Текст книги "Tough Enough"

Автор книги: M. Leighton

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

EPILOGUE

Rogan

Five months later

“Good for you, Mona,” Katie says from her seat. I glance over to see her typing something into her phone.

“What’d she do? Use ‘onomatopoeia’ correctly?” I grin just thinking about Katie’s friend and her new love of the dictionary.

“No, she dumped White. She says she wants the dream now. I guess seeing how happy I am, how you treat me and how a good relationship works has made her see White for the cheating crapbag that he is.”

“Cheating crapbag, huh?”

She giggles and leans her head back against the seat to smile over at me. “I got tough, but my words are still . . . mild.”

“I think in this case, you could spare something a little tougher, don’t you?”

“Sure. Mona’s worth it,” she says, straightening. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about ‘shitbird’?”

“Yeah, White’s a shitbird!” she says enthusiastically, her eyes twinkling. “A shitty, shitty shitbird.”

I laugh outright. “God, I love you.”

Her face takes on that glow she gets when I tell her I love her. It makes me want to take her to bed and tell her over and over and over again just how much I love her.

“Damn, you’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks stain pink and she stretches across to kiss my cheek. “And you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.” She nuzzles my neck, pressing her chest against me as she rests her hand along my thigh.

“Okay, so we have two options. Either take your wicked lips and your delicious body back over to your side of the car, or stay where you are and reap the consequences.”

“What consequences are those?” she asks around a husky laugh as she rubs her tits against my shoulder.

Damn her.

“They involve me pulling off the side of the road, putting my hands up that tiny little skirt you’re wearing and probably embarrassing the shit out of you right here in front of my friend’s house.”

She turns around, wide-eyed and surprised to see that we have arrived. “I thought you were taking me to some rustic spot in the mountains,” she says as she eyes the big stone house sitting at the top of the circular end of Chiara’s drive.

“I am. We aren’t quite there yet.”

I park in front of the granite steps that lead to the front door. Tag is standing at the top of them, smiling. From the corner of my eye, I see Katie smooth her hair over her left shoulder. I shift into park and reach for her hand when it flutters back to her lap. “Don’t be nervous.”

She turns her dark blue eyes to mine. “I’m not nervous.”

“You are nervous. You still pull your hair around when you’re nervous.”

Her lips part like she’s going to argue, but then she just smiles sheepishly instead. “You know me too well. No fair.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Tag’s a great guy.”

She smiles around a calming breath. “He has to be a great guy. And anyone worth your time is someone I’ll love. Maybe I am a little nervous. I guess I just want him to like me because he’s important to you.”

“He’s gonna love you. The only thing you need to worry about is Tag flirting with you and getting his ass kicked. That could really compromise the weekend.”

Her lips ease into a more natural smile. “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that.”

“Good. Then just relax. This is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun business?”

“Yep. Fun business.”

I kiss her knuckles then give her lips a short peck—anything more than that always gets me in trouble—before I get out and walk to her side of the car and open her door. We walk hand in hand to meet my friend.

He descends the few steps and gives me a bear hug. When he leans back, we exchange a look that says a lot. It says we’re glad to see each other. It says we’ve been through hell together. It says we’re both happy that the threat to our group is neutralized. Yet neither of us has to say a word.

When his gray eyes flicker to Katie, I turn and put my hand at her lower back. “Tag Barton, meet Katie Rydale.”

I see his eyes sweep her appreciatively. He’s my friend and I know he means nothing by it. It’s a guy thing—checking a woman out that way. But more than that, it’s a Delta Five thing. It’s habit now, I’m sure, for all of us to observe, to take in details, to make all kinds of mental notes. It’s part of our training.

I grit my teeth and suck it up, because he’s my friend and this is important. What I’m not prepared for, though, is Katie’s reaction. Her smile is small and shy, like it used to be for me, but her eyes flicker up to his and away, up to his and away. Like she can’t stop looking at him.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Tag has always had that effect on women. With his jet-black hair, dark skin and silvery eyes, he makes quite an impression. Plus, he’s always had this air of . . . I don’t even know. Something different. But women love it, whatever it is. I guess I was just assuming that Katie would be immune to it.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Katie. Rogan said you were beautiful, but not that you were this beautiful,” he says charmingly.

I watch Katie’s cheeks bloom with color as she shakes his hand. I have to ball my fists to keep from pulling her back.

But then, just before I end up doing or saying something stupid, she backs away on her own, curling into my side and winding an arm around my waist. When I look down at her, she’s already looking up at me. Her eyes are pools of sapphire and her lips are curved into a smile, the smile that she only gives to me.

This is why I don’t have to worry. This is why I don’t have to be jealous. She’s as nuts over me as I am over her. We were meant to be together and no one could ever change that.

I relax instantly, bending to press my lips to her forehead before I turn my attention back to Tag. “So, where are we starting?” I ask.

Tag claps his hands and then rubs them together. It’s easy to see that he’s enjoying this. “How about a tour first and then I’ll show you to your cabin before we talk business. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” I say.

Katie thinks I’m here to look into buying a cabin, which I am. Sort of. It just so happens the cabin is part of this vineyard.

I pat my pocket as we follow Tag around the house and onto a well-worn path that leads through the trees. A small cabin is nestled at the end of it, resting in the dappled shade of a big oak. The sun is already turning red in the windows of the two dormers and I imagine that the view of it setting over the vineyard is spectacular.

Tag’s steady monologue about the vineyard and the cabin stops when he opens the door and gestures for Katie to precede him. He winks at me as I pass and then closes the door behind us, making a quiet, unobtrusive exit.

In the quiet, I hear Katie’s gasp. She’s standing in front of the small dining table with her hands over her mouth. A white cloth covers the surface. On it, two white candles are lit in silver holders and red rose petals are scattered all around it. A silver wine bucket rests on a stand to the right, holding a chilled bottle of Chiara sparkling wine. From there, a trail of red rose petals disappears into the next room.

Katie glances back at me, her eyes shimmering with the suspicion of what’s to come. I say nothing. I do nothing. I simply follow her as she follows the trail of petals.

They lead to a small bedroom. The king bed is draped in white and covered in rose petals. In the center is a pile of long-stemmed roses with a card propped in front of them. In calligraphy, it reads Will you marry me?

I hear the soft huff of her breath. She’s crying, her hands still covering her mouth.

I step in front of her, meeting her glistening eyes, my heart pounding harder than any of my opponents ever have, and I spill my guts. “I never thought I’d meet someone who would become the focus of my world. I didn’t think love like that existed. Until a beautiful makeup artist painted her image on my heart. Every day, I wanted her more. To see her smile, to hear her laugh, to feel her touch. One day I woke up beside her and realized that I couldn’t live without her. I could only survive. Miserably. So I tried everything I could think of to make her mine, to make her love me like I loved her. And when she did, I brought her to a vineyard, one I hope to buy for us, to tell her that I’m giving her my life. And I’m praying that she takes it. It wouldn’t be worth anything without her in it. That’s why we’re here. This is me, offering everything I’ll ever be to the person who already owns me.” I reach for her hands, taking them in mine as I sink to one knee. I’ve never cared so much about the outcome of a fight before. Because it’s been a fight. Me fighting for her, her fighting to get her life back. Each of us fighting for the other. “Will you marry me? Will you stay with me today, tomorrow and every day after that? Will you let me make you happy, keep you safe and spend my life working to give you everything you’ve ever wanted?”

She’s absolutely still. The only thing moving are the tears pouring down her cheeks. And then she nods. And then she nods again.

And then she’s in my arms. Kissing me like she can’t breathe unless her lips are touching mine. Touching me like she’s never letting go. Hanging on like she’s resisting gravity.

“I said yes before you ever told me you loved me,” she confesses tearfully, tearing her mouth away from mine. “I’ve been yours all along. And I always will be.”

It’s more than two hours—two very heated, loud hours—later when Katie, curled up against my side, asks me about the vineyard.

“Tag was raised here. His father passed away a couple of years ago and his mother is sick now, too. He wants to buy this place, not just because he’s spent most of his life here, but also because this is home for his mom, too. He wants her to be able to stay here the rest of her days, not having to worry about work. He could use an investor, and I thought it would be a good place to park some of my fighting money. This way, we can stay in Enchantment as long as you want, whether you continue working or not.”

She turns her smile up at me. “So truly no more fighting?”

“No more fighting for me. I already have the only thing worth fighting for. I consider that a happy ending all the way around.”

“I got my fairy tale after all.”

“And I got you.”

“You certainly do,” she says, sliding up my body to plaster her lips against mine.

“I hope Tag has some ear plugs,” I say, swallowing her throaty moan. Those are the last words either of us speak for a long, long time.

Turn the page for a special excerpt from the next Tall, Dark, and Dangerous novel by M. Leighton

BRAVE ENOUGH

Coming soon from Berkley Books!

ONE

Weatherly

I’m surprised that I know the way back to Chiara. It’s been years since I’ve visited our family vineyard on the outskirts of a small Georgian town called Enchantment, but I find that I know the turns even before the navigation tells me which way to go. When I was growing up, it was one of my favorite places in the world. Winding roads, lush green hills, and purple-gray mountains rising up in the background—it’s like the best of every world, all in one spot.

Already I feel a little less claustrophobic just leaving Atlanta behind. Don’t get me wrong; I love that city, but with my father and his old cronies bearing down on me, I had to get away. I can’t very well come up with a plan to save myself if they’re occupying all my time and hovering around every corner.

The lightly scented breeze whips through my hair like a lover’s fingers as I slow my convertible to make the last turn. I barely creep along the serpentine road, taking my time to enjoy the sun filtering through the trees and the broken glimpses of row after row of grapevines. Being here feels like coming home. It always did.

Throughout my entire childhood, we would come here for two weeks every summer just before harvest. Dad would catch up on the vineyard business for the first couple of days, but then he’d relax with Mom and me. We ate meals together, we swam together, we played board games at night together. We acted like a normal family and I loved it. There were no pretenses to keep up, no important people to entertain, no pressures from the outside world. Just us in a mountain hideaway, protected by rows and rows of grapes.

Even now, I feel the stresses of my life draining away as I drink in the sweet scent of the air. It’s as familiar as the bustle of city life, but as removed from it as east is from west. Although I haven’t been here since before I went to college, time is already melting away as though I visited just last week. Here at the vineyard, little changes.

As I drive past the rows, a flash catches my eye. I slow to a stop and focus on a broad, sweaty back as a man drives wooden supports into the ground in front of a downed vine. I let my gaze travel over him. He must be new because I don’t recognize the physique. And I think I’d remember if there had ever been a man built like this on Chiara grounds.

His shoulders are easily double the width of mine and he’s probably almost a foot taller, just guessing. And I’m not short at five foot seven. As I start to pull away, I let my eyes linger on his impossibly narrow waist and hips, and the world-class ass that fills out the black denim.

I’d love to see if the face goes with the body. I’m very curious about him now, and about what the heck he’s doing here. Maybe I’ll run into him later. If I’m lucky.

I came back to Chiara looking for some peace and quiet, some time to find a way out. I would not be at all opposed to a handsome distraction, though. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to want somebody just because I want him and not because of how he may or may not fit into my life. Maybe it’s high time to go with my instincts. To go with someone who might be all wrong for me. To go with the passion. To throw caution to the wind.

As my dark hair flutters around my face, my optimism climbs with my speed. Maybe, just maybe, this little vacation will get a whole lot more interesting. It would be nice to get lost in something not planned and not political. Something real, something innocent to the ways of the world.

Is that too much to ask?

For my life, probably. But that doesn’t mean I can’t hope for it. Or try to have it. At least for a little while. A few weeks maybe.

When I pull up to the top of the circular drive, I shut off the engine and grab my smallest bag from the backseat. It has all I’ll need right now—my toiletries and a change of clothes. I want to get the grime of the road off me before I unpack and get settled.

I glance at the ivy-covered stone front of the main house, a smile tugging at my lips. So many good memories here.

The front door is unlocked when I climb the wide front steps and test the knob. Maybe Stella is cleaning today. Although I didn’t tell anyone I was coming (mainly because I didn’t want my father to find me right away), she keeps the house ready at all times. That must be what she’s doing.

“Hello?” I call when I step into the grand foyer with its Brazilian cherry floors, vaulted ceiling, and antique chandelier. My voice echoes around me, but otherwise I hear no sign of life.

I set my bag at the foot of the winding staircase and head off past the formal dining room to the kitchen at the back of the house. “Hello? Stella?” I call again. No answer.

With a shrug, I make my way back to my belongings and carry them up the stairs to the room I’ve always stayed in. It’s just one of the guest rooms, but it has a charming window seat that I used to curl up in a lot as a little girl. In my head, that made it mine, so that’s how I’ve always thought of this particular room—as mine.

I set my bag on the thick, beige duvet that covers the bed and begin taking out what few things I’ll need. As of today, gone are the “presentable” clothes. These are the days of spaghetti straps and sarongs, flip flops and loose hair.

I eye the steam shower longingly, but as soon as my gaze falls on the oversized clawfoot tub, the shower is forgotten. A nice relaxing soak to sooth my stiff, road-weary muscles sounds like heaven.

I cut on the spigot and test the temperature with the backs of my fingers until it’s a little warmer than what’s comfortable and then I start stripping. I grab two towels, a wash cloth, my phone, and my organic soap and set them on the chair that sits near the head of the tub. Then I climb in.

Air hisses through my teeth as the hot water stings my legs and then my belly. I let my skin adjust to the heat before I reach for my phone and turn on some music. I wet the washcloth, drape it over my eyes, and then slide down in the tub. Within two minutes, I’m already feeling boneless.

I soak for a good thirty minutes before pulling the plug and draining half of the tepid water so that I can refill it with hot. I grab my soap and roll the silky bar in my hands, working up a rich lather to spread over my arms. The scent of almond and coconut permeate the air and I can all but feel it sinking into my skin.

I lather my hands again and set my fingers to my chin and neck, working toward my chest. I close my eyes, the image of the vineyard guy popping unbidden into my head.

I wonder what he might look like. What color eyes would go with a body like that? Something exotic, maybe. Something piercing. Something that would say he wants me without ever having to open his mouth.

My breathing picks up as my fantasy takes off in an unexpected direction. I massage the scented soap into the soft mounds of my breasts, dragging a fingertip around each nipple over and over, imagining what it might feel like to have the calloused touch of a manual laborer there.

“My birthday isn’t for another week,” a deep voice purrs, jarring me from my thoughts.

With a gasp, I sit up in the tub, covering myself the best that I can. I forget all about propriety, however, when I see the tall, insanely gorgeous man standing in the bathroom doorway.

Black hair, cut in a longish style.

Gray eyes that are almost silver they’re so light.

Olive skin that matches the sweaty back I saw less than an hour ago.

It’s the man from the vineyard. His build and his coloring are unmistakable. As are the black jeans that he’s wearing. He fills them out as perfectly from the front as he did from the back, only this side includes a thick, tantalizing bulge behind his zipper placket.

Holy. Shit.

“P-pardon?” I stammer, my brain a jumbled mess. Between the little fantasy I was indulging, him catching me off guard this way, and his incredible good looks, I think I might’ve forgotten my name, much less that I should be prudishly insulted right now.

Only I’m not.

I’m intrigued instead. Especially when he grins.

If smoke could smile, this is what it would look like. Dark, mysterious. Sexy as hell.

Holy mother! What is a guy who looks like this doing working in a vineyard?

“My birthday,” he repeats in a perfectly modulated, cultured voice that sounds like chocolate and cinnamon. Deep. Spicy. Delicious. “Isn’t that what this is about?”

“Ummm, no. I don’t know anything about your birthday.”

“Damn. I was gonna thank the hell out of somebody.” His eyes rake my naked upper body and chills break out across my chest, reminding me that it’s probably extremely inappropriate for me to be carrying on a conversation with a perfect stranger when I’m in the tub.

But other than propriety, which I’m evidently not too concerned with right now, I can’t think of one good reason to ask him to leave. Not one.

“I’m Weatherly O’Neal. My family owns this vineyard. Who are you?”

One black-as-night brow shoots up. “I’m Tag. My family works this vineyard.”

Every cheesy book and movie about a rich woman and the cabana boy (chauffer, gardener, handyman, and a whole slew of other clichés) scampers through my head. Now I understand. Now I understand how it happens. Now I understand the draw. It doesn’t matter that our stations in life are worlds apart. It doesn’t matter that my father would have a conniption. It doesn’t matter that it could never work out. All my body and my mind are thinking is that the way he’s looking at me sets my blood on fire.

And I love it.

“Well, Tag,” I say, enunciating the name that somehow suits him perfectly, “I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.”

He’s still smiling. I don’t think he’s stopped since he showed up in the doorway. “I look forward to it. Very. Much.”

With that, he skims me once more with his smoky silver eyes and then turns, very slowly, to leave.

When I hear the door to my bedroom click shut—the door I forgot to close—I rest back against the cool ceramic and exhale. I smile, too, as I think to myself, Yep. This little getaway is going to be just what I needed.