’ve spent enough time here at the club to deduce—”
“Loralia. I don’t subscribe to labels, either. So don’t categorize me. I’m not a cookie-cutter Mason.”
“Well, then. I guess we both have multiple facets neither was anticipating.”
“Agreed,” he said. “And I suppose you learned a lot from your relationship with Meg.”
“Immeasurably.” Her gaze didn’t falter as she added, “To answer your question, I have gone out on occasion. With guys I considered more friends than dates—I didn’t have sex with any of them.”
He regarded her closely as he asked, “Have you ever been with a man, Loralai?”
Her heart constricted.
Risky territory, indeed.
Loralai didn’t discuss her romantic life before Meg. Only Meg and Jace knew about the horrific devastation and humiliation she’d suffered because of Corey Crenshaw. Not only because it was still a raw wound when it really shouldn’t be after all this time, but because Corey had become a household name when he’d joined the chart-topping rock band Deft Riff just a few months before he’d yanked her heart from her chest and stomped all over it.
He was a legend now. And Loralai was but a distant memory for him.
Corey was the absolute last person she wanted to talk about, but she said to Tague, “Yes, I have been with a man before. We started dating ten years ago, when we were both sixteen. We were together until we turned twenty. That’s pretty much all I have to say about him.”
“Ended badly,” Tague murmured.
Angst flitted across his prominent visage, indicating he could commiserate. She wondered who the hell would break his heart. The man was iron. It would take some doing to put him through the wringer. Yet someone had?
Were she to ask, it would make her past open for discussion. So instead, she suggested, “Perhaps dinner on Friday isn’t such a great idea after all.”
“It’s a fantastic idea,” he hastily said.
“I was just thinking that we both seem to be a little too moth-to-the-flame with each other,” she told him. “That could spell disaster.”
His head dipped and he whispered in her ear, “I’m confident we can handle it.”
Tague’s hand slipped further under her tight hem. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her fingers remained coiled around the stem of her glass.
“You don’t take things slow, do you?” she asked.
“Not when it’s something I want this much.” The slight strain in his tone sent a delicious shiver down her spine. He added, “From the second I saw you in the coffee shop, I had an instant, vehement reaction to you. Tonight I’m even more helplessly spellbound.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “I wouldn’t expect someone of your stature to admit that.”
“Impossible
to hide. Ask me if I’ve noticed any other woman in this room since you came down those stairs. The answer will be a resounding no.”
His scorching gaze seared her as much as his palm on her bare skin did. And the sweeping of his thumb so very, very close to her lace-covered folds had her pulse raging.
It was all Loralai could do not to beg him to reach just the tiniest bit higher and that intimate, sensitive spot. She wanted it. Craved it. Craved him.
And she was certain need and lust glowed warm and vibrant in her eyes.
Trying to rein in her emotions, she said, “You’re not drinking your cocktail.”
“That would require moving my hand from under your skirt. I’m not inclined to do that.” Now, his voice held a dark edge. A hint of wicked intent.
“You probably should,” she meagerly countered.
“You’re not very convincing, Loralai.”
Her lashes fluttered. Christ, she loved how he said her name. So sensually, as though they were already lovers. Already intimately involved.
“I can’t—won’t—beat around the bush,” he told her. “I want you. Plain and simple.”
“Plain and simple?”
Tague groaned. “Okay. There’s nothing plain, nothing simple about it.”
“No, there isn’t.” She sipped her champagne in hopes of cooling her sizzling insides. She had the overwhelming desire to unbutton his shirt and splay her palms over his expansive, well-defined chest.
To keep from doing just that, she offered Tague her glass, holding the flute as he drank down the rest of her champagne.
Then she said, “I don’t really know what to do about all of these wild zings and this electric current moving under my skin.”
“You’re trembling,” he noted. Not in a triumphant way, but in a fascinated one.
“I can’t really explain this.” Her gaze was now fixated on his mouth, so incredibly appealing. Loralai couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at a man’s mouth and wanted, more than anything, to feel it all over her naked body.
“Why don’t you give it a try,” he murmured, his breath teasing her temple.
Though she feared it might put her at a disadvantage, Loralai said, “Every inch of me is completely hypersensitive to you. I’m...restless. Hot. Prickly in a good way from head to toe. Yet so very, very...hot.”
Was that revealing enough without being masochistic? She had no idea. It’d been a hell of a long time since she’d been in this position. Drowning in emotions and sensations. For God’s sake, tiny beads of perspiration popped along her nape.
The fact she didn’t cower from all the erotic feelings Tague incited gave her a surge of encouragement, but she was wise enough—damaged enough—to know to tread lightly.
Tague gave her a slow, sexy grin. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Perhaps—”
“Our problem is,” he interjected. “We’re both thinking too damn much.”
She couldn’t fully dispute that.
A heartbeat later, his lips brushed hers. A whisper of a kiss. It jolted her as though he’d fiercely claimed her mouth. She gasped.
Tague’s beautiful blue eyes glimmered with excitement at her innate response to such a fleeting touch.
“I want to taste more than your lips, Loralai.” He quietly commanded, “Uncross your legs.”
She did and his fingers glided upward, two of them slipping behind the triangle of lace covering her and whisking over her dewy folds.
Heat and exhilaration rushed through her.
Tague pulled his hand away and skimmed the now-coated fingertips over her bottom lip. His tongue followed, in a scintillating sweep.
He let out a low, sexy growl. “Fuck,” he said, his voice full of lust. “You taste damn good. And you’re so wet.” His gaze held hers. “You want me, don’t you, Loralai?”
11
“Yes.” Every fiber of her being screamed to be sated by this man. “But I can’t just have sex with you, Tague. I don’t even know you. Not really. And that’s not the kind of club Meg runs.”
“It doesn’t have to be here.” Tague repeated, “I can feel the tremors in your body. I see how I affect you, Loralai. Making your breaths shallow, your nipples hard. I want to unravel all of that tension.” His mouth skated over hers again and he added, “I want to make you come.”
The sensations coursing through her threaded together and pulled tight, increasing the tension Tague spoke of. Her exhilaration mounted, cresting the boiling point.
Tague did the most insane things to her body, with his sinful words and heated touches. She wanted to tear at his clothes, rub her skin against his, glide her tongue over every glorious inch of him.
When they eventually gave into the fierce, unrelenting desire, it would be explosive.
Though, again… Disastrously so?
The potential existed. Because instinct told her Tague would demand all of her—and she wouldn’t be able to fight the lure, the temptation, the need...
He muttered, “You have no idea how hard you make me.”
Loralai leaned forward and set her glass on the table. Then softly said, “Micah.”
The attendant turned to them and slid the table out.
“You want to be one of my weaknesses?” Loralai asked Tague.
“Yes.”
She got to her feet and offered him her hand. “Come with me.”
Tague realized he’d probably follow her to the ends of the goddamn earth, he was that ensnared. And though climbing the staircase to the top floor was downright painful, given his steel erection, he let her lead him. While admiring the view of her enticing backside. Her tight ass that he wanted to squeeze, bite, fuck.
They reached the landing and she crossed to an office door and swiped her index finger over the electronic biometric reader while her other hand remained engulfed in his. The lock released and Loralai pushed the door open. Stepped inside with Tague in tow.
The spacious room was decorated in plush white with ice-blue satin accents and a plethora of glass art, including the wall that looked out over the lounge. It was an intricate design of crystal-cut silver and pale blue stained panes that skewed the images lying beyond, but cast shimmery hazes throughout the dimly lit office, the only other glowing illumination being the chandeliers on low settings.
The remaining walls were adorned with large flat screens, showcasing various angles of the club from the security cameras, one area in particular being the reserved table Loralai and Tague had just vacated.
Tague’s gaze continued to sweep the room. Behind a glass-topped desk sat a pretty, delicate blond in a sapphire strapless dress, the hem as short as Loralai’s.
The blond smiled coyly. “You two could single-handedly burn this place to the ground with just the heated looks you give each other.” Her nearly translucent tawny eyes glowed with exhilaration. “Your intensity is off the charts,” she specifically told Tague. Then her gaze shifted to Loralai. “And you… Jesus. You’re flush and clearly excited. By him.”
“Tague,” Loralai said, “This is Meg Saunders.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he told the blond.
She stood, smoothed a hand over her flat stomach to straighten her skirt and then rounded the desk, extending a slim, bejeweled hand. “It’s pleasure to meet you, Tague. Loralai has told me all about you. And from what I’ve seen on the monitors, you’ve more than sparked her interest. Congratulations. I was beginning to fear no one would.”
“Meg,” Loralai gently scolded. “Some things between me and you remain private.”
The blond gave a slight shake of her head. “No. You need to be honest, Loralai. About everything. For instance… Why did you bring him here?”
Myriad emotions crossed Loralai’s beautiful face. Meg gave her a kind smile, as though she read every expression.
Tague instantly envied the secret knowledge Meg possessed. Yet as much as his assertive nature urged him to press for the two women to
vocalize the silent exchange that passed between best friends and ex-lovers, he forced some patience.
Meg stepped away and retrieved a bottle of Cristal from a crystal chiller. She poured three glasses and handed one to Tague. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
Then she turned back to Loralai.
“He’s really got you worked up,” Meg said, without a hint of jealousy. Rather, she sounded thrilled for Loralai. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite like this.”
“You haven’t.”
Meg’s gaze landed on Tague once more.
His eyes narrowed. But he still didn’t make any demands to know what they were up to. Instinct told him to go with the moment. Sure, the red-pill scenario popped into his head again. He was fully willing to swallow it down.
So he ventured over to the enormous sectional that likely sat twenty and was accompanied by a matching ottoman positioned in the center of the opening created by the white couches. He took a long drink of the champagne and then set the flute on the silver tray resting on the ottoman.
Loralai sipped gingerly—perhaps a bit tentatively—before telling him, “The past couple of days…this is all new to me.”
“The fact that we were instantly attracted to each other?”
“It’s not just how quickly it happened,” she said. “Really, it’s that it happened at all. I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“You weren’t prepared to be turned on so damn much?”
“Yes. I don’t typically spark with people. Not sexually. I’m much more closed off than that.”
“Well, the feeling’s mutual. Make no mistake.”
She gave him a ghost of a smile.
Tague’s gut coiled. He understood her dilemma. Had her story down pat.
She’d suffered a bad breakup. So she’d played it safe with her good friend Meg. But that hadn’t been the right answer. Then she’d met Tague. And was obviously caught off-guard by the blazing chemistry that she hadn’t even been searching for, if for no other reason than she’d expressed her focus was solely on her career.