The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(10)

“How do you know I’m not?” Tag snapped, setting the beer bottle down too hard and spilling some of it from the neck onto the photos. “Shit.”

“I know because I’m your father and I like to make sure you don’t wind up penniless and homeless and…”

“Without a pot to piss in,” Tag finished for him as he cleaned the spill with a nearby napkin. “Stop being ridiculous. Go drink your Metamucil or something.” Rhona’s giggle punctuated the air and Tag added, “And take your Cialis.”

“Never, son,” Alex said, his tone bow-strong. “Never question your old man’s cock.”

On that note, a knock came at the door. A light trio of raps. “Someone’s at my door. Thanks for the advice and mind your own damn business.”

“Later, kid.” Alex chuckled and Tag found himself smiling. Cantankerous old man.

He ended the call as he approached the door. Through the peephole, he saw a woman facing away from him in a short black dress, tall black spiky boots, and blond curls trailing down her back.

“Well, well,” he muttered, reaching for the knob. He did a quick run-through of his list of curly-headed blondes and came up with a few. Tina. Margo. Oh, maybe Brittani. Although the last night he’d brought her home, she drank way too much Sour Apple Pucker and passed out on the sofa. So maybe not her. He didn’t have the energy.

Since he’d started this bar upgrade business he hadn’t gone out at all. His evenings were long and late, and peppered with Adonis’s barking—which rang out now, shrill and unwelcome.

Hearing that would be fun while trying to twist up the sheets with the blonde standing in the hallway.

He popped open the door, cranking his expression to seduction mode, and then the girl turned and the smile slipped from his face.

Blond curls, red lips, tight, tight black dress pushing her tits out, and the short skirt exposing only a few inches of bare pale legs above the boots. It was Oliver’s girlfriend. Adonis’s caregiver.

“You,” he snarled, having no luck wrangling his lust-filled thoughts into a neutral corner. Here he’d thought he was opening the door to an evening of sex and instead was faced with this one.

“Hey,” she purred, strolling toward him, eyes at half-mast, shoulders pulled forward slightly, her cleavage on parade.

He held up one hand and took a step away from her.

“What’s the matter?” Doe eyes. Pouty mouth. Another step forward.

“Listen, honey, I’m not sure what you…” She walked toward him, and he maintained his grip on the doorknob, pulling his other arm back before he had a handful of breast. And yeah, he’d thought about what that’d feel like. When she’d stumbled into him outside Oliver’s door, he’d noticed every inch of her soft body pressing against him. Braless breasts cushy against his torso, small hands clenching his pecs…

“Not sure of what?” She tipped her head back, hair falling down her back, smile widening, and—sweet Jesus. Dimples. Two of them, one on each side of her red apple of a mouth.

He swallowed around a lump of lust. He wasn’t sure what she was doing. Well, he thought he knew what she was doing, but right now thinking wasn’t easy. The blood wasn’t exactly flowing to the head on his shoulders.

Then, the diversion he needed happened. Three quick barks followed by a pathetic, high-pitched howl crept through the floor.

Rachel’s smile vanished as her top teeth stabbed her bottom lip. Suddenly she didn’t look like a tempting seductress bent on snaring a man in her web; she looked…worried.

“Is that what he does when I’m gone?” she asked, her voice small.

“Yeah.”

“The entire time?” Her pale eyebrows bowed.

“Pretty much.”

She blew out a breath and with it, sent some of her curls billowing in front of her gorgeous face. He narrowed his eyes and took her in, like he was seeing her for the first time. Something was off. He realized he’d officially met her in the morning so she hadn’t been dressed to go out, but he’d also spotted her out front of the apartment building and saw how she dressed normally. Sexy, yes, and in a skirt, but this…this skintight getup wasn’t her.

“What going on?” he asked.

Her eyes went to his face. “What do you mean?”

He lifted one of her blond curls, intending to drop it, but wound the silken strands around his finger instead. When he’d met her, her hair was wavy at best, not a tornado of curls. “This. What are you doing here dressed like this?” He gave her hair a gentle tug, then dropped it, figuring there was only one of two reasons she’d be at his door dressed like a decadent dessert. Either she knew he was a Crane and was an opportunist, or she was playing it up to teach him a lesson. He narrowed his eyes in thought.

He’d bet it was the latter.

“You thought I was a hooker,” she said, her top lip curling.

Tag chuckled. “I did not.”

“You did! I said Oliver was a regular, and you thought I meant one of my tricks.” She did air quotes and everything.

His chuckle turned into a belly laugh and he had to put a hand on his stomach to catch his breath. “No, sweetheart, I thought you meant you were one of his regular girls. Girlfriends. Not that you curled his toes for money.”