“You don’t like it?” she taunted him, buckling her seat belt and trying to pretend he didn’t affect her as much as he did.
“I didn’t say that,” he growled as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot.
McKenna had a closet full of power outfits. She preferred skirts and dresses of all types, from floor length to micro mini, she wasn’t picky. If it was soft and flowing, she usually snatched it up.
Tonight, she didn’t go for demure. No, when she rapidly flipped through her closet in her office where she kept a couple of emergency outfits, she’d been searching for something to strengthen her resolve. The knee length A-line skirt paired with a white silk blouse, and her favorite Louboutin’s – the black ones with the red leather open toe – had been the perfect combination.
Apparently Tag appreciated her choice.
McKenna relaxed into the luxury seat, keeping her eyes focused on the passing scenery as she inhaled the delectable scent of Tag. Likely expensive cologne, if she had to guess. Whatever it was, it worked for him. And her.
She didn’t ask where they were going because she figured at this point it honestly didn’t matter. Allowing herself a couple of minutes to acclimate to being in such close proximity to the man who made her breath choppy and her palms sweat, McKenna let the soft music playing through the car’s interior calm her. As much as anything was going to calm her at this point anyway.
By the time they reached the restaurant she was feeling almost in control of her disobedient hormones.
That was until Tag took her hand.
Chapter Three
Tag handed the key to the valet as he exited the car, moving slowly around to the passenger side and waving off another attendant who had started toward them. He opened the door and offered McKenna his hand.
He would question that move for the next ten minutes, he knew. The second their fingers touched, there was an influx of warmth that penetrated his bloodstream. Her soft, smooth fingers fit perfectly in his palm, and despite his better judgment, he didn’t let go of her hand as they made their way into the restaurant.
“Mr. Murphy,” the hostess greeted him by name as they approached. He returned her polite smile before she turned and led them to a small table in the back.
“Nice choice,” McKenna whispered as he stood back, placing his hand on her lower back, allowing her to take her seat first. When he sat in the chair beside her, rather than across from her, he noticed the slight tilt of her eyebrow and the small smile on her perfect, full lips.
“So, tell me a little about you,” Tag said a few minutes later after the waiter had successfully taken their order and brought the wine.
“What do you want to know?”
Everything. Tag thought it but didn’t say it. “What made you want to be a journalist?”
“I’m not sure that I’ve ever wanted to be a journalist,” McKenna’s smile brightened her entire face, “but I wanted to own something of my own. I didn’t want to work for someone else after watching what my father went through.” She paused, looked away before returning to meet his gaze. “I think it was my senior year in high school when I helped with the school newspaper that I first found an interest in sharing other people’s stories. Then when I started college, I had no idea what I wanted to do. No idea.”
Tag wanted to ask about her father but decided that question would have to wait. She didn’t look interested in going there at the moment.
“What did you major in?”
“Marketing.” McKenna’s musical laugh made Tag smile. “I have no idea why, but it seemed easy enough. I was halfway through my junior year when I started a blog. It was innocent for the most part, and lasted all of a year before I ventured out and started Sensations, Inc. It’s been going strong for four years now.”
Tag did the math in his head, and if he figured it correctly, McKenna was twenty five years old. That put her just seven years younger than him. Starting her own business at twenty one was pretty impressive, but Tag was finding there were several things about her that impressed him. Her intelligence and drive definitely ranked at the top of the list.
“And you make money writing about sex?” he asked bluntly, distracted by the way her lips touched the glass as she sipped her wine.
“I do.” Setting her glass back on the cloth covered table, McKenna seemed to be watching him. “It’s no different than what the McCoy brother’s do.”
There was a substantial difference, but Tag wasn’t about to explain the two. He merely cocked his eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.
“Ok, so maybe there’s a slight difference. But yes, to answer your question, I do make money talking about sex. I give people what they want.”