Brave Enough(14)

The sun slicing through the trees illuminates her eyes behind the reflective glass. I can see that she’s softening, but I wish she’d take them off. I want to see the color. That exotic violet blue visited me in my dreams last night. I want to see if they’re the same brilliant color I remember them being, if the morning can do my memory justice.

She drops her book to her lap and gives me her full attention. “Do you make a habit of leaving the doors unlocked and telling people to just come on in?”

I shrug. “We’re way up here with no one else around for miles. Why not?”

“Well, I can think of several reasons.”

“If it makes you more comfortable, I can start locking them at night.”

“It would, thank you. And maybe if you’d have your guests arrive at a decent hour.”

My lips want to curve, but I keep them straight and steady. “Absolutely. Anything else?”

“You might tell her that any self-respecting woman doesn’t make two a.m. booty calls.”

This time, I let my grin break free. “I’ll be sure to pass that along if I ever see her again.”

“Don’t stop on my account. It’s none of my business who you see.”

“It is if you want it to be. In fact, I’d like for it to be your business.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re the type of woman who wants a man’s undivided attention and I’d love nothing more than to give it to you.”

She shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t think—”

“I thought you were letting go, not thinking.”

“That was before I met Amber.”

“Don’t give Amber another thought. I promise you that I won’t.”

Her frown gets deeper as she thinks. As she fights giving in. She wants to, I think, but she’s torn. I just need to batter away at her resistance until we can get back to where we were last night when she was taunting me with peeks of her delicious ass bathed in moonlight. I didn’t want to press her too soon last night. This is new for her. I get it. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t, too, considering that Amber showed up a short time later. But still, it’s hard for me not to regret letting her get back into her bed. Alone.

Amber was more than happy to help me work off my fascination, but I wasn’t interested. I had no trouble telling her no and sending her on her way. If I thought about that very much, it might worry me. That’s not like me. But right now all I’m thinking about is the delectable, enchanting woman in front of me.

“She is gone, isn’t she?” she asks dryly.

“I asked her to leave about five seconds after she showed up in my doorway. I was really hoping it’d be you and when I saw that it wasn’t . . .”

“Why would you think I’d be showing up in your bedroom at two in the morning?”

“Wishful thinking, I guess. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked in that silky little thing you sleep in.”

Her lips part, her cheeks stain. “Well I can assure you that I won’t be showing up at your bedroom door anytime soon.”

“I can wait.”

I can tell when she straightens in her chair that she’s getting ready to argue—just for the sake of her pride, of course—so I quickly change the subject. “How about a taste of a new grape I’m trying? They’re Blanc du Bois.”

“Isn’t it a little early for wine?”

I straighten and hold out my hand as I smile down at her. “It’s never too early for wine.”

“You sound like my father,” she says, closing her book and sliding her fingers over my palm.

“I sound like a winemaker.”

“That you do.”





SEVEN


Weatherly

Tag is a masculine force to be reckoned with. Dear God, when his attention is concentrated so solely on me, I find it hard to think about anything except him. The way his eyes seem lighter when he laughs. The way he glances at my lips when I talk and then licks his own, like he’s thinking of tasting me. The way he tilts his head to one side when he’s considering something I’ve said. The way he touches his palm to my lower back when we move from one place to another. Everything about him has this magnetic quality to it—his voice, his eyes, his laugh, his smile—and I’m drawn. Attracted. Fascinated, even though I’m still trying not to be.

I was ready to run recklessly into something with him. It felt immediately right and wild and rebellious. But when Amber showed up last night . . . well, that put things into perspective for me. While I might want to be a casual Amber kind of girl for a few weeks, the reality is that I’m not. I don’t like to share and I don’t like the idea of being worn for a day and then tossed aside. Maybe it’s my breeding. Maybe it’s the way I was raised. Maybe it’s my lack of a more normal childhood. I don’t know, but there are limits to how much caution I can throw to the wind and still be able to live with myself. Last night, I found the first limit.