Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(33)

“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.