to talk about the wedding gown, he’d probably get suspicious and start questioning everything she’d told him.
“I couldn’t wear it,” she finally said, keeping her voice low and even. “It got damaged.”
She watched a frown touch his face and her stomach dropped. Don’t ask…don’t ask... She hated lying to him, and that was all she seemed to be doing lately. Lying. To him. To Lucas. To the cops.
“Damaged? How? You treated that thing like it was priceless.” The frown dug deeper into his forehead.
Sarah’s throat tightened and started to ache. It was priceless. And now she had to destroy it with a lie. “I had a leak in the roof above my closet. The dress was silk. The brackish water stained it. I wasn’t able to get it repaired.”
Her throat was so tight it throbbed, and revulsion crawled through her, but she got the lie out.
“I’m sorry.” The look he turned on her was sympathetic. “I know how important that dress was to you.”
Sarah’s eyes burned. He was consoling her. After everything she’d done to him, he was consoling her. He was a good man.
Which made the lie even harder to accept.
Chapter Twelve
Twelve hours later Tag was frustrated as hell.
Had the woman lost her goddamn mind?
Tag twisted in the driver’s seat, nailing Sarah with a disbelieving stare. What the hell was going on in her head?
“Let me get this straight.” He ground the words through his teeth, his jaw so tight it throbbed. “Less than twenty-four hours ago you took off in the middle of the damn night, after an excruciatingly long day, even though you were ready to pass out from exhaustion, because you were so worried about your brother you couldn’t waste one more second. Last night, you were so concerned about Sean, you were willing to sleep in a flea bag motel rather than your own bed, just so you could save two fucking hours.” He shook his head. When his fingers started to tingle, he forcibly uncurled his fists. Would he ever understand the damn woman? “And now that we’re here, minutes from his apartment, you want to wait until tomorrow to find him?”
And yeah, that last question might have been borderline sharp and ripe with suspicion. But Jesus, her sudden reluctance to find her brother made no damn sense whatsoever.
She fidgeted in the seat across from him. “It’s late—"
“It’s seven, fucking, o’clock.” Tag growled. “What’s his address?”
“He has a roommate. It’s not polite to just—”
“Address,” Tag repeated flatly.
“—show up out of the blue like this,” Sarah finished with a snap.
Tag pulled back, staring at the stubborn pitch to her chin. What the fuck was going on? Why had she suddenly lost all interest in tracking down her brother? Sure, she’d borrowed his phone and called Sean and Langley repeatedly, but neither had picked up. Her friend was safe, her bodyguards assured that, but Sean’s lack of response should have heightened her urgency to reach him. Instead, she seemed to have developed a sudden case of cold feet.
Was this trip really about finding her brother?
Or something else altogether. . .
“We should get a motel, get a good night’s sleep, and look for Sean in the morning.” The stubbornness had infiltrated her voice now.
Bullshit. This sudden hesitancy of hers had nothing to do with getting a good night’s sleep. She’d slept most of the way here—or pretended to, anyway.
Eleven fucking hours. That’s how long he’d been stuck in the cab with her. Eleven fucking hours of smelling the flowery scent of her skin and hair, of trying to ignore the flirty, hard nipples that showed clearly through both shirt and bra. Of actually feeling the heat radiating from the passenger seat—which was fucking impossible, but there you go.
His skin still felt too damn tight, his cock too fucking hard, his balls achy as hell.
So sue him, the last fucking thing he needed right now was checking into a motel with her and spending the next twelve to fourteen hours trying to ignore the fact that she was burrowed under the covers next to him, well within arm’s reach.
Fucking Christ, he’d had enough torture for one day.
“You’ll sleep better knowing Sean’s okay.” Tag fought to modulate his tone. Going all snarly on her sure wasn’t having the intended effect. “What’s the address?”
“I want a shower. To clean up before I go see him.”
Bullshit. “You showered the morning. The address, Sarah.”
“Let’s at least get some dinner—”
What the hell? “We ate two fucking hours ago.”
And what a production that had