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This time, her smile was the dazzling one that revealed the dimple. Tague’s groin tightened.
“You could bring speeding traffic to an instant standstill when you smile like that.”
She sucked on the straw, making his body even more rigid with wanting her. Wanting her tongue trailing along his shaft, wanting her lips closing around the head of his cock. Wanting her to suck him—hard.
15
Only slightly distracting him from those thoughts, she said, “We don’t get much speeding traffic in this city.”
“You know what I’m saying.”
Her expression turned coy, giving her emerald eyes a seductive glow. “I wouldn’t take you for the flattery type.”
“I’m just stating the truth.”
L.L. gazed up at him, now appearing deeply appreciative. It tugged at his heartstrings, catching Tague off-guard. There was something about pleasing her in any form that made him feel good.
She asked, “So on a scale of one to five, what’s the projected tension level of this dinner we’re attending?”
“A solid ten.”
“Oh, wonderful.” She sipped some more.
Tague chuckled. “Here’s the truly great part.” Spearing her with another intent look, he said, “You and I don’t give a fuck. Got it?”
She studied him a few seconds too long. Missed the thin patch of ice in their path and slipped, the tall heel of one boot shooting out from underneath her.
“Oh!” she cried out as her latte and laptop bag went flying.
Tague was quick to react, though, and yanked her upright before her butt hit the ground—even sparing his own coffee.
When she was steadily on two feet, her head whipped in his direction, a bewildered expression on her lovely face.
She needed a minute to catch her breath. Then she said, “Christ. Is there anything about you that doesn’t scream alpha hero to the extreme?”
His jaw clenched briefly. “Plenty, I assure you.”
He still hadn’t told her about Tokyo, after all.
And now didn’t seem like the appropriate time. He scooped up her cup and tossed it in a trash bin outside the Hilton. Returning to her, he asked, “Want to go back for another?”
“No, thanks. Serves me right for ordering cold drinks in the winter.”
“Why don’t you put my overcoat on? Your legs must be freezing.”
With a flirty smile, clearly having bounced back from her potentially disastrous slip on the ice, she said, “Actually, I stay pretty toasty in your presence.”
Then she bent down to retrieve her bag and the contents that had spilled out. He helped her.
Tague reached for several eight-by-ten photos. He eyed the pages curiously. Then glanced at L.L., who was biting back a grin.
“Sex toys?” His brow arched. “Doing some shopping?”
“Not exactly. They’re my creations.”
The other brow shot up.
“When I told you I’m a graphic designer,” she explained, “what I really meant was that my designs are graphic.”
