Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(54)

Tag turns to me now. His face softens and I’m reminded again of how amazing he can be, of how happy I was with him. For a while. Before he broke my heart.

“Of course it was me. I knew it meant a lot to you. And I figured you’d marry Michael if you had to, just to save those kids.”

“And you couldn’t have that, could you?” my father sneers. “You couldn’t risk anyone getting to it through my daughter before you.”

“I can’t deny that. I didn’t want anyone else involved with Chiara, anyone who might influence Weatherly. Anyone who might pose a threat to the only home my mother has known in nearly thirty years. But donating to Weatherly’s charity is hardly the act of a monster.”

“Then why marry her? Why do this to her if your intentions were so pure?”

“At first, it was just a stall tactic. I had to buy some time. When she told me about Safe Passage, I knew that could be the answer. She wouldn’t have to marry then. I could buy Chiara from her and my mother would be safe. I knew she would never make Mom leave. I knew she wasn’t like you. But then . . .”

My father glares silently at Tag, waiting. I’m the one who prompts him when his pause drags on.

“But then what?”

“But then I started to really want to marry you,” he says quietly, his smoky gray eyes sucking me in, fogging my resolve.

“If what you say is true, then why hide who you were? Once you made the donation, why hide that you’re Jameson Randolph’s son?”

“I knew she’d hate me. I knew this would happen. And I didn’t want it to.”

“Just how long did you think you could keep it from her? How long did you think you could hide it?”

Tag shrugs. “As long as I needed to. It’s surprisingly easy to cloak ones identity when money is no object.”

“So you’d have lied to me forever?” I ask, the tiny kernel of hope I’d begun to foster shriveling up inside me.

“Honestly?” he asks, stepping closer to me. “If I thought telling you the truth could cost me you, then yes. I’d have lied to you forever. I didn’t realize until recently that I’d do just about anything to have you in my life. To make you happy. And I knew this would make you hate me.”

I don’t know how he can make the confession of willfully lying to me sound so much like a confession of love, but I’m struggling to retain my anger. My father must see that, too, though. And he takes measure to restore it.

“If you think for one second that your smooth talking will get you out of this, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. You manipulated my daughter. You used her, lied to her and just admitted to having no problem with doing it forever if it suits your purposes. The best thing you can do for yourself is leave her the hell alone. This is going to get ugly enough for you as it is. You can trust me on that.”

Tag is still watching me, his eyes pleading with me, as my father stomps to the door and jerks it open.

“I suggest you do the smart thing and get out of here before I call the police.”

“I’m her husband,” Tag informs in a husky voice. It’s a statement of fact, yes, but it also has a possessive ring to it that stirs something primal in me. It’s as though he’s saying that I’m his and that no one can do a damn thing about it.

The words . . . the tone . . . the look in his eyes . . . Chills spread down my back.

“Not for long,” Dad growls. “Now get out!”

“I’ll need to hear her tell me that, if it’s all the same to you.”

He’s standing so close. His scent is so achingly familiar. There are still parts of me that gravitate toward him, that want to lean in to him like a freezing person might lean in to heat.

But he hurt me. He lied to me. He manipulated me. Those are facts, too. I’m not sure I will ever be able to trust him again. Not after this. No matter how much my heart wants me to.

“You need to go, Tag. It’s for the best. This was a mistake, right from the start.”

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice low. “You can’t mean that.”

“What did you expect, Tag? You lied to me. Right from the beginning. How did you think this would end?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t expect it to end. I didn’t want it to. I know I didn’t tell you on our wedding day, but I thought this would be forever. I . . . I know now that I should’ve told you, but I thought I made that clear in every second that we spent together.” He moves in close, his voice reduced to a breathy whisper that my father would have no hope of hearing. “Every touch,” he says, raising his hand as if to touch my face, only to let it fall away before he does. “Every kiss.” His eyes, his tortured, tortured eyes drop to my lips before they close, as if it’s too painful to look at them. To remember.

“Stop, Tag. I can’t . . . This is just . . . You need to leave.” The tremor in my voice is an almost palpable ripple in the air.

I pray to God that he doesn’t know how hard this is for me, how close I am to just falling back into his arms. I’m on the verge of throwing all caution to the wind—again—and giving in. No matter how bad that would be for me, no matter how deeply I could be hurt. In moments like this, when everything between us is sizzling to the surface and emotions are running high, I think I might give up anything—any amount of future pain and heartache—to be with him for just one more day, just one more night.