Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(37)

At dinner, Tag does a great job of keeping conversation focused on Chiara, and when it’s not, we talk softly among ourselves, leaving my father and Michael to do the same. They don’t, though. Mostly, they just glower at us.

And then there are the nights. God, just thinking about them causes my sex to shudder hungrily. Sometimes I think I could lie next to him 24/7 and never get tired of the feel of his touch, of his kiss, of his body working magic within mine. And when he’s not around, like now, it’s as though I can’t quite get comfortable with life until I see him again.

I jump when my phone rings. Surprisingly, I’d almost forgotten it was in my pocket. I grabbed it out of habit after dressing, before I headed down here to the lanai. It hasn’t made a peep in days and I haven’t checked it in just as long. It’s a tie to the outside world (and the problems therein) that I really would rather forget about. The fact that it’s my assistant’s number rather than my mother’s tells me that my father hasn’t told her about Tag yet, which gives me a nice little reprieve.

I stare at the number. I feel the weight of my trust-held-hostage bearing down on me as I move my finger over the green TALK button. As much as I’d like to stay in my happy bubble of oblivion, I can’t ignore my biggest responsibility, so I answer the phone.

“Hi, Deana,” I answer politely, coming to my feet to walk to the edge of the water.

“Hey, Weatherly, sorry to bother you, but I have some news I thought you’d be interested in.”

I can clearly picture Deana’s dark brown eyes sparkling in the rounded contours of her pretty face. Her cheeks are youthfully chubby, even for her twenty-six years, which gives her a perpetually mischievous look, like a chipmunk up to no good.

“What’s that?”

“We got an anonymous donation to Safe Passage.”

I’m not sure what makes that noteworthy. We do very well with donations, but it would take ten times the number of them to keep us moving in the direction that I’ve been planning toward. The direction that would be a breeze if I could get my trust.

For the first time since all this talk of engagements and marriages, the reality of my situation hits me. If I marry Tag, I’m dooming all the kids that I planned to help. Yes, Safe Passage could still do great work, but it would be a greater, broader, more massive effort if it had a few million dollars more.

Guilt and indecision strike. And they strike hard.

“Let me call you right back, Deana,” I tell her quickly, hanging up and stumbling back to drop down onto the end of the chaise I just vacated.

I can’t marry Tag. My father is right. That would be the most irresponsible thing in the world. Not just for my family in light of the Randolph takeover, but for the kids as well. I can’t put my happiness before the needs of starving children. Ultimately, my mother was right. I’m not a selfish person. At least not selfish enough to throw away millions of dollars that could feed thousands and thousands of hungry kids for years to come.

Why do I feel like crying? This was all basically a ruse from the very beginning. It’s not like I’m losing the love of my life.

Right?

Then why does it feel that way? Why does it feel as though I’m giving up something rare and precious and wonderful?

The soft pad of shoes across the patio work to pull me out of the miserable vortex I was sinking into. I glance up to see Tag striding toward me, a pleased half smile drawing his lips up at the corners.

God, he’s amazing! Everything about him is perfect. At least for me. He appeals to me on a deep, soulful level, not just a physical one.

“You waiting for me, gorgeous?” he asks, bending to set his fists on either side of my hips so he can press his lips to mine. As always, a wildfire is kindled within seconds, leaving me well on my way to breathlessness.

“What if I was?” I ask, torn between the dark cloud of my circumstance and the bright sun of Tag’s presence.

“Then wait no more. I’ve come to save the day,” he says playfully.

I can’t help smiling. “You have? And how do you plan to do that?”

“Well, I’d like to start by whisking you away on my four-wheeled chariot. I’ve got something to show you.”

The temptation to leave trouble and worry and inevitability behind for just a little while longer, just a few hours more, is overwhelming. I reach up to wrap my arms around Tag’s neck and bring his face back to mine. “Take me away, kind sir,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his again.

This feels right. It feels like nothing can harm us or affect us when we are together, touching. Tag straightens, pulling me up with him and wraps his arms tight around my waist. I love it when he does this. He holds me like he doesn’t ever want to let me go, like he’s daring anyone to try and take me from him. So possessive. So thrilling.

“Better stop that now, fair Weatherly,” he says softly when he drags his lips from mine. “Or else the only place we’ll be going is upstairs.”

I giggle, feeling like a teenager again. “You aren’t supposed to give me choices like that. I might choose the wrong one.”

“Okay, how about come with me now and then we’ll resume kissing. And go upstairs. If we can make it that far. If not, all I can promise is that I’ll try to find some soft grass.”

I grin up at him. He grins down at me. “Deal.”