Brave Enough (6 page)

“Any more of that and I'm liable to embarrass myself.” His grin is self-deprecating. Tag is clearly the kind of man who's used to a lot of attention and he doesn't seem like the kind to lose control easily. The thought that I might push him to that point makes me feel oddly powerful.

“We can't have that, now, can we?”

“Not when I'm trying to impress you.”

“Why are you trying to impress me?”

“I'm not used to women like you.”

“Women like me?”

“Yeah, women like you.” I want to ask exactly what kind of woman that
is
, but Tag gives the corner of my mouth a quick kiss and then turns around in his seat, ready to take me to the next stop.

“This is probably new since you were here last,” he says,
pausing on the crest of a hill that looks down on twelve long, new rows of vines surrounding a half-finished cottage. I can already see the cozy comfort of it taking shape, though, right down to the wide porch that faces west, overlooking the steep mountainside.

“It's beautiful!”

“Thank you. I can't wait to finish it.”

“You're building it?”

Tag turns a mildly outraged look on me. “Why is that so surprising?”

“I just didn't . . . I didn't realize you were a man of so many talents. That's all.”

His expression melts into the sensually aware one I'm finding so unnerving. “Oh, you have no idea.”

The sun is slanting in on half his face, allowing me to see his eyes behind his glasses. I see them flicker down to my mouth and then back to my eyes. “That kiss back there? That was the Blanc du Bois kiss. Light with some bite. But these are the new merlot vines. They're dark and deep in color, so any kissing here should reflect that, don't you think?”

He's leaning toward me very slowly, giving anticipation plenty of time to collect into a liquid ball in the center of my stomach. I'm so focused on his mouth drawing close that I don't even see his real intent coming. Tag grips me around the waist and hauls me around and into his lap, my legs automatically straddling him. Heat pours into my cheeks at my position, but I don't have one second longer to think about it before Tag is consuming me once again.

He drives his fingers up into my hair, holding me still for the crush of his mouth on mine. This kiss
is
different. It
is
dark and deep. Tag's lips open mine, his tongue shooting hot and ready between them. It licks relentlessly along mine, coaxing and convincing, begging me to give up all thought and control to him.

And I do.

I'm completely lost in sensation when his hands skate down my body to settle at my hips. His fingers dig in and urge my lower body closer to his, rubbing me along the ridge of his very obvious erection. I sigh into his kiss and his answering groan vibrates through the moist recesses of my mouth.

“Damn you,” he growls when he wrenches his lips away. Before I can respond, Tag pulls me into his body again, grinding his hardness between my legs. I gasp, my back arching involuntarily. “You're gonna make me embarrass myself anyway, aren't you?”

“Th-this embarrasses you?” I ask, my core on fire with want. I don't even have the energy to feel ashamed or to second-guess what I'm doing. I wanted to let go, and the moment I did, Tag was right there to catch me. To catch me and to make sure that I couldn't think twice.

“To act like a damn horny teenager every time I see you? To have my cock come throbbing to life every time I think of you?” He releases my hips and I wish for a second that he hadn't, that we could sneak into the half-finished cabin and finish what we started. His boyish grin doesn't help to settle me down either. “It's not the most flattering thing for a man not to be able to control his own body when he's around a woman. But you're not just any woman,
are you?” He studies me with those hypnotic eyes of his and I feel myself falling further and further under his spell. “You're a woman with a body made for sin and a mind full of delicate sensibilities.”

“I don't have delicate sensibilities.”

“I'd bet my life that you do.”

“Well then maybe I don't want to have them while I'm
here
.” And I don't. I don't want to be the same old Weatherly. The same old cautious, self-sacrificing Weatherly I've always been. This might be the last time in my life I'll have a chance to be who I want to be, to do what I want to do. I'll be damned if I'm going to waste it.

I reach for Tag's glasses, pulling them off so that I can see his swirling silver eyes. Even in the light, the pupils are dilated.

His expression isn't playful anymore. He watches me with all the seriousness in the world.

“Do you want to be a risk-taker, Weatherly?” he asks, his voice as dark and deep as the kiss and the merlot grapes. “Do you
really
want me to push you?”

My insides quiver. I nod, afraid that my voice will tremble with the last little bit of uncertainty that I'm hanging on to.

“Starting now?”

I nod again, my pulse picking up the pace.

Slowly, purposefully, his eyes never leaving mine, Tag raises his hand to my left shoulder. He slips one finger under the strap of my tank top and starts to ease it down my arm. I'm immediately uncomfortable, my instincts telling me to stop him, to cover myself. They remind me that we are out in the open and that I hardly know him. They tell me to stop him.

But his eyes tell me not to. They dare me to hold still and let him push me.

So I do.

Tag repeats the movement with my bra strap, tugging it down my arm until my breast sits in the cup like my flesh is being offered to him on the half-shell.

He drags his finger along the strap until he meets the lace of the cup. His eyes are still holding mine, daring me, pushing me. And then he pulls. One short, sharp pull that forces the material over the stiff peak of my nipple.

I gasp, responding to the action itself, the sensation of air and sun on my bare breast, the eroticism of what he's doing, out in the open, all the while watching me. We stare at each other as he brushes his thumb over me, each stroke resonating in my sex as though he's touching me there. Like I want him to. God, how I want him to.

Then Tag drops his gaze. I can almost feel it the instant it clicks to a stop on my nipple. My muscles tense, my blood boils, and the hiss of air through his teeth only exacerbates it.

He leans forward just enough to capture the tip between his lips, laving it with his tongue in a chaste way that makes me ache even deeper. I want to grab his head and force myself into his mouth, but I dare not. We are
still
out in the open and I am
still
trying to shake my sensibilities.

So I let him torture me with soft, slow circles and light, short licks until he lifts his head and rights my bra and tank. “Very good, fair Weatherly,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “
Very
good.”

“I told you,” I tell him breathlessly, more than a little proud of myself.

“You did. But I'm not nearly finished with you,” he states, reaching behind me and revving the engine. The grin that slides across his lips is pure wickedness. “Better hold on tight.”

I realize with a shrill squeal, when he guns the accelerator and we take off flying back up the path, that he meant it literally and figuratively.

Tag

It's ironic that this woman, this woman who's been raised in the world that I so deeply resent, would be the one who makes me feel free from it. At least temporarily. We hate it for different reasons, of course, but I think that we can forget about it in the same way—by drowning it. Drowning it in this hot-as-hell attraction between us. And, soon,
drowning it out
with down-and-dirty sex. God, I can't wait. My teeth are on edge and my cock is hard as a damn concrete block just thinking about getting inside her. What she'll feel like and look like and taste like.

There's no question that she's on board with this. It's foreign to her, I suspect, but maybe that's why it works. She can be whoever the hell she wants to be while she's here with me. And I'm happy to let her. If we met under different circumstances, I get the feeling she wouldn't be nearly as friendly and amenable to spending time
with me. Or if she were, her family wouldn't be. I know all about them. They're a big problem for me, in ways they don't even realize. But I didn't know all about
her
. At least not like I'm getting ready to. I'll know her inside and out, what she likes and what she loves before this day is done.

And it can't get done fast enough.

Weatherly

Before we could enjoy the rest of our trip and the picnic he'd packed, Tag got called away for some business he had to tend to down in Enchantment. I tried to hide my disappointment, but he saw it anyway. He threaded his fingers into my hair and held me still, his eyes pouring down into mine like a mercury spill. “If I didn't
have to
tend to this, I wouldn't leave you. I'd like nothing more than to spend all day kissing you. These lips . . . Jesus!”

He kissed me, making his desire for me clear, but it was his eyes that told me that he, too, was as disappointed as I was. When he released me, he backed away, his eyes on mine, his lips slightly curved. He only made it a few steps before he stepped forward to kiss me again, that time with more heat. But then he did leave, promising to find me when he got back. That was hours ago.

I thought Tag's business was Chiara, but considering the turmoil my family's holdings have been in during recent months, maybe he's been smart enough to make other investments along the way. Although charming to a fault, I get the impression that Tag is a shrewd businessman. His plans for Chiara, a vineyard that he has no control over, is a testament to his passion for the land, but also his head for growth and development.

The knock at my door is hushed, but I hear it instantly. Part of me has been resisting sleep, waiting, hoping Tag would come to me. I know it's insane—and slutty and irresponsible—to want to sleep with a guy that I hardly know and just met, but I don't want to think about that. I don't want to think
at all.
I want to feel. Just feel. For once, I want to do something that's only for me. No one else. I want to do something that's completely spontaneous, totally irresponsible and entirely questionable in every possible way. My mother would be shocked. My father would be angry. But for once, I want to consider only myself, what
I
want, what makes
me
happy.

Before I can call out in answer, the door creaks open and Tag slips in. He is shirtless, wearing only low-hanging jeans and nothing else. Not even shoes. As he walks, his abs clench, the stair-steps drawing my eyes down his belly to the dramatic cuts of muscle that disappear in a V into his waistband.

I sit up as he approaches. He doesn't say a word, just reaches for my hand. I curl my willing fingers around his and let him pull me from the warmth of my bed. My heart is hammering beneath my breastbone and desire is coiling inside my stomach. The time is at hand, the moment has arrived. It's do or die with this man I've
known for a day and can't stop thinking about. Am I going to go down this road with him? Am I going to jump without weighing the risk? Without being able to predict the outcome?

I can feel in my bones that this is my last chance to change my mind. Something is going to happen tonight, and if I don't stop now, there will be no stopping later.

When Tag tugs on my hand, urging me to follow him back to the door, my feet know the answer before my mind does. They follow him without thought, without qualm. Without caution. And just like that, my decision is made. I'm going. And I'm not looking back.

Tag leads me silently through the house, down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door, holding open the screen until I pass through. It hisses slowly shut behind me as we step out into the night.

A soft, warm rain is falling, but I barely feel it. Every nerve, every sense, every thought is focused squarely on the man in front of me, leading me. To where, I don't know, but I can't wait to find out.

We walk across the yard, the wet grass teasing my toes and tickling my ankles. Tag's hand is warm and solid around mine, his smile reassuring when he glances back at me. His face is shadowed in the pale moonlight, giving him an air of mystery that he doesn't need. He's already mysterious. Enigmatic in the way he has captured my interest so completely, so effortlessly.

The grass changes to smooth dirt as we pass into the first row of grapevines. My captor pulls me gently along until we are four rows deep, an island in the darkness of the night, and then he stops and turns to face me.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers, his voice as velvety as the onyx sky above.

I obey without question, my breath coming in quick, anxious bursts.

“Now, take a slow, deep breath,” he instructs. And so I do.

That's when I smell it.

It's sweetly aromatic with just a hint of sin drifting around the edges. The grapes scent the air with a fruity musk that is as delicious as it is sexy.

“They only smell this way when it rains at night. I don't know why, but it's like they come alive in the dark. In the warm, wet dark.”

When I open my eyes to find Tag's stormy silver ones, the perfume roots in my chest. It grows there as though the bud of everything that is between us—the sweet, the sexy, the forbidden—is blossoming like a rose in the sunshine. Spreading its petals within me. Driving its thorns into me. Holding me. Trapping me.

“Say yes.”

I don't have to ask what he wants me to say yes to. I already know. I think I might've known the instant he showed up in my bathroom doorway and stole my breath, my logic, my caution.

He waits. But not patiently. I can feel eagerness, anticipation radiating from him like sound waves from a speaker, tickling my senses, teasing my sensibilities. He wants me to say yes. I
need
to say yes, but still he's leaving it up to me.

I take one step toward him, bringing my chest flush with his, my stomach pressing to his all the way to the impressive bulge I feel below his waist.

“Show me,” I murmur. The moment the words leave my lips, I feel him tighten against me, as though his every muscle is straining to get to me, but he's holding himself back.

Tag bends and sweeps me into his arms. I can see the wicked flash of his teeth in his tanned face before he says, “I hope you don't mind getting dirty.”

Before I can answer, he drops to his knees and lays me gently on my back in the soft, wet mud. When he stretches out on top of me, I sink ever so slightly as though we are cocooned within the earth itself. Protected. I smell only the sweetness of the grapes, I hear only the muted patter of the rain, I see only Tag.
Feel
only Tag. It's as though, in this grove, on this night, we are hidden away from all the world.

Resting his weight on his forearms, Tag cups my face with his hands. In his eyes is all the desire I feel for him, harnessed carefully so that it doesn't lash out and hurt me. “You'll never look at these grapes the same way after tonight,” he whispers. “I promise you that.”

And then his lips find mine. They brush once and retreat, brush again and retreat. His tongue slips out to tease the crease of my mouth and his fingers hold my face prisoner. Not that I would want to escape. I want this with everything in me.

I can't resist sneaking out to taste
of him
with my tongue, too. He lets me line the inside of his lower lip, holds perfectly still so that I can explore him. I revel in the irresistible essence of him. When he's had enough, he draws my tongue into his mouth and sucks gently, sensually. I moan reflexively and, just like it did earlier, my reaction seems to unleash something within him. His demeanor goes from quiet curiosity to fierce need.

He drives his fingers into my hair and fists them, tilting my head just so in order that he can devour me. He wedges one knee between my legs, forcing them apart to accommodate him. The feel of his body pressed so intimately to mine is nearly my undoing.

But there's more. So much more.

As his tongue tangles with mine, Tag flexes his hips, rubbing the long ridge of his erection into the apex of my thighs. “I want you so damn bad I can't even sleep,” he hisses between clenched teeth, as though his need of me is more than he can bear. And to be wanted like this . . . by a man like him . . . it sets free a burning wildness within me that I never knew existed.

I raise one leg to wrap around his waist, tipping up my hips to press into his hardness. He wrenches his mouth away from mine and levers his upper body away from mine, up onto his hands so he can arch his back and rock his cock against me.

I gasp, sensation running through me like the rain is running down my face. I close my eyes for a few seconds, exulting in the abandon that has taken over me. When I open them again, I see Tag staring down at me, hunger written all over his face.

He lifts one muddy hand and palms my cheek, dragging his fingertips down my neck to the thin strap of my nightie. He does it purposefully, passionately, like he's marking me, each streak the bold evidence of his possession.

He tugs down the strap, exposing one pleading nipple, baring it for his ravishment. And ravish, he does. With his hips circling against mine, he pulls my flesh into his mouth and sucks. Sucks so hard that I gasp again, unable to censor my body's response.

Suddenly, he sits up. He fists both of his filthy hands in the low
neck of my top and jerks, splitting it all the way down the front. His chest heaves as he watches warm rain splatter on my naked flesh. It softly pounds my breasts and gently teases my spread folds. The wet stimulation coupled with the hot flames of Tag's eyes on me brings moisture flooding to the ache between my legs.

“No panties?” he asks, his voice gruff. “I love a dirty girl, but I want you dirtier,” he growls, rubbing his hands in the mud and dragging them from the valley of my breasts all the way down my stomach. He stops just below my navel and soils his hands again, rubbing them in the mud and then grabbing my hips. Roughly, he digs in with his fingers and he pulls me toward him, bringing my body into sharp contact with his denim-clad erection again. “I want to see my hand prints all over you. When you look in the mirror, I want you to remember what it feels like to have my hands on you. My mouth on you.”

He dirties his hands one last time and presses them to the insides of my thighs, spreading me further as he slides down between them. The first scrape of his tongue over my throbbing sex is like lightning. I jerk against him, my legs clamping around his shoulders. That only fuels Tag. He presses his open mouth to me, opening and closing, opening and closing, as though he wants to consume me. And I want to be consumed.

He licks with long, slow strokes and then sucks my clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into my butt to hold me still for his sensual assault. And when I can't take it for another second, writhing in the wet, slippery mud, he relents, moving down to slip his tongue deep inside me as if in apology for driving me mad.

Over and over, he licks and sucks, he teases and torments,
until I'm delirious with need, my skin a fevered blanket barely covering the nerves that are screaming his name. The light rain bathes my face, the sweet grapes scent the air and the heat of Tag surrounds me. I'm invaded by this moment, by this man. Invaded, body and soul.

As I spiral toward a shadowy peak that only my body knows, Tag pauses, releasing me as he sheds his jeans, cleaning his hands on them before he rattles a condom wrapper. I glance down at him, his eyes trained on me rather than what he's doing. They gleam like puffs of pale smoke in the moonlight, challenging the beauty of her half-full globe above. She is ethereal.
He
is magnificent. He is a pagan god preparing to take what's his. I am the willing sacrifice, laid at the altar of his perfection.

Water sluices down his wide chest, trailing over the ridges of his abdomen before parting to run around either side of his thick cock. My insides quiver as I take him in—so strong, so long, so proud. My sex squeezes in anticipation.

Tag rolls the condom into place, sheathing his massive length, and then places his hands on my knees. Gently, he presses them apart until I spread fully for him. Not once do his eyes leave mine as he crawls up my body to settle on top of me.

I feel the engorged head of him prodding at my entrance. My body sucks greedily at it, eager to have him inside me.

“I've thought about this from the moment I saw you washing these beautiful breasts in the tub,” he says, sparing a light kiss to the swell of one mound before he continues. “I've thought about what it would feel like to slide my cock into you, of how I'd like to do it for the first time with the taste of you still lingering on my
tongue. And now here we are,” he says, easing the tip of his thickness into me. “It's just as perfect as I imagined it would be.”

I hiss as he eases in a little more, stretching me, stretching me, stretching me, almost to the point of a bit of pain. He must know, too.

“A little pain never felt so good, did it, fair Weatherly? Do you know how I know that?” he asks, his voice dark chocolate. Rich cream. Black silk.

“H-how?” I pant, wanting him to stop, but praying that he won't.

“Because of these,” he says, bending his head to swirl his tongue around one of my rock-hard nipples. “They tell me you like it. They tell me you want me to keep going. You do, don't you? You want to feel every bit of me? You want to feel me all the way inside you, don't you?”

Oh God!
I squeeze my eyes shut, my body clutching and sucking at his even as he threatens to tear me apart.

Slowly, he continues, steadily pressing more and more of himself into me as his lips and tongue work magic at my breasts.

Lava is pouring through me and I'm drifting higher and higher on its hot wave. When Tag begins to rock against me, forcing himself a little deeper and rubbing my clit with the most delicious friction imaginable, the heat within me blazes out of control.

I gasp and moan uncontrollably, my tongue dry but for the rain that soaks its parched surface. Blood buzzes through my ears, blotting out every sound except for the purr of Tag's voice at my ear. “Are you ready?” he whispers. “Because you feel
so
ready.”

All I can do is nod and hold on. So that's what I do. I curl my
fingers into the mud and I wind my trembling legs around Tag's narrow hips, bracing for what's to come.