“My pleasure.”
I turn and walk away, but I can’t seem to leave him behind. I feel his eyes on me as I go, burning through my clothes as though I’m not wearing any at all.
—
As I lie in bed, I wish I’d just taken the lead and kissed Tag. I wanted it. He wanted it. Neither of us did it. I know why I didn’t do it, but why didn’t he? Even after I’ve brushed my teeth and washed off my makeup, that one question still chases itself through my head. Why?
But for the chaos of my thoughts, it’s absolutely silent in my room. That’s why the knock, though soft, brings me bolting upright in my bed.
My heart is thundering so hard, my blood vibrates with each beat. “Yes?” I call out.
The door eases open with a long moan, one that is echoed within me when I see Tag appear. He takes one step inside, half his body bathed in the white shine of the moonlight slanting through the windows. “Can I come in?” he asks, his voice as mystical as midnight itself.
“Yes.”
He slips through the opening, not bothering to close the door behind him. That’s why I’m both at ease and slightly disappointed with his presence here. He won’t be staying. He won’t be stripping off my nightie and covering my body with wet kisses.
For some reason, that annoys me. He professes to want me, to be interested in me and intrigued by me, and yet . . . he hasn’t even tried to kiss me. Why?
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.