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“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.
