by M. Leighton
“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.
I promise to tell you the absolute truth about everything I’m feeling.
Jesus, I’m an imbecile! No wonder my father doesn’t trust me to make my own choice for a husband.
The thought brings my circumstances—all of them—rushing back to the forefront of my mind. I have real problems, problems that dwarf being temporarily sidetracked by a line-slinging ladies’ man. Tag’s despicable nature changes nothing, other than my silly intention of living in the moment for a change. I came here to get a plan together and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Tag be damned. I don’t need him or his help or his sweet talk. And if he thinks he’s ever going to be kissing these lips, he’s got another thought coming!
SIX
Tag
I’m not surprised that I find Weatherly nursing a cup of coffee and a paperback on the patio. I’m also not surprised when she makes a point to ignore me the instant I step out. I know she heard me because she pulled her book in closer to her face, a clear indication that she doesn’t want to be bothered.
Not that it matters. I’m going to bother her anyway. I know what she’s thinking and I don’t want her thinking it.
I saunter on over to the chaise she’s lounging on and I squat beside it, near her right hip, and I wait until she acknowledges me. She doesn’t for at least two full minutes, but I’m not deterred. If she thinks she’ll outlast me, she’s sadly mistaken.
Finally, with a loud and slightly petulant huff, Weatherly lowers her book and glares at me through the light tint of her sunglasses.
“Was there something that you needed?”
“Always polite,” I say, unable to hide my grin. God, she’s adorable! She’s bristling, but heaven forbid she show it. Too much breeding for that, I suppose.
She makes no comment; merely arches one perfectly sculpted raven brow.
I clear my throat and continue. “I wanted to explain about Amber.”
“Amber. Is that her name?” she asks, a marked bite to her frigid voice.
“Yes, that’s her name. I told her to come before I knew you’d be here.”
“And you didn’t think even once to, oh, I don’t know, maybe call and tell her not to?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think about her one time from the moment I saw you in the bathtub yesterday.”
That stops her. I can see it in the way her brow furrows and her full lips purse. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“I don’t know. Why do you? You’re incredibly stunning, smart, funny. I seem to remember listing these things off last night, but if you didn’t believe I was sincere, I’m happy to continue.”
The sun slicing through the trees illuminates her eyes behind the reflective glass. I can see that she’s softening, but I wish she’d take them off. I want to see the color. That exotic violet blue visited me in my dreams last night. I want to see if they’re the same brilliant color I remember them being, if the morning can do my memory justice.
She drops her book to her lap and gives me her full attention. “Do you make a habit of leaving the doors unlocked and telling people to just come on in?”
I shrug. “We’re way up here with no one else around for miles. Why not?”
“Well, I can think of several reasons.”
“If it makes you more comfortable, I can start locking them at night.”
“It would, thank you. And maybe if you’d have your guests arrive at a decent hour.”
My lips want to curve, but I keep them straight and steady. “Absolutely. Anything else?”
“You might tell her that any self-respecting woman doesn’t make two a.m. booty calls.”
This time, I let my grin break free. “I’ll be sure to pass that along if I ever see her again.”
“Don’t stop on my account. It’s none of my business who you see.”
“It is if you want it to be. In fact, I’d like for it to be your business.”
“And why is t
hat?”
“Because you’re the type of woman who wants a man’s undivided attention and I’d love nothing more than to give it to you.”
She shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t think—”
“I thought you were letting go, not thinking.”
“That was before I met Amber.”
“Don’t give Amber another thought. I promise you that I won’t.”
Her frown gets deeper as she thinks. As she fights giving in. She wants to, I think, but she’s torn. I just need to batter away at her resistance until we can get back to where we were last night when she was taunting me with peeks of her delicious ass bathed in moonlight. I didn’t want to press her too soon last night. This is new for her. I get it. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t, too, considering that Amber showed up a short time later. But still, it’s hard for me not to regret letting her get back into her bed. Alone.
Amber was more than happy to help me work off my fascination, but I wasn’t interested. I had no trouble telling her no and sending her on her way. If I thought about that very much, it might worry me. That’s not like me. But right now all I’m thinking about is the delectable, enchanting woman in front of me.
“She is gone, isn’t she?” she asks dryly.
“I asked her to leave about five seconds after she showed up in my doorway. I was really hoping it’d be you and when I saw that it wasn’t . . .”
“Why would you think I’d be showing up in your bedroom at two in the morning?”
“Wishful thinking, I guess. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked in that silky little thing you sleep in.”
Her lips part, her cheeks stain. “Well I can assure you that I won’t be showing up at your bedroom door anytime soon.”
“I can wait.”
I can tell when she straightens in her chair that she’s getting ready to argue—just for the sake of her pride, of course—so I quickly change the subject. “How about a taste of a new grape I’m trying? They’re Blanc du Bois.”
“Isn’t it a little early for wine?”
I straighten and hold out my hand as I smile down at her. “It’s never too early for wine.”