With his swirling silver eyes sucking me into them like a vortex, Tag lifts my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. I feel his warm breath and the soft friction like a teasing caress between my legs. I’ve never met someone so . . . so . . . potent. Everything about him works together to form a powerfully persuasive concoction—his mesmerizing eyes, his cocky grin, his voice, his words, his sexily innocuous taunts. I’m not even sure he set out to seduce me, yet that’s exactly what’s happening.
Maybe I was in need of seduction. Maybe I was in such need of something so extraordinarily not me that I was ripe for the picking. For his picking. Or maybe this chance encounter is simply the intersection of all the right conditions coming together to create the perfect storm of emotion and attraction and opportunity. I don’t really know, and the thing is, I don’t think I really want to. Everything in my life has to be given such thoughtful consideration—how it will reflect on the family, how it will affect my future, how controllable the end result will be. But this doesn’t. This is just mine. It has nothing to do with my family or my future. It’s mine. Mine alone. And I’ve never had anything that’s just mine before. Maybe that’s why I’m throwing myself into this with such a marked lack of thought and caution. It might be the only time in my life that I can.
“So,” Tag says, releasing my hand and leaning back. His face settles into a friendly smile and he raises his fork to dig into his food. “Tell me about this charity you’re so passionate about.”
And so I do. I tell him about Safe Passage, about the staggering number of children in the Atlanta area who go hungry each day. I tell him about the strides we’re making in reaching more and more kids, and how rewarding the results are. Conversation flows naturally from that. Naturally and effortlessly. Like we’ve known each other all our lives, despite the fact that we only met a few hours ago. As strange as it sounds, I’m more comfortable with him than I can ever remember being.
“Are you two still in here?” Stella asks when she pokes her head in from the kitchen.
Tag winks at me before he turns to speak to his mother. “I can’t get her to shut up, but you don’t need to make her feel bad about it, Mom.” She waves him off with her hand and he chuckles.
“By all means, blame it on me,” I say acerbically.
“She knows me better than to think I could be held here against my will.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve bored you going on and on about Safe Passage. I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” I’m genuinely surprised to see that it’s nearly eleven.
“I’ve enjoyed every minute. I like hearing what you’re passionate about.”
How does he do that? Make every word sound devilishly delicious? He makes it seem as though everything that passes between us, no matter how innocuous, is intimate.
“Maybe next time you can tell me what you’re passionate about.”
“I’d be happy to.”
There’s a protracted pause during which my nerves begin to jangle. “Well, I suppose I’d better get to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m sure you’re tired,” he adds. But he makes no move to get up. He just watches me with those disturbingly fluid eyes.
“Can I help clean up?” I offer.
“No, I’ve got it.” He turns his head just enough to aim his next words over his shoulder. “Do you hear that, Mom?”
“I heard you, Mr. Bossy Pants,” comes Stella’s voice from the kitchen, a voice that sounds less than robust.
“I’ll get it. There’s a greater likelihood of her letting me clean up if you aren’t in there. I’d have to wrestle her to the ground to get her to go to bed if you tried to help. And then she’d try to ground me like I’m fifteen rather than twenty-seven. You see how this could get out of hand, right?”
I smile. I can’t imagine anyone giving this strong, charismatic man a hard time. Of course, he obviously has a soft spot for his mother, which I find incredibly endearing. Their dynamic makes me happy and a little envious. My relationship with my own mother leaves a lot to be desired.
I push thoughts of my family’s shortcomings from my mind as I lay my napkin neatly on the table. “Well, far be it from me to get anyone in trouble.”
Tag stands as well. “Oh, I think I’m already in trouble.” His lopsided grin makes my bones melty.
“Are you always like this?”
“Always.”
“Good to know,” I say, hating that I’m hesitant to step away from the table. But I do. Because I must. “Well, thank you. For a wonderful meal and stimulating conversation.”
He nods once. “Consider me at your service any time you need stimulating.”
A laugh churns in my chest even as my cheeks flame, thinking that Stella might still be able to hear.
Walk away, Weatherly. Just walk away. Before you can’t.
“Don’t worry,” Tag says, leaning toward me as I start to move past him. “She’s not in the kitchen anymore.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard the boards in the hallway creak when she left.”
“Another power of yours, super hearing?”
“I have a lot of super powers.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll see,” he says enigmatically. His eyes drop to my lips for a few seconds, making them feel throbbing and full. But then they snap back to mine and he leans away. “Goodnight, Weatherly. I hope you sleep well.”
I draw in a deep, calming breath. “You, too, Tag. And thank you again.”