Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(8)

“But you hardly know me. In fact, you don’t know me.”

“But I want to.”

She nods slowly, her violet eyes never leaving mine. I can all but see the wheels of her mind spinning.

“You’re running from something. Care to tell me what that is?”

Shock. That’s what’s written all over her face. Good old-fashioned shock. “Wh-what makes you say that?”

“I’ve run from things before. I know the look.”

“Well, you . . . I . . . It’s not . . .”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me what it is rather than trying to make up excuses? You know you want to.”

“I most certainly do not!” she denies vehemently, but I can also see on her face that she very much does.

“Liar.”

“I am not. I—”

“Sometimes a perfect stranger can be a great sounding board. No attachments. No judgments. Nothing to fear. Just someone to listen. And maybe even help.”

“Trust me, there’s nothing you could do to help me.”

“You’d be surprised by what I’m capable of,” I tell her, deadpan. And she would. I’ve killed, I’ve stolen, I’ve pillaged and plundered. Well, sort of. But I’ve also saved and sacrificed, confessed and surrendered.

She starts to say something, her exquisite lips parting and then slowly closing again. “It’s my father. He wants me to marry someone who’s not of my choosing.”

“A business connection, I presume?”

She nods once. She’s looking down at her fork where she turns it up on its side and then rolls it to the other. Back and forth, back and forth. “He’s a nice man, but I never wanted to marry someone for reasons other than love.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple. My father . . .” Her sigh is deep and mournful. “I run a charity that’s very important to me. A children’s charity. To provide the hungry with food. He doesn’t want to invest more money into it, but I do. I was going to invest some of my money once my trust fund matures when I turn twenty-five in a few months, but he’s going to revoke the trust if I don’t marry Michael before then.”

In most of modern society, that shit doesn’t happen anymore. But in Weatherly’s circles, and with men like William O’Neal? Who the hell knows what goes on?

“Why the rush? Why now?”

“Another company has been trying to get my father to sell a considerable amount of his holdings at less than market value because the stock has dropped. There have been some . . . financial problems in the last couple of years. But he doesn’t want to sell. Now the other company is moving into a hostile takeover and this is my father’s only way out. Michael is his only way out, or so he thinks.”

“And does Michael want to marry you? Or is it strictly business for him, too?”

She shrugs, a vague movement of only one shoulder. “I suppose he does. He’s always been . . . interested, I guess.”

“I can imagine. You’re an intelligent, well-bred, beautiful woman. What’s not to like?”

“Wow! I’ve never felt more like a show horse.”

“No, not a show horse. Just a very desirable catch, that’s all.”

Her eyes snap up to mine. They’re shooting fire, violet sparks spitting out at me from around her wide, angry pupils. “And is that supposed to be enough for me? That he wants me? Is it so unthinkable that I would want to love the man I marry? That I would want to want him? To like him? That I would want to enjoy his company?”

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“And yet . . . here I am, being forced into this like it’s 1850.”

“So you’ve come here to think of a way out, is that it? Is that the rebellion?”

“Yes. As pathetic as that is, that’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”

“Well maybe I can help.”

“And just how, exactly, do you propose to do that?”

It’s more her phrasing that catches me off guard than anything. And it gives me an idea. But that’s another discussion for another day. Right now, I need to salvage the evening.

“I’ve been known to think strategically a time or two in my life. Maybe I can think of something. If not, maybe I can at least take your mind off things. Maybe just not being so overwhelmed by it will open you up to new possibilities.”

I wink at her and her face slowly softens. I think she wants to abandon this topic as much as I do.

“New possibilities?” she asks, a smile running through her voice like a golden thread. “Is that code? Are you a new possibility?”

“Hell yeah, I am,” I admit, pinning her with my gaze as I sip my wine. The sweetness pours over my tongue and I think to myself that she will taste just as sweet, just as intoxicating. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.

She tilts her head to one side as she considers me. It’s a subtly sexy move that hits its mark. “Are you like this with every woman you meet?”

“Like what?”

“So charming and flirtatious. So . . . forward.”

“Am I being forward? I didn’t mean to be. I thought I was just being honest.” She narrows her eyes on me. Not really in suspicion, but more like she’s trying to see inside my head. “Maybe you’re just not used to honesty,” I offer casually.