I should probably be glad that he’s not trying so desperately to get in my pants. I mean, he is likely never in need of willing company, the thought of which sets my teeth on edge. But still, I’m strangely insulted that he’s so . . . gentlemanly. Which is utterly ridiculous.
Yet, that’s how I feel. Insulted. Challenged, even. He’s so perfectly in control, as though he has set some pace that I have no say in. While the normal Weatherly wouldn’t have a problem with that because she’s accustomed to following the rules that others prescribe, this Weatherly—the rebellious woman who’s throwing caution to the wind—is far from okay with it.
If he thinks he’s in control of me, I guess it’ll be up to me to show him different.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, slowly pushing the covers away and swinging my legs off the bed. He stops in the center of the room, his stance casual, his expression shadowed.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just forgot that I left my toothbrush in here.”
“Your toothbrush?” I ask, coming to my feet and taking a few steps forward, just enough to throw my body into the wedge of moonlight with him. I push my long hair back, letting my fingers trail down my neck and across my collarbone. “Why would your toothbrush be in here?”
“Because the cottage is being repaired and your father said that it would be fine for me to stay in a room here until it’s completed.”
“So you chose this room?”
He takes one step forward. “It has the best view.” Even in the low light, I see his eyes sweep me from head to toe. Whether in response to his unabashed scrutiny or to the game I’m playing, I don’t know, but my nipples bead. I feel them strain against the slick material of my thigh-length nightgown.
“What’s your favorite part?” I ask, my voice strangely coarse.
“The mountains. The view from right here is stunning. Their peaks are beautiful. Almost close enough for me to reach out and touch, it seems.”
Oh God! I feel like groaning. Does he seriously do that on purpose?
I inhale deeply, sharply, my aching flesh pressing even further into the cool silk. I hear Tag’s breath hiss through his teeth and I’m gratified that he’s at least as bothered as I am.
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I ask again, taking one last step closer. We are nearly chest to chest. I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
“No, nothing’s wrong. Everything is perfect. Just perfect.”
Neither of us makes a sound or a move. I wonder if he’ll kiss me. I wonder if he won’t. I wonder if I have the nerve to do it if he doesn’t.
And then I get my answer. At least one of them. I take a single step back and clear my throat. “Well, I’ll let you get what you need, then.” A vague invitation. Too vague? I don’t know.
I turn and walk slowly back to the bed, bending over at the waist to straighten my covers. I feel the lacy hem of my nightie ride up the backs of my thighs, grazing the curve of my butt. I’d almost swear that I could actually feel the hot touch of his eyes on my hips and legs before I slip into bed.
I pull the covers up to my belly and rest my head on my pillow, turning to look questioningly up at him. He’s watching me. Staring as though he’s stuck in indecision. I don’t know what I could do to move him in one direction or the other, so I simply stare back.
After several long, unnerving seconds, Tag nods and heads for the bathroom. I hear the cabinet open. I hear it close. I don’t remember seeing a stray toothbrush in there when I put my things away, but to say I was distracted would be the understatement of the year. There could’ve been a rattlesnake in there and I might not have noticed.
When Tag reappears from the bathroom, he’s empty-handed. “Mom must’ve thrown it away when she cleaned. I thought I got everything out when I moved my things, but . . .”
“So where are you sleeping now?”
“At the other end of the hall.”
“Oh,” I reply, my skin warming at the thought of him being so close. All night long.
“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He backs toward the door and every cell of my body is screaming for him to come to the bed. I need you! I need you!
But I don’t admit to that. Rather, I smile and say, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he returns, easing back out the way he came. It’s right before he closes the door that I hear his soft, “Sweet dreams, fair Weatherly.” And then he’s gone.
—
I’m on my side with the covers pulled up over my shoulders, facing the door when it opens. The muted creak brings me out of my semi-sleep with pulse-pounding speed. My eyes adjust quickly enough to recognize that the short blonde walking into my room is not Tag.