He broke out of his casual lean on his desk to lift her into his arms, carrying her to his bedroom, where he tossed her down on the piled bedding. Digging the heels of her boots into the plush comforter, she maneuvered to the center of the bed. She turned her head to take in the mirror he’d mentioned earlier. Her hair was rumpled in the pattern of Tag’s fingertips, her cheeks pink from Tag’s rasping kisses, and with her spiky boots, nipples pointing, knees up and slightly open, she had to admit…
“I look sexy.”
“You do.” Tag hauled his shirt over his head, stripping his upper half before starting on his belt and pants. Soon he was as naked as she was and climbing over her, his head turned to the side to look at them in the mirrored doors across from the bed. His hair tickling her breast, he lowered his lips and kissed her shoulder, then kissed his way up her neck and flicked his tongue over her earlobe.
She tore her eyes from the sensual scene unfolding before her to look at him. “You made me feel sexy again.”
He sucked in a breath that expanded his chest, eyes narrowing, mouth tipping into a prideful expression.
“The first time I touched you, you had to convince me, but just now? I stripped completely bare and you didn’t have to say a word.”
It’d finally happened. She was a confident, sexual being. She wasn’t afraid of sex, or of her performance. The woman looking back at her from the mirror with the blue eyes at half-mast knew she deserved the man sliding his hand down her stomach to the space between her legs.
Simply amazing.
“You’ve always been sexy,” Tag murmured. “Glad you finally see what I’ve always noticed.”
A few lingering strokes with his fingers and Rachel stopped having her epiphany and closed her eyes. The next words Tag spoke came after she did, clutching around his fingers as her orgasm sent goose bumps to the surface of her skin. He put his lips to her ear, and the gravel in his voice sent a shudder down her spine.
“On. Your. Knees.”
She wasted no time obeying, moving to her knees and watching as he positioned himself behind her. In the mirror she watched him roll on the condom, felt his hands move sensually over her bottom, and then along her spine and into her hair. He took a handful of her blond locks and bent over her, bracing himself on the bed with one hand as his cock slid expertly against her swollen center.
He tugged her hair, but lightly, and she caught a flash of the bold smile on her face in the mirror. Then her eyes were on the man behind her.
“Want it wild?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
“I want you inside me.”
Another tug on her hair and he plunged deep. A sharp cry left her lips. He filled her, hot and thick.
“Now what do you want?” He slid out and then in again, his pace torturously slow. Her hair was still wound around his fingers, his hold steady more than forceful.
Amazing. How much more bold could she be?
“I want you to fuck me.” She whispered her demand.
His shoulders lifted as he pulled in a deep breath. She’d never said those words in her life. Now that she’d tried them out, she was surprised to find she meant them. The animal in her responded to the animal in Tag, and she wanted to explore this with him. Every dirty little inch of it.
He released her hair, sweeping it over one shoulder and flattening his palm on her back. He traced a line to her bottom, which he then molded with his palms.
“Grab hold of those blankets, Dimples.”
She watched him, in his element with calm control. Had he been holding back, waiting for her to come around this whole time? She clutched the blankets, anchoring herself to the bed, trusting him fully. When he slid out and back in again, she uttered a helpless moan. He bracketed her hips with his hands, drew back and thrust so hard the backs of her thighs slapped the front of his.
“Oh!”
“Oh, what?” he grunted as he drove into her again.
“Tag,” she breathed, no, panted. She was soaked and so ready, the next plunge went deep and struck her right where she needed. She exclaimed his name again and again as he rode her hard from behind.
“There?”
“There,” she affirmed, her entire body warming. Buzzing. Coiling in anticipation.
Fixed on that spot, he worked her into a frenzy, until she’d lost the ability to hold her head up and broke a fingernail while clutching the blanket. The bite of pain was nothing to the epic release that unfurled like silk.
Her soft cries met his potent growl, one that reverberated through her entire body. She managed enough strength to raise her head and take in the beauty of Tag coming. His pleated brow, the way his lips drew back over his teeth. His muscles stiffening, abs clenching…
He folded over her, breath heavy and hot on her shoulder blade before he covered the spot with a damp kiss. He left her body, and Rachel’s knees went out from under her. She dropped to her belly, aware of Tag climbing off the bed to dispose of the condom. Then he was back, hand pushing her hair off her face and lips pressing to the corner of her mouth. He lay next to her on the bed, sweat beading his brow. A small smile tickled his mouth as he elbowed her.
“Dimples. Look.”
Sleepily, she raised her head to rest it on her chin. Their reflections looked back at them, both satisfied. Tag’s golden brown hair was as messy as hers.
“Who knew it could get better?” she asked.
Tag’s head turned toward her and she faced him.
“Better than with your ex?” A hint of jealousy streaked his expression. She’d never seen that look on him before. When had Tag ever worried about his performance?
“Better than the first time with you,” she said, laughing when he smiled. “Tag Crane.”
“Rachel Foster.”
They didn’t say anything more for a long while. He simply lay beside her, occasionally tracing a finger down her arm.
In that moment she realized she’d been fighting a useless battle. She couldn’t stop herself from falling for Tag.
She was already there.
Chapter 23
Tag drove Rachel to the corporate headquarters, a few blocks from the Crane Hotel. Convenient, since she now worked close by, and given the way his neck was itching, possibly encroaching on his territory. He hadn’t been overwhelmed by her presence when she lived in the damn building or when he’d taken her to Oahu, so what was with the freak-out now?
Because Reese brought up Mom’s death like some sort of pop psychiatrist.
Added to Luc’s assessment of “spun,” Tag had been thinking way too much about the future lately. In general, he was a “live in the now” type of guy. He’d like to get back to that and stop turning over what came next.
It didn’t matter what happened in the future with Rachel. She was a thread in the company fabric, and that was the way things would always be. He’d dated Fiona, and she still worked the front desk at Crane Tower, and he had no problem talking to or seeing her.
Rachel is nothing like Fiona.
Wasn’t that the truth? He’d seen a lot more of Rachel than any woman in his past. He’d been the one in heavy pursuit of her. She was wildly different than any woman he’d dated before her.
“I’m so nervous,” Rachel said, echoing his ridiculous and borderline panicky thoughts. She looked out the passenger window as Tag pulled up to the curb in front of the building. Crane HQ was a high-rise, not as tall as the Crane, but had the same clean lines, glass, and black-and-white style as their hotels. His father had been a stickler about branding. Wisely so.
“Don’t be nervous,” he told both of them. “You’ve got this. Want me to walk you in?”
“No.” Her eyes widened. “I’ll die.”
He had to smile. He’d glossed over the fact she’d cut him out of the resume/interviewing process, and really, what was there to fight about? She’d been fierce about her independence with money, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise she didn’t want his help with this, either. But it b
ugged him all the same. Because he’d wanted to help. Wanted to take the extra incentive with her while she’d fought him every step of the way.
She dropped a quick kiss on the center of his mouth, but he cupped the back of her head and let his lips linger. Kissing her always brought him back to center. Back to what they had. Back to what mattered.
“Have a nice day, dear,” he murmured.
“Thanks again.” She took one more kiss before stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind her.
That evening, Tag returned to his penthouse with takeout Thai food. Rachel put in her first full day, so he expected her home—he glanced at the clock on the stove—right about now.
On cue came a knock at his door.
“It’s open, Dimples,” he called, but walked for the door anyway. He was halfway across the room and ready to tell her to stop knocking when the door opened, revealing a red-faced, red-eyed Rachel.
“Hey, hey,” he soothed as he rushed to her. He bent to take her in, swiping a few stray tears from her cheeks. He took her purse and another heavy bag filled with files and set them on his desk. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing.” She gave a hearty sniff. “I’m…stressed.”
“Stressed.”
“I have to go to Andromeda tonight for a shift.” She swiped her eyes and backed away from him. “Bree is sick and there’s no one else.”
“You just worked ten hours.”
“I was on my way over when I got the call. I’ll have to wear my suit to the bar. She gestured down at the gray skirt and blazer over a silky-looking pale pink shirt. “I don’t have a change of clothes.” She dug through her purse and came out with a tissue. “I won’t get done at the bar until three in the morning, and Bree and Dean both have the plague. I don’t want to catch what they have. Is it okay…if I stay here?” Her mouth turned down. “It’s only for tonight. And maybe tomorrow if they’re still puking.”
“Babe.” He hugged her to him and kissed the top of her head, his heart crushing that she’d worried about asking. “You can stay.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice watery. “I have to get going.”
“Grab a bite. You’re no good without fuel tonight.”
Her stomach rumbled. He heard it.
“I don’t have time. I have to brush my teeth, pull my hair into a ponytail…”
He caught her arm as she beelined for the bathroom. “Sit down. Take ten minutes to eat. I’ll drive you to work.”
“Really?” So much hope bloomed in those blue eyes. Did she really think she couldn’t count on him? Well, you have been acting cagey, Bucko.
“Yes. Sit.” He doled out a portion each of basil chicken fried rice and shrimp pad Thai onto a plate for her. While she ate, he called the front desk. “Fi, how quickly can you get me a pair of comfortable women’s sneakers?” He moved his mouth away from the phone to ask, “Size, Dimples?”
“Oh, uh, eight.”
“Eight,” he told Fiona. “Thanks.” He ended the call. “Ten minutes.”
“She’s going to find me shoes in ten minutes?”
“Crane Tower’s front desk has a million connections.”
Rachel sent him a grateful smile. Even with damp eyelashes, she looked a hell of a lot more relaxed than she did when she opened his front door. He hated that she had to work like a dog this week. He hated to see her this exhausted. This spent.
“Give me your apartment key.” He held out a palm.
“Why?” she said around a bite.
“Because I’m going to pack a bag for you and set you up here.”
“I can pick up something after my shift,” she said with a headshake.
“You mean at three in the morning, before you have to get up at six and go to work?”
She frowned.
“You know what? Call in tomorrow at HQ. This isn’t your fault.”
“Absolutely not.” Her frown deepened. “I can’t call in my second day.”
Her dedication blew him away. He admired that as much as he admired every other part of her.
“You could skip the bar shift, you know. You are quitting.” He knew her answer before she gave it.
“No. They’re packed. They can’t run a shift without a bartender. Already, Trudy and Miles have been waiting on tables and popping behind the bar to pour beers. It’s too much for two servers to run the bar and the restaurant.”
“All right, then. Get ready, Dimples. I’m going to change and we’ll get out of here in a few.”
“Change? For what?” she asked as he walked to his bedroom.
“For my shift at the Andromeda.”
* * *
Rachel would have been buried if Tag hadn’t pulled his hair back, pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, and stepped behind the bar to help her out. He was in charge of simple mixed drinks and draft beers. No food orders, no money handling. That was his idea, and given Rachel would have been doing it herself anyway, having him there as a workhorse was a godsend.
She’d cried on the cab ride to Tag’s and nearly collapsed from fatigue in his living room, but since then she’d tapped into her second wind.
Tag had been wonderful. He’d swiped away her tears, fed her, bought her comfy shoes, and drove her here. And was working with her.
The billionaire bartender.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, pouring a chardonnay for a group of girls clogging the entire corner of the bar.
“How many of those have they ordered?” Rachel murmured, swiping a customer’s credit card.
“I’m keeping track in my head. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about you undercharging. I’m worried they’ll be falling-down drunk by the time they leave.” She tipped her head discreetly. “Although, one of those girls is suspiciously sober. I think she’s ordering so you’ll turn around to pour and she can look at your ass.”
“You think?” He beamed.
“Careful.”
“In the business, we call this tip talk,” he said, pulling his shoulders back and elevating the glass of wine. “Just you watch how many tips I earn you.”
She watched. Between making drinks and taking orders, she watched Tag laugh and lean, flex, and at one point there was a little dancing. The girls were completely starry-eyed and they kept ordering. When it came time to settle the bill, one of them made a show of jotting her phone number on the receipt.
By the end of the night, the women piled into a taxi, courtesy of Tag, who’d called one for them. He locked up after he came back inside. “Did I tell you, or did I tell you?”
“I hate to break it to you, but the biggest number on those receipts was a phone number.”
“One of them left a C-note, princess. Check your till.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
He put his hands on his chest. “Tip talk master.”
She laughed, but the expelled breath was the end of her fuel.
“We’re half-assing cleanup. I’m dead.” She dropped the bar towel on a nearby table she’d intended on bussing. Instead she collapsed into a chair, the idea of wiping down two dozen tabletops making her want to cry fresh tears.
“Samuel,” Tag said. She turned to see his phone pressed to his ear. “I need a car to the Andromeda Club in five.”
What on earth…?
“Yep. That’s the one. Thanks.” He dropped his phone in his pocket, came out with his keys. “Stay put, Dimples. I’ll grab your coat.” He twisted a key off the ring and put it in front of her.
“What are you doing?” She blinked, bleary-eyed and pretty sure exhaustion had zapped her brain.
“I’m going to clean the bar, lock up, and make sure your kitchen guys do their shit. You’re going back to my place and you’re going to get some sleep.”
“Tag, no.”
He leaned over her, one hand bracing the back of her chair, the other flattened on the table next to the key. “I run Guest and Restaurant Services for a massive
hotel conglomerate. I can handle shutting down a bar. You’re going to my house.” He kissed her, warm and delicious, then straightened. “Then you’re going to put on one of my T-shirts and climb into bed.”
Going to bed in one of Tag’s worn cotton tees sounded like heaven after the day she’d had. He grabbed the bar towel and started wiping down tables, sending her a wink while she just…sat there, alternating between watching his ass and trying not to fall asleep.
The car came, and Tag buckled her in, kissed her again, and sent her on her way. Everything else was a blur, but she did manage a quick shower before pulling on one of Tag’s T-shirts as instructed.
She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
* * *
“Coffee.”
The intoxicating scent curled under Rachel’s nose and she opened her eyes. Tag was leaning over her, dressed in sweats and a tee, his hair falling to one side. He lowered to the bed as she pushed up on one elbow and accepted the mug.
Any one of the women last night would have gone home with him if he’d shown an ounce of interest, yet Rachel was the one in his bed. The thought triggered a sleep-deprived smile.
“Sure you don’t want to call in?” he asked, his lips tipping.
“What time is it?” the frog in her throat asked.
“Ten till six.”
She groaned.
“Can you make it?”
“I can make it.” She sipped her coffee and eyed him over the rim of the mug. “Thank you. For last night.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” She’d needed him. And when she allowed herself to lean on him, he didn’t collapse like a house of cards. He’d ended up being as strong and capable as he appeared.
Even though she was tired, she made it through coffee and getting dressed—Tag hadn’t had a chance to pick up her clothes from Bree’s since he’d worked with her, but he’d arranged for someone to deliver a wardrobe for her. Rachel had found several white shiny bags on his couch filled with clothing and accessories, and her favorite perfume and makeup brand. She would have argued it was too much, but she was too busy being grateful.
The Billionaire Next Door Page 24
