Brave Enough(16)
“Weatherly,” he breathes, running the tip of his tongue over my bottom lip in a leisurely lick. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so much.”
His mouth teases mine as he speaks, each word a delicate caress that touches my lips and then resonates through me in featherlight shockwaves.
His tongue traces a silky line to the corner of my mouth and then kisses that spot. “Open for me,” he says.
I do. Instantly. He doesn’t have to ask twice.
I part my lips and welcome Tag in. His mouth covers mine and his tongue dips inside, beginning as a tentative exploration. One hand sweeps up my back and curls around my nape, Tag’s fingers weaving into my hair. Chills spread down my arms and I lean into him, sinking into his kiss like it’s a pool of warm, inviting honey.
A soft moan escapes my throat. Seconds later, an answering growl vibrates in Tag’s chest. And then I feel fire. The tilt of his head is the only warning I get before his other hand slides around my waist and crushes me to him.
Tag’s lips become fierce. Hungry. His tongue becomes persistent. Persuasive. All the palpable chemistry between us ignites, exploding into the voracious devouring that I was expecting from the start.
I’m not ready for it to be over when he pulls away, panting as hard as I am. We’re still mashed together from chest to thigh and I can feel the race of his heart, mirroring my own. “Holy shit!” he breathes.
“Wow,” I whisper, feeling dizzy and off-kilter after those few whirlwind seconds.
Tag’s lovely lips split into a smug grin. “Damn right. See how good we are together?”
I say nothing. I don’t argue. Because I can’t. There’s simply no denying that there’s something powerful between us. Maybe it’s just physical. Maybe it’s something more. I have no way of knowing and only one way of finding out.
Jump.
Dive in.
Let go.
It’s inappropriate. He’s all wrong for me. My father would kill me. But none of that matters. In my world it would. But I’m not in my world. Like Tag said, I’m in his. And here, we are the only thing that matters.
His lips take mine again, this time in a slower exploration, tasting me like he might taste a fine wine. Savoring. Relishing. Memorizing every deep, sultry note of my mouth. When he pulls away again, I nearly groan. I could spend the entire day kissing him, steeping in the way he makes me feel.
“Spend the day with me. Get to know me. Let me reacquaint you with Chiara. Let me show you.”
“Show me what?”
“Show you everything.”
My hesitation is brief. Very brief. He’s offering me his time, his patience, his world. And I’m willing to take it all. Learn it all. Experience it all. “Okay,” I say in immediate agreement. “Show me.”
—
I stand at the bottom of the front steps, waiting, looking out at the beautiful landscape. Chiara is set in the lower third of Brasstown Bald. It’s part of the Appalachian mountain range as well as the highest point in all of Georgia. The steep grade is perfect for raising grapes. The rain, characteristic of our hot, humid summers, just runs right off, ensuring that the roots of the vines don’t rot. It also provides earth that is conducive to several varieties of grapes, as well as an ever-present breeze and some of the state’s most amazing views. I drink in the gorgeous and unruly mountains, glad once more that I came here for refuge. They’ve always held a piece of my soul, much like Chiara herself has, and I feel the pull now more than ever.
I hear the high whine of an engine and I bring my thoughts back to what I’m doing here—waiting. I didn’t know quite what to expect when Tag brought me back to the house, asked if I had some shorts and then told me to go change and meet him out front in ten minutes. But now, watching him pull up in the circular drive on the back of a mean-looking four-wheeler, I have all the clarification I need.
“Climb on, baby. I’m gonna take you for the ride of your life,” he says with a mischievous wink.
My insides jump and twitch at what lies just beneath his words. I don’t doubt for a second that every minute spent with Tag could qualify as the ride of a lifetime. He’s wearing faded jeans and a white tank top that shows off his broad, tan shoulders, and his eyes are shielded by sexy sunglasses. Everything about him is alluring, exciting, mesmerizing. His looks, his words, his smile, his touch—together or apart, they pull me in like the earth pulls the moon.
Tag pats the seat behind him, his grin as dazzling as the bright, hot Georgia sun. Something tells me that even if my brain started firing off no, no, no, my heart would still propel my body forward. It seems to control my legs—making them move toward him, making them weak when I think about his kiss.