Dare To Love Series: A Stranger's Dare (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Vonnie Davis

  “That I am, but my time’s devoted to the game right now.” No booze, no fighting, no racing, and no women. I’ll probably die from a fucking overdose of clean living.

  Two more women crowded into the shot his driver was about to take with Maeve’s camera, purring about his marital status, and he curled his other arm around their waists.

  Cooper sniggered and raised the camera. “Gee, Webb, if they’re this excited about meeting one of the best running backs in the country, good thing they don’t know you’re a former SEAL.”

  Squeals bounced off the elevator walls and every woman on the damned lift was all over Webb. “Oh my God, a SEAL!”… “My current WIP is about a group of SEALs.” … “Feel his muscles.”… “Oh, and he’s got a man bun. He totally rocks it.” … “He’s like a brick wall.” … “I wish he’d slam me up against a brick wall.”

  He was cornered. “You got that damn picture taken yet, Coop?” I need to get the hell off this elevator.

  “Oh, my God, he smells like dark sin.” A nose rubbedagainst his neck, and a shiver zinged across his scalp.

  A bead of sweat trickled from his temple. “Cooper!” he barked.

  Buttons on Webb’s shirt came undone. Fingertips scraped his skin. His necktie was ripped off. A hand cupped his ass. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus, feel his tight buns, girls.” Heaven help him, they’d all gone hot and horny as if he were the last man on the face of the earth. Jeee-sus.

  “Alright! Enough!” He punched the elevator button to get the frigging thing in motion again. “Cooper, give the camera back and let’s get out of this car. What have you women been drinking? Sex on the beach?” His shocked gaze raked over the randy, tipsy ladies.

  “Blow jobs!” A trio giggled and slid closer. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and he tried to bust through the perfumed line to make his escape. But hell they’d all gone apeshit!

  Webb barged through the crowd of estrogen fueled females. Once he made it off the elevator, he gasped for air. Didn’t they have sex where they came from? He had no clue who these women were and, frankly, didn’t give a rat’s ass. He couldn’t. Not being on sexual probation.

  Hell, he had lipstick prints on his white shirt and his chest. He pivoted and glared at the closed elevator doors, hands on his hips. “What. The. Hell. Was. That? I’ve been in hand-to-hand combat that wasn’t that damn scary. I swear one of those harmless looking females grabbed my junk.” And it didn’t feel too bad either.

  Two hours later, Webb stood in front of the wall of elevators, wearing a clean shirt and another necktie. If there were any women on this elevator, he was giving them his don’t-fuck-with-me scowl and damn anyone who had the nerve to come within touching distance. He wasn’t losing his chance to play football.

  One quiet elevator ride later, Webb strode into the bright afternoon sunlight. He meandered through the heavy foot traffic as yellow cabs delivered passengers to the hotel.

  Feminine cursing and a scuffle to the right snagged his attention. A kid shoved a pretty woman over her bulky suitcase, her sleek curtain of raven hair streamed backward like a parachute opening. “Thief!” She tripped the bastard with her red stilettoes and kicked him.

  The punk had the audacity to backhand her. Before Webb could reach them, the kid had run off with her red purse.

  Although he knew this was all staged, he didn’t approve of the guy striking the woman. He coiled his arm around her waist and set her on her feet before upending her pink luggage. A whiff of sexy perfume damn near rendered him speechless. Sexy, sweet, seductive.

  “You okay?” His gaze followed the thief. He’d catch the overzealous sombitch.

  “I need my purse!” She struggled to cover her shapely legs with the disheveled tight skirt of her red dress. Damn, the beauty was tall. In her heels, they were almost eye to eye.

  “Answer me. Are you okay?” For some reason, he needed to know.

  “Yes, but that kid stole my purse! All my money and credit cards are in there! Medicines. My registration papers and room reservations for RWA.” Her brown gaze bore into his while her hand rose to her face where she’d been struck.

  “I’ll get the bastard and your purse. Don’t worry.” Webb took off running. This jerk couldn’t last for more than a few city blocks.

  Punk ass glanced over his shoulder, saw Webb in hot pursuit, and pumped his purse-stealing legs harder. He shoved a few people out of his way and jumped over a stroller.

  “Run, you thieving bastard! I’ll catch your ass before I even break a sweat.”

  Punk ass shot him another look, saw he was closer, and swore. “Get the fuck away from me, you pervert.” He glanced around. “Help! Help! This man wants to ram me up the ass!”

  Passersby paid no attention to the kid carrying a red leather handbag.

  Webb made a huge leap, grabbed the runner by the ankle, and smiled when the kid’s face bounced off the pavement. He soon had a chokehold on him with one arm as he spoke to the police on his cell. Management hadn’t instructed him to call the cops, but with a crowd of people taking videos and snapping pictures, he had to cover his own ass. After all, a hero would do the right thing. Webb’s knee pressed into the kid’s back and every time the punk tried to break free, Webb tightened his arm around his Adam’s apple. He’d soon be speaking through applesauce.

  A squad car zipped in front of the hotel seconds after Webb reached the attractive,tall woman with the straight ebony hair and pearlescent skin that begged touching.

  He pinned the guy’s arms against his back. “Now, dipshit, apologize to the lady for stealing her purse and striking her.” His hold tightened. “See the mark you put on her face?”

  “Like I give a shit, asshole.”

  The mouthy bastard’s knee crumbled when Webb kicked the back of it with his heel. “Is your hearing bad?”

  In a smooth motion, his hold shifted so he had punk boy’s one arm shoved almost to the back of his neck. He knew from SEAL training, this kid’s shoulder joint had to hurt like hell.

  “Ow! You can’t hurt me like this! I got rights, motherfucker!”

  Man, management had really hired a smartass actor. “Yes, you do. You’ve got the right to correct a wrong when you’ve committed one.” He exerted more pressure to the kid’s shoulder joint. “Now, hand the kind lady her purse, tell her you’re sorry, and that you won’t do it again.”

  Once the kid complied in a half-assed way, one of the policemen handcuffed him. The other asked bothWebb and the pretty robbery victim, Gracie Luera, what had occurred.

  While the officer took Gracie’s statement, about thirty feet away, a movement caught Webb’s eye. An older,silver-haired female in a white pantsuit, holding a big red purse swung it around in front of her. She gave a sheepish smile. A young man in a black hoodie talked on a cell and pointed at Webb. A prickle of unease zinged up his spine. When his cell dinged an incoming text, he slipped it from his jacket’s interior pocket and read the screen.

  Dumbass! You rescued the wrong damn woman!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gracie Luera’s hero must have a problem with mood swings. No sooner had he brutalized the young thief, a look of menace on his handsome face, than he reached for his cell phone, read a text, and threw his head back and guffawed. A second text followed and after reading it, he was bent over, his large hands on thick thighs, and laughing like a man possessed.

  Maybe my purse thief isn’t the only nut in the jar.

  She didn’t see anything so damn funny. In fact, she still shook as the squad car drove off with her purse bandit. The pain on her cheekbone wasn’t what made her tremble. She was used to a zealous basketball player knocking her over or jabbing her with his elbow, but this experience of being viciously robbed and struck with malice was very different.

  Her gaze stayed on the snappy dresser currently in a fit of hysterics while she slowly grabbed the handle of her pink suitcase and slung her matching briefcase over her shoulder. She didn’t want any sudden movements to star
tle another mood change.“Thanks for your help. You were a lifesaver.”

  Nut flavored though you may be.

  She pivoted to get inside, away from crazy man in a suit.

  His hand wrapped around her bicep. “Don’t hurry off. Gracie, isn’t it?” His face was now composed with a solemn expression.

  “Yes, it’s Gracie.” She forced a smile, waiting for the next mood-change-train to come barreling through Times Square. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember names well when I get nervous and I’ve forgotten yours.” She stepped back once, then twice. He stepped forward once, then twice, as if he was determined to be in her space.

  Crap, he wasn’t going to turn into a puppy and start following her, was he? Her girly parts zinged a little. They took her on a momentary imaginary ride. A sensual one where he might lick her ankles and the backs of her knees. Lord have mercy on her hormones. Now she was having mood swings from self-satisfaction to self-preservation from this stranger.

  She didn’t want to appear rude. Maybe she could appease him before she hurried off. “You’re certainly a thoughtful man. I mean to run after a crook for a perfect stranger. You deserve a Good Samaritan award. At the least, a t-shirt that reads ‘Hero’.”

  He waved her remark away with an open hand. “Think nothing of it.” The corners of his mouth twitched and damn if he didn’t start laughing again. He wiped tears from his eyes. “God, I love it when their plans to control me go to shit.”

  Whose plans? The psychiatric ward’s?

  Once he worked through that mood, he seemed to shift into caring mode. Oh, this guy was clearly off his meds.

  He took her hand in his warm one and covered it with his other. “It’s okay if you don’t recall my name.” The man had the boldness to wink. “There’s an old saying my momma uses often, especially when she’s pouring my morning coffee. ‘Strangers are just friends we haven’t met yet.’”

  Oh, great, a momma’s boy with issues.

  “The name’s Webb Mohanty. Please, call me Webb.” There was a hint of southern accent in his deep voice that revved her girly bits. Unfortunately, they liked a man with an accent as well as the bad boy type. Gracie had always been drawn to danger, too, but she was trying to change that. Her strategy? Avoid men.

  “Maybe you’ve heard of me? Does my name ring a bell? Webb Mohanty, best damn running back in the country. Does football interest you?”

  “No. I’m more of a basketball person. Although I totally like the tights in their uniforms.” She smiled as sweetly as she could, preparing for a mood shift.

  “Tights? Like ballet dancers wear?” He hulked over her or tried.

  Six months ago, when she’d set herself on this path of celibacy, she’d promised herself never to allow another man to intimidate her—not like her mother consistently had. In direct opposition to her weakness for abusive jerks, Gracie had learned to guard her private space, even if it meant being alone. She couldn’t proclaim to like her loneliness, but it was better than being verbally abused.

  “Fucking tights,” Mr. Mood Change mumbled and she laughed until her sides hurt.

  He nodded and a smile blazed. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? Trying to see if you can get a rise out of me. Well, everyone knows I’m too even tempered for that.”

  She snickered. “What you are is too full of yourself.” Her briefcase strap slipped off her shoulder and she jerked it back in place.

  “Now, don’t be mean.” His finger trailed down her cheek and a shiver skittered over her skin. “Your full name would be Gracie…”

  She wasn’t about to tell this stranger her full name, even if he had retrieved her purse. Even if he was ‘the best damn running’…whatever…whatever. Yes, that was cold, but she’d only gotten off the plane less than an hour ago and she’d already been hit and mugged. She needed to exert more caution. Still, she didn’t want to appear rude. Hard to tell what mood he’d shift into next. “I’d be happy if you just called me Gracie. All my friends do.”

  He smiled with the easy charm of a well-practiced man and her knees wobbled a bit. Good God, this tall, dark, blue-eyed man was going to be the hero of her next book, man bun and all. He was most definitely sexy as sin in that suit, no matter what kind of mood fluctuations he suffered.

  He shook her hand. “Okay, Gracie.” An electrical charge of some type—static maybe?—tingled her palm, making her want to rub it over him to ease the vibrations. The unwanted sensual pulsations took a direct route to her nipples and then traveled the southern trail. She squeezed her thighs together. She couldn’t be attracted to this guy. She wouldn’t allow it.

  As if he’d had the same reaction, he let go of her hand and she had the greatest urge to check his pale blue shirt to see if there were singe marks at his nipples. Thank the heavens this would be their only meeting. He was way too strange for her liking—and so was her response.

  “I guess I should check to make sure my things are still inside my handbag.” Gracie rummaged through her purse with trembling hands. She opened her wallet, thumbed through her cash and credit cards, and smiled. “Everything’s here! I can’t believe you were able to get it back for me. I could kiss you!”

  Webb extended his hand in a stop gesture. He was all scowls and attitude now. “Please, I’ve been kissed by strange women enough today.” He shuddered.“I never knew accountants were such a wild bunch. I was damn near raped in an elevator in this hotel!” His thumb jerked to where she was about to check in.

  She coughed in an effort to hide the giggle ready to spring forth. “Accountants?”

  “Yeah. I suppose they’re accountants.” He shrugged those wide muscled shoulders. “There’re signs everywhere inside for RWA, which I presume are Registered Women Accountants. Although from what I’ve experienced, they’re more like Rowdy Accountants.”

  Oh dear God, he’s just too cute in his ignorance. Her hand fiddled with the straps of her purse while she tried not to laugh. “Oh, poor baby. It must be such a burden to be tall, dark, and hunkalicious.” He spared her a testosterone filled look of overconfidence, which she chose to ignore. “Seriously, how can I thank you?”That might be a dumb question.

  Eyes the color of sapphires studied her before a slow sexy smile brightened his seriously handsome features. “Be my date tonight for a few drinks with my team’s management. I play for the Miami Thunder and some of us are in the city for a meeting. Dress up.” He squeezed her hand. “There will be lots of press there.”

  She would like to see Webb again. He’d be prime research material, not to mention he’d be gorgeous to look at over a margarita…over a cup of coffee…over her shoulder as he… Time out! My panties are getting damp over this man of many moods.

  “I’m not sure I have anything dressy enough to wear.” She glanced at her suitcase and did a quick mental inventory.

  Webb stared at her luggage, too. “You mean you don’t have one pretty, sexy outfit in that big pink thing?”

  She bristled. “I came here for meetings and workshops, not photo ops and seduction.”

  His fingers forked through her long hair and she stepped back to avoid his touch. She stumbled over her suitcase and strong arms banded around her back and waist to keep her from falling. “Careful,” his voice was low and intimate as he held her against his solid frame. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” His cheek rubbed against hers and sparked feelings of arousal she hadn’t had in ages. She inhaled. Woods and lime, a heady combination on a handsome man.

  “Let me take your luggage in for you while you register. That way I’ll know what room you’ll be in so I can come for you tonight.” He released his hold on her. “You did agree to go with me, right? Like you, I’ve had a rough day. Knowing I’ll have a beautiful woman on my arm tonight will give me something to look forward to.” His hand swept over her hair. “How tall are you?”

  “Six-one.” Finding a guy who could handle her stature had always been a problem. If she hadn’t had her luggage and briefcase to worry about and
hadn’t worn a tight skirt, she could have chased down the thief herself. She smiled. Maybe if she bugged Webb a little she could get out of this date she couldn’t recall accepting. “Aren’t you intimidated by my height?”

  He grabbed the handle to her luggage and placed a hand at the small of her back as he inclined his lips to her ear. “Baby, I can handle whatever you’ve got. Bring it on.”

  Well, hell, she hadn’t been expecting that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gracie was one fine looking woman. Their shoulders brushed as they walked toward the revolving glass doors. She was almost his height which was something new. Normally the women he dated were shorter, much shorter. But none had sparked every part of his being like this raven-haired beauty. She took his breath away and he didn’t mind the sensation one bit.

  Using a remote, the suited doorman set the doors in a slow revolve, allowing them to maneuver her luggage inside. Webb’s gaze followed the sway of her firm ass as she strutted to the front desk. His cock hardened. One month. One fucking dry month.

  He leaned an elbow on the marble counter while Gracie Luera checked in. She’d been afraid to give him her full name earlier. He could see it in her eyes. The hesitance. The wariness. She was only being careful, protecting her safe zone. He could understand after just being mugged. But she’d given it and her address to the policeman during her statement. Although he couldn’t recall her complete address, Webb had hung onto her name and that she was from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.

  “Webb, I’ll be in room twenty-two nineteen. Can you remember that?”

  He made note of it on his phone. “Got it. I’ll be at your door at seven. Give me your number, so I can text you in case of emergency.” He saved her number when she rattled it off.

  “Gracie? Coach Gracie Luera?” A reporter with a camera hurried their way. Webb couldn’t recall his name, just that he wrote for the Times of New York City.