Brave Enough

by M. Leighton

  “Tag, good to see you, man,” Rogan said, pulling him in for a bear hug.

  After the two men released each other, Tag then leaned in to kiss Katie on the cheek. “He still hasn’t managed to run you off, I see.”

  Katie smiled and twisted to look up at Rogan over her shoulder. “He’s never getting rid of me.”

  “Not if I have to chain you to my bed,” he’d answered. His expression had taken on a wicked look. “Wait, on second thought, try to leave. I wouldn’t mind chaining you to the bed for a few days.”

  Katie had playfully ribbed him in the stomach. It was plain to see that they’re incredibly well suited and happy together. My heart stung with envy from that point on.

  Now, however, as I get to know them both over imported beer and homemade pizza (made in a brick oven built into the outdoor fireplace by the pool), I find that I’m thrilled for them. Just thrilled, even if I’m never able to have something so wonderful in my life.

  “How did you two meet?” I ask from my place beside Tag on a two-person wicker loveseat. It’s situated in a grouping on the patio by the pool. With all the lush greenery surrounding us, this space has the feel of a tropical paradise. It’s much different than the pools we’ve had all my life. They were always rectangular and formal, bordered by rows of columnar cypress trees, like sentries standing guard over my life. But this, this is informal and natural and relaxed. It’s everything a pool should be, everything a pool should feel. I know it’s weird to get hung up on a pool, for goodness sake, but it seems to parallel the way I feel about the life I’ve always had versus the life I’ve always wanted.

  “She was my makeup artist at the studio while I was filming my short part on Wicked Games. It was love at first sight. At least for me. She was a harder sell.”

  Katie starts shaking her head. “Don’t believe that. I could hardly speak the first time I saw him. I was a mess.”

  “If she’d had a grain of damn sense, she’d have noticed me groveling at her feet, but she’s as hardheaded as they come.”

  “I had reason to be a little skeptical. I mean, what would a gorgeous guy like you want with a scarred girl like me?”

  “I never saw the scars. Still don’t,” he says softly, tilting his head to kiss her neck again. It’s quite possibly the sweetest thing I think I’ve ever seen. It seems he’s determined to show her how much he loves her, scars and all, with every breath he takes. Every look, every word, every smile between them is like a confession. A declaration. A promise.

  Once again, I feel a pang of envy. When I glance over at Tag, he’s watching me, his face an inscrutable mask. I smile and he winks at me, getting my butterflies all stirred up. Just like that. Easy peasy. Like it always is where Tag is concerned.

  Tag’s arm is draped along the back of our little couch. With his eyes on mine, he drops his hand to the back of my neck and tunnels under my hair until I feel the skin-on-skin brush of his fingertips. They draw lazy circles, first small and then widening, sending chills racing down my arms. It’s as though he’s touching me everywhere at once. Or at least that’s what his eyes are saying. They’re reminding me of what it feels like to have his hands on me, his lips, his mouth, but they’re also reminding me of his words. You’ve bewitched me. But right now, with him gently touching me, with him intently watching me, I’m not exactly sure who bewitched whom.

  The sun is on its way to setting before Rogan and Katie escort us to the door. “I wish you’d stay for dinner,” Katie says, hugging me to her like we’ve known each other forever. That’s how I feel, too. It makes me a little sad to think that I might not ever get to see her again. After all, Tag isn’t really my fiancé.

  “I wish we could, too, but we need to get back. There are guests at the house.”

  “Oh, at the cabin?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.

  “Yes, have you been there?” I ask. That would be odd.

  “Enchantment’s about as big as a thumbnail. Everybody knows everything around here,” Rogan supplies with a smile.

  “Come up and see me sometime, man,” Tag says to Rogan at the door.

  “Stay home some, dude, and I will.”

  The two men shake hands and Tag kisses Katie’s cheek again. Rogan pats my shoulder. “I’m glad you got the hermit to come down, Weatherly. And, uh, sorry about the birthday present I sent. If I’d known he was off the market, I wouldn’t have done that.”

  “Please don’t apologize. There’s no way you could’ve known. Tag and I . . . we . . . we only . . . we haven’t known each other very long.”

  Rogan glances at Tag where he stands slightly behind me. He grins before turning his attention back down to me. “I don’t think that matters.”

  I feel my face flush with pure pleasure. It’s not like Tag uttered those words, but Rogan’s statement still feels like affirmation. Or maybe just hope.

  Impulsively, I lean in and kiss his cheek. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Both of you.”

  I find that it’s hard to turn away from the smiling, happy couple. In my life, in my world, I don’t come across very many genuine people. I find that I’d very much like to, though. My parents’ marriage was more like a delicate, exquisite piece of blown glass. On the outside, it was perfect and shiny, the weaknesses only visible from the inside. They were never big on displays of affection, so I sort of always just assumed that they loved each other. They both said as much. But being able to actually see the love between two people, to be able to feel the glow of their happiness like warmth from a fire . . . that’s the kind of love I want. Not the cool, cultured kind I was groomed to have. The messy, wild kind that I’m only just now dreaming of.

  When Tag has helped me up into the Chiara Jeep, which we brought because we had to go get it from the half-finished cabin where we spent the night, I impulsively kiss him, too, only his I deliver on his perfectly firm-yet-soft mouth.

  “What was that for?” he asks when I lean back.

  “For bringing me. I had fun today.”

  “I liked seeing you happy,” he says simply before shutting my door. I don’t know what to make of that, or if I should make anything of it at all. Some small part of my heart wants to, though. It wants to believe that, against all odds, this could be something more. That we could be something more.

  The problem is, I’ve never been a gambler and I’m not sure I even know where to start.

  EIGHTEEN

  Tag

  I’m distracted all through dinner, even with Weatherly by my side. The call that I got while Weatherly was in the shower only added to the distraction that she, herself, provides. The information that my associate gave me was a game-changer. Is a game-changer. My question is: How does it change the game? How far am I willing to go? It’s questions like those that have taken my head out of the conversation when William O’Neal summons it back to the table.

  “Would you like to weigh in, Tag? Or don’t you have any reason to follow the stock market?” He’s wearing a smirk that makes me want to jump across the expanse of polished wood and strangle the shit out of him.

  Stromberg adds to it with his pathetic attempt at covering his laugh with a cough. It’s fine if they want to get their kicks at my expense. We’ll see how that works out for them in the end.

  I let a smile play over my lips. It’s easy to keep my cool when I know what I know.

  “I dabble,” is my only response.

  “What else do you ‘dabble’ in, other than dirt?” Weatherly’s father asks. He’s making very little effort to hide his contempt. In fact, I don’t know why he bothers.

  “A little of this, little of that, but you’re not really interested in my answers, are you?”

  “Pardon me?” William O’Neal asks, his smug expression turning to one of thinly veiled anger, as if to say he’s affronted that I’d dare take a tone with him.

  “Let�
�s be honest. You’re looking for ways to reveal me for the ignorant commoner that you think me to be, exposing my ‘real self’ to Weatherly so she’ll see the error of her ways and run into the arms of your handpicked man. Isn’t that about right?”

  There’s an eerie absence of sound, like the whole wealthy world is holding their breath as they wait for my inevitable social beheading.

  He surprises me with his candidness. “I’d be lying if I said that results like those wouldn’t please me. It’s no secret that I want what’s best for my little girl. And as much as you obviously have to offer society,” he says, his lips twitching over his droll comment, “I feel that she could do better.”

  “So pairing her with a man twice her age who wants her as a trophy wife and business arrangement is what you deem ‘best’ for your only child?”

  “Pairing her with someone who has the means and the knowledge to care for her for the rest of her life is what’s best for her.”

  “Regardless of how she feels.”

  “Weatherly is young and impetuous. She’ll thank me for this one day.”

  It infuriates me how he degrades her right in front of her, as if she has no feelings at all. I don’t know how she turned out so well with this asshole for a father.

  “And what if she never does? What if she blames you instead?”

  “She won’t, but if you think you know her so much better than I do, then marry her. Right now. Show her that you love her for her and not for her money. Because she’ll be destitute if she marries you. Promise her that you’ll care for her and your children on the salary you make here, a salary that wouldn’t even afford an engagement ring, for chrissake. I’ll even make it easy for you. You’ll have this job for as long as you want it. I won’t fire you for ruining my daughter’s life. At least that way, I’ll know she has a roof over her head.”

  I’m not normally a particularly capricious man, especially when I can’t identify and account for the consequences of my actions. Yeah, I take my pleasure where I can get it, but there’s little risk. I make sure of it. And my business affairs are always well planned and researched. I’ve never let someone push me into anything that I didn’t want to do. Not William O’Neal. Not even Weatherly O’Neal. I know what I’m doing, even if they don’t.

  “You know, Mr. O’Neal, I really would’ve expected a man of your intelligence and business acumen to be a better judge of character, but I suppose that’s my mistake.” I lean up in my chair, staking Weatherly’s father to his chair with my gaze, and I invite, “Look into my eyes and tell me that you’re fool enough to think you can goad me into doing something that I don’t want to do.”

  He leans forward and glares right back at me. “I’m hoping I can goad you into leaving my daughter the hell alone.”

  I stand so quickly my chair rocks behind me, nearly tipping over. I place both hands flat on the table and I bend slightly forward so that he can hear my low voice plainly. “Rest assured that this decision will be up to your daughter, because I’m damn sure not throwing her away to the selfish whims of her jackass of a father.”

  For the first time since he started with his barbs, I look to Weatherly. She’s sitting, still and quiet, in her chair watching me. As I walk around the end of the table and approach her, her amethyst eyes shine up into mine with something between excitement and amusement and maybe a little awe. I bet she doesn’t see people stand up to her father very often.

  I reach for her hand, bringing it to my lips. I kiss the very spot where a ring should be. That was an asinine oversight on my part. “How about that ride on a four-wheeler?”

  Her lips twitch up into a small grin even as her pupils dilate with anticipation of what’s to come. She knows what kind of a ride I mean—the kind that we spoke of last night.

  “I think that sounds like a spectacular idea,” she says, standing.

  “Gentlemen.” I smile and nod at both William and Michael. “Don’t wait up.”

  NINETEEN

  Weatherly

  I’m shaking. Whether from the conflict at dinner or the idea of what’s to come with Tag, I don’t know, but I feel like I might spontaneously combust.

  I hear the unmistakable whine of the four-wheeler engine as Tag races from the farthest building, up the path toward the main house. I descend the steps when he hits the concrete of the driveway. He stops and holds out his hand, which I take as I climb on behind him. His head is turned toward me as I situate my legs on either side of his slim hips, so I meet his eyes when I go to wrap my arms around his waist. I pause when I see him looking at me. His eyes are bright and bottomless in the glow of the moonlight, full of something that makes my insides shiver. He leans forward just enough to kiss me, a soft brush of his lips over mine. I’m not sure what the gesture says, but my heart interprets it as something amazing and trembles with delight.

  He turns and hits the accelerator, and we speed off toward the upper field and the mountains beyond. I don’t know where he’s taking me; I just hold on and enjoy the ride. There’s something heady and unpredictable about being with Tag. He’s a different kind of animal and he lights up the sky of my bland, uneventful existence. I think I’m becoming addicted to his particular brand of wild.

  The night is hot and sticky around me despite the breeze rolling out from between the trees up ahead. It intensifies the scent of Tag’s skin. It exaggerates the feel of his body between my legs. Everything from the passing landscape to the moon in the sky seems . . . better. New. Exciting. Nothing like what my life has held up to this point.

  Tag drives us straight into the forest, darting around trees so quickly it almost makes me dizzy. It’s easy to see that he’s traveled this path a million times before, while I’ve never been in the forest once in my entire life. He has lived free from the moment of his birth. I’ve lived in captivity since the moment of mine.

  The path forks and Tag takes the right curve, sending us climbing up a small incline and then dipping sharply down on the other side. Tag continues until the trees suddenly part, revealing a waterfall nestled in among the crags and hollows of the mountainside.

  Water spills roughly over the rocks like liquid silver, and when Tag cuts the engine I hear the distant hiss of its flow. I stare out at the view with my chin resting on Tag’s shoulder. Something about the moment is familiar, as though we’ve been here a million times. Together. Although we’ve only really known each other a few days, it’s as though we’ve known each other forever.

  “Come around here,” Tag says quietly, his voice as rough and beautiful as the waterfall. I start to ease off the bike, but he stops me. “No, like this.” He holds his arm up and urges me to climb under it and then into his lap. I’m thankful that the skirt I’m wearing is loose.

  When I’m settled with my legs wrapped around his waist, Tag clasps his hands at my lower back, his eyes shining down in to mine.

  “Marry me,” he says quietly.

  “Pardon?”

  His lips pull up into a gorgeous smile that shows his perfect white teeth and reminds me why he is so irresistible. “I said, ‘marry me.’ Please.”

  I grin. “That’s what I was waiting on. The ‘please.’”

  He says nothing at my sarcasm, just continues smiling. But when he does speak again, so softly that I have to strain to hear him, it echoes through me as if he’d shouted the words. They stir something deep within me. “Marry me, my fair Weatherly. I want you to marry me. I want you to be mine.”

  I’m stunned and breathless and thrilled. It’s completely insane and totally, inconceivably crazy, yet I want to say yes so much it hurts. I don’t know why. I don’t know if I’m nuts. I don’t know if it’s stupid and impulsive and irresponsible. All I know is that it feels right.

  But I have to ask . . .

  “Why? Why would you want to marry me? What’s in it for you?”

  Tag unfolds his hands a
nd brings them around to my front. Slowly, he unbuttons my sleeveless shirt, revealing my lacy bra underneath. “Well, there are these. These are in it for me.” He leans forward and sucks one nipple through the thin material. Heat pours into my panties.

  He’s not finished, though. His hands continue down my stomach, onto my thighs where they slide back up, under my skirt. Pushing my panties aside, his fingers find my entrance and he eases them inside. He presses hard and deep, his three digits rubbing me from the inside. “And this. This is in it for me.”

  As he works magic from within my throbbing center, his eyes never leave mine. “B-but this is just sex,” I tell him on a pant, even though I don’t believe that at all. At least not for me. But I’m quickly losing interest in the conversation.

  “Is it? Is it just sex when you’re all I can think about?” he asks, nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth before pulling it into his mouth. “Is it just sex when you do this to me every time you cross my mind?” He unzips his pants and frees the broad head of his erection. I can see a single drop of semen glistening on the smooth crown. “Every time you walk into a room, open those beautiful lips, capture me with those dazzling eyes?”

  Curious, I reach between us and run my finger over him, swiping up the drop of moisture and bringing it to my lips. I lick the tip, savoring the flavor of him as I bring my eyes back up to his. They’re darker now, serious. Vicious almost.

  Without warning, Tag crushes me to him. My bones shift. My muscles give. My flesh concedes.