by M. Leighton
“But that’s not all there is to it, is it, Dad? This isn’t about what Michael can do for me.”
His eyes narrow on me. “I’ve worked my whole life, made sacrifices you’ll never know anything about to build this business into what it is today. And the instant someone threatens it, threatens the very foundation of who we are as a family, and you can do something to help, this is how you respond.”
“Don’t be so dramatic! This isn’t about our safety or our freedom. This is about money. And power. Plain and simple. If Randolph Consolidated takes over, you’ll be out and that’s eating you alive.”
“You listen to me, young lady, I will not have my daughter marry a common laborer just because she doesn’t agree with my politics. Let’s not forget, darling, that it’s my business, my money that has funded your precious charity all this time.”
“Which you’ve refused to continue helping as a means of extorting me into doing what you want.”
“Make no mistake, Weatherly, if you want to play hardball, I can exert much more pressure than just pulling your trust fund. Don’t tangle with me, young lady. I didn’t get to where I am without learning how to bend people to my will when it suits my purposes.”
I feel my chin tremble. How has it come to this? That he is so uninterested in me as a person, as his child, that he would seek to hurt me just to get what he wants? I’ve always known I was nowhere near the top of his list of priorities, but that he would play dirty with me, his own flesh and blood? I guess I never knew just how low I fell on that list. “I’m sorry that this particular pawn has grown up to be such a disappointment to you, father. I thought you’d eventually see it my way because you love me and you want me to be happy. I can see now how very wrong I was.”
With that, I turn on my heel, fling open the study doors and make my way back out to the dining room. “Tag, can I have a word please?” I say from the doorway.
He’s in the middle of a sip of wine. He sets down his glass and pushes away from the table. “Of course.” He turns to nod at Michael. “Stromberg.”
“Barton,” he cuts back, disdain dripping from his voice.
Tag grins at me as he approaches. To be the caretaker of a vineyard, he sure seems to hold his own with people like my father pretty well.
I don’t say anything when he reaches me. I simply turn and make my way toward the kitchen. I can’t hear Tag’s soft footfalls, but I know he’s behind me. I can feel his silvery eyes traveling the length of my back and butt as I walk. I stop by the fridge for the dish of leftovers from lunch. I hand them to Tag so that I can grab a bottle of wine and two glasses as we pass.
Wordlessly, I make my way out the back door and around to the Jeep, which is still parked in the driveway. I climb into the passenger side and look back at Tag, who is standing a few feet away, watching me. “Well? You got me into this. The least you can do is get me out of here.”
He holds my eyes for a few seconds, long enough for me to feel guilty about lashing out at him when he was only trying to help, but then he nods and walks around to the driver’s side and climbs in.
“Where are we going?” he asks, setting the dish of food on the console between us.
“How about that half-finished cabin with the great view? I’d like to wake up to that sunrise in the morning.”
“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” he asks with a knowing grin, repeating his earlier phrase.
“Yeah, it’s like that,” I answer.
“I’ve heard stories about girls with daddy issues. I hear they can be pretty wild.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes that eases my tension. I feel the tightness that had gathered between my shoulder blades melt away like a sliver of ice in the hot sun.
“Maybe we can get that four-wheeler out later tonight.”
The smile he gives me is bright enough to light up the darkening sky. “Woman, I gotta hand it to you. You brought your daddy issues to the right guy.” Tag gives me a wink as he fires up the engine. I lean my head back, content to watch him drive. It only takes me a few seconds to realize that I feel a little better already. William O’Neal has never made me a priority. Why should I give him so much room to hurt me?
As we pass the rows that we crossed over during the rain last night, I feel the throb of memory begin low in my belly. Meeting Tag might be the thing that saves me. Nothing has ever distracted me from my life as much as he does. His face, his grin, his kiss—they seem to be lurking around the edges of my mind all the time now. And when I let him in, he can easily crowd out other things that I worry about. He’s a powerful influence.
When we reach the partially finished cabin, Tag takes my hand to help me out and then up onto the porch since there are no steps yet. I stop just inside the door. The interior smells like fresh-cut wood and clean mountain air. I inhale deeply, letting the scent wash away the remainder of my cares.
Tag gives me the unofficial tour, showing me the roughed-out rooms, guiding me with his vision of what it will look like when it’s complete. “I’m surprised that Dad agreed to this.”
“Why is that? It’s a great way to expand the business and to bring people to Chiara.”
“I can see that, but he’s always been sort of protective of this place. I don’t know why.”
“Well, this isn’t hurting anything. Only helping it. I’m sure he knows that when he looks at the bottom line. The old cabin had been renting often, which is why it needed renovating.”
“You’ve got a good head for business, Mr. Barton,” I say, turning toward Tag.
“Yes, I’m quite the visionary,” he says quietly. “And right now, I’m having all sorts of exquisite visions.”
He reaches out to brush the backs of his fingers down my cheek. His pale gray eyes look darker in the night. They sparkle like onyx in the low light of the moon filtering in through the mostly open back of the cabin.
“You are? Pray tell.” Even though we’ve made love several times, still my body is vibrating with anxious anticipation. Already, I know that look and I respond instantly to the promise it holds.
“Are you very hungry?”
“For what?”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “For leftovers.”
“Not particularly.”
“Good. I’d hate to starve you.”
When his mouth descends onto mine, all thought of food and Chiara and our unwanted guests drift away on the lightly scented breeze. Tag undresses me at the edge of what will soon be a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sloped fields and gorgeous mountain views. He peels off my clothes and adores every inch of my skin in the lone wedge of silvery light.
When he lays me gently on my back and kisses his way down my stomach, I stare up at the swollen globe of the moon until I can focus no longer, until nothing exists except the thrilling touch of this man between my legs.
—
Hours later, after we’ve explored each other, eaten all the leftovers and drank all the wine, we lie at the edge of the opening. My head is on Tag’s chest and the only sound other than our breathing is the steady beat of his heart.
“We can’t sleep here,” I say, breaking the silence.
“Why is that?”
“If we roll over too far, we’ll roll all the way down the mountain.”
His hold on me tightens. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me.”
I wonder at his words as I gaze out over the whitewashed field below. “My father can’t understand why I would even consider not marrying Michael when he’s the answer to our prayers.”
“Not to play the devil’s advocate, but maybe he’s just willing to do anything for his family. Some men would go to any extreme for the people they love.”
Although I find his remark a bit peculiar, I don’t comment on it or ask what lengths he’d go to for the well-being of his family.
> “Maybe some men, but not him. I have no delusions about where I fall on his list of priorities.” I sigh, hating that I brought my father and my worries to this peaceful sanctuary. “If it weren’t for the kids at Safe Passage, I wouldn’t even be worrying about this. I don’t worry about what will happen to me. Or to Mom and Dad. I’m sure he has enough money stashed away to live well for the next hundred years. But the kids . . . If he cuts me off, he cuts them off.”
“Is he really that much of a bastard?”
“If it means getting what he wants? What he thinks is best? Yes. He is. He was always absorbed with his work, with becoming more and more powerful, but it wasn’t always this bad. Things were better when I was a little girl. We had some good times, especially here at Chiara. Before he became so driven. But the more he got, the more he wanted. And the more he wanted, the more ruthless he became until he got it.”
“Then we’ll find a way to work around him.”
“We?” The thought makes my heart shiver in delight. I don’t know why, but it does. Maybe it’s because Tag seems so capable and it would be wonderful if he could fix this. Or maybe it’s just the thought of him wanting to help me. That pleases me. Probably more than it should.
I feel him pick up his head to look down at me, so I lift mine and meet his luminous eyes. His lips curve into a lopsided smile. “Yeah. We. Unless you don’t want me to get involved.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that . . . No,” I finally say, returning his smile. “No, I like the ‘we.’”
“So do I.” He kisses my forehead and we rest our heads back down. Tag drags his fingertips lazily up and down my bare side. I drag mine lazily up and down his bare torso.
“So, you’d do pretty extreme things for the people you love?” I ask when the quiet has settled back around us like a soft, invisible blanket.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the people I love.”
“You were raised in a very loving home, I guess.”
“I was.”
“Tell me about it. Tell me about your family.”
My head rises and falls with his chest as he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “My dad took this job before I was born. Moved Mom and me here when I was just a baby, to live full-time in the caretaker’s quarters. This place was all I ever knew for most of my life. I grew up with my hands in this dirt, surrounded by Chiara grapes and Chiara wine.”
“I wish I’d known you then,” I admit quietly.
I feel almost cheated that I was kept so far from the “common” people, as I’m sure Dad thought of them. While I was enjoying a luxurious family retreat in the mountains, Tag and his parents were working the fields that kept this place running. They are the backbone of Chiara, not my family.
“I saw you several times over the years. You were like a beautiful princess, kept in the highest room of the tallest tower, far away from the common folk.” I doubt Tag knows how accurate that statement actually is. “I never dreamed the little girl that I saw from a distance would grow into such an amazing woman.”
I hide my smile against his muscular pectoral. “I saw you from a distance once or twice. It’s probably a good thing they never let me get too close. I bet, even then, you’d have fascinated me.”
“Oh absolutely,” he says without one hint of doubt. I laugh and look up at him. He’s grinning down at me.
“I’m sure you were every bit as humble back then, too.”
“Of course.”
“When did you leave?”
“I enlisted in the Army when I was nineteen. I’d had enough of working the vines and just wanted out. I met some great guys, saw the world. Did a lot of different . . . things.”
I don’t ask what those “things” are; I just wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I prompt, “And?”
I feel a sigh swell in his chest. “And then Dad died. Mom couldn’t work these fields, of course. I knew your father would have to hire someone else, maybe even a family like ours, which would inevitably mean that Mom would have to move. I couldn’t stand the thought of that, so I came home a year after my first tour was up. Been back here ever since.”
“Do you regret it? I mean, if he hadn’t died, would you have come back?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I don’t regret it. Now that I’ve seen what’s out there, Chiara is as precious to me as it always was to my parents. This is my home. These fields, these grapes, this life . . . it’s part of who I am. And I’ll do anything . . . anything to make sure there’s a place for us here.”
I feel the frown work its way onto my brow. “Is that why you’re helping me?”
There’s a short pause before Tag moves with the speed of a snake’s strike. He has me on my back, pressing me so quickly into the clothes on which we rest that it startles a squeak out of me.
“I want to help you because I want to help you. Yes, I do want for my mother to be able to stay in her home for the rest of her life, no matter how long or short that might be, but I also want to help you. No one likes for their fate to be decided by someone else.”
He says the last with such passion, it spurs more questions. “But what happens when this is over? Aren’t you afraid that Dad will have you and Stella removed?”
“As ruthless as he is, or as he talks at least, I’m not sure he’d actually be able to throw my mom out. She’s cared for him, his family and his home for half his life. Me, on the other hand? There’d be a greater likelihood he’d toss me out on my ass, but then he’d have to find someone immediately, someone experienced and competent and familiar with this type of terrain, and have them trained in a matter of weeks. Harvest is just around the corner. It’s crucial that things go smoothly. I think he’s too smart to be that impulsive. I think he’ll bide his time and keep trying to manipulate you through your charity. But in the end, I think it’s a distinct possibility that we can both get what we want.”
“And you’re willing to bet all that you have here?”
“I am. Because I’m not betting on your dad; I’m betting on me. On my ability to read people, on what I know and what I want, and the lengths I’ll go to get it. William O’Neal is still a smart businessman when you take emotion out of it. I’m betting on being able to rationalize with him if it comes to that, help him see what I have to offer. After all, he owns these fields, but I’ve worked them my whole life. And I’ve got plans for this place, plans that he’ll like if he’d listen.” He stares down at me, raising a hand to brush my hair behind my ear. “In short, yes. I’m willing to risk it. It’s a risk, but a calculated one. And the possible rewards are . . . compelling,” he says, smiling devilishly down at me.
Looking up at Tag, at his swirling eyes and his breathtaking face, I lose the ability to think clearly. All I can do when he settles his hips between my legs is gasp, my questions and concerns evaporating from my mind like water from a pool on a hot day. The only thing I can think to say is, “I hope helping me is worth the risk, then.”
“From the first time I saw you, I’ve thought of little else. And, God help me, from the instant I got to taste these lips,” he says, dipping his mouth to mine in a kiss that makes my head spin and my body melt. “From the instant I got to touch this skin . . .” He glides his hand from the swells of my breasts all the way down my side to my thigh, which he tugs on until I wrap my legs around his waist. “From the damn second that I got to feel this body . . .” he whispers, easing his rigid cock into my welcoming heat on a deep groan, “I knew, I knew I was a goner. You’re worth the risk. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
“But why?” I ask breathlessly, barely able to hold on to rational thought with him buried inside me this way. “Why me?”
I have to ask. Of all the women—all the young, beautiful, plentiful women—why me?
“If I could figure that out, you wouldn’t be under my skin, now would you?”
I half laugh, half moan when he withdraws and then pushes back in a bit harder.
“But if I had to guess,” he says, tracing a path up my throat to my ear with the tip of his tongue.
“Yes?”
“I’d say you’re a witch. Because you’ve bewitched me. I just can’t seem to get enough.”
You’ve bewitched me. I love the sound of that.
As he whispers the last into my ear, he flexes his hips and steals my breath. After that, all conversation ceases to matter.
SIXTEEN
Tag
Weatherly is fast asleep on our clothes. Well, most of them. The majority of her creamy skin is covered in my silk shirt, but everything else is beneath her. I manage to extricate my slacks from under her right leg without waking her. As I pull them on, I stare down at her—at the beautiful face turned toward the rising sun, at the slim arm tucked under her head, at the spill of dark, thick hair spread out behind her. Damn, she’s gorgeous.
Is that what’s getting to me?
I quickly discard the theory. I’ve slept with gorgeous women before, so it can’t be just that. So then what the hell is it?
The answer: I don’t know. I don’t know what it is or how it is; I only know that it is.
Just standing here watching her is giving me a major hard-on. And she’s sleeping, for God’s sake. I wasn’t kidding when I told her that I can’t get enough of her. I really can’t.
I debate waking her up the fun way, but decide instead to creep to the house and get some breakfast to bring back to her. And then we’ll have another round of “fun,” before the rest of Chiara wakes up and our love nest isn’t so private anymore.
I carry my shoes out into the grass before I put them on to traverse the dew-covered field. At the house, I sneak in the back door, fairly certain that if William and Michael are up, they’ll be having breakfast in the dining room. Men like them don’t eat in kitchens. And I’m right. It’s deserted except for the same fiftyish woman who was here yesterday afternoon.