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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.
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.”
