by Scott, S. L.
Well-built.
Devilish good looks.
Dark brown hair wild from the wind.
Tanned skin from too much time under the sun.
Muscles a T-shirt can’t hide command my attention.
I think I just answered my own question.
His body wasn’t the only thing on display when he was on stage. His voice captured me in a way that made me feel like the only person there, as if he was singing just for me. His voice is sexy, sultry to match the hot spring night. A vein ridged in his forehead when he sang, and the corners of his eyes stayed soft.
He’s rugged and handsome. I know nothing more about this perfect specimen of a man, but the thought of getting to know him sends a thrill through me.
I can pretend there wasn’t a motive that brought me here, but that doesn’t make the truth less potent. Yes, I’ve thought about him a lot throughout the week, but something is so incredibly mesmerizing about being in front of a man so . . . virile. So real. And he seems to be attracted to me. Wild. But I don’t even know his name.
Reading my mind, he says, “My mom would be disappointed in me. I’ve kissed you but never properly introduced myself.” Our hands come together again, but this time, he holds mine like it’s a gem—with care and protectiveness. “I’m Dare Marquis.”
“Hi. Weatherly Beck. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Weatherly Beck.” He savors it with a dip of his eyes as he sounds it out slowly. “That’s a great name.” Turning my hand, he kisses the topside.
“Do you do that for all the girls? And more importantly, does it work?” I think I amuse him.
He chuckles. “Every time. Like a charm.”
“I have no doubt you know how to charm a girl right into bed.”
It’s incredibly sexy how he shrugs unapologetically, knowing exactly who he is. He’s not phony like Lloyd and the crew. “It’s a skill that’s come in handy a few times.”
“A few times?” I choke on my laughter before turning and raising my hand to get the bartender’s attention. From the other end of the wooden bar, his eyes connect with mine, and he acknowledges me with a nod as he comes to take our order.
When he leans over the bar toward me, I order, “Two shots of Jack Daniels and two Shiner Bocks.”
“You’ve got it.”
The drinks are set in front of us, and I start to open my purse, but Dare covers my hand. Dare, his name is Dare—sexiest name ever. He turns to the bartender. “Throw it on my tab.”
He shakes his head. “You ever plan on paying that tab, Marquis?”
“One day.”
My heart shifts while I stare into his warm brown eyes. That’s the only way I can explain the feelings he evokes. Laws, facts, evidence—those are my forte not this blooming desire inside. Yet this feels right. This is not about logic, but about attraction.
Like taking charge with the girls earlier, I’m forging a new path—new opportunities, new people, new experiences. I try to maintain the cool vibe I’ve been pawning off as confidence. He makes me nervous, though, so I treat him like a mock trial. One never knows what will be presented in court. I have to be prepared for all scenarios. The only problem is I showed up tonight not actually expecting to talk to him, much less kiss him.
Look at me, flirting on top of that.
“Hey there,” Dare says, leaning down until he captures my attention again, bringing me back to the here and now.
“Hey,” I whisper in return.
I’ve been good for so long, doing everything everyone required of me—being an abiding daughter, a good friend, and a loyal girlfriend. Where did that get me? Right here in the middle of Sixth Street at a bar called Shep’s. So making the most of the situation, I ask, “Now that you got me here, what do you have planned?”
“So much I could say, but damn.” I want to lick the smirk that lifts, the wry grin that makes me weak in the knees. “You’re looking for trouble.”
“I’m hoping I found it.”
“Fuck,” he breathes under his breath. “Girl, you definitely found it. I’m up for whatever you want to do.”
I’m full of regrets for so many things in my life, like Lloyd, but coming back here tonight will never be one of them. “I think we start with a drink.”
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I tap my glass against his, and we drink with our eyes locked on each other. Heat coats my throat as I swallow, and then I take a deep breath to cool it down. I don’t need liquor to be courageous, but it’s a nice excuse. Since we’ve taken this relationship to the kissing stage, I steal another, though I’m not sure you can call it theft when the other person is a willing participant.
My body feels looser, my mind freer. “Dare Marquis fits you.” It’s nice to say it out loud.
“Weatherly.”
“Yes?” I like his hands on me, the way he touches me with care—the brush of his knuckles against my arm, the scruff on his jaw against my chin when we kiss, the beat of his shoe tapping to the music against mine.
He cups my cheek, bringing me closer with a possessive pressure that makes me feel treasured instead of like property. “I just wanted to taste it on my tongue again.”
My heart beats faster, so I suck in a soft breath before asking, “The whiskey or my name?” My name, I silently pray. Please say my name.
“You. All of you. I bet you taste sweeter than whiskey and would leave me drunk for hours after.”
My body tilts toward him, moving of its own accord. I’m feeling a little possessive on my own right now, so I loop my arms around his neck. “After? After what?”
“Depends. How does Weatherly Beck like to be loved?”
My body is not my own. I’m all his. Here and now. I’m weak in the knees to his sultry seduction because hearing him talk is the best aphrodisiac. This will probably be my only night with someone like Dare. He’s seducing, as I’m sure he’s done many times before, and I’m his willing participant tonight. One night, Weatherly. One night where I step away from propriety and playing by the rules. I deserve this.
Sexy as it may be, it’s still a question I can’t answer. “I’ve never been loved properly.”
Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear, “That’s a damn shame.”
His breath tickles my skin and turns me on. I’m roused by the way he looks at me—ready to devour me—and he has me wanting to love him in ways I’ve never been with a man. At least for the night.
I suck in a breath to steady myself. Good Lord, he has me turned inside out, and my mind stuck in the gutter. The music gets louder as the crowd screams for the next band. We both turn to look as the singer shouts into the mic. Dare turns back to me and opens his mouth, but before he has a chance to speak, I ask, “Do you want to leave?”
“You’re reading my mind. Where do you want to go?”
He has my mind spinning and my body begging to be touched. The good girl is gone. He makes me want to be bad. Whiskey at night and coffee in the morning. His whore between the sheets and an angel after we’re done? I giggle, not even sure what that means, but I remember Stascia saying that once. “My place?”
“All right, but I need to tell my band. Want to come with me?”
“Sure.” Spending more time with him is the only thing I’m certain I want right now.
We only take a few sips of beer before he takes my hand. His fingers are calloused, and my thoughts deviate to how they would feel scraping across my skin. Compared to the soft skin of my ex, I welcome the roughness and hold on to him tighter.
“Dare?” Between songs and in the middle of the crowd, his name is called. The British accent is easy to pick out above the noise of the bar.
Dare calls to the guy, “What?”
I recognize the other guy from the band, his body lankier but not by much. Still well-built and tall, he gets a lot of attention and seems to revel in it, smiling at the women in the audience as he works his way toward us. His eyes go from me back to Dare. “Coming with us?�
�� he asks.
Dare glances at me, his grip tightening not enough to hurt but to maintain the hold, the connection with me. “I’m good,” Dare replies. “Thanks for getting my gear. I’m heading out with Weatherly.”
“Weatherly, huh?” The guy checks me out, and then adds, “I’m English, sweetheart. Nice to meet you.”
“I picked that up from the accent. So cool.”
He laughs. “No, well, yes. I am English, but the guys nicknamed me English.”
“Oh. That’s fun.” God, I sound like my mother. Be cool, Weatherly. “Nice to meet you, too.” Although he doesn’t treat us like he knows what we’re about to do, I feel it. God, of course, he knows. This probably happens all the time. Hot musicians. Groupies. Music. And alcohol. It’s what stepping out on the wild side dreams are made of.
I catch a silent exchange between the two before English says what’s on his mind. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”
Dare doesn’t hide a thing when he looks at me. “Too late.”
“I’m not bailing you out,” English grumbles.
“You won’t have to.” Leading me to the exit, Dare adds, “Let’s get out of here.” No one would know we just met or that we shared our first kiss with a bar full of spectators. No, Dare doesn’t hide that he’s with me, his hand on my lower back as we reach the sidewalk.
Security is felt in my bones from the closeness. His proximity keeps my tummy wound tight in hopes of more of those kisses and just . . . well, more of everything with him.
I’m nervous and excited about what might happen, and something I’ve never felt before twists my insides. My fantasy is becoming a reality, so I keep my secret locked tight. Not for fear that he won’t have sex with me if he knows I’m a virgin, but that he won’t stay after. I’m not sure how I’ll feel, but I don’t want to feel alone.
I think he might be reading my mind this time because he asks, “We can get to know each other anywhere if you don’t want to go home. A bar, restaurant, a coffee shop?”
Reaching the corner, we stop. Before he can speak, I kiss him. And then I kiss him again. But then he kisses me. Stepping apart, I poke his chest. “You are dangerous for me.”
“I feel like you’re a lot more dangerous for me.”
Coming back together, we wrap our arms around each other. “Then we’ll be dangerous together.” I kiss him and deepen it. Right there on a dirty street corner for everyone to see, I kiss this drop-dead gorgeous man as if I bought the rights to those delectable lips.
When we catch our breath, he leans his forehead against mine. “Where do you want to go?” He scans the street and then turns back to me. “I don’t have a car here. I rode in the band’s truck. We can catch a cab?”
“I’ll get us a rideshare.” I pull out my phone and tap the app. “Two minutes.”
“Two minutes can fly by when you’re playing a song—”
“Or feel like an eternity.”
His hand comes around me and pulls me closer by the ass. Hot. Hot. Hot. “I was going to add or enough time to kiss you again.”
“Just enough time for that.” I lift up on my toes and—
“Weather . . . Lee?” comes from the open window of the black SUV.
“That’s our ride,” I say.
Dare’s passion-filled brown eyes sing his emotions straight to my heart. He pushes my hair back away from my face. I recognize the dilemma. I feel it too. But he doesn’t keep the driver waiting. “Saved in the nick of time.”
“You or me?” I ask.
“Depends how you look at it.”
“I’m disappointed. I’d rather be kissing you.”
Holding hands, we walk to the car. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
He opens the back door for me, but I stop and turn back, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Is that a promise or a dare, Dare?”
“Don’t worry, babe.” Stopping me before I slip inside the vehicle, he says, “It’ll be everything you want it to be.”
I can actually understand the unrestrained desire April has talked about so often. It’s as though he has access to every nerve inside me and is playing me perfectly. In sync with my desires. My needs. He may be capable of doing that with any woman, but tonight, he’s mine. So I remain planted right next to him in this SUV.
Dare’s hand comes to rest on my bare knee. When I glance his way, he says, “C’mere, Weatherly.” I move closer, drawn by the soulful sound of my name. His arm comes around me, and he says, “Why do I have the feeling that you’re going to be the death of me?”
I’ve lost my damn mind and handed it to my hormones to control for a while. Am I going to have sex tonight? I want to. A thrill races through my body. I need to let go of everyone else’s expectations and live for me. I want this. I want him. “Don’t worry, babe,” I reply, using his word. “I feel the same.”
8
Dare
We don’t travel far, six blocks or so, to the front of newer waterfront condos. I’ve never bothered catching the name of the high-rise because it fucked up the Austin skyline I loved so much growing up. The city is almost unrecognizable these days with the money and greed that built these towers to the clouds.
Shit. I glance over at her just as the car pulls to the curb. “You live here?”
Weatherly nods as she pops the door and gets out. When I don’t jump out after, she leans her head back in. “Are you coming, Dare?”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I slide across the seat and tell the driver, “Thanks, man.”
“No worries. Good luck,” he says, chuckling.
We’re not so sly. It’s almost midnight on a Thursday night. Everything about Weatherly and me shouts hookup. Normally, that wouldn’t bug me, but she deserves better than to be viewed through that lens.
Standing in front of the building, I look up, my gaze reaching the sky. “Do you live alone?” I realize how creepy that sounds after I say it, so I’m quick to add, “It’s a nice building.”
“It is, and I do live alone. It’s not much. A small one bedroom, but it’s home.”
Opening the lobby door, we walk into a bright white modern lobby. We pass a twisted-up glass sculpture that’s as cold as this building—no heart, no soul. It just exists because someone decided something needed to be here. It’s too quiet for this hour. I prefer rowdy talk and energy this time of night, especially after a show.
The guard nods but doesn’t say anything as we head to the elevators.
I’m still stuck on the fact that she called it “not much,” so I ask, “You own it?”
“My parents own it.” The button for the fifteenth floor is pushed, and we lean back in separate corners. I’ve got my eyes on her. The truth is, I just like to stare at her. An air of dignity mixed with insecurity flickers through her eyes, but then it settles into appreciation of what I think is the look of me too. I don’t know why I enjoy that so much. Women always hit on me. I have my mother’s dark hair and eyes, which she was always complimented for, and a hard cut to my other features. Chicks dig that.
That Weatherly likes me is different. I saw that other guy. He was soft in a lot of ways, white-collar ways that shield him from working for anything, much less muscle tone. I doubt she would, but if she ended up with someone like me, she’d be saved from those Sunday football parties full of beer bellies and ironing his socks for work the next day.
I love sports, but not at the expense of ignoring this beauty for hours on end. But maybe that’s not the direction her life will take. Fuck, she was given an apartment. “Must be nice.” I don’t shield her from the sarcasm.
She either didn’t catch it or is choosing to ignore it. “It has been.”
Sobering silence fills the elevator, but the door slides open. “We’re here.”
Following her down the hallway, she opens the door at the end and then drops her keys on a table in the entrance.
A “small one bedroom” doesn’t fit the apartment I just walked into. “Whoa. That vi
ew.” A wall of windows greets us ahead, and I go straight for the glass door.
“That’s why I wanted it. Plus, as my parents pointed out, it will have great resale.”
I slide the door open and step out on the large balcony. It’s got to be at least fifteen by seven feet with a lounge chair near and a table for four on the other side. “You could have a party out here.”
“I have.” She comes out and glances up at me.
The view is great, but Weatherly . . . Wow. I lean forward, gripping the railing, and stare at her. She brought me here for a reason. I’m not sure if it’s sex, though I hope it is. “Now that you got me here, what are you going to do with me?”
She tilts her head down, smiling under my gaze. “Um . . . I don’t know how this works.”
The worry that enters her eyes when she looks up isn’t a welcome addition. So I caress her face. “How what works?” Though I know what she means, I want her to break through this sudden shyness and say it.
She turns to the city, seeming to mull over her words before speaking. It makes me wonder if she’s always this calculated. What happened to the girl from less than an hour ago? Her spark is fading. That just won’t do.
I’m about to help her out, but then she says, “I want to kiss you,” surprising me again.
I take her arms and bring her to me. Running my hands over her shoulders and higher to caress her face, I say, “Well, since you said it so nicely, I’m all yours.”
A smile reappears, bringing with it that confidence that had her kissing me earlier.
Her hands wrap around mine, holding onto me while I embrace her and kiss her under a moon that’s close enough to touch from here. Our lips move slower this time, me dragging it out because I like the way she molds to me. When we part, her eyelids flutter open, and she takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
I’ve heard people talk about moments they always remember in life, the ones that bring smiles to their faces when recalled. This has that potential. So I hold her by the hips and begin to sway. Questions fill her eyes, but she plays along, wrapping her arms around my neck and dancing with me.
