Craving You Page 4

  One of the trendy-looking, though unmistakably burly, bouncers jerked his chin in Chip’s direction as they skirted the line. “Pleasure to see you again, Mr. McAllister.”

  “This is Mr. Mason,” Chip informed him. “He’ll likely be a frequent visitor while in town, so I’ll have him temporarily added to my account.”

  Tague doubted he’d be back, but didn’t comment on the fact he had more important things on his plate than dancing the night away. He didn’t even dance, for fuck’s sake.

  “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

  Chip led Tague into the building, but they took a left while others headed down a long straightaway.

  “VIP entrance,” Chip simply said.

  They reached a bank of elevators and Chip directed him to the express one. Once inside, he inserted a gold keycard into an inconspicuous slot and the car took them to the forty-seventh floor. The doors opened and they crossed the threshold into an enormous, well-appointed marbled lobby—with beautiful women waiting to greet them, wearing evening gowns with slits to the tops of their thighs.

  Tague shot a suspicious look at his friend. “A sex club, Chip?”

  7

  A seriously upscale one from the looks of it.

  “Just keep an open mind, huh?”

  “Not my first rodeo,” Tague deadpanned. Plenty of his associates had access to the best gentlemen’s clubs in their respective cities and many of them preferred doing late-night business at them. “What’s the specialty?”

  “The perfect cut of filet mignon cooked at sixteen-hundred degrees and topped with a lobster-Béarnaise sauce so rich and decadent, your dick will stand up and take notice.”

  Tague’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  With a laugh, Chip explained, “It’s not a sex club, man. It’s an exclusive, six-Michelin-starred restaurant and nightclub, featuring guest DJs and internationally acclaimed chefs. The VIP memberships for the private lounges and formal dining room are fully vetted. Very distinguished.”

  “Then how the hell did you get in?”

  Chip snickered. “Don’t be an ass. You’re going to like it here. Guaranteed.”

  “Meaning my father’s not a member?”

  “That I can’t confirm. But just… Follow me.”

  They checked their overcoats with a statuesque brunette dressed to the nines and then climbed the oversized staircase. The steps were solid glass, backlit and featuring a waterfall effect behind each pane. They headed to the third level, with Armani-clad hosts to usher them along, passing through double doors that opened to a cavernous room.

  “This is the elite cigar lounge, for discerning tastes. Though, the nightclub has an energetic vibe you might also like.”

  “Think this’ll do,” Tague absently commented.

  The interior was elegant and posh, with polished wood-paneled walls, elaborate chandeliers, plenty of private nooks and crannies—and stunning panoramic views of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline.

  Wingback chairs and large, sturdy leather sofas in a stately navy hue, accompanied by mahogany coffee and end tables, were strategically positioned, most of them occupied. Music wafted on the cigar-laced air…classic jazz with muted trumpets and the soulful wails of saxophones.

  Chip directed them to a mammoth, intricately crafted bar. A venerable bartender in a tuxedo vest, diamond cufflinks and an impeccable bowtie approached them.

  “Good evening, Mr. McAllister. Will ye be having the usual?” the older gentlemen asked in his thick Scottish accent. He not only bore a striking resemblance to Sean Connery, but sounded like him as well. “The Glenlivet 50?”

  “For the both of us, Simon,” Chip instructed in a friendly tone.

  “Very good, sir.” They were served the fifty-year-old scotch in cut-crystal Baccarat tumblers.

  Tague and Chip clinked rims.

  “Nice to have you back, buddy,” Chip said by way of a toast.

  “I’ll admit there have been some fascinating twists since I flew in. You’ve made a few new friends.”

  Chip grinned. “L.L.’s doing.”

  Damn Chip for bringing her up. Tague wasn’t supposed to be obsessing over the woman. This impromptu thing with her was a one-time, one-event affair. As were the majority of Tague’s affairs.

  Tague sipped his very costly scotch as Chip said, “L.L. also introduced me to a striking blonde who actually does have a very sexy, secret fetish.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s your newly acquired vice? Blindfolds and handcuffs?” Even as he posed the question, Tague knew he didn’t want to hear what his friend had to say. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

  Chip took a deep drink, then leaned in and said, “Feet.”

  Tague groaned. “I believe I told you not to answer. My bad for even asking.”

  “Let me explain.” Chip gulped down more scotch before saying, “I never would have grasped this had I not experienced it first-hand. But I swear to you, it is the hottest damn thing watching a seductive, elegant woman slowly remove her silk robe, soak her slender feet in a shallow tub of fragrant water accented with red rose petals and then offer those clean-and-dainty, perfectly manicured feet to you.”

  Chip’s eyes practically rolled into the back of his head. He added, “There’s nothing—I mean nothing—like sliding your lips over such satiny skin. Gliding your tongue along the femininely shaped arches and the smoothest, most deliciously scented heels. Fuck.” He let out a long breath. “I get hard just thinking of Helena.”

  Tague cursed his morbid curiosity. “I get the picture. No need to say more.”

  “Don’t be a prude.”

  “Please,” Tague scowled. “I can handle the subject matter. I just don’t need the visual of you and Helena doing whatever it is you and Helena do when you’re together.”

  “She likes to jerk me off while I suck her toes.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Tague grumbled. “I could do without the details.”

  “I don’t know, my friend. I think you could use some of the details in your life. When’s the last time you had sex?”

  Tague had recently been wondering that very thing, himself. Was the tension radiating from him? Because, honestly, he hadn’t put much thought into what he hadn’t been getting in the bedroom until he’d stumbled upon L.L. Branson. And why the hell couldn’t he get her off his mind? That was the most disturbing revelation of all, even beyond Chip’s foot fetish.

  “Whatever happens behind my closed doors isn’t up for discussion,” Tague said, in his defense. “I’ve had plenty to keep me occupied. I don’t need to… Jesus Christ. I—”

  His voice cut off mid-sentence when he caught sight of a pair of six-inch, black suede platform heels and sculpted ankles and calves. The owner of the alluring shoes and gorgeous legs stood at the top of a suspended spiral staircase, pausing briefly before taking one step down the brushed steel and frosted-glass stairs, then another, her descent a slow, enticing crisscross walk.

  Tague’s gaze slid leisurely, appreciatively over the glowing skin and softly defined muscles. His eyes roved the tempting flesh, right up to her—

  8

  Near the tops of her thighs was where Tague’s gaze landed, right at the hem of her ultra-short black dress. By far, those were the sexiest, sleekest pair of legs he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Her tight dress hugged every curve, skimming smoothly over her gently rounded hips, clinging to the dip of her waist, stretching over her ribcage and breasts, then pulling over one bare shoulder. Leaving so very little to the imagination.

  His eyes roved honey-colored skin along the column of her neck. He soaked in every detail of her artistically crafted face, from crimson lips to high cheekbones to a perfect, slightly tipped-up at the end nose and deep, shimmering emerald irises. Her sooty lashes were long and lush. Her brows finely arched. And her hair... It was the most luxurious curtain of dark auburn tresses draped over the shoulder where the material gathered, the ends curled under at her breast. Thick, sh
iny strands that beckoned him to run his fingers through them.

  His gaze slid back to her mouth. The mouth of a temptress. There was an elusive familiarity to the plump lips, but Tague could not recall ever kissing a woman with lips that color.

  Siren-red vivaciousness to the extreme.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered. “Who the hell is she?”

  Beside him, Chip said, “That’s Loralai.”

  “Loralai.” The name held a certain appeal to it. Sensuous, like the woman herself.

  “Man.” Chip clasped him on the shoulder to get his attention. But his gaze never left the soul-stirring beauty who still gracefully—provocatively—wound her way down the stairs.

  Fire roared through his veins. His cock sprang to life.

  “Ah, shit,” Chip said with a sarcastic chuckle. “You don’t recognize her at all? Tague, that’s L.L.”

  His head whipped in his friend’s direction. “What?” he demanded.

  “That’s L.L.,” Chip repeated. “From the coffee shop. The girl you met yesterday?”

  “Oh, hell, no,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “That,” he argued as his gaze returned to the sexy redhead, “is no girl.”

  “I suspected you’d feel that way when you saw her like this. She prefers to be called Loralai in the club.”

  Tague watched as Loralai scanned the immediate crowd. Over the heads of patrons gathered around the bar, her gaze caught his and held.

  He felt a jolt deep inside, equivalent to a physical blow. She nearly knocked him off his feet with her direct stare, those glowing green eyes, that enticing mouth forming an “O” as she let out a breath of air at the sight of him.

  Tague experienced a hint of vindication. The heat that flashed in her emerald irises mirrored the burn-factor she left in her wake.

  Without taking his gaze from Loralai, he said to Chip, “You’ll have to excuse me.” He set his glass on the bar and moved away, skirting the small conglomerations and stealthily making his way toward the spiral staircase.

  He attempted to reach the first step, but a gargantuan of a man wearing a tux moved in front of him, forcing Tague to break the eye contact with his object of desire.

  “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no access here.”

  Tague glared at him.

  “It’s okay, Brent,” came the sultry voice of the woman who instantly had Tague twisted in knots. “I think he’s here for me.” The security guard—or perhaps bodyguard?—shifted to the side and her attention returned to Tague. “Correct?”

  “You already know the answer to that. Don’t you, Loralai?”

  She gave him a megawatt smile—and there was the dimple he obsessed over. “Another pleasant surprise,” she said.

  “Apparently, I’m full of them. And so are you.” He held his hand out to her and helped her down the last step. Her skin was warm and soft. Her long, French-manicured fingers were slender, though he felt the strength in them. And yearned to feel them trailing over his chest, his abs. Wrapping firmly around his cock and pumping slowly.

  He stifled the growl that swelled in his throat.

  Brent released the dark-blue, satin-covered rope and she moved through the sectioned-off area, closing the small gap between her and Tague.

  “Nice place,” he said. “Guess that answers how you became a connoisseur of premium champagnes.”

  Her emerald eyes sparkled. “They’re a weakness of mine.”

  His gaze didn’t waver as Tague told her, “I want to be a weakness of yours.”

  Loralai’s heartbeats accelerated. She couldn’t catch her breath. She hoped she appeared calm and composed on the outside, because what was happening on the inside...

  Holy hell.

  Even having had a good fifteen minutes to accept the fact that Tague was here at the club—since she’d seen him come through the entrance with Chip via the surveillance cameras projected on screens in the upstairs office—she still couldn’t reconcile all the riotous emotions within her. The wild fluttering of her stomach. The delicious, yet conversely taunting thrumming between her legs.

  Her nipples were pebbled peaks against the thin material of her dress. She didn’t have to glance down to know her arousal was evident. Couldn’t look down was more accurate. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Tague’s.

  Nor was she in any hurry to pull her hand from his.

  Though the way he appeared so oblivious to his surroundings—to everything but her—did make Loralai anxious over having ventured downstairs when she’d seen him enter the club.

  That intimidation she’d mentioned to Jace wasn’t related to his high-brow status. It was wrapped solely around Tague being such a commanding presence. So much so, everything about him literally seeped into her veins and turned her blood molten.

  But he was here. And she’d left the office because she’d mysteriously felt compelled to show him this side of her. Chip apparently had as well.

  “Shall we get a drink?” she suggested in a quiet voice, enjoying their cozy connection, even though dozens of people milled around the lounge.

  “Whatever you want,” he said, also keeping his tone low. Conspiratorial.

  Her inner muscles squeezed tight. All that raw intensity exuding from him sent her into sensory overload. And his skin on hers... Tague held her hand gently, but his flesh was hot enough to incinerate her. A sinful heat that spread throughout her body.

  Loralai had no idea how long they stood there, eyes locked. Eventually, Tague gave a slight tug on her hand and he guided her to the bar.

  Chip greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a knockout, as always.”

  “Thank you. The two of you are quite dashing,” she offered. “I noticed Helena just arrived. She’ll be pleased to see you again.”

  “And that would be my cue to seek her out before she meets someone else to share those amazing feet with.”

  “I’m pretty sure she was searching specifically for you, Chip,” Loralai told him. “She booked a tucked-away table for two, but came alone.”

  “Not when I’m done with her.” There was a glint in his eyes over his innuendo. He drained his scotch and said to Tague, “Put everything on my tab. They log it into the system, all gratuity-free, so don’t worry about tipping. A portion of my membership fee covers it. You don’t need to sign for anything. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” He grinned at Loralai. “Try not to blow his mind this evening. Tague has a nine a.m. presentation to give.”

  Beside her, Tague snickered.

  Loralai fought the flush rising along her neck and cheeks. “I promise to have him in bed by curfew.”

  Chip laughed a bit heartier. “I’m hoping he has company.”

  She shook her head at him. “Go.” To Tague, she said, “He’s sweet. But incorrigible.”

  Tague’s dark eyes bore into her, turning her nerve endings into livewires. “Feel free to blow my mind this evening,” he said in his deep, sexy voice. “And for the record, I happen to have an extremely comfortable bed.”

  Searing lust flared within her.

  Loralai’s body naturally gravitated to Tague’s, until the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest, tickling the centers into even tauter points. He wore a pewter-colored suit with a black shirt that was opened at the neck, just enough to give her a tantalizing view of the inner swells of his hard pecs. Her fingers burned to caress the skin there. To feel the muscles flex beneath her touch.

  The warning signals she’d experienced when Jace had tried to convince her she was in over her head with Tague just by accepting his dinner invitation returned full force.

  Yet tonight, they offered more titillation than fear. Everything about the man had her brimming with desire and wet with wanting him.

  Because she’d thought of very little else since meeting him. And now—

  9

  She would have stayed lost in his dark, entrancing gaze forever if the bartender hadn’t joined them. Her attention shifted.

  “You
r preference this evening, Miss Branson?” Simon asked.

  “The 2002 Perrier Jouët Belle Epoque Blanc de Blanc. Please deliver the bottle to my table. And put it on my tab.” She glanced back at Tague. “I get a fantastic discount.” She winked.

  “I really can’t allow you to buy the champagne.”

  “But I insist.” She told the bartender, “Two glasses.” Then crooked a brow at Tague. “Yes?”

  “Fine. I’m beginning to think you can talk me into anything.”

  “As it should be.” She smiled. “Follow me.” Their hands were still entwined and she led him around the massive bar toward the far end of the lounge.

  Tague asked, “You own this place?”

  Over her shoulder, she said, “No. My girlfriend, Meg, does.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Girlfriend as in she’s female and a friend; therefore, sharing a hot fudge sundae means there are no calories involved? Or girlfriend as in… I don’t stand a chance in hell with you?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a rather cynical edge to your voice sometimes?”

  “Nope,” he said drily. “Never heard that one before.”

  Loralai laughed. “Don’t worry. I don’t find it offensive. I’m curious to know why you’re so jaded.”

  “I’m not jaded. I’m a realist.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, we now have three things in common.”

  His fingers tightened around her hand. “I think we have more in common than you’re willing to admit.”

  Exhilaration shimmied through her—red flags of warning be damned.

  Loralai dragged her gaze from him and continued toward a quiet corner with semi-circular booths that had high walls to offer seclusion.

  As she approached a cozy unit, her usual male attendant, Micah, pulled the table away from the curved seating area, the legs sliding easily and quietly along gliders. Loralai took the two steps up and settled herself in the middle of the rounded sofa. Tague sat next to her and Micah moved the table back into place. A full-length white-linen cloth topped it, along with an elaborate floral centerpiece and flickering votives in Waterford crystal cups.