Brave Enough (4 page)

Weatherly

With his swirling silver eyes sucking me into them like a vortex, Tag lifts my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. I feel his warm breath and the soft friction like a teasing caress between my legs. I've never met someone so . . . so . . .
potent.
Everything about him works together to form a powerfully persuasive concoction—his mesmerizing eyes, his cocky grin, his voice, his words, his sexily innocuous taunts. I'm not even sure he set out to seduce me, yet that's exactly what's happening.

Maybe I was in need of seduction. Maybe I was in such need of something so extraordinarily
not me
that I was ripe for the picking. For
his
picking. Or maybe this chance encounter is simply the intersection of all the right conditions coming together to create the perfect storm of emotion and attraction and opportunity. I don't really know, and the thing is, I don't think I really
want to
.
Everything in my life has to be given such thoughtful consideration—how it will reflect on the family, how it will affect my future, how controllable the end result will be. But this doesn't. This is just mine. It has nothing to do with my family or my future. It's mine. Mine alone. And I've never had anything that's just mine before. Maybe that's why I'm throwing myself into this with such a marked lack of thought and caution. It might be the only time in my life that I can.

“So,” Tag says, releasing my hand and leaning back. His face settles into a friendly smile and he raises his fork to dig into his food. “Tell me about this charity you're so passionate about.”

And so I do. I tell him about Safe Passage, about the staggering number of children in the Atlanta area who go hungry each day. I tell him about the strides we're making in reaching more and more kids, and how rewarding the results are. Conversation flows naturally from that. Naturally and effortlessly. Like we've known each other all our lives, despite the fact that we only met a few hours ago. As strange as it sounds, I'm more comfortable with him than I can ever remember being.

“Are you two still in here?” Stella asks when she pokes her head in from the kitchen.

Tag winks at me before he turns to speak to his mother. “I can't get her to shut up, but you don't need to make her feel bad about it, Mom.” She waves him off with her hand and he chuckles.

“By all means, blame it on me,” I say acerbically.

“She knows me better than to think I could be held here against my will.”

“I'm sorry if I've bored you going on and on about Safe
Passage. I didn't realize how late it was getting.” I'm genuinely surprised to see that it's nearly eleven.

“I've enjoyed every minute. I like hearing what you're passionate about.”

How does he do that? Make every word sound devilishly delicious? He makes it seem as though everything that passes between us, no matter how innocuous, is intimate.

“Maybe next time you can tell me what
you're
passionate about.”

“I'd be happy to.”

There's a protracted pause during which my nerves begin to jangle. “Well, I suppose I'd better get to bed. It's been a long day.”

“I'm sure you're tired,” he adds. But he makes no move to get up. He just watches me with those disturbingly fluid eyes.

“Can I help clean up?” I offer.

“No, I've got it.” He turns his head just enough to aim his next words over his shoulder. “Do you hear that, Mom?”

“I heard you, Mr. Bossy Pants,” comes Stella's voice from the kitchen, a voice that sounds less than robust.

“I'll get it. There's a greater likelihood of her letting me clean up if
you
aren't in there. I'd have to wrestle her to the ground to get her to go to bed if you tried to help. And then she'd try to ground me like I'm fifteen rather than twenty-seven. You see how this could get out of hand, right?”

I smile. I can't imagine
anyone
giving this strong, charismatic man a hard time. Of course, he obviously has a soft spot for his mother, which I find incredibly endearing. Their dynamic makes me happy and a little envious. My relationship with my own mother leaves a lot to be desired.

I push thoughts of my family's shortcomings from my mind as I lay my napkin neatly on the table. “Well, far be it from me to get anyone in trouble.”

Tag stands as well. “Oh, I think I'm already in trouble.” His lopsided grin makes my bones melty.

“Are you always like this?”

“Always.”

“Good to know,” I say, hating that I'm hesitant to step away from the table. But I do. Because I must. “Well, thank you. For a wonderful meal and stimulating conversation.”

He nods once. “Consider me at your service any time you need stimulating.”

A laugh churns in my chest even as my cheeks flame, thinking that Stella might still be able to hear.

Walk away, Weatherly. Just walk away. Before you can't.

“Don't worry,” Tag says, leaning toward me as I start to move past him. “She's not in the kitchen anymore.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard the boards in the hallway creak when she left.”

“Another power of yours, super hearing?”

“I have a lot of super powers.”

“Such as?”

“You'll see,” he says enigmatically. His eyes drop to my lips for a few seconds, making them feel throbbing and full. But then they snap back to mine and he leans away. “Goodnight, Weatherly. I hope you sleep well.”

I draw in a deep, calming breath. “You, too, Tag. And thank you again.”

“My pleasure.”

I turn and walk away, but I can't seem to leave him behind. I feel his eyes on me as I go, burning through my clothes as though I'm not wearing any at all.

—

As I lie in bed, I wish I'd just taken the lead and kissed Tag. I wanted it. He wanted it. Neither of us did it. I know why
I
didn't do it, but why didn't he? Even after I've brushed my teeth and washed off my makeup, that one question still chases itself through my head.
Why?

But for the chaos of my thoughts, it's absolutely silent in my room. That's why the knock, though soft, brings me bolting upright in my bed.

My heart is thundering so hard, my blood vibrates with each beat. “Yes?” I call out.

The door eases open with a long moan, one that is echoed within me when I see Tag appear. He takes one step inside, half his body bathed in the white shine of the moonlight slanting through the windows. “Can I come in?” he asks, his voice as mystical as midnight itself.

“Yes.”

He slips through the opening, not bothering to close the door behind him. That's why I'm both at ease and slightly disappointed with his presence here. He won't be staying. He won't be stripping off my nightie and covering my body with wet kisses.

For some reason, that annoys me. He professes to want me, to
be interested in me and intrigued by me, and yet . . . he hasn't even tried to kiss me. Why?

I should probably be glad that he's not trying so desperately to get in my pants. I mean, he is likely never in need of willing company, the thought of which sets my teeth on edge. But still, I'm strangely insulted that he's so . . . gentlemanly. Which is utterly ridiculous.

Yet, that's how I feel. Insulted. Challenged, even. He's so perfectly in control, as though he has set some pace that I have no say in. While the normal Weatherly wouldn't have a problem with that because she's accustomed to following the rules that others prescribe,
this
Weatherly—the rebellious woman who's throwing caution to the wind—is far from okay with it.

If he thinks he's in control of me, I guess it'll be up to me to show him different.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, slowly pushing the covers away and swinging my legs off the bed. He stops in the center of the room, his stance casual, his expression shadowed.

“No, nothing's wrong. I just forgot that I left my toothbrush in here.”

“Your toothbrush?” I ask, coming to my feet and taking a few steps forward, just enough to throw my body into the wedge of moonlight with him. I push my long hair back, letting my fingers trail down my neck and across my collarbone. “Why would your toothbrush be in here?”

“Because the cottage is being repaired and your father said that it would be fine for me to stay in a room here until it's completed.”

“So you chose
this
room?”

He takes one step forward. “It has the best view.” Even in the low light, I see his eyes sweep me from head to toe. Whether in response to his unabashed scrutiny or to the game I'm playing, I don't know, but my nipples bead. I feel them strain against the slick material of my thigh-length nightgown.

“What's your favorite part?” I ask, my voice strangely coarse.

“The mountains. The view from
right here
is stunning. Their peaks are beautiful. Almost close enough for me to reach out and touch, it seems.”

Oh
God
! I feel like groaning. Does he seriously do that on purpose?

I inhale deeply, sharply, my aching flesh pressing even further into the cool silk. I hear Tag's breath hiss through his teeth and I'm gratified that he's at least as
bothered
as I am.

“Are you sure nothing's wrong?” I ask again, taking one last step closer. We are nearly chest to chest. I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

“No, nothing's wrong. Everything is perfect. Just perfect.”

Neither of us makes a sound or a move. I wonder if he'll kiss me. I wonder if he won't. I wonder if I have the nerve to do it if he doesn't.

And then I get my answer. At least one of them. I take a single step back and clear my throat. “Well, I'll let you get what you need, then.” A vague invitation. Too vague? I don't know.

I turn and walk slowly back to the bed, bending over at the waist to straighten my covers. I feel the lacy hem of my nightie
ride up the backs of my thighs, grazing the curve of my butt. I'd almost swear that I could actually
feel
the hot touch of his eyes on my hips and legs before I slip into bed.

I pull the covers up to my belly and rest my head on my pillow, turning to look questioningly up at him. He's watching me. Staring as though he's stuck in indecision. I don't know what I could do to move him in one direction or the other, so I simply stare back.

After several long, unnerving seconds, Tag nods and heads for the bathroom. I hear the cabinet open. I hear it close. I don't remember seeing a stray toothbrush in there when I put my things away, but to say I was distracted would be the understatement of the year. There could've been a rattlesnake in there and I might not have noticed.

When Tag reappears from the bathroom, he's empty-handed. “Mom must've thrown it away when she cleaned. I thought I got everything out when I moved my things, but . . .”

“So where are you sleeping now?”

“At the other end of the hall.”

“Oh,” I reply, my skin warming at the thought of him being so close. All night long.

“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He backs toward the door and every cell of my body is screaming for him to come to the bed.
I need
you
!
I
need
you
!

But I don't admit to that. Rather, I smile and say, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he returns, easing back out the way he came. It's right before he closes the door that I hear his soft, “Sweet dreams, fair Weatherly.” And then he's gone.

—

I'm on my side with the covers pulled up over my shoulders, facing the door when it opens. The muted creak brings me out of my semi-sleep with pulse-pounding speed. My eyes adjust quickly enough to recognize that the short blonde walking into my room is
not
Tag.

I gasp, sitting up so fast the room spins for a second. “Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my room?”

I think for a moment about what I might be able to use for a weapon if this girl is here to do me harm. Logic hasn't entered into the equation yet.

“Ohmigod I'm so sorry! I thought this was Tag's room. Sorry,” she says, turning to tiptoe back out the way she came.

“Wait!” I snap, anger beginning to boil in my blood as realization sets in. The girl stops and turns her upper body back toward me. “You're here for Tag?”

“Yes. I didn't mean to bother you. I thought this was his room, but maybe I turned the wrong way. It
is
dark, after all.”

Is it? Is it dark at two a.m., you brainless bimbo?
I think venomously. Jealously.

“You've been here before, then?”

“A few times.”

“Does . . . does Tag know you're coming?”

“He told me to come over tonight, but I'm running late.”

I keep a firm hold on my jaw so that it doesn't drop open in humiliated outrage. “Well, you can find him at the other end of the hall.”

I flop back onto the bed, turning away from the door and silently dismissing the interloper. No wonder Tag didn't try to kiss
me. I guess since he was supposed to be seeing another woman within a couple of hours his sense of propriety stopped him. It
should've
stopped him a helluva lot sooner.

That is one messed up moral compass,
I think.

I roll back over onto my back, throwing an arm over my eyes. How humiliating!

Wow, you're an idiot, Weatherly.

I've never fallen for cheap lines before. What the hell is wrong with me? Never mind that no one I know has the audacity to
throw
any cheap lines at me. I feel like a fool for believing one thing Tag said. I should've known a guy who looks like him would be
this
kind of person. An unscrupulous manwhore. A user and a liar and a cheat. An incorrigible rake, by his own admission! And I fell for it! God! And I hate that it stings so much.