I don’t ask what those “things” are; I just wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I prompt, “And?”
I feel a sigh swell in his chest. “And then Dad died. Mom couldn’t work these fields, of course. I knew your father would have to hire someone else, maybe even a family like ours, which would inevitably mean that Mom would have to move. I couldn’t stand the thought of that, so I came home a year after my first tour was up. Been back here ever since.”
“Do you regret it? I mean, if he hadn’t died, would you have come back?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I don’t regret it. Now that I’ve seen what’s out there, Chiara is as precious to me as it always was to my parents. This is my home. These fields, these grapes, this life . . . it’s part of who I am. And I’ll do anything . . . anything to make sure there’s a place for us here.”
I feel the frown work its way onto my brow. “Is that why you’re helping me?”
There’s a short pause before Tag moves with the speed of a snake’s strike. He has me on my back, pressing me so quickly into the clothes on which we rest that it startles a squeak out of me.
“I want to help you because I want to help you. Yes, I do want for my mother to be able to stay in her home for the rest of her life, no matter how long or short that might be, but I also want to help you. No one likes for their fate to be decided by someone else.”
He says the last with such passion, it spurs more questions. “But what happens when this is over? Aren’t you afraid that Dad will have you and Stella removed?”
“As ruthless as he is, or as he talks at least, I’m not sure he’d actually be able to throw my mom out. She’s cared for him, his family and his home for half his life. Me, on the other hand? There’d be a greater likelihood he’d toss me out on my ass, but then he’d have to find someone immediately, someone experienced and competent and familiar with this type of terrain, and have them trained in a matter of weeks. Harvest is just around the corner. It’s crucial that things go smoothly. I think he’s too smart to be that impulsive. I think he’ll bide his time and keep trying to manipulate you through your charity. But in the end, I think it’s a distinct possibility that we can both get what we want.”
“And you’re willing to bet all that you have here?”
“I am. Because I’m not betting on your dad; I’m betting on me. On my ability to read people, on what I know and what I want, and the lengths I’ll go to get it. William O’Neal is still a smart businessman when you take emotion out of it. I’m betting on being able to rationalize with him if it comes to that, help him see what I have to offer. After all, he owns these fields, but I’ve worked them my whole life. And I’ve got plans for this place, plans that he’ll like if he’d listen.” He stares down at me, raising a hand to brush my hair behind my ear. “In short, yes. I’m willing to risk it. It’s a risk, but a calculated one. And the possible rewards are . . . compelling,” he says, smiling devilishly down at me.
Looking up at Tag, at his swirling eyes and his breathtaking face, I lose the ability to think clearly. All I can do when he settles his hips between my legs is gasp, my questions and concerns evaporating from my mind like water from a pool on a hot day. The only thing I can think to say is, “I hope helping me is worth the risk, then.”
“From the first time I saw you, I’ve thought of little else. And, God help me, from the instant I got to taste these lips,” he says, dipping his mouth to mine in a kiss that makes my head spin and my body melt. “From the instant I got to touch this skin . . .” He glides his hand from the swells of my breasts all the way down my side to my thigh, which he tugs on until I wrap my legs around his waist. “From the damn second that I got to feel this body . . .” he whispers, easing his rigid cock into my welcoming heat on a deep groan, “I knew, I knew I was a goner. You’re worth the risk. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
“But why?” I ask breathlessly, barely able to hold on to rational thought with him buried inside me this way. “Why me?”
I have to ask. Of all the women—all the young, beautiful, plentiful women—why me?
“If I could figure that out, you wouldn’t be under my skin, now would you?”
I half laugh, half moan when he withdraws and then pushes back in a bit harder.
“But if I had to guess,” he says, tracing a path up my throat to my ear with the tip of his tongue.
“Yes?”
“I’d say you’re a witch. Because you’ve bewitched me. I just can’t seem to get enough.”
You’ve bewitched me. I love the sound of that.
As he whispers the last into my ear, he flexes his hips and steals my breath. After that, all conversation ceases to matter.
SIXTEEN