Taylor Maid

by Tara Lain

 

 

Blurb:

 

 

He’ll marry the maid to get $50 million but a secret could queer the deal.

Taylor Fitzgerald needs a last-minute bride.

On the eve of his twenty-fifth birthday, the billionaire’s son discovers that despite being gay, he must

marry a woman before midnight or lose a fifty-million-dollar inheritance. So he hightails it to Las Vegas…

where he meets the beautiful maid Ally May.

There’s just one rather significant problem: Ally is actually Alessandro Macias, son of a tough Brazilian

hotel magnate. But if Ally keeps pretending to be a girl for a little while longer, is there a chance they

might discover this marriage is tailor-made?

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Excerpts

 

 

The wall in the elevator held him upright. So

much to do—quitting his job being at the top of the list. The door opened on his floor. Oh well, he had

his time and passion. That he’d give to the kids at the youth centers—not that anybody could pay the

rent with it.

He dragged himself down the hall toward

his suite, staring at the phone that never rang. With his right hand, he grabbed the key card, looked up,

and stopped so fast he might have had rubber shoes on a shag carpet. Ally stood in front of his suite,

leaning against the wall.

He tried not to gasp too loudly. Ally minus

the ugly glasses and in street clothes was a sight to see. Long, slim legs in trim jeans and a pink checked

shirt that set off her pale complexion and bright red hair. Adorable. Her hips were so narrow and chest

so flat, she could have been a boy but for the high ponytail. A very cute boy. Obviously Taylor’s cock

suffered from gender confusion, because it wiggled, and Taylor did not do girls. “Hi. You

came.”

She nodded but didn’t smile. “You wanted

to see me. You’re a VIP guest, and I’m a maid. Not wise to refuse.”

That wasn’t the best way to start. “I didn’t

mean for it to be a command performance.”

“Oh?” Lasers behind those brown

eyes.

Hell, this was his one chance. No time to

argue. “Could you come in for a minute?” He keyed open the door and held

it.

Another nod. She crossed in front of him

and stopped in the middle of the entry. He closed the door and pointed toward the living room. “Please,

come on in and sit.”

She paused, then walked into the living

room and perched on the edge of one of the couches. He sat across from her. Jesus, this was hard. “Uh,

you remember that I got a shock while you were here. Bad news, right?”

“Yes. You seemed upset as I was leaving. I

hope things have improved.”

“Not yet, but they could.” He took a deep

breath. “Are you married or attached?”

She stood straight up with her mouth open.

He bounded up opposite her. “Wait. I said that badly. It’s just that I want to make you a proposal that

requires that you not be married and—”

She started walking toward the

door.

“No, wait,

please.”

She kept walking.

“Ally, will you marry

me?”

Okay, that stopped her. She looked over her

shoulder, and her eyes could have been stop signs, they were so huge. “What did you

say?”

The words tumbled out. “I’ll give you a

million dollars to marry me.” Well, damn, Mr. Smooth

strikes again. “Please, sit down and let me explain. I know I sound nuts, but I’m

harmless.”

She stared at him and suddenly started to

laugh. She stumbled back and collapsed on the couch. “Okay, I confess, there’s not the slightest chance I

could walk away and not hear the rest of this story.” She held up a hand. “But keep your distance in case

you’re as crazy as you sound.”

“Can I get you something to

drink?”

She glanced at a serviceable-looking watch

on her arm. “Sure, I’m off the clock. I’ll have a beer.”

Taylor used the trip to the service kitchen to

take a breath. He hadn’t quite thought this through. She was right. He must sound crazy. Damn, he

wasn’t too bad with men. Being with a female was throwing him off. Or maybe it was being the one who

needed something. In business he was powerful enough and wealthy enough to always be on an even

footing. Now he was a beggar. The cute maid held all the cards. Time to put on his poker

face.

He grabbed beer bottles from the fridge,

opened them, and poured into two glasses. For a guy he would have skipped that step. Carrying the

beer, he walked back into the living room. She was sitting forward, elbows leaning on her knees, staring

sideways at the view of the thousands of lights. Her profile, with its high-bridged nose and strong

cheekbones, was etched against the softly lit room. Pretty.

“Here you go.” He extended the glass, and

she took it.

“Thanks.” She took a long drink. Cleaning

rooms must be thirsty work.

He sat opposite her and took his own sip.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I live in San Francisco. My family has money, and I work in the family business.

My grandfather, who started the business, died a number of years ago, and my father now runs it with a

lot of help from me.”

“Don’t you have a board of

directors?”

Taylor glanced up. That wasn’t the question

he’d expected. “Uh, yeah. We do, but it’s a privately held firm, so all the directors are kind of

figureheads who report to my father.”

“I see.”

Did she? “Anyway, I just found out—” He

glanced at his watch. “—a few hours ago, that the inheritance my grandfather left me came with

unusual strings attached. My father hid this from me.”

“Why? He wanted the money for

himself?”

“Exactly. What he didn’t tell me was that I

have to be married by my twenty-fifth birthday in order to collect the

inheritance.”

She raised an eyebrow. They were a lot

darker than her bright hair. “Daddy has been a very bad boy.”

Were all maids this savvy? “Yes. The

problem is my birthday is tomorrow. In other words, it starts at midnight

tonight.”

“Wow.” She frowned. “Do you have to be

married by your birthday or on your birthday?” She took another mouthful of

beer.

“The will said by my birthday, and I can’t talk to the lawyer who drew it up to determine the

meaning, because he’s on my father’s side.”

“Holy crap.”

Taylor grinned.

“Yeah.”

“How come you let that happen? I thought

you were so good in business.”

He almost laughed. Who was she? Bill

Gates? Instead he sighed. “When my grandfather died, I was an eighteen-year-old kid busy trying to

figure out his sexuality. I loved him, and his death broke my heart. I didn’t have any energy to protect

myself from my father.”

“I’m really sorry.” She sipped. “So, easy. You

call a woman you know, ask her to marry you, and tell her she gets a cut.”

“That’s why I’m

here.”

She looked around. “So where is

she?”

“Remember when I got the upsetting phone

call?”

“Yes.”

“That was me finding out that the woman I

was planning to ask had been in an accident and isn’t coming.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yes.”

“So call another

girl.”

“I did. You.” 

 

 

Taylor held Ally’s arm

tightly as they walked, the play of muscle under the jacket very noticeable—and appealing. Must be all

that bathtub scrubbing.

The minister pointed to some documents on

the table. “Please sign these.”

Ally clutched his wrist. He smiled. Sound calm. “Come on, easy does it.” He barely looked at the

license as he signed, he was so busy focusing calming energy on Ally. “Okay, your

turn.”

She swallowed hard, looked at him like

she’d just run over the deer in the headlights, grabbed the pen, and signed Ally May in a scrawl.

The minister clapped his hands. “Lovely,

lovely. Come now.”

He grabbed her hand, ignored the electricity

that sparked up his arm at the feel of her warm skin, and pulled her to the head of the

aisle.

A woman sat at an organ and started

playing the wedding march.

Ally shook her red hair again. “No, I don’t

want to march.”

“Okay, we’ll walk up together, how does

that sound?”

“Okay.”

Taking her hand, he started to walk, and she

took off like there was a prize for how fast you could get to the altar. The lady on the organ sped up the

wedding march to a wedding run, and it almost made Taylor laugh—almost.

He kept hold of Ally’s hand. Her flowers

shook like Disney had animated them. She set them on the front seat of the first row of

chairs.

The minister walked around them since he’d

gotten there last, looked at his watch, and picked up the Bible. Must have another couple coming in soon. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here

to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”

“Taylor?”

The minister stopped. “Is everything all

right?”

She shook her head. “There’s something I

need to tell you.”

Taylor nodded. Uh-oh. “Okay.”

With a bang that made them all jump an

inch, the door to the chapel burst open. A big bald man stood there, frowning, staring around the

room.

The minister cleared his throat. “If you don’t

mind, there’s a wedding in progress.”

The man’s frown got deeper. “Yeah, okay.

Sorry.”

“Did you wish to take a seat and attend the

ceremony?”

“Uh, no. I’ll stand.” He sounded like he’d

escaped from Guys and

Dolls.

The minister looked at Ally. “Miss, I believe

you were saying something?”

She’d turned white as her shirt. Her big eyes

strayed toward the door and then back to Taylor’s face. “No, nothing. Just get on with

it.”

Taylor whispered, “Shall I ask him to leave?

Is he bothering you?”

“No, no. Don’t do that,

please.”

God, he felt like he was torturing her. “Do

you want to change your mind?”

The door to the chapel closed. The intruder

was gone.

She glanced at the entrance, sighed, and

stared at her shoes.

“Ally?”

For a full thirty seconds she said nothing,

then finally shook her head. “No. Continue.”

The minister smiled. “Ah, good.” He started

talking about the sacred union of marriage.

Okay, that made Taylor feel fully weird. But

hell, people got married because they drank too much and wanted memories from Vegas. His union

wasn’t the strangest—was it?

“Do you, Taylor Fitzgerald, take this woman

to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“What? Oh yes, I

do.”

“And do you, Ally May, take this man to be

your lawfully wedded husband?”

He squeezed her hand. He kind of expected

another long wait, but she piped up, “Yes.”

“Do you have a

ring?”

Taylor produced the beautiful diamond and

sapphire circle. He had to reach down for her hand, and it shook so hard he could barely get the ring on,

but it fit perfectly.

He handed her his ring, and she managed to

get it on his left ring finger, but it was a near thing—twice she almost dropped

it.

The minister clapped his hands. Probably

out of relief. “You may kiss the bride.”

Well, hell, he’d forgotten that part. She

looked up at him, and those brown eyes glittered. Oh, she

wears contacts. Wonder why she needs glasses? Her breath smelled like the mint ice cream

she’d eaten for dessert, and it made him shiver. He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against

hers. Her mouth was freezing like her hands—but sweet. So sweet.

He pulled back, and she instantly stared at

the floor. God, his cock even danced a bit at that kiss. Maybe when he went to bed he’d have time to

think about why he responded like this to a woman. He never had before. 

 

 

By the time Taylor pulled into the

parking garage at his condominium, his skin felt too tight in a lot of places, most of them below the belt.

Ally had spent the whole drive alternately stretching out his long legs in their heels and pulling them up

under him, showing off yards of bare, smooth, hard man flesh from ankle to hip. Taylor had never

known he liked men in drag, but Jesus, his tastes seemed to form around everything Alessandro. The

guy simply turned him on. He’d done it as a woman, and now, as a man in woman’s clothing, he made

Taylor want to commit lewd acts in public places—like the side of the freeway. And he seemed oblivious

to his effect on Taylor, which only added to the allure.

Watching those same long legs striding

down the hall in front of him made Taylor seriously glad he had a coat to cover the telephone pole in his

pants. Ally waited at the door for Taylor to open it. He needed to get him a

key.

As Ally walked in, he glanced back.

“How soon do they want to do the questioning?”

Taylor closed the door. Could he take

off his coat, or would the fire stick still show? “Smith just said ‘soon.’ If I know Laughton, he wants to

give us as little time to prepare as possible.”

“So we better start practicing.” Ally

unwrapped the belt and slipped Taylor’s coat off his shoulders. As Taylor hung it in the hall closet, Ally

walked into the open living room, ass swaying in the clingy knit.

Blast off. Taylor’s cock leaped, and his brain fried. “Ally?”

“Yes?” He looked over his shoulder in a

move so unconsciously flirtatious, he should have been spanked, and that sounded like way too good an

idea.

“Are you

gay?”

That deep, sultry laugh rumbled

through his padded chest. “Are you kidding?”

“So your father wants you to

marry—”

“A woman. Wealthy and influential. The

type who can do good for the family and persuade his son out of his perversion at the same

time.”

“No wonder you

ran.”

“Yes. Can you imagine living such a life?

Not only married to a member of the wrong sex, but one you don’t even know or like?” He

shuddered.

“You didn’t know

me.”

His lips curved. “True. But I was

desperate—”

Taylor’s stomach

sank.

“And I liked you immediately.

Instinctively.” He kicked off his shoes, sighed, and picked them up. “Besides, I thought you were hot.”

With a twitch of that infernal butt, he walked down the hall.

Taylor gasped for breath. Hot? He thinks I’m hot? Ripping at his tie and

unbuttoning his shirt at the same time, he ran to his room, threw his clothes on the bed, and pulled on

the sweats and T-shirt he liked to sleep in. Hot. He thinks

I’m hot.

Okay, get some control.

In through the nose. Out through the

mouth. In through the—bullshit! 

 

 

 

 

 The sun seeped around the Roman shades on the windows,

casting stripes of brightness across the bed.

“Uh, Taylor, it’s about Ally that I called

you.”

“Yeah, okay.” He crept forward and peered around the

wall toward the bed. Sure enough, Stonewall curled in a ball on one pillow while Ally’s hair flowed across

the other, creating a red to orange mosaic. He smiled—then stopped.

“There’s something you should

know.”

“Yeah?” His eyes fixated, and he walked two more

steps toward the bed. Ally lay on her back, one arm above her head, with the white silk pajamas clinging

to her body. Where he was used to seeing small, perky breasts, the silk lay completely flat. So maybe

she enhanced a bit. But that wasn’t what held him rapt. It was the part that wasn’t flat. At her crotch,

the fabric stood straight up in the air like a tent—a tent with a substantial tent

pole.

 

“Taylor, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going

to spit it out. Coco says Ally is a man.”

 

 

 

About the Author

Tara Lain writes the

Beautiful Boys of Romance in LGBT erotic romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her

first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 23. Her best­selling

novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT

Romance, Best Gay Characters, and Tara has been named Best Writer of the Year in the LRC Awards. In

her other job, Tara owns an advertising and public relations firm. She often does workshops on both

author promotion and writing craft. She lives with her soul­mate husband and her soul­mate dog in

Laguna Beach, California, a pretty seaside town where she sets a lot of her books. Passionate about

diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!

 

You can find Tara at

   

   

   

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