The Billionaire Next Door

by Jessica Lemmon

  “Nah. Lucas is in the music business. I’m in the hotel business. But we’ve been friends for a long time.” He leaned a hip on the pool table. He was so…big. Dominant.

  Delicious.

  No, not delicious. He was not the same word she used to describe cheese-covered fries. He was something different. Something she wasn’t cut out for. She could sense it.

  “Cool. Music. That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah, the girls were always drawn to him. Music is a sexier profession than hotels.” Tag’s smile was self-deprecating.

  “You poor thing.” She had zero doubts he’d collected his share of phone numbers, and she knew exactly what it was about him that made her shy away.

  The boy was a Player. Capital P.

  “Did he put a dent in your average?” she asked, lifting her glass for another drink.

  He grinned and his expression was so blindingly beautiful, she lost track of what she was going to say. He took one step, then another. The closer he came, the more nervous she grew. Each step was purposeful, capable. Whatever he did in the hotel business, he sure as hell wasn’t a maintenance guy. He smacked of power. Of commanding it. Of wielding it. An answering zing in her stomach sent a flutter of butterflies into her chest cavity.

  When he was close enough to touch her, he did, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. Warmth saturated her, sending those butterflies on a hectic migration through her limbs. He redirected his gaze to the dining room, but not until after he’d started speaking. “Hey, guys, table’s open.”

  “Thanks,” one of them answered.

  Rachel turned to see a pair of guys walk into the room and fish quarters out of their pockets. When she looked back to Tag, he was watching her with a quiet intensity that made her want to turn and run.

  “Pick a place to sit,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”

  * * *

  Flirting with Rachel came easy, but her reactions weren’t what he was used to.

  The wariness was normal. Women often reacted suspiciously when they first met him, but Rachel’s reaction was more than suspicion of what he might want from her. She acted almost afraid of what she might want from him.

  If she was anyone else, he’d make an excuse and bug out, knowing what would follow: her walling up and shutting down each of his advances. She’d given him an inch when he called her Dimples, and damn what he wouldn’t give to see her flash those pair of divots again, but then she’d clammed up the second he mentioned Lucas had been popular with the ladies.

  Rachel’s guard was way, way up. She’d been hurt, and if he had to guess, it hadn’t been that long ago.

  Nearly every table in the place was open. A few business types hanging out in curved booths. A cluster of women dressed for happy hour at a group of tables pushed together. Rachel sat at a table as opposed to a cozy booth—on purpose, he’d bet. She wasn’t looking to get cozy with him tonight.

  He sat across from her, dwarfing the wooden chair. A candle in a jar threw golden light onto her blond hair, creating a halo around her that looked like it belonged there.

  “You’re single?” he asked, cutting right to the chase. If she was going to throw up walls, he wanted to know how many questions he could ask before she bricked him out. A risky tactic, but if she stood and stormed off, he knew where she lived.

  One eyebrow arched. “Are you?”

  “I am tonight.” He held her gaze and leaned on the table, crowding the small space.

  Rachel sat back in her chair and lifted her beer, creating physical distance. “Do you always come on this strong?”

  “No,” he answered honestly.

  Often, he watched, would take a read on a group of girls across the room. Usually, one would break out of her safety zone and come to him. Ask about his hair. Mention she had a bet going with a friend and ask if she could touch it. He always let them touch. Touching led to them agreeing to come home with him, so it was a smart move.

  “Adonis favors the toy beaver over the squirrel. What do you think that means?” Her brows closed in as if she was actually considering the absurd question.

  Tag laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Okay. Well, the girl didn’t lack self-confidence, so her trepidation wasn’t because of timidity. She shouldn’t be timid. She was gorgeous. And single.

  Strange.

  “How long have you lived in Chicago?” he asked.

  “A few years. You?”

  She was good at throwing the conversation back at him.

  “Lived here since birth.” He reached for his beer, anticipating her next question.

  As predicted, she went with, “Where do you work?”

  “Crane Hotels,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. Normally, he’d only mention he worked for a big hotel chain. But Rachel didn’t know he was a Crane, and once she did, he was curious how she’d react. “I run Guest and Restaurant Services.”

  “Ah, then you can write this visit off, I’m assuming.” She narrowed her eyes in faux suspicion. “Are you here to steal Andromeda’s bar secrets?”

  Write-off. Not a term often spouted by a girl who worked in the service industry, unless she owned the place.

  “What’s the deal, Dimples? How did a businesswoman end up slinging shots in a bar?” It was a guess, but it drew a response. Her mouth softened and dropped open. Then she frowned, probably trying to figure out what she’d said to give herself away.

  “I…um. Didn’t like to dress professionally.” She took a drink of her draft beer. He liked how she drank out of a big-ass frosty mug, filling her cheeks before she swallowed. She hadn’t argued about the beer. Didn’t balk and order something pink and served in a martini glass, which suited her.

  Rachel had more secrets than Victoria…which made him wonder what kind of underwear she’d hidden beneath her casual, relaxed outfit. Their conversation had been laced with his questions and her snappy comebacks. He had no idea who she was, but her evasiveness only made him want to know more.

  Dressed down, she was turning him on more than she had in the skintight dress she’d worn to his penthouse. Much as he liked a girl spilling out of her clothes, Rachel looked ready to go on an adventure, awakening the explorer in him.

  “I don’t believe that for a second.” He kept his tone casual instead of accusatory.

  “That’s all you’re getting.” She stood from the table, propping a hand on the tempting curve of her hip. “I’m going to go. Thank you for the beer.”

  “Taking a cab?” He kept his voice at normal volume instead of calling after her as she beelined for the billiard room to collect her coat. She had to stop and turn back to him to respond.

  Perfect.

  “Yes.” A glance to the windows. “I mean, probably. It’s snowing.”

  “It is snowing.” Outside, fat flakes fell from sky to ground in a delicate dance. It wasn’t windy, wasn’t too cold. Luc had driven him here, which left Tag to his own devices. “Nice night for a walk.”

  He stood and handed a few bills to her before she turned him down, which face it, was likely. “Give this to your friend. I don’t need change. I’ll grab our coats.”

  “Tag.” She was already shaking her head and holding out the money for him to take back.

  “We live in the same building. We’re going the same direction.”

  “I could be going to my boyfriend’s house,” she said when he started away from her. He paused and leaned close, watching her eyes flicker to his lips. He liked being this close to her. She smelled good.

  “I’m flattered, but not really boyfriend material, Dimples.” He winked. Which was overkill and earned him a flat-mouthed grimace, but she went to the bar to talk to her friend like he’d asked.

  He grabbed their coats and met her as Bree dropped cash into the tip jar. She grinned approvingly at Tag, happier than Rachel about what was transpiring.

  “Hey, are you sure I can trust you with my girl?” Bree asked. />
  “I’m not sure I can trust her.” He shot a thumb in Rachel’s direction, then leaned on the bar and lowered his voice. “Did she tell you she came up to my apartment last night dressed in the tightest black dress I’ve ever seen? Red lipstick—”

  “Tag! He’s kidding,” Rachel interjected, her cheeks staining a delicate pink. He was content to see her flustered.

  “—high-heeled boots. Short, short dress.” He pursed his lips and let out a short whistle.

  Bree’s smile held but a shocked expression joined it. “He’s why you borrowed my dress!” She pointed at Rachel. “Do I need to launder it?”

  He laughed.

  “I did it because he accused me of being a hooker!” Rachel said a little too loud. A table of guys lifted their collective heads in interest. Tag took the opportunity to straighten and wrap an arm around her; then he pulled her close and slid his palm from her waist to her hip. Everywhere his fingers brushed was met with Rachel’s body shifting, but she didn’t pull away from him. Not even a little.

  Bree didn’t miss anything, her eyes following the display.

  He looked down at Rachel, who was flushed and flustered and trying not to look at him. She liked him way more than she wanted to admit, and he liked that a whole hell of a lot. He gave her a soft squeeze before letting her go, but moved his hand possessively to the small of her back.

  “It’s just a walk. We’re not trading services of any kind.” He offered her coat.

  Rachel’s pinked cheeks went ruddy as she narrowed her eyes at him. Then she snatched the coat and started to the door without him.

  He looked to Bree for encouragement, but Bree’s loyalty to her friend was rock solid. “Good luck,” was all she said.

  Chapter 6

  This is so much colder than a cab,” Rachel said through chattering teeth. The bar was probably fifteen blocks from the apartment. What was she thinking agreeing to walk? She couldn’t feel her nose.

  “But cleaner,” Tag said. She was currently taking two steps for every one of his, given his gait was longer than hers, even at a leisurely pace.

  “I do better when it’s a nice, even seventy degrees.” She buried her chin in her scarf as she watched her boots cut through the gathering snow. “I guess it’ll be a few more months until we see milder temps.”

  God. She was hopeless. Walking down the sidewalk next to a gorgeous guy and talking about the weather. But Tag didn’t balk.

  “I like extremes,” he said, as if this was perfectly acceptable conversation. “If it’s hot, I like it really hot. If it’s cold, there’d better be snow or it’s a waste. I like the ocean because you can’t see the end of it. If I’m in a forest, I prefer one filled with massive sequoias.”

  “Because you can relate to them,” she teased. “Giant.”

  He turned his head and smiled and she admired straight, white teeth surrounded by a golden brown beard. He’d pulled his hair down and the light brown waves fell haphazardly over his black coat. Which was so sexy she couldn’t think. Especially since there were snowflakes in the strands. Not that she could blame them. Nestled warmly in those locks wasn’t a bad place to imagine being.

  Again, she wondered at her attraction to him. Though he did kind of look like Thor, and while she wasn’t a die-hard comic book fan, she could appreciate the actor in the movie.

  “How tall are you?” she asked, mostly to stop her inane train of thought. The more she was around him, the less she understood her basal reaction to him.

  “Just under six-six. You’re what? Five-five?”

  “Yeah. How’d you do that?”

  He shrugged and looked ahead, but she didn’t doubt how he’d done it. He’d likely honed his carnival skills and was stellar at guessing weight and height. It wasn’t hard to imagine him using his intuition to figure out a woman’s weak points so he could attack where she was most sensitive. He’d probably had a ton of practice.

  Was that where her concern was coming from? That he’d find her weak spots and use them against her? That’s what Shaun had done, she thought with a token amount of bitterness.

  “How’d I do what?” A puff of air came from Tag’s lips, buried in his beard. She’d never liked facial hair. Until now, apparently.

  “How’d you guess my height?” she shot back, feeling peeved more with herself than him. Lack of sleep, or maybe too much, she wasn’t really sure what to blame her reaction on now. “How’d you know I was a businesswoman before? I’m a great bartender, by the way. I was a bartender for longer than I worked in marketing.” She pushed her hands deeper into her pockets, lamenting not bringing her gloves with her. Her hands were freezing.

  “Just observant. I’m good with people,” he said.

  She absorbed that for a few seconds.

  “What exactly do you do in Guest and Restaurant Services?” She air-quoted those words, which brought her bare hands from her pockets. He noticed.

  “Where are your gloves? Do you realize it’s February in Chicago?”

  “I forgot them.”

  Tag stopped walking, a deep sigh working its way from his wide chest as he tugged off his gloves.

  “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t listening. Once he’d had his baseball-mitt-sized gloves off, he lifted her smaller, freezing hands to his mouth, cupping them in his palms, and blew on them to warm her fingers. He did this the way he did everything else.

  Slowly.

  Intentionally.

  And looking right at her.

  He brushed his lips over her knuckles as a drove of chills shot down her spine and legs. She became fascinated by how soft his beard felt against her freezing skin, and then those chills were replaced with heat. Pooling in her belly, between her thighs, and infusing her face with color.

  “Thanks,” she muttered when he let her go. She stuffed her hands into his gloves—they were warm, and after his personal attention, so was she. They finished their walk to Crane Tower, and once they were in the lobby, she put that together with Crane Hotels. “You’re pretty brand loyal aren’t you?”

  “Honey, you have no idea.” His voice was low and raspy and the pit of her stomach did that pinging thing. Or was it a zing? Whatever it was, it was unnerving.

  She couldn’t shake the idea that she hadn’t wanted to walk home, yet he’d talked her into it. She didn’t want to get played by the player. To get taken advantage of like Shaun took advantage of you.

  Since she lived on the floor below Tag, she had no choice but to walk to the elevator with him. Just when she worried about being in an enclosed space with him alone and having nothing to say, another couple stepped into the elevator with them.

  Phew.

  They pressed the button for the floor three floors below Rachel’s, so they were going to be in here a while. Which meant she and Tag would have chaperones. Before she could let out a breath of relief that she wouldn’t have to force conversation, she noticed the girl’s eyes were kind of glassy and the guy’s smile was a little wonky. Drunk. The second the elevator doors swished shut, the guy lunged and the girl caught him tongue first.

  Gawd. Clearly the inebriated couple had no problem with PDA.

  Rachel wiggled her hands out of the gloves, leaving them in her pockets, and glued her eyes to her iPhone screen. Which helped, but didn’t shut out the suctioning sounds. She gave up, dropped the phone in her coat pocket, and scooted closer to Tag to avoid the flying arms and legs. Tag was leaning against the back of the elevator, one boot on the wall. She risked a glance up at him when the girl made a mewling sound and Tag looked back down at her, one eyebrow arched into a sexy tilt. When his mouth joined, Rachel looked away.

  Looking at him while a couple in front of them sucked face was…awkward. Because it made her wonder what his beard might feel like against her lips.

  There were too many rampant hormones in this tiny enclosed space. Too many pheromones per square foot or something. Maybe she’d been infected like some sort of airborne virus.

  The eleva
tor stopped and the doors opened, but the two lovers weren’t finished yet. As the doors started to shut, Tag stepped forward and stopped them with a hand. “Hey, buddy, this you?”

  The other guy slid his lips away from his girlfriend’s—or whoever she was—and blinked, dazed. “Thanks, man.”

  Then they stumbled out, adhering to each other the second they cleared the lift.

  Tag looked at the floor, a secret smile gracing his face. He shook his head, which made Rachel wonder what he was thinking, but she didn’t dare ask. Namely because he might blurt out that he was thinking of kissing her and then she’d be powerless to say anything but “Yes!”

  In the end, neither of them spoke as they rode the few floors up to her temporary penthouse. When the doors opened this time, she practically ran from the elevator, but Tag followed behind her.

  “Care if I say hi to Adonis?” he asked.

  “Is that really why you’re following me to the door?” She was suddenly nervous as she pulled her house key from her jeans pocket. “Or did those two turn you on because you’re some kind of pervy voyeur?”

  Her comment was supposed to lighten the tension between them, but as Tag’s heat blanketed her side, it intensified instead.

  “It’s neither,” he said into her ear, his voice a low rumble that made her close her eyes. “I want to make sure you get inside safely. Then I’ll go.” With that, he stepped away and left a yawning gap of cool air between their bodies. “It was just a walk, Dimples.”

  Sure it was. She licked her lips and unlocked the door. Adonis ran directly to Tag.

  “He really likes men,” she grumbled, miffed at having been bypassed. The Dane offered sloppy kisses to Tag, which he expertly dodged.

  “He’s used to Oliver.” He scratched Adonis’s flank.

  “You and Oliver are hardly the same.” Oliver with his gentle mannerisms and quiet midrange voice versus Tag’s calm confidence and low, baritone reverberating off her ribs. Oliver was like an uncle. Tag was like…a bad idea. In the flesh.

  So why are you disappointed he’s not trying to kiss you?

  “Adonis. In,” she commanded. The typically well-behaved dog tromped back into the apartment and stood inside the door, tail wagging.