Love Gone Wild: A Contemporary Romantic Comedy

by Michele Bardsley

  "You seem to be a nice man," said Marissa before he could speak again. She checked her watch. "I only have twenty minutes until the wet T-shirt contest begins. Thank you for your time and for your kindness."

  Dane watched as she pulled out the mangled pink paper from the ugly orange purse. He took it from her. Some words were faded and others were scratched out. Different inks had been used and the handwriting had changed; childish, boxy letters with heart-dotted I's transformed to strong, clean lines. Some of the items seemed immature, a girl's wishes.

  Several were double-starred, including....

  "Go to the zoo?" Dane queried with raised brows.

  "I've never been. My sister was supposed to..." she hesitated. "It's important to me that I complete the list. By Saturday."

  "Why the deadline?"

  She shook her head. "Let's just say I need to keep a promise."

  "You want to do all of these things? There's a lot of stuff on here and some of it you can't even read."

  "I know what every line says. I don't need to accomplish everything this week—just the starred items."

  Dane frowned. "Have sex" was starred. So was "toe-curling kiss," "get a pet," and a couple more sentences he couldn't make out. "Marissa, you don't have to do these things to experience life."

  She stood and extracted the list from his grasp. "Yes, I do. I wasn't kidding about my sheltered life. You compared me to a nun. I bet nuns have more fun than I ever did. I won't bore you with the details. Let's just say I'm free for a short amount of time and I desperately want to finish this list."

  Her vulnerability sliced into him. Wasn't this how Lorraine had gotten to him? He'd fallen for the "poor rich girl" trap once.

  "You're not an escapee, are you?"

  Her eyes widened. "Why would you say that?"

  "I knew it. Prison or the psych ward?"

  "Neither." She answered too fast. She'd make a terrible poker player. Little Miss Priss was hiding something...no, not really hiding, just not telling the full story.

  "I'm on a tight schedule, so I must go." That sexy, trembling little smile assailed her lips. "You're the first person I've met all by myself and look how I messed it up." She heaved the purse over her shoulder and extended her hand. "Good-bye."

  Dane clasped her hand and pulled her close. Her head reached his shoulders, but she tilted it back, met his gaze, and waited for him to speak. Here I go again. He'd help her out tonight, but that was the end of his participation. He refused to think about the trouble she'd get into with The List.

  "I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. He slid the purse from her shoulder. It thunked to the floor. "I'll help you tonight, princess."

  "Wonderful! Can we—"

  He waved one finger. "No sex."

  "Darn."

  He stepped back. "You can't enter a wet T-shirt contest without a T-shirt."

  "O-of course not."

  "What have you got on under that—" His gaze devoured the poppable gold buttons; he made the mistake of looking at the lush curve of her breasts outlined by the soft material of her top. Damn. "—your...uh...thingy."

  Her brows rose. "Define thingy."

  "Shirt. Blouse. Whatever. What's under it?"

  "A bra. It matches the crotchless panties. I went for the front snap and white lace. The black silk with red lace didn't appeal to me." She frowned. "Do men prefer a more, please forgive the word, but a more slutty look?"

  "All most men need is a woman naked and willing."

  "You've proven that theory quite wrong."

  Dane ignored her comment. If she knew how tempted he was to show her the delights of sexual pleasure, she might do something stupid—like take off her clothes. "Do you want to enter the wet T-shirt contest or not?"

  She nodded.

  Dane reached up and undid the topknot; silky, honey gold hair fell around Marissa's shoulders in soft waves. He removed her glasses, folded them carefully, and put them on the desk. When he returned to her, he drew in a breath. Blonde brows slanted over green eyes flecked with gold. Her features were not sharp at all, but perfectly defined. Golden curls trailed down her slim, white neck.

  Marissa Vanderson was beautiful.

  "Wow."

  "You don't have to pretend," she murmured.

  "I'm not pretending." Good Lord, he'd been a blind man. She was exquisite.

  He saw her swallow and the movement of her slender throat urged him to plant a soft kiss at the dimpled base. His gaze fastened to her generous mouth, and he nearly groaned when a pink tongue licked her lower lip.

  "You're asking me to kiss you," he warned softly. "Be careful about giving signals."

  Her gaze flickered. Lust? Curiosity? She was too naive to hide her uninhibited desire and his conscience refused to allow him to sip even a drop of Marissa Vanderson's innocence.

  "How else do I give a signal?"

  Dane sighed. "You don't want to give signals."

  "I don't?"

  "No."

  She moved closer and the same light flowery scent he noticed earlier infiltrated his senses. "You're right. I should be more direct." She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Kiss me, Dane."

  Two

  DANE'S HEART STOPPED, then started thumping again triple time. Marissa disarmed him with her forthrightness. How damn long had he been in her presence? Hours? Years? She looked at him, her eyes soft and welcoming, her body just within his arms. Why not? a sneaky little voice asked. It's not like you're taking anything. She's offering.

  He hesitated too long. She blinked, her face registering resignation. "Never mind. I simply refuse to surgically improve on what Mother Nature gave me. I suppose at least one man exists who will accept me as I am."

  Her blatant, though unintentional, signals he could withstand. Her blunt request for a kiss wavered his resolve, but her weary acceptance of not being wanted as she was tore at him. Did she truly believe she was plain?

  His mind wandered around the idea of her crotchless panties. And she wore garters with sexy silk stockings. Did she say white lace? Yeah. White lace panties with a slit in just the right place....

  Whoa. Enough was enough. He needed to show her pretty backside out the door. Now. He looked down at her, saw the trembling lower lip, and made the mistake of looking into her eyes. He saw every emotion she was feeling: hope, fear, doubt, desire.

  "One kiss for the lady." Dane tipped her chin. With a forefinger, he trailed a gentle line down her jaw then cupped the back of her neck.

  Her hands crept up his chest, her fingertips resting on his collarbone. He lowered his head, his lips a whisper away. She stared expectantly at him, her shallow breath fanning his chin.

  Slowly, Dane captured her lips and tasted her. Pliant and warm, the tartness of the ginger ale still lingering on her mouth, Dane battled the desire to plunder. Heaven help him, he wished he could indulge in Marissa's desk fantasy. Flipping up the skirt— no. Dane gentled the kiss, settling his hands on her shoulders instead of tracing her spine, instead of molding her firm buttocks, instead of parting her legs and... stop thinking with your dick.

  Her mouth mimicked his, her tentative movements a powerful aphrodisiac. When her tongue dabbed the corner of his mouth, her teeth grazing his lower lip, raw heat surged into his loins. He wasn't going any farther. He couldn't. Dane pulled back and let her go.

  "Did I do something wrong?"

  Luminous green eyes focused on him. He felt a fine tremor shuddered through her, her desire echoing his. "No, princess. You did it right." Dane inhaled a steadying breath.

  "Is that it, then?"

  "Afraid so."

  The disappointment etched on her face twisted his guts into knots. If she'd been experienced at all...but she wasn't, so he refused to think about taking things to another level.

  She crossed her arms. "It was wonderful, Dane, but it doesn't qualify as toe-curling. I believe tongue contact is required for that."

  He laughed, grateful for t
he distraction. The simple kiss had shaken him—shaken him far more than it should have. "Tongue contact, huh? Are you criticizing my technique?"

  "No. But I'd rather like a French kiss," she said, looking at him hopefully.

  His body remained on full alert, ready to French, Italian, and Outer Mongolian kiss her. The combination of sincere green eyes and honest demands tested his self-control. But Marissa wasn't prepared to accept mere sexual gratification—no matter what her damned list said. Dane voiced his suspicion. "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

  "I don't wish to discuss my sexual status." Her indignation faded. "Is it obvious? I should hate to appear inexperienced for the person I choose for the one-night stand."

  Kissing Marissa Vanderson had been a mistake. Her determination for sexual conquest suddenly annoyed him. "Don't you want to lose your virginity with someone who cares about you? Why give it to some guy on a whim?"

  "Virginity is overrated. I'm twenty-two years old and I want to have sex."

  "You can't go around announcing that to the world. Not every guy is...well, is..."

  "Nice, like you?"

  "I'm not nice, Marissa. I just know how to control my libido." Barely.

  She spread her hands in supplication. "Then help me. Please, Dane."

  Oh no. He'd danced to this tune before and he was through listening to the song. "I just met you. What you do—crazy or not—is your business." He looked at the paperwork scattered on the desk then at the shelf crammed with books, files, and family photos. He didn't want to see the disappointment in her green eyes or that trembling lower lip. Damn that lip. No, damn both lips. He still tasted her, felt her against his mouth.

  "Suppose you just show me a few things on the list. And you could introduce me to your friends. I'll—I'll pay you."

  Marissa picked up the purse and proceeded to paw through it again. She lifted out a wallet. Plucking out ten bills, she handed them to him. $100 bills. A thousand dollars sat in crisp splendor on his palm.

  "Is it enough?" she asked anxiously.

  Dane's hand fisted around the money. "I'm not for hire."

  The door to the office opened and Beatrice sashayed inside, holding a tray full of drinks and her usual saucy smile. "Charlie's been asking about you, sugarcakes. Better get your cute butt back to security detail." She winked at him then sized up Marissa. "A little on-job noogie, Dane? That's not like you."

  "Nothing like that, Bea. Tell Charlie I'll be back in a few minutes. The lady's interested in participating in the wet T-shirt contest. Do you have anything she can wear?"

  Beatrice looked Marissa over once more. "I think I have something that'll do. Gotta get these drinks out first."

  The door shut and Marissa turned a pleased gaze on him. "You're going to help me, then?"

  Dane deposited the money into her hands. "Nope. I'll get you into the contest then I'm through with you and your list."

  "You're in security? As in a guard?"

  "Not really. Sometimes I help out the bouncers." He frowned at her, wondering at this new angle.

  She pushed the money at him. "You can be my bodyguard. A thousand dollars now and five thousand at the end of the week—after we complete the list."

  "Six thousand dollars?" Dane asked, incredulous.

  "Not enough?" She bit her lip. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars."

  Shocked, Dane stared at her. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of damned money and to earn it, all he had to do was spend the next seven days with Marissa Vanderson. In his real job, he was the sports program director at the TeenCenter; he was always trying to get funding for events. Marissa's donation meant he could expand the sports program. New equipment, uniforms, and repairs to the grounds...hell, with that much money, he wouldn't have to turn away kids. Still....he'd be Marissa's employee. He'd had enough of the subservient role he played for Lorraine—and he'd been her husband. Was he really thinking about taking a job for an obviously naive, probably spoiled, and definitely rich socialite?

  "Only for a week?" he asked.

  Soft golden curls bounced around her shoulders as she nodded. Her green eyes pleaded with him: I need you.

  "All right." I’m a fucking idiot.

  "And you'll help me complete the list?"

  Dane hesitated. "On the condition that I will not participate in the one-night stand."

  "Deal." She stuck out her hand and Dane grasped it.

  Beatrice bustled inside and held up a tiny white cotton halter-top and a pair of blue-sequined shorts. "Okay, sweetie, time to get wild."

  * * *

  SHIT! WHAT THE hell was Marissa Vanderson doing at the Paradise Club? It figured the little idiot would end up at the one place she shouldn't be—and all because of that damned list. Anger and fear threaded through her—emotions she hadn't felt in a long time. She hadn't felt anything in a long time. She hated feeling empty, alone, and tired. So damned tired. The surge of emotions drained away, fading into the familiar numbness she'd cultivated over the years.

  She fiddled with the napkin under her drink and thought about the phone calls she'd gotten this afternoon. The first one annoyed her; the second one panicked her. She'd cleared out—again—and headed into the anonymity of the party scene. The Paradise Club was a decent bar in a not-so-decent part of town.

  She searched the room and saw a big-chested waitress with flaming red hair exit a door behind the bar. Her gaze flicked from the waitress to the muscled bartender flirting with a blonde. There'd been another guy a few seconds ago. The one she'd seen talking to Marissa.

  She sipped her Tequila Sunrise and acted like she wasn't anything but a vapid sexpot waiting for Mr. Wrong to take her home and rock her world.

  Sometimes, she really hated her life.

  Again, she searched the room, but Marissa had disappeared. She sighed. She would have to find her.

  Then deal with her.

  * * *

  "WHERE ARE WE going?" asked Marissa as Dane led her out of the bar. "The wet T-shirt contest hasn't started yet."

  The night was sultry, filled with sights and sounds that delighted Marissa. Cars passed by on the rain-slicked streets. Lights on the surrounding clubs blinked a welcome to passersby. She'd never felt so free. She'd spent eight years in a basement—a luxurious one filled with everything she demanded from her parents—but a basement, a prison, nonetheless.

  She clutched her purse, the one she bought on a street corner just a few hours ago in honor of Gillie, and tried to keep up with the fast-moving man who'd apparently decided to take her somewhere else for a wet T-shirt contest.

  "Mr. Sinclair. Dane. Excuse me, but can you—"

  He kept going. Her shoes clicked along the sidewalk as her newly hired bodyguard guided...well, dragged...her down the street. The scenery was hard to enjoy at this pace, so Marissa practiced glaring at Dane's backside. She'd never glared at anyone before, never really having a cause to, and besides, she didn't like hurting people's feelings. However, as she concentrated on narrowing her eyes, she noticed how well Dane's jeans outlined his rear end and thighs. Marissa watched in fascination as Dane walked. The jeans tightened around his buttocks. She liked jeans. She particularly liked jeans on Dane.

  Maybe she should get a pair, but they looked rough. Did they rub the skin? Maybe they were soft and only looked rough. Marissa reach forward and slid her hand across Dane's rear end. He stopped abruptly and she plowed into him, her hand grasping his right cheek as she steadied herself.

  "Nice," she said, touching the fabric. "Soft, but not too much. I like them."

  Dane turned around. She noticed he was good at glaring. The slight wind blew his longish dark hair across his square jaw. His nose was slightly crooked and he had a dip in his chin. Marissa's heart stuttered. She wished he'd change his mind about the one-night stand. If she was going to have sex, she thought she might truly enjoy it with a man so rugged and handsome.

  "Marissa."

  "Yes?"

  "What are you doing?"

&nb
sp; "Walking."

  His took a deep breath, and his nostrils flared. "I meant—why did you grab my butt?"

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I wanted to feel the jeans. I didn't mean to grab you."

  "I work for you, but I'm not your property."

  Oh dear. She'd made him angry. Right now, paid or not, he was the only friend she had. As soon as her parents discovered she'd escaped, they'd search everywhere for her. Of course, they were in Europe for the next week, and Geoffrey would only be incapacitated for a few days more. She had, at the most, six precious days to live a whole lifetime. "I'm sorry, Dane."

  His gaze softened. "It's just that...you're very pretty. And I could get attracted to you. And we've agreed I'm not going to have sex with you. So we should keep physical stuff to a minimum." He nodded. "Yes. That's it. We shouldn't touch each other."

  Marissa blinked. He thought she was pretty? He could get attracted to her? Staring at his face, the dip in his chin and the slant of his cheeks, and the strong column of his neck, she felt tingly and itchy and quite ready to accost him. Maybe if she wrapped herself around him, he might change his mind. But he had rejected her. He had made a choice. Marissa respected a person's choices. Choices were precious indeed.

  "No touching each other." She tilted her head. "Could you recommend someone who's good at having sex? I have a number of things I'd like to try."

  "Yeah, I remember. The Snake Trap." Dane made strangled noises and clenched his fists. "Why don't you choose something else on the list? We'll deal with the sex issue later, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Good. Great. Terrific." He sighed. "Let me see the list."

  "You're very imposing. Can you teach me to do that?"

  His brows furrowed. "Do what?"

  "Glare. Why, you could frighten a girl right out of her wits by just frowning at her."

  "I don't frighten you."

  Surprised, Marissa stopped digging in her purse and looked at him. "No. You don't. Isn't that strange?"