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.