If You Dare

by Jessica Lemmon

  He stood at the end of the bed and lifted his notecards. “You’re sure you’re ready to lose?”

  “I’m not going to lose. You’re going to choke.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Competing with Lily at work had always been fun. Competing with her in the bedroom was even more fun. After he’d pulled out of her body, while they lay next to each other on the bed, she had turned that competitive spirit on him. “I’ll bet you can’t get through your speech right now.” Which of course, he’d contested. She didn’t know him. Sex cleared his mind of cobwebs and fuzz.

  “I’m not going to choke,” he told her now. “You’d better get your dancing shoes on.”

  Because the other side of that bet was that when he won, she’d have to do a little dance to a song of his choosing. Without any clothes on.

  “I think you’ll be crawling back in here with your tail between your legs. Clock’s ticking, Black.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just remember, fifteen minutes is a quarter of an hour.”

  And now she was psyching him out. “Playing dirty.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  That was fair. He tossed his notecards on his dresser and tugged the waistband of his jeans. Yeah, he’d pulled on his jeans. He couldn’t give a speech in the nude, even in the privacy of his bedroom. It was too much like the nightmare he had of showing up naked at the dinner.

  “I’m timing you.” She adjusted his nightstand clock so she could see it and he felt his stomach toss.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep, deep breath. Think what you’ll get when you win. Lily dancing naked. As motivations went, having Lily naked was a good one. He opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders. Turned his head to both sides and cracked his neck.

  “So, Donald Duck walks into a pants store.” He cleared his throat, waited for the laugh.

  Lily pursed her lips. “Was that…was that supposed to be funny?”

  “You’re supposed to start with a joke.” He grimaced at her.

  She grimaced back. “Don’t start with that joke. Start with something simple.”

  Sucking in a breath, he was careful to keep from frowning, like she’d advised him the night he’d practiced at the mansion. He pulled his shoulders back and said evenly, “Ladies and gentlemen…”

  …

  Crap. She was so going to lose.

  She tore her eyes off shirtless, sexy Marcus to eye the clock. He continued his speech with fervor and with his usual cocky air of confidence. If he hadn’t admitted he was nervous, she never could have been able to tell.

  “Furthermore…” He held up a finger and smiled. “I’d like to thank Lily McIntire, who will now be forced to shimmy her sweet ass out of my bed and shake her groove thing to the soothing sounds of AC/DC’s ‘Shook Me All Night Long.’”

  She reached behind her head and threw a pillow. He caught it.

  “Don’t be a sore loser.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and pouted. Why had she promised a nude private dance?

  “I’m kidding.” Marcus climbed onto the bed and leaned on his fists. Relief relaxed her shoulders until he added, “I won’t make you dance to AC/DC.”

  He tore back the sheets and flipped to his back, jostling the bed. “Let’s see your moves, McIntire.”

  “Rain check?” she tried.

  “Not on your life.”

  “What if…what if we do something else instead?” She palmed his crotch and his hips rose to meet her hand. But he still did not break.

  “If you’d like to make that your finishing number,” he said with a grin, “fine by me.”

  …

  Lily slipped out of bed and gave him the stink eye as she crossed the room. Her body was a beautiful sight in the low lamplight. He enjoyed watching her fleshy bottom move across the room, and the way her nipples peaked in the cooler air of his bedroom.

  He reached for his iPhone and chose an acoustic song, not overly romantic and cheesy, just something to give her a beat to sway to. And to his surprise and pleasure, she swayed. She rocked her hips, closed her eyes, and rolled those delicate shoulders. By the time she scooped her hair off her neck and piled it behind her head, he was physically unable to lie there and not touch her for another second.

  He pushed off the bed, still wearing his jeans and hard as the night was long, and her eyes flew open. Hands on her hips, he pulled her close, pressing the soft globes of her breasts to his bare chest. Her slim fingers swept along his ribs and they danced like that for a few seconds before he took her hand in his and placed the other on his shoulder.

  She laughed. “We look ridiculous.”

  “Huh-uh.” He turned so she could see them in the mirrored closet doors. “Amazing.” His hand palmed her butt and he watched her eyes follow the movement in their reflection. “Tell me, Ms. McIntire.”

  “Ohh, formal,” she said, tilting her chin up at him.

  He took advantage of her nearness and kissed her lips, moving his hips with hers to the steady beat of the song. “Would you let me pick you up for the RSD dinner? I was thinking of renting a limo.”

  That laugh again. It’d be the death of him. He’d thought arguing with Lily was fun, but tickling her funny bone? Infinitely more fun.

  “How very low key of you,” she said.

  “Well, we’re coming out. May as well do it in style.”

  Her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest. She stopped dancing. “What will everyone think?”

  “Who cares?” he said. And really, who did care? “I’m a kickass designer. So are you. People hire us to design, not because we do or do not sleep together.”

  She was quiet for a beat, then said, “I guess you’re right.”

  “So?”

  “Okay.” Her smile wasn’t full force, but he’d take it. “You can pick me up. But not”—she poked him in the stomach—“in a limo.”

  He bent and scooped her up, that incredible butt resting in both his palms, and dropped her onto his bed. He undid his button fly jeans, tossed them aside, and then joined her.

  They made love again and this time she was on top, her breasts swaying in front of his face, her hair cascading down her back. Afterward, she collapsed next to him, rolled over, and pressed that sweet backside against his front.

  He held her tightly, one arm around her, and listened to her breathing even out. The soft scent of her hair invaded his senses as he tried to remember if he’d ever made a better decision than seducing Lily at Willow Mansion.

  He couldn’t think of one.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lily stared out the passenger side window, chewing on her bottom lip. Marcus could see she was nervous—if not by the lip-chewing thing, then in the stiffness of her posture. And he could feel it to, in the clamminess dampening their linked hands.

  He pulled his sports car into a parking space outside the convention center, killed the engine, and turned his head. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be nervous.”

  She jumped slightly, like he’d startled her, her delicate throat moving as she swallowed. Other than her apparent nerves, she looked drop-dead gorgeous in a clingy emerald green dress (short, as per his request) and high, high shoes. When she’d opened her front door, he’d forgotten how to speak for a moment. His eyes had coasted along her beautiful, pale breasts, bursting out of the deep V formed by the wraparound dress. Truth told, those breasts were still distracting him, and if that wasn’t enough, he had the no-panty thing to contend with.

  “What are you wearing under that dress?”

  “Nothing but a new bikini wax,” she purred.

  God help him.

  But their playful banter had died halfway to the conference center, and she’d fallen silent for the remainder of the drive.

  “You okay?” Out of habit, his eyes dipped down to her cleavage before meeting her gaze.

  “Sure. Of course.” A nod of her head, then, “Are you?” She let go of his hand to straighten his bow tie.

&nb
sp; The annual dinner was formal, and no joke. Industry brass would be there—people from big name firms, other designers, owners, and high-paying customers. Hell, Reginald London’s firm was presenting Marcus with his award tonight.

  “I’ll be better once I’m off that stage,” he told her, meaning it. He may have pulled a win out of his back pocket when he’d practiced with her in his bedroom, but his mind had been firmly on winning her nude dancing.

  “You’ll be great.” Her smile was not genuine, and he didn’t like when she wasn’t blunt with him.

  “Dammit, Lily.” He unbuckled and got of the car, walking around to her side. By the time he reached her door, she was climbing out. “What’s the problem?”

  “Excuse me.” She sent a furtive look to the left then to the right.

  “Who the hell are you looking for?” he asked, raising his arms in exasperation.

  “No one. I just… Now that we’re here, I think tonight is the wrong time to go public.”

  “Why?” He was done letting her off the hook.

  “Because you have to concentrate on your speech.”

  “Lame.”

  “And I’d like the attention to be on you, not on us as a couple.”

  “Lily.” He stepped close to her and she backed away, leaning against his freshly washed car. “We’re not celebrities. I doubt anyone will notice beyond our circle of friends. I’m not planning on some massive PDA, I just don’t want to have to think about holding your hand or not holding your hand, or eating off your plate if I want a bite of your dinner.”

  “I’m not sharing my dinner.”

  He ignored her attempt to distract him. “I mean it. I’m not going in there and putting on a show. We go in, arm in arm, and to hell with anyone who might have a problem with it.” He palmed her jaw and leaned in.

  She turned her head.

  He dropped his arm and straightened. “Are you kidding me?”

  “You bring a different girl here every year.” Now she was angry, her eyebrows down, her voice raised slightly.

  “Who cares? I’m here with you this year, McIntire.”

  A car pulled into the lot, its headlights cutting across the darkness, and her next words were quiet. “I care, Marcus. People talk. And the last thing I need are rumors bouncing around that I’m sleeping with the designer of the year to further my career.”

  “That’s stupid.” Who would give a shit if they were sleeping together? He was missing something. Some big piece of the puzzle wasn’t sliding into place.

  “Not my rules,” she said.

  “So, what? You want to go in separate? Leave separate? Care to synchronize our watches or have a signal? I can pick you up a block away if you like.”

  “Thanks for taking me seriously.”

  He took a deep breath, pulling in a lot of patience and little oxygen, and then blew out a gusty sigh. They weren’t going to resolve this in the few minutes before they walked in, clearly. And he didn’t need the stress of Lily pissed at him when he had to remember not to faint on stage.

  “Fine,” he said, leaning against the car next to her, arms folded. “You first. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” To his complete dissatisfaction, she held her head high as she clipped inside and didn’t spare him a single glance.

  There was more going on here than she was saying. She wasn’t confiding in him, and that pissed him off as much as it concerned him.

  …

  “There you are!” Joanie. Smiling, happy, lovely Joanie. Lily’s best friend swished over to her. She was draped in a stunning blue, floor-length gown. Clive, looking dapper in a black tuxedo, followed behind his wife, two glasses of champagne in his hands. Joanie hugged Lily briefly, then peered over her shoulder as she pulled away. “Where’s Marcus?”

  “Marcus?”

  “Yeah, guy you work with,” Clive said blandly. “My best friend.” He handed over a flute to Joanie and offered Lily the other.

  She accepted, and filled the awkward space between the question and her lame answer by taking a sip. “Not my turn to watch him, ha-ha.”

  Her eyes swept the room in search of Emmett. Before, when she’d agreed to let Marcus drive her to the dinner, she’d been able to brush off the fact that Emmett would be here, and that he’d see her on Marcus’s arm. She’d liked the idea of it, actually. Then, tonight, as she pinned her hair up and spritzed perfume over her classy but revealing cocktail dress, she played another possible scenario in her head. Emmett seeing her with Marcus and telling Reginald London that Cameron Designs as a firm was wholly unsuited for the task of designing their superstore. And after Reginald had witnessed Marcus and Lily leaving the Camerons’ house together…what would he think? Of course, while she was having her little panic attack, she also considered the possibility that Reginald wouldn’t care at all. Joanie and Clive were married, and obviously sleeping together.

  But the past still stung her like angry wasps—the memory of Emmett betraying her, the way his claim that she’d been dishonest had completely tanked her career. In that moment, in L&B’s office with Ira Becker, she’d been made to feel like a cheap hanger-on rather than the brilliant designer behind the work that had landed them a huge account.

  And it was that memory, and Emmett’s dig of “more boobs than brains,” that made her chicken out.

  “Miss? Your coat?” A man in a smart black suit held out his hands and Lily peeled her coat away, feeling exposed now that she was here. In reality, she was showing no more skin than anyone else, but the airy reminder of her lack of undergarments made her feel like she had a sign announcing that she wasn’t wearing anything under her dress.

  “Oh, that dress!” Joanie exclaimed as the man took her coat. “You look absolutely gorgeous. Marcus will die.”

  Lily blinked at her friend, stunned.

  “Come on, Lil,” Clive said, plunging his hands into his pockets. “How much longer are you two gonna pretend not to be dating?”

  “We know, sweetie,” Joanie said, when Lily didn’t respond. “Ever since the mansion you two have been behaving like horny teenagers.”

  “Arguably,” Lily mumbled after swallowing another drink, “we’ve always behaved like teenagers with each other.”

  “True.”

  “So, it’s official, you and Marcus are doing it like rabbits,” Clive blurted.

  “Crass!” Joanie slapped her husband in the arm. Then she wrapped that hand around his elbow and stood close to him. “How could you not tell us, though?” she asked Lily. “We’re your best friends.”

  There was no way she could hide this for much longer anyway. “Emmett.”

  Understanding dawned in Joanie’s eyes. “Oh. I forgot about him.”

  If only Lily could do the same.

  “Emmett Webster?” Clive asked, his brow dented. “I just met him. One of London’s guys. I think he’s the head of marketing or something.”

  “Or something,” Lily muttered guiltily. “He’s the reason I left L&B.”

  “Shit.” Clive’s jaw tightened. “He’s the asshole who—”

  “Honey.” Joanie ran a soothing hand over Clive’s tuxedo sleeve. “Not the time. Or the place.”

  “You don’t want Marcus to know,” Clive said, still looking unhappy.

  “His speech,” Lily said. “He’s ready. He’s good. But I’m worried if he found out, he’d be murderous and then who knows…”

  Clive gave her a slow nod. “Since I feel murderous, I think you may be right.”

  “So, we’ll keep it to ourselves tonight. No biggie,” Joanie said.

  “Don’t worry, Lil,” Clive said. “We won’t let that asshole rile you.”

  His eyes went past Lily’s shoulder and she turned to see Marcus striding through the front doors. He looked so good tonight. So, so good. He wore a tux better than any man in the room. With those broad shoulders filling his jacket and his almost-black hair styled, his former stubble more a neatly trimmed beard… He’d grown
it because she’d asked him to. Again, she wondered if he’d do just about anything for her.

  Like come in here and pretend they weren’t dating.

  “There you guys are,” Marcus said. His eyes briefly scanned down her dress and up again. “You scrub up nicely, McIntire.” It was almost the complete opposite of what he’d said in her doorway. When she’d opened her front door to find him standing on her step with a bouquet of roses, he’d given her a reverent sweep of his eyes, followed by, “Lily, my God. You’re a vision.” Followed by the quip about her undergarments. To which she played into his talented hands perfectly. She missed that joking, sharp version of them. This version felt dull and sterile by comparison.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You look nice.”

  His lips pressed together, clearly displeased to carry on like this.

  Then the shithead hit the fan.

  Emmett Webster approached from across the room. He wore an off-the-rack suit on his medium frame, and a salesman’s smile on his peach-fuzz face. She used to find him attractive. She still would, she supposed, if she hadn’t known about the lying, forked tongue hiding behind his pearly teeth. His sharp, dark-blue eyes sliced down her body and up again and she tried not to feel self-conscious.

  “As I live and breathe,” he said.

  She was aware of Marcus taking a step closer to her. She didn’t think he knew who Emmett was, but she could be wrong. Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t insisted on this charade. If Marcus knew Joanie and Clive knew about them, he’d have slipped an arm around Lily and she could have leaned into his strength… Then again, Emmett would probably have said something then there’d be a brawl in the center of the dinner.

  She pictured Marcus punching Emmett out. It was not a bad picture. But definitely a bad idea. Marcus deserved the spotlight for his accomplishments.

  “Reginald pointed you out.” Emmett smiled at Marcus, ignoring her now. He held out a hand and introduced himself. “Emmett Webster. I’ll be handing out your award tonight on behalf of Mr. London. I wanted to extend personal congratulations. As a former designer, I appreciate your work. It’ll be an honor, my friend.”