The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series)

by Kristi Avalon

  The Billionaire’s Dare

  by

  Kristi Avalon

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover Design: Kim Van Meter

  Editor: Mary Ann Chulick

  The Billionaire’s Dare, Copyright © 2014 Kristi Avalon. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the memory of my beloved grandfather, Bob Young, the greatest human being to ever walk this earth. You are the glitter in my eye and the song in my heart. You were everything I can ever hope to be. God bless.

  My thanks to the amazing women who helped me through the most difficult year of my life—including my readers. Without you, I’m not sure I would have made it, or found the courage to write love stories despite a broken heart. My heart has mended. I can dare to dream again.

  I still believe in happily ever after. Always have, always will.

  Thank you for your gifts of love, support, late nights, coffee, and yoga.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  It started off as a dare.

  A joke Adam Soren and his associate Slone Rowan had taken one step too far.

  Now Adam needed to face the music. He’d rather listen to an out-of-tune guitar, its clashing chords grating every nerve as it blasted through Black Sabbath sized speakers in an empty stadium.

  But instead of him playing the chords by practiced memorization, the way he’d learned to do most things in his life, this time he required sheet music he didn’t understand. Because he couldn’t read worth a damn—sheet music or words on a page.

  And this performance required an audience. Dread burned through his stomach like battery acid.

  An audience of one wouldn’t be so bad, if she wasn’t also responsible for teaching him the basics most kids learned in Kindergarten. Most kids except him. Marissa Denning had agreed to attempt the impossible. To teach an ADD, dyslexic, pissed off son-of-a-bitch like him to read.

  During his school years, he’d spent more time in the principal’s office, in detention, or on the streets after getting expelled than he had in any classroom. Since he couldn’t understand anything the teachers wrote on the blackboard, what was the point?

  He felt a stab of guilt about Marissa, since he wasn’t into this, but he also wasn’t backing down. Slone wouldn’t beat him at this dare.

  Adam refused to cave.

  Instead of heading straight to his “tutoring” session with Marissa, he steered the handlebars of his Harley-Davidson Fat Boy into a gravel parking lot. Neon bar lights beckoned him. Why not? A shot of 1800 Tequila might help the words unscramble themselves.

  When he pushed through the doors, Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog” thumped from the crackling speakers. Some of the guys he knew in a local Denver chapter shot pool in a dimly lit corner. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like a hazy veil. The guys who came to this shithole got away with more than they could in other bars. So did the girls. Lacy bras and thong panties hung from the ceiling, and if a couple wanted to hook up, there were rooms in back – and even a willing female – for the right price.

  But he wasn’t here for that perk. He’d pay for tap water before he’d pay to get off, even though he could afford to spend every night with the most expensive call girl in the city. Why, when there were plenty of hot women willing to spread their legs in his bed for free?

  Adam pulled out a stool and dropped onto the surface that was cracked from being thrown across the room one too many times, possibly by him. Though he attempted to channel it into weightlifting, his craving to unleash physical aggression had found a home here on occasion.

  He hooked his biker boots on the lower rungs. “Danny, can I get a shot of Eighteen-Hundred chilled?”

  Danny nodded. “Just one?”

  “For now. Not staying long.” Adam ran his hands through the waves of his hair. “I’m on the bike tonight. You know my rule, two wheels two drinks.”

  So Danny poured two oversized shots to save himself the trouble a second time.

  Unzipping his leather coat, weighted with metal plates to protect against road rash in case he laid down his bike, Adam set his elbows on the scuffed up bar. He tossed back one shot, letting the other sit while the welcome burn washed down his throat and put his head in a better place.

  “Sure you want to take off early, dude? It’s ladies’ night. Tess is working the floor starting at nine.”

  Adam snorted. “I’ll bet.”

  With a shrug, Danny crossed his arms over his leather vest. “She’s been asking about you. You haven’t been in for a while.”

  Adam gave a noncommittal grunt. Tess was his type—blonde hair, big lips, huge tits, plenty of curves to keep his hands and mouth busy all night. He liked a girl he could shove against the wall and fuck hard without worrying about breaking her. In the bedroom she was feisty, wild, up for everything, and not interested in the long-term, just like him. At least, she’d seemed uninterested the last couple times she’d ridden to his place on the back of his Harley. Now he finds out she’s been asking about him.

  Whatever happened to casual sex to scratch an itch? One and done?

  For reasons he couldn’t figure out, that simple pursuit had become tougher to find, more like a chore instead of a good time. Maybe he just wasn’t digging deep enough, but the once-full well seemed to have dried up on him. Damned inconvenient. After the twelve to fourteen-hour days he’d been working for the past three months, onboarding new bodyguard recruits, he didn’t have the time or energy to go chasing tail. He’d never had to play the game before, just showed up at a biker bar like this where he’d had his pick.

  Lately he came home alone wound so tight but so exhausted he didn’t even reach for porn, if he bothered jacking off at all.

  On that reminder, he decided he needed to get laid. ASAP. He checked the time on his smartphone. Seven o’clock. His self-punishing session with Marissa tonight ran from 7:30 to 8:30. “You said Tess starts her shift at nine?”

  “Yep,” Danny replied.

  Adam tossed back his second shot. “I might be back.”

  “I figured.” Danny shrugged. “Later, man.”

  Sending a two-finger wave, Adam stood and headed for the door. He zipped up his coat, walked outside and straddled his motorcycle. Using his feet to guide the heavy bike out of the parking space, he turned the handlebars to face the street before he started the engine.

  With a sharp rev and eardrum-bursting acceleration, he blasted out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of torture.

  An old, deep-seated dread gnawed at his gut, dredging up memories from childhood he’d purposely forgotten. If only the cool May wind whipping through his hair could scrape those thoughts away as it rushed over him, chafing his knuckles that turned white with the force of his grip on the handlebars. He appreciated the crisp night air pounding against his face. Combined with the tequila it offered the numbing effect necessary for him to slow down when he approached Marissa’s street address then pulled in
to her driveway.

  Killing the engine, resting the weight of his bike onto the kickstand, he stared at her front door with grim determination. He’d win this damn bet. Conquer this idiotic dare.

  No matter what it cost him. Even if it stripped his pride beyond recognition.

  His chest tightened with crushing force that squeezed the breath from his lungs.

  Fuck it. He strode along her walkway with the grim purpose of a man about to wrestle an eight-hundred pound gorilla in a cage match. He went up to the glass enclosed porch, hit the door bell, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  A small boy around age seven or eight answered, opening the glass door and then the screen. Adam’s eyebrows rose. She’s got a kid.

  “Hi, Mommy!” the boy greeted cheerfully, before his head dropped back and his round eyes rolled up, up, up to stare at Adam’s face. “Oh.” He shrank back behind the door to peek at him from the edge. “You’re not my mom.”

  Adam rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure which of them felt more awkward. “Uh, no.”

  “I’m waiting for Miss Denning to finish tutoring my brother,” the boy said in a whisper.

  “I’m waiting for Miss Denning, too.”

  The kid stared at him with something close to terror, as if Adam had stepped out of the first Terminator movie as Arnold Schwarzenegger. “Mom’s coming to get us any minute.”

  Trying to find a way to appear less intimidating, Adam asked, “You like motorcycles?”

  Excitement sparked in the boy’s eyes. He nodded.

  “Want to sit on my bike and see what it’s like to ride?”

  “Yeah!” He popped out from behind the door, tagging along toward the driveway. When they reached his bike, Adam swung the boy up onto the seat. His little fingers clutched the huge handlebars. “This is so cool,” he said in an awestruck tone, and made vroom-vroom sounds and mimicked tire squeals in an arcade game.

  Plucking his sunglasses from his shirt collar, Adam unfolded them and slid them onto the boy’s face. The kid sucked in his cheeks and puffed out his chest, turning his head and nodding like he owned the world. Adam fought a grin. “Pull up your collar.” He tugged up the boy’s shirt collar for him. “You’re rockin’ that look, little man.”

  “I know.”

  “Humble, too.”

  The kid wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know what that means.”

  A half-smile tugged at Adam’s lips. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay.” More vroom-vroom, screeeeech noises.

  Headlights beamed on them as a boat of an SUV trundled into the apron of the drive. Adam heard the transmission slam into park. Uh-oh. Mama’s not happy. Taking back his sunglasses, he asked, “What’s your name, little man?”

  “Tommy. What’s yours?”

  “Ad—”

  “Mr. Soren,” a feminine voice said behind them.

  Adam glanced over and down, his gaze falling to the petite woman with bright eyes and long, shining black hair. Marissa?

  She’s cute.

  Not good.

  “Thanks for letting me see your motorcycle, Mr. Soren.”

  Adam brought the boy down from the bike and set him on the ground as the mother jumped out of the SUV, racing toward them. “Tommy, get away from that dangerous thing!”

  The very pregnant woman glared at him and his motorcycle as if Adam had let her son handle a live viper. That’s what he’d named her, his latest custom H-D. Viperess. Had the artist airbrush it on the tank, too, with the snake’s nostrils flared, fangs bared showing a glistening drop of poison, with the coils fanning back in gradient shades of black, dark purple, gray and white. She was a beauty. The only female he’d ridden in way too long. Which pulled his attention like an industrial magnet back to the chick who’d be his tutor.

  Marissa stepped between the frantic mother and Adam, ushering the two boys toward the vehicle. “Tommy, Collin, I’ll see you at six-thirty next week. Have a good night, Mrs. Miles.”

  “You, too.” The woman’s glance darted between Marissa and Adam, appearing confused and disturbed by their unexpected association.

  Nothing Adam wasn’t used to—mothers had always given him that look, something between dread and loathing, especially when he’d come to pick up their daughters. For good reason. His lips parted in a broad, unapologetic smile.

  Mrs. Miles edged away, shooing her children into the SUV. Marissa waved as the family backed out of the driveway. The unguarded moment gave Adam a chance to check out her assets. A little too small for his taste and sexual appetites, but beautifully proportioned. His dick stood at attention and saluted the tight little package that was Marissa.

  “Mm-mmm,” he hummed under his breath in appreciation.

  Turning, she smiled up at him. A warm, almost sensual smile that stopped his breath and knocked him back on his heels.

  Hold up. No. She wasn’t supposed to have an effect on him—any effect, even sexual. And he shouldn’t inspire anything in her either, definitely not the intrigue spark in her almond-shaped eyes.

  Hell, he was an open and shut case. Simple. Horny, illiterate, rebel biker, asshole. She should want nothing to do with him, not even tutoring, yet she didn’t seem intimidated. The way she looked at him…he swore she saw something more than most people bothered to look for in him.

  Defenses closing ranks, he crossed his arms and returned her stare. “Am I what you expected?” he asked on a sneer.

  “Yes. And no.”

  What? That wasn’t an answer. He wanted things straightforward, good or bad, black or white. Not the fascinating shades of gray she offered in her penetrating expression. She threw him off. He didn’t like it.

  Spreading her arms, she walked toward him. “Am I what you expected?”

  “No. And no.”

  Her laugh sounded the way champagne sparkled. “Good. Now step aside so I can check out your ride.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Adding another notch to her belt of surprises, she inspected his motorcycle with an expert investigation.

  “This is one tricked-out Fat Boy. Stinger custom wheels with black laced rims. Custom-built chrome engine and lowered suspension. Street Slammer handlebar. Screamin’ Eagle mufflers. You definitely didn’t skimp on the details. Nice paint job, too.”

  Narrowing his gaze, he sent her a wary look. “How the hell do you know all that?”

  The thick fringes of her lashes veiled her eyes. “We all have secrets, Adam.”

  “You know my biggest one—I can’t read for shit. Doesn’t that make me entitled to know one of yours?”

  “Possibly.” Her lips curved with an edge of seduction. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. “At the end of tonight’s tutoring session, maybe I’ll share something about myself with you.”

  “It better be good.” He winked. “Something juicy. Shocking. Indecent.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a second grade teacher, how sordid could my life possibly be?”

  “If the word sordid has anything to do with kinky sex, I’ll hang on every word.”

  She bit her lips like she was trying not to smile. “Sorry to disappoint you. Sordid just means dark and seedy, unclean deeds if you will.”

  “I like dirty deeds,” he said.

  “Done dirt cheap?”

  “An AC/DC fan. Nice.” He nodded. “You’re a rocker chick at heart. I like you even more.” He was totally Hot for Teacher, a song by another of his favorite rock bands, Van Halen.

  “This isn’t a popularity contest. You don’t need to like me.” She shrugged. “There might be times when you hate me, because learning to read after you’ve managed this long will be hard work, but worth the effort. An entire world is going to open up for you.”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

  “Thanks for letting me be a part of this major step you’re taking,” she said sweetly, like Mother Theresa offering Satan a glass of ice water.

  Something unco
mfortable caught in his chest, and he shook his head. “I’m a pain in the ass. If you’re smart, you’ll tell me to get lost, go waste someone else’s time.”

  “Nobody wastes my time,” she said, “as long as they’re learning. So let’s get started. We’ve already lost five minutes.”

  He motioned to the walkway. “You’re the boss.”

  “Hmm, that has a nice ring to it,” she said with amusement in her tone.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he muttered, following her toward her front door. “You call the shots in my world for one hour, once a week. That’s it.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she arched an eyebrow at him. “One hour is all I need.”

  The way she said that made him envision sex. One hour was all he needed too, to rock her world. Damn he was hard. He readjusted himself and refocused on the conversation. “Just don’t think you can save me. Or change me. And we’ll be fine.”

  “However much you decide to change is up to you, Adam. There are no guarantees. I’m not a miracle worker.”

  He grunted. “My life ran out of miracles a long time ago. I’m running on the leftover fumes.”

  “Give yourself some credit. You showed up. That’s a big deal.”

  “Uh-huh.” He wasn’t noble, just stubborn. A bad loser, too. Slone had put him up to this, and Adam would conquer the dare. And tonight right after tutoring he’d bury himself between Tess’s thighs and get good and laid.

  Nope, no decency to be found in his morally bankrupted heart. Just the way he liked it.

  Before she reached for the handle of the porch door, she turned abruptly. He almost took a header into her cleavage, stopping himself with grueling effort. Because she stood two steps above him, their faces aligned, forcing his eyes to lock on hers.

  “Before we get started, I have rules,” she said.

  “I don’t do rules.”

  She ignored him. “First, come on time.”

  Say the word, sugar, and I’ll come whenever, wherever you want. Unable to help himself, he found his gaze dropping to the outline of her breasts beneath her shirt. “Yeah.”