Well, for that—and because two seconds into the coffee-shop meet-up, she’d instantly burned to see Tague in a tux.
Bad. Bad. Bad!
Especially since the man was such an enigmatic force. His penetrating gaze alone had hypnotized her. And had left her knees knocking together.
Okay, yeah. There’s some danger here.
“Does he even know what you do for a living? Really?” Jace reeled her in with the cryptic change of topic.
She gnawed her lip a moment, then confessed, “I left it vague.”
His brow jerked upward. “How so?”
5
“I told him I’m a graphic designer. Which—” she flashed a hopeful smile— “isn’t entirely off the mark. Right?”
Her designs were, after all, graphic.
L.L. created customized adult toys for a discriminating clientele. All artistically designed and elegantly packaged to fit individual preferences and personalities. Also all sporting a costly price tag for her time, expertise and innovation.
Someday, she’d expand her operation to mass production—the reason she’d hired Chip to get the process rolling for patents. For the moment, however, she kept her business manageable. And discreet.
“Tague doesn’t need to know the specifics of what I do,” she asserted.
“Trust me when I say, his very delicate mother would faint dead away were she to find out.”
“She’s not going to find out. And, come on! This is a pseudo-date, remember?”
“We’re talking about Tague Mason here. A take-no-prisoners sort. If you’re going to a corporate party with him, it’s a full-on date, L.L. Including the kiss at the end of the night. And you can be damn sure there’ll be tongue.”
And she was damn sure that kiss would sear her to the core.
Her pulse jumped.
A few seconds passed while she recovered from the visual of Tague kissing her until she couldn’t recall her own name, and fought off the hint of oh, shit now roaring through her veins.
Yet she still contended—albeit in a slightly panicked voice—“Tague is the last man on the planet I’d actually date-date. You know, like really date. There’s an intimidation factor to consider with him. And it has nothing to do with his money and last name. I know plenty of affluent movers and shakers.”
“That intimidation factor is precisely why you should think twice about this. I understand you’re no pushover, L.L. For God’s sake, I’ve heard you take on the courier service when they claim they won’t refund your money after they’ve botched a simple cross-town delivery. Even my asshole hurts after listening to the blistering lectures. But Tague’s a whole ‘nother ball of wax, sunshine.”
r /> “He’s not going to follow me into the ladies’ room to fuck me,” she countered.
Right?
“I don’t know his specific moves, L.L. But chances are very good that, by the end of the evening, he’ll have you backed into some dark corner, making you forget all your ‘I don’t casually date or randomly have sex’ principles.”
“You have such little faith in me,” she feebly quipped, her voice cracking.
“I’m just pointing out the fact that, unless you’re extremely careful, you might not get away scot-free.”
Her anxiety mounted. L.L. crossed her small office to the window and stared down Sixth Avenue, toward the building she knew housed Mason, Hoffman & Stein. Tague likely had an opulent corner office on the top floor. He probably had three secretaries, two paralegals and a personal bathroom attendant.
The man had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. No doubt one from Tiffany’s that was authoritatively engraved with his given name—and more gracefully inscribed with some adorable family moniker.
She, by contrast, did not come from money. Though she’d spent ample time with jet-setters. Jace and their mutual friend, Meg Saunders. Chip McAllister. Yet she was only platonic pals with both men, occasionally hitting the town together, but mostly attending sporting events.
Which reminded her…