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To keep from doing just that, she offered Tague her glass, holding the flute as he drank down the rest of her champagne.
Then she said, “I don’t really know what to do about all of these wild zings and this electric current moving under my skin.”
“You’re trembling,” he noted. Not in a triumphant way, but in a fascinated one.
“I can’t really explain this.” Her gaze was now fixated on his mouth, so incredibly appealing. Loralai couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at a man’s mouth and wanted, more than anything, to feel it all over her naked body.
“Why don’t you give it a try,” he murmured, his breath teasing her temple.
Though she feared it might put her at a disadvantage, Loralai said, “Every inch of me is completely hypersensitive to you. I’m...restless. Hot. Prickly in a good way from head to toe. Yet so very, very...hot.”
Was that revealing enough without being masochistic? She had no idea. It’d been a hell of a long time since she’d been in this position. Drowning in emotions and sensations. For God’s sake, tiny beads of perspiration popped along her nape.
The fact she didn’t cower from all the erotic feelings Tague incited gave her a surge of encouragement, but she was wise enough—damaged enough—to know to tread lightly.
Tague gave her a slow, sexy grin. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Perhaps—”
“Our problem is,” he interjected. “We’re both thinking too damn much.”
She couldn’t fully dispute that.
A heartbeat later, his lips brushed hers. A whisper of a kiss. It jolted her as though he’d fiercely claimed her mouth. She gasped.
Tague’s beautiful blue eyes glimmered with excitement at her innate response to such a fleeting touch.
“I want to taste more than your lips, Loralai.” He quietly commanded, “Uncross your legs.”
She did and his fingers glided upward, two of them slipping behind the triangle of lace covering her and whisking over her dewy folds.
Heat and exhilaration rushed through her.
Tague pulled his hand away and skimmed the now-coated fingertips over her bottom lip. His tongue followed, in a scintillating sweep.
He let out a low, sexy growl. “Fuck,” he said, his voice full of lust. “You taste damn good. And you’re so wet.” His gaze held hers. “You want me, don’t you, Loralai?”
11
“Yes.” Every fiber of her being screamed to be sated by this man. “But I can’t just have sex with you, Tague. I don’t even know you. Not really. And that’s not the kind of club Meg runs.”
“It doesn’t have to be here.” Tague repeated, “I can feel the tremors in your body. I see how I affect you, Loralai. Making your breaths shallow, your nipples hard. I want to unravel all of that tension.” His mouth skated over hers again and he added, “I want to make you come.”
The sensations coursing through her threaded together and pulled tight, increasing the tension Tague spoke of. Her exhilaration mounted, cresting the boiling point.
Tague did the most insane things to her body, with his sinful words and heated touches. She wanted to tear at his clothes, rub her skin against his, glide her tongue over every glorious inch of him.
When they eventually gave into the fierce, unrelenting desire, it would be explosive.
Though, again… Disastrously so?
The potential existed. Because instinct told her Tague would demand all of her—and she wouldn’t be able to fight the lure, the temptation, the need...
He muttered, “You have no idea how hard you make me.”
Loralai leaned forward and set her glass on the table. Then softly said, “Micah.”
The attendant turned to them and slid the table out.
