Brave Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #3)(9)

“Are you always so honest, then?”

“I try to be,” I answer carefully, knowing that my honesty definitely has its limits right now. Some things are just more important. They have to come first. But I can’t really tell her that either.

“Ah, so no promises of absolute truth?”

“I think promises of absolute truth are usually lies in and of themselves. Haven’t you found that to be true?”

“No one has ever bothered to promise me the absolute truth before.”

I set down my glass and lean forward, taking one of her hands from where it rests in her lap. “Then how about this? I promise to tell you the absolute truth about everything I’m feeling.”

She leans forward, too, putting her face, her delectable lips, even closer to mine. “Why would you think that would matter to me?”

“Because if you stay here very long, there’s going to be more between us, and I don’t want you wondering if I’m feeding you a line of shit or not.”

“Starting now?”

“Starting now.”

“Then tell me, honest Tag, what is it you see happening here?”

“I see me wanting to kiss you the longer I stare at that incredible mouth. I see that you’re curious about whether I will. And I see that kiss turning into something more.”

“What’s ‘more’?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“My life is extremely complicated right now.”

“Sounds like it. But this doesn’t have to be. You intrigue me. Not because of your money or your father or what country club you belong to. Just you. The way you smile, what you’re thinking behind those violet eyes, how your skin will feel under my hands. Maybe I’m just what you need right now.”

“How will I know?” she asks softly, her face oddly vulnerable. Her big eyes hold her every insecurity and, if anything, I’m even more intrigued.

“Oh, you’ll know, fair Weatherly. You’ll know.”





FIVE


Weatherly

With his swirling silver eyes sucking me into them like a vortex, Tag lifts my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. I feel his warm breath and the soft friction like a teasing caress between my legs. I’ve never met someone so . . . so . . . potent. Everything about him works together to form a powerfully persuasive concoction—his mesmerizing eyes, his cocky grin, his voice, his words, his sexily innocuous taunts. I’m not even sure he set out to seduce me, yet that’s exactly what’s happening.

Maybe I was in need of seduction. Maybe I was in such need of something so extraordinarily not me that I was ripe for the picking. For his picking. Or maybe this chance encounter is simply the intersection of all the right conditions coming together to create the perfect storm of emotion and attraction and opportunity. I don’t really know, and the thing is, I don’t think I really want to. Everything in my life has to be given such thoughtful consideration—how it will reflect on the family, how it will affect my future, how controllable the end result will be. But this doesn’t. This is just mine. It has nothing to do with my family or my future. It’s mine. Mine alone. And I’ve never had anything that’s just mine before. Maybe that’s why I’m throwing myself into this with such a marked lack of thought and caution. It might be the only time in my life that I can.

“So,” Tag says, releasing my hand and leaning back. His face settles into a friendly smile and he raises his fork to dig into his food. “Tell me about this charity you’re so passionate about.”

And so I do. I tell him about Safe Passage, about the staggering number of children in the Atlanta area who go hungry each day. I tell him about the strides we’re making in reaching more and more kids, and how rewarding the results are. Conversation flows naturally from that. Naturally and effortlessly. Like we’ve known each other all our lives, despite the fact that we only met a few hours ago. As strange as it sounds, I’m more comfortable with him than I can ever remember being.

“Are you two still in here?” Stella asks when she pokes her head in from the kitchen.

Tag winks at me before he turns to speak to his mother. “I can’t get her to shut up, but you don’t need to make her feel bad about it, Mom.” She waves him off with her hand and he chuckles.

“By all means, blame it on me,” I say acerbically.

“She knows me better than to think I could be held here against my will.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve bored you going on and on about Safe Passage. I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” I’m genuinely surprised to see that it’s nearly eleven.

“I’ve enjoyed every minute. I like hearing what you’re passionate about.”

How does he do that? Make every word sound devilishly delicious? He makes it seem as though everything that passes between us, no matter how innocuous, is intimate.

“Maybe next time you can tell me what you’re passionate about.”

“I’d be happy to.”

There’s a protracted pause during which my nerves begin to jangle. “Well, I suppose I’d better get to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure you’re tired,” he adds. But he makes no move to get up. He just watches me with those disturbingly fluid eyes.