Brave Enough (11 page)

Weatherly

What in the name of all that's holy have I gotten myself into?
I think as Tag reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. It's an intimate, comfortable gesture that two people who really
are
engaged might indulge in. But we aren't. And I'm terrified that this ruse is going to start feeling too real. If it hasn't already.

Tag brings our entwined fingers to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Let me bring you a no-longer-warm breakfast. Let's start over. The right way. The way I intended for this morning to go,” he says, staring deep into my eyes. I feel myself falling helplessly into his stormy gaze. Falling, falling, falling until I'm lost in the tornado once more. He does it so effortlessly—pulls me in. It's not all his fault, though. Part of the problem is that I find myself wanting to fall. Badly. I find myself wanting this to be real, wishing this could be my chance at happiness, happiness that has nothing
to do with money or power or holdings or business. I want those things to be mine. All mine. I want Tag to be mine. That's why it nearly leveled me to see him holding a naked woman in his arms.

I nod and smile through the memory, tearing it up like a piece of paper and letting the tiny slivers slip through my fingers to be carried away by the wind. I don't want them anymore. I don't want to think back on that. Ever again.

Tag turns, eyes still on mine, half grin still on his face, and tugs me back toward the house. He doesn't let me go. All the way back to the house, he holds me. My hand with his. My eyes with his. And that's
more than
fine with me. I don't want to look at my father, who I know is still standing on the steps. I can feel his angry energy like cold air blowing through my soul.

He won't be ignored, though. When we mount the stairs and move to pass him, he reaches out to grab my arm, stopping me and forcing me to meet his disapproving eyes.

“Don't do this, Weatherly. Don't throw away your future on a whim.”

“This isn't a whim, Dad. This is my life.”

“You're telling me that you love him?” he asks, tipping his head toward Tag but not deigning to look at him.

I inhale deeply through my nose. “Yes. I love him.”

I feel Tag's fingers twitch around my own, squeezing them a little tighter. I don't know if it's panic or what, and I don't look at him to find out. Although I know it's insane since we only just met, really, but I don't want to see him shudder or shirk away from that word. It feels too right,
too true
when I say it aloud, even though it's just what I had to tell my father.

Dad flings my arm away. “I raised you better than this. Better than
him
. He's a common field worker, for chrissake,” he hisses, his voice dropping slightly as though he knows what he's saying is in poor taste, regardless of his feelings for my engagement to Tag. “I'm sure he's a fine enough man, like his father, but he'll never be able to take care of you. This is exactly,
precisely
why I didn't want you making this decision for yourself.”

“So you're not even going to pretend that my happiness matters in all this?”

“You don't have the first idea what will make you happy, Weatherly. You've been sheltered your entire life. But I won't shelter you anymore. If you do this, so help me God, I won't protect you.”

“I never asked you to,” I tell him, raising my chin defiantly and holding his gaze. “Stay if you want, but don't think that your presence here will change my mind. It only strengthens my resolve.”

With that, I nod once and turn from my father, walking stiff-backed through the door and into the house.

—

“I'm sorry you had to hear my father say those things. He has no idea who you really are. He's just . . . he's a . . .”

I hear the soft rumble of Tag's chuckle. “Sticks and stones, Weatherly. Sticks and stones.”

I let the conversation drop, unwilling to let my father mar one more second of my time with this man.

Tag sits up suddenly, resting his hand on my bare stomach. “Come down to Enchantment with me today.”

I love the excitement on his face, even though I'm sort of exhausted by it. After an orgasm-filled, nearly sleepless night, a dramatic morning, the world's most romantic picnic on my bed, and then incredibly slow, sensual sex, my energy level is at rock bottom.

Yet, as I look up into Tag's handsome face, as I lose myself in his swirling silver eyes, I feel my enthusiasm return. This man, this gorgeous, charismatic, highly desirable man, wants to spend the day with me. Why would I
not
be enthusiastic about that?

“For what?” I ask. After such an emotional hour or so, I don't want to seem
too
eager. Even though I am. I think I've revealed quite enough of myself to Tag for one day.

“I want you to meet some of my friends.”

I'm immediately skeptical. “The ones who sent Cher?”

He cringes visibly. “Yes, but that's why I want you to meet them.”

That seems backward, but whatever. And truth be told, I'm interested in Tag's friends, in his life outside this place.

My hesitation must make him think I need convincing. “While yes, Rogan is the one who sent Cher, he's really a great guy. He's just got a . . . different sense of humor. He's like a brother to me, though,” he confesses, his expression turning serious. “We were in the military together. Spent several years in Delta Five together. Right up until I had to come home. He's saved my life more times than I can count. We've
all
saved each other's life dozens of times. He's as much family as my mom is.”

After hearing that, a team of guerilla warfare experts couldn't keep me away. “Sounds like a trip I don't want to miss.”

“Oh, so
that's
what it takes to convince you,” Tag complains,
flopping down on top of me. “It wasn't enough that you get to spend the day
with me.
” He bends his head to capture a nipple, worrying it with his lips and tongue until it comes to a tingling, begging peak.

“It's not that at all,” I tell him in an already breathy voice. “It just took a pretty tempting offer to get me to leave this bed today.”

He lifts his head and pins me with his gleaming gray eyes. They're so pale they seem almost backlit in the olive expanse of his face. “Well, when you put it
like that
, I don't want to go now. I didn't realize staying in bed all day was an option.”

I can feel the pressure of his growing erection against the inside of my thigh. “I think that should
always
be an option,” I respond, my heart melting as quickly as my bones beneath the passionate intensity of his gaze.

“Mmmm, the perfect woman,” he says, trailing his hand down my belly to my simmering center. “Just perfect.”

My last thought is that I guess Enchantment can wait for another hour or so.

—

I might be sheltered and well bred, but I doubt there's a woman with a pulse who doesn't know who Kiefer Rogan is. MMA champ, Hollywood up-and-comer, playboy charmer—his face has littered dozens of magazines and gossip sheets since he started dating vacuous starlets. I had no idea that
Tag's
Rogan was
that
Rogan until we pulled up in front of a gorgeous, contemporary home in the gated hills of Enchantment's “little Hollywood” subdivision. I was immediately uncomfortable and wished that I'd
opted for staying in bed after all. But it was too late to back out, so I let Tag drag me up the geometric walk to a tall front door.

The beautiful woman who answered Tag's knock, however, was not at all what I was expecting. I took to Katie instantly. I doubt I've ever met a more down-to-earth, relatable person than Katie. While she's extremely pretty with her rich auburn hair and her twinkling blue eyes, she also has some scarring down the side of her neck. While it doesn't detract from her in the least, I admire the fact that, in the world of glamorous perfection in which Rogan obviously lives, she is comfortable with who she is, flaws and all. I'm sure it helps that Rogan adores her. It was obvious from the moment he trotted up behind her at the door, kissing her scarred neck and smiling happily at us from over her petite head that he thinks she hung the moon.

“Tag, good to see you, man,” Rogan said, pulling him in for a bear hug.

After the two men released each other, Tag then leaned in to kiss Katie on the cheek. “He still hasn't managed to run you off, I see.”

Katie smiled and twisted to look up at Rogan over her shoulder. “He's never getting rid of me.”

“Not if I have to chain you to my bed,” he'd answered. His expression had taken on a wicked look. “Wait, on second thought, try to leave. I wouldn't mind chaining you to the bed for a few days.”

Katie had playfully ribbed him in the stomach. It was plain to see that they're incredibly well suited and happy together. My heart stung with envy from that point on.

Now, however, as I get to know them both over imported beer
and homemade pizza (made in a brick oven built into the outdoor fireplace by the pool), I find that I'm thrilled for them. Just thrilled, even if I'm never able to have something so wonderful in my life.

“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.