Tag had spent the last week and a half consulting contractors and having plans drawn up for Oahu. As soon as they tested the design and had a fair amount of data, then he’d be on to creating a set of plans for each Crane hotel and delegating to the hotel managers. After that, he’d check on progress, visit several of them randomly, and watch the profits outweigh the expenditures.
With everything he’d had to do for work, the whole “spun” thing had retreated to the back of Tag’s mind. He and Rachel went to dinners, had sex, and had shared an overnight, and no part of him had retreated into freak-out mode.
He saw no reason to put a label on what they were doing. It was what it was. She was cool; he was cool. C’est la vie.
Meeting over, workday hoopla handled, he invited Reese to racquetball. Twenty minutes later, he and his brother were sweating from pounding a blue ball into the wall at the Crane’s gym downstairs from Reese’s office. Tag swiped at nothing but air, giving Reese the winning point on the tie-breaking game.
“Shit!” Tag said, his voice echoing off the empty room.
“Them’s the breaks.” Reese, breathing heavily, rested his hands on his hips.
“Smugness suits you,” Tag panted, putting away the racquets and the ball. Water bottles in hand, they walked to the locker room.
“By the way, I was surprised you reconsidered,” Reese said.
“Reconsidered what? Challenging you to racquetball?”
“Not what I meant, but that would be a wise move.” Reese shot a stream of water into his mouth from his bottle.
“What is up with the sudden insurgence of mad skills?” Tag asked, snagging a towel. “Have you been practicing?”
“I’ll never tell.”
Cheating bastard. He’d been practicing.
“I meant I was surprised you reconsidered the hiring Rachel thing.”
Tag freed the band tying back his hair. “What are you talking about?”
“Headquarters. The marketing position?” His brother’s brows lifted, then lowered over his nose. “I thought you pushed that through. She applied a week ago, and today I received a call to conduct a second interview.”
“You only do that for upper management.”
“And for my brother’s girlfriends.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Reese laughed, a hearty, real, and rare belly laugh. “I remember you saying something similar when you were thirteen and a neighbor girl was following you everywhere. You haven’t changed much.”
Tag scowled, the accusation not sitting well with him at all.
“It’s Mom’s fault,” Reese said quietly. So quietly, Tag wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
“What is?”
Reese pulled in a deep breath before he continued, and Tag swore the air pressure in the room increased. “She died. She left us. No warning, no premonition. One day she was there, and then we never saw her again.”
Tag’s chest felt like an elephant was using him as a recliner. His ribs crushed as his breathing went shallow. The casket had been closed at Mom’s funeral, so when Reese said they had never seen her again, he wasn’t exaggerating.
“I can’t remember the last thing we did together,” Tag said, heavy from sadness. “I have memories, but that day in particular. Nothing. Vaguely, I remember my teacher pulling me out of class. That’s it.”
“Tag, you were eleven.” Reese’s hand hit Tag’s shoulder and squeezed. “You didn’t know what the hell to do with that news. None of us did.”
A pair of guys squeaked by on their way to the court and Tag and Reese stepped aside to let them pass. It was the interruption they both needed to get out of the mire of memories of Luna Crane. Losing her was one of those life experiences that would forever be unresolved.
“My point is,” Reese said after the locker room was empty again, “Mom left behind three boys who grew into men allergic to commitment. We learned at a young age that loss happened”—he snapped his fingers, the sharp sound making Tag flinch—“like that.”
“Does Merina have you in therapy or something?” Tag asked.
“She should.” Reese raised an eyebrow self-deprecatingly and the air lightened. Tag felt like he could breathe again.
“Your nervousness over having Rachel close is not that unusual.”
“I’m not nervous,” Tag bit out. He was tired of everyone examining his feelings for him. “I didn’t know she applied at Crane HQ, that’s it. The news surprised me.”
Reese nodded, his mouth flat. Then he said, “I can cancel the interview if you like. Or turn her down.”
“Is she right for the position?”
“Lonnie loves her. He couldn’t say enough about how well she’d interviewed and how well he thought she’d fit in to the department.”
“Then don’t cancel the interview.”
“Okay.” Reese gave him a curt nod and headed for the showers.
Tag sat on a nearby bench and dropped his head back on a locker. He didn’t mind if Rachel worked for Crane. What he minded was that she didn’t tell him. Hell, he’d brought up the topic of her job hunt while they were lying in bed the other night, bare-assed naked and looking right into each other’s eyes.
Why hadn’t she told him?
He was beginning to think he wasn’t the only commitment-phobe around.
* * *
Rachel was grinning to herself at work. So she thought. Bree caught her.
“You look happy.”
“I’m pretty thrilled about the apartment.”
She’d found the perfect apartment this morning. After a few days of fruitless searches online and in person, she was about to beg Bree and Dean to take her with them to their new house. Then she’d found the place. With her first Crane interview having gone so well, she only had to get through the second one, and she was home free.
“There is something I didn’t tell you about yet,” Rachel said, sidling over to Bree behind the bar. There were a few beer drinkers sitting there, but the Andromeda was otherwise slow. “I interviewed at Crane Hotels for a marketing position.”
“That’s great!” Bree shook her head, but she was smiling. “Tag Crane is your lucky rabbit’s foot.”
“Oh, well, he doesn’t know. I wanted to see if I could get the job without his help. I even asked the manager who interviewed me yesterday not to say anything to him. He said he wouldn’t. He asked me back for a second interview tomorrow.”
“So you’re telling Tag soon?” Bree’s question sounded more like a suggestion.
“I’m going to do the second interview first, but right after, I’ll tell him. I promise. Do you think I should take him to dinner or drinks for the announcement, or maybe strip naked in his penthouse?”
“The last part will definitely soften the blow,” her friend said with a giggle.
* * *
“Tomorrow” came quick. Rachel was nervous and excited, but overall feeling confident. Hopefully, she’d be popping a cork from a bottle of champagne with Tag after work today.
Things were coming together. Or at least she’d thought so until her phone rang, the display reading THE CRANE. She gulped down her trepidation before answering with a chipper “Hello?”
“Ms. Foster, this is Bobbie from Reese Crane’s office. He’ll be conducting your second interview at the Crane. Do you know the address?”
Her interview was with Reese? Rachel’s shoulders slumped.
“I do.”
“Wonderful,” the other woman said, not sounding like she meant it. “See you at one.”
“Thanks.” At one o’clock she would meet with Reese. If Reese knew she was coming for an interview, he’d likely mentioned it to Tag. She debated a second, then dialed Tag’s number. When he didn’t answer, she further debated a text before deciding against it.
No need for her to feel guilty. Nothing had changed, not really. If he found out, she would explain why she’d circumvented him. Because she’d wanted to earn the job on her own. That sounded lame now that she imagined their conversation, but she mentally brushed it aside.
Everything would be fine.
That was her mantra until she stepped into the whitewashed lobby of the Crane Hotel and spotted Tag.
He was leaning on a wall near the counter, dressed casually in a waffle Henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows, long necklace with a pendant hanging to the middle of his chest. She trickled her gaze down his jean-encased legs, crossed at the ankles and ending in a pair of laced boots.
Worried about his reaction, her heart sank to her feet.
He smiled—not at her, but at the girl behind the counter. Then his maned head swiveled to Rachel and his smile flattened. She tightened the belt on her turquoise coat, nerves eating her.
He pushed off the wall and stalked over as she approached him, her advancing steps growing less and less confident.
“I tried calling,” she blurted when he was near.
He stared at her, silent.
“I didn’t actually think I’d get a callback. I was desperate. See, I found this apartment, and—”
“Ready to do this?”
“Uh…” That threw her. She thought he’d demand an explanation. “Why? Are you coming in with me?”
“Sorry, Dimples. You’re going to have to do the interview on your own.” His features softened and he held out a hand for her to take. “I’ll walk you up, though.”
She slipped her hand into his, and gently, he grasped her fingers.
They strode to the elevator, Tag’s steps casual. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you.” Guilt swathed her and she knew it was legit, because Tag hadn’t said anything to make her feel guilty. She felt that way because she should have told him. Her mother was right. Her not telling him felt more like lying. She couldn’t escape the idea that she’d hurt his feelings.
“Watch this,” he said when the elevator doors opened. “She’s utterly immune to me.” He stepped out and in a big, boisterous voice, greeted Reese’s secretary with a “Bobbie, darling.”
“Mr. Crane,” the woman replied tartly.
“You are ravishing in black,” he told her.
“Here is the file you requested.” The woman shot out her arm, at the end of it a manila folder.
“Thanks, doll. This is Rachel Foster. She has a one o’clock with Reese.” He took the folder, turned, and winked at Rachel. When he passed her, he leaned down and said, “Dinner on me tonight. Literally if you like.”
“Tag…”
“Knock ’em dead, Dimples.” He nodded, his blue eyes warm; then he vanished into the elevator, leaving Rachel with the pucker-faced receptionist.
She’d make it up to him tonight. She’d explain why she didn’t ask for his help and he’d understand. Though…it seemed like he understood already, and that didn’t sit well with her, either.
Bobbie announced Rachel’s arrival into her desk phone, jerking her out of her thoughts. She didn’t have time to figure out what would happen with Tag after. Right now, she needed to land this job. Nail this interview. The double wood doors leading to Reese’s office whooshed open and her throat tightened.
She took one step forward, and then another.
Tag’s suited brother stood from his desk to greet her.
“Ms. Foster,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”
Here went nothing…
* * *
After the interview, Rachel treated herself to a Starbucks coffee with about a thousand calories, went window-shopping for clothes she hoped to someday afford, and finally headed to Crane Tower on foot.
She only hoped Tag was serious about dinner tonight. He hadn’t called or texted, and neither did she. She’d rather show up unannounced. Maybe because part of her worried he might cancel, and all of her knew if he did, she’d deserve it.
Inside the apartment building, it so happened a friendly older guy walking a very big black-and-white splotched dog was headed her way.
Adonis let out a happy-sounding woof! They approached, Oliver wrapping his free arm around her in a quick hug.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, meaning it. “You used to come in every week, and I haven’t seen you lately.”
Oliver sighed. “Lots of work, and I’m dieting.” He patted his slightly round stomach.
“Well, take a cheat day. I’d like to buy you dinner before I leave the Andromeda.”
“Leaving?” His eyebrows went up.
“Eventually. I’m job hunting. I suspect something will come along sooner than later.” Tentatively she added, “I interviewed for a job at Crane headquarters today.”
In her gut she felt the interview with Reese had gone well, but the man had an intimidating air about him that didn’t give her many warm fuzzies. Tag was intimidating in his own way—but more because charm oozed out around him like an oil spill. Reese wasn’t like that. He was severe, serious, and incredibly sharp.
Rachel hadn’t gone in on her best foot after Tag had surprised her, but she’d compartmentalized her feelings and called forth her professionalism. She’d half wondered if Reese would bring up Tag, and he did. First he’d mentioned that Lonnie, the manager who’d interviewed her prior, had highly recommended her for the position. Then he’d said, “He felt it’d be best if I interview you since you and Tag are involved.”
Reese had said it without inflection and, she hoped, without judgment.
“I didn’t want special treatment,” she’d told Reese, “so I didn’t tell him I applied. The truth is I consider working for Crane Hotels a great opportunity. A company I can stand behind.”
Reese had nodded, his expression giving nothing away.
“How’d the interview go?” Oliver asked now.
“Well. I think. Maybe.”
“The Cranes are royalty in Chicago. Good luck to you,” Oliver said as she bent to pet Adonis. The dog’s entire backside was wiggling, his tail slashing the air. “He misses you.”
Adonis chimed the affirmative with a whine. Rachel told the giant dog she’d missed him too.
“So nice to run into you.” She patted Adonis again. “I owe you dinner. Come see me.”
They said their goodbyes and she chewed her lip on the ride up to Tag’s penthouse. At his door she rapped lightly, hearing Tag’s muffled voice on the other side. “I’ll tell her. Gotta go.”
He opened the door, dressed the same as he’d been earlier today, wearing that same unreadable expression. “Hey, Dimples.”
“Tag. Hi.” She walked inside, her nerves rattling from the caffeine, or maybe because she’d really stepped in it today. “Listen—”
“Guess who I was talking to?” he interrupted.
“Tag.”
“Rachel.” He gave her a headshake as if to say Let it go. “Guess.”
She lifted a hand and dropped it. “I don’t know, Mick Jagger?”
The smile that crept onto his face was so genuine, her heart did a flip.
“The CEO of Crane Hotels,” he said. “Also known as my big bad brother.”
“Did he…tell you anything?”
“Yep.” Tag folded his arms and backed up a few feet so he could rest a hip on the surface of his clutter-free desk.
She hovered at the threshold of his door, fingers wound together around her purse strap. “Are you going to tell me what he said?”
“Maybe. But you have to come in first.”
“I suppose I earned this torture,” she said, stepping inside and shutting the door.
“Hey, I meant to ask, how’d the interview go?”
She gave up and let her purse slide off her shoulder before dropping it at her feet. “Are you really going to let me off the hook this easily?”
“I thought I was torturing you.”
“You should.”
Tag fisted her coat in both hands, yanked her firmly against his body, and lowered his head. There between his legs, her hands resting on his thick thighs, she was turned inside out by one of his signature tongue-lashings.
By the time she’d slanted her head to the right, he’d managed to remove her coat and she had one hand on his beard, her fingertips pushing into his hair.
He pulled away and she followed, stretching closer to him like a sunflower to the sun.
“Congratulations,” he whispered against her lips.
Blinking up at him, she had to recalibrate her thoughts and remind her knees how to hold her up.
“You mean…”
His lips parted into a slow smile. “You got it, Dimples. Reese loved you.”
At the pronouncement of the L word, Rachel felt her heart stutter in her chest. Granted, Tag had been talking about his brother when he said it, but inside, she felt a definite lurching sort of want.
“Bobbie is emailing you the details. You have to meet with HR and give them your exact start date.”
“Thank you.” She threw her arms around Tag’s neck and squeezed. He hugged her close.
“This was all you.” His hands moved along her back, strong and sure, but gentle.
“About that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dimples.”
“I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” Those hands kept soothing and she relaxed into him.
“I say I do,” she said softly, stroking his chest and tipping her chin. “Name your price, Tarzan.” She put a kiss on his mouth and his arms tightened further, tongues dancing as they kissed again.
Time was lost.
“What’d you come up with?” she asked when he allowed her to catch her breath. His eyes were heated, his fingers digging into her hips.
“You. On your knees.”
A smile curled her lips.
“Not like you think.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m talking about you, ass in the air, me behind you. You don’t think I put those mirrored closet doors in my bedroom for no good reason do you?”
A blush stole her cheeks and radiated to the roots of her hair as he kissed her neck, each sip of his lips on her skin tantalizing. Imagining him behind her, strong hands on her hips as he drove deep was…gosh. So sexy she couldn’t think.
“Does now work for you?” she breathed.
“Before dinner?” He pulled back to cup her jaw, his eyes on hers.
“I’m only hungry for you.” She backed away and lifted her dress over her head, dropping it on the ground next to her coat; then she shimmied out of her panties, careful to untangle them from her boots. Last to go was her bra, and his hungry gaze stayed glued to her breasts.
The moment she was naked, he splayed one hand over the center of her back and kissed her neck. From there he moved to her collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure over her. When his tongue slicked over one nipple, she moaned in the back of her throat.
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.