Dare to Love (Maxwell #3)

by S. B. Alexander

  “He tried, but I wasn’t feeling good.” It wasn’t that big of a lie. I had gotten queasy when Zach told me his father had gambled away his college fund.

  “I see. Well, no running out of class early today. I expect to see what you’re capable of before the end of class.” He called to a student ahead of us as he hurried off.

  I spied Kelton out of the corner of my eye not far beyond Mr. Brewer. A short brunette sashayed her wide hips as she came up to him and handed him a piece of paper. He glanced at it, folded it up, and stuck it into the pocket of his jeans.

  Quietly berating myself, I stomped down the hall, merging with a crowd of people who were coming out of a classroom. The last time I’d acted like a jealous fool was in the seventh grade. Erika Ames would pass love notes to Kelton in social studies. After a week of five love notes scented with perfume and Kelton smelling them like he wanted to eat the words off the paper, I’d returned the notes to her with the words, You’re ugly, and I hate you and Kelton’s signature at the bottom. Then she cried every time she saw Kelton. I wanted to do something similar to the cute brunette, but I wasn’t in grade school anymore, and I had no claim to Kelton. All the feelings of need, want, and desire for Kelton had to be sealed away in a place whose key I didn’t have access to. Keep things platonic.

  The girl laughed at something Kelton said. I tucked my chin to my chest and sped down the hall.

  One foot past him, a strong hand gripped my bicep. “Lizzie?” Kelton asked. The deep timbre of his voice nestled into me, awakening the butterflies.

  Swear words sat idly on the tip of my tongue. I peered up at him, hoping I didn’t have a trace of jealousy on my face. The brunette glided off in a huff.

  He pulled me closer to him, out of the way of traffic. A small space separated us. Filtered sunlight from the window above illuminated all that was Kelton Maxwell. Jeans covered his strong thighs. Bright green boxer briefs peeked through a rip on his left thigh. A red shirt stretched tightly over his broad chest, defining the outline of his biceps. To put the cherry on top of a delicious specimen, his face had a five o’clock shadow. There was no way in hell I would make it through art class.

  He leaned into my ear, his hot breath sending a shiver all the way down to my toes. “See something you like?”

  “Are you too cheap to buy jeans without holes in them?” I blurted out in a voice that was way too terse.

  “You know I might be naked today. Can you handle that?” A devilish grin flashed across his face as he cocked his knee, planting his foot on the wall.

  Those butterflies busted out of their cocoons. “So did you talk to Zach?”

  “What’s with the red wig?” he asked. “I already know who you are.”

  “I’d rather not have to explain myself to Mr. Brewer.”

  “Mmm.” He scratched his chin. “I don’t like you with red hair.”

  And I don’t like you taking notes from girls.

  The hall became crowded as more classes let out.

  “Did you talk to Zach?” I asked again. If not, I’ll take matters into my own hands.

  “I haven’t seen him.” He sounded annoyed. “He left a note saying he’d be down at the Cape for the weekend. But I do have an appointment with an attorney later this afternoon.”

  “I’m going with.” My tone was stern.

  He tapped a finger on my nose. “You don’t have to get bossy. I was going to ask you anyway.”

  His scent of rain made me dizzy for a second. “Will he charge for his time?” I didn’t have money to hire an attorney.

  “Consultation is free.” He pushed off the wall. “Come on. We should get to class.” His phone dinged. As he read the text, fun and cocky Kelton transformed into a man I didn’t know, stone cold. The light in his eyes went out.

  My guess? It was a message from Kade. I didn’t have time to ponder that thought. When we entered the art room, all eyes went to Kelton. His indifferent demeanor changed immediately as he plastered on one of his thigh-squeezing smiles.

  Heavy sighs chorused around the room, even from the guys in class. Kelton bowed his head like he had just given a superb performance on Broadway.

  “Settle down, folks,” Mr. Brewer said. “Mr. Maxwell, get changed.”

  I sat in the same spot I had the week before. Then I took out my sketchpad, praying that I could draw something. During the last class I’d had a problem with the placement of the eyes. Mr. Brewer had given me pointers on positioning the pupils, but I hadn’t listened, not with Kelton an arm’s reach from me in nothing but a freaking cowboy hat. My pulse began to beat like a drumroll. I blew out a breath, thinking of lawyers, my money, anything other than Kelton.

  On stage, Mr. Brewer removed the screen Kelton had been changing behind. Sharp intakes of breath sounded in the room. Heat seared my cheeks. Handing in any artwork today would be impossible. The urge to run sat heavy within me. I squirmed in my seat.

  Kelton winked.

  Asshat.

  I shook off my impure thoughts and set pencil to paper in an attempt to sketch Kelton as he rested against the back wall in nothing but bright-green boxer briefs. His left arm lay casually across his forehead while he pulled down his briefs on the right side, exposing his perfect V. The tightness of the fabric accentuated the shape of his manly parts. I licked my lips as I envisioned tracing the colorful lizard tattoo that made an alluring path south.

  As I began my quest to bring Kelton to life on paper, I wasn’t certain how I was going to walk into a lawyer’s office with him that afternoon. The only thing on my mind would be Kelton’s penis.

  15

  Kelton

  Leather furnishings, deep burgundy walls, and an oriental carpet gave the reception area of Davenport Law Offices a luxurious atmosphere. As Lizzie and I waited for Mr. Davenport, sharply dressed men and women breezed by in both directions. Some hurried with folders in their hands while others casually strolled and talked. I hadn’t heard back from Mr. Davenport yet on my interview. I thought I might that day.

  “Why are you nervous?” I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.

  She chomped on a fingernail. “This place looks too rich for my bank account.”

  “You sure that’s the reason?”

  Lizzie had had a tomato-red face all the way through art class. Occasionally she’d wiped her brow as she’d sketched me. When she wasn’t clearing the sheen of sweat from her face, she was writhing in her seat. Hell, I was trying not to do the same as I posed. I had to keep my gaze on the door as I usually did, repeating my mantra. Patriots, football, Super Bowl. Getting a hard-on was impossible to control, especially when I replayed our kiss in Dillon’s basement. By the time Brew called time, I was the one sweating like a pig.

  In the law office, she kept her focus on the wall across from us where a colorful abstract painting hung. Her delicate jaw was rock solid as she held a nail hostage between her lips. “Yes,” she said in a muffled tone.

  I leaned into her. “Maybe you’re still thinking of me in art class.”

  Her knee began to bounce.

  A man cleared his throat. I straightened, turning my attention to Mr. Davenport, whose tie sat loosely around his neck as though he’d just lost a big case.

  “Mr. Maxwell, nice to see you again. Why don’t we sit in the conference room right around the corner here?” He gestured to my left, the diamonds on his wedding band glimmering.

  Lizzie hopped up. I trailed behind her, watching her swing her hips from side to side. I stifled a groan as we entered the richly designed conference room—oak and leather furnishings—and filed away any and all impure thoughts of Lizzie.

  Mr. Davenport pulled out a chair from the massive table then eased into it. Lizzie and I chose two across from him.

  After I made the introductions, I said, “Thank you for seeing us. As I mentioned on the phone, Lizzie has a problem with the trustee of her father’s estate. We suspect he’s taken off with her inheritance. We’d like to know what her leg
al options are.”

  She fiddled with the chain of her necklace between her forefinger and thumb. “I’ve contacted the attorney in Florida who set up my parents’ estate, but he hasn’t returned my calls. And I’m in Boston trying to find the man who stole my money.”

  “Do you know for certain he has?” Interest splashed over Mr. Davenport’s face.

  She sucked on her cheek. “He hasn’t deposited my monthly allowance, and he didn’t pay my college tuition at the beginning of the semester. When I went to his house, he’d apparently moved out. At least that’s what his neighbor told me.”

  Mr. Davenport mulled something over. Then he said, “Mr. Maxwell, you want a job here this summer, correct?”

  I nodded. “This isn’t about me, though.” I did want to prove that I wasn’t just some naked model. But out of the five law firms I’d submitted my résumé to the year before, Davenport’s law firm had name recognition and was known for helping clients who lived in other states. Which could help move things along more quickly for Lizzie.

  “Tell you what. Prove to me that I should hire you. Research the estate laws in Florida. You can use the law library here. Once you have some answers, then we’ll sit down and talk.”

  “What?” Lizzie’s voice was high, grinding like nails on a chalkboard. “Kelton isn’t a lawyer. You are. Time is critical here. Why can’t you just give me advice?” Her body was rigid. “I need my money.”

  The law moved slowly, on lawyers’ and judges’ time. But I empathized with her frustration.

  “Ms. Reardon, I wasn’t finished.” Mr. Davenport gentled his professional tone. “First, my advice today won’t get you any closer to getting your money back today or even next week.”

  A muscle ticked in Lizzie’s jaw as her breathing sped up.

  “And while Mr. Maxwell is doing his research, I’ll draft a letter to the attorney in Florida asking for a copy of the estate documents. I need to understand what’s in those.” He opened his hands in a dramatic fashion. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy to remove a trustee from an estate. We need facts. The good news is, as a beneficiary, you are entitled to know every detail about your parents’ estate. You should also know if the trustee has been complying with his duties set forth in the legal documents. But again, the process will take time.”

  “So what you’re saying is I won’t get my money back.” Her face reddened.

  Mr. Davenport clasped his hands together on the table. “One way to get to the bottom of this matter is to find the man and ask him for the accounting documents on the estate.”

  Accounting or not, Terrance needed to be removed as the executor. I settled my hand on her thigh, hoping to ease her anxiety before she combusted. “Can we use the library this afternoon?” While my exercise in Florida law wasn’t the silver bullet to Lizzie’s problem, I wanted her to feel like I was doing something to help her. I wanted to feel like I was doing something to help her. I was confident Mr. Davenport was well versed in Florida estate law. He was right, though. We did need to find Terrance Malden.

  “Sure.” He stood. “I have a client meeting I have to run to. I’ll have my secretary show you to the library. Ms. Reardon, please give my secretary all the information on your attorney. I’ll get the letter out to him ASAP. And Mr. Maxwell, make an appointment with me for next Thursday. I should have the documents from Ms. Reardon’s lawyer by then.”

  We made a bathroom stop, then Mr. Davenport’s secretary, a short middle-aged lady, escorted Lizzie and me to the library.

  “My name is Bonnie, and I’m just down the hall to your right if you need anything,” she said, leaving us alone.

  With a slow shake of her head, Lizzie took in the stacks of bookcases and law books on all but one wall. When I’d worked for Brady, Schlenk, and Schiel, I’d spent the majority of my time in their library, although it wasn’t as big as this one.

  “How do you find anything in this place?” she asked.

  “If it’s like the last one I worked in, the books should be organized by the type of law.” I wound my way around eight small library tables.

  A high-pitched whimper escaped her. “Do you think I’ll ever get my money back?”

  I combed my hands through my hair, my heart breaking at the sound of defeat in her voice. I had a clawing urge to find Terrance, tie him up, and beat the shit out of him. I just might do that if Zach didn’t cooperate. He was our best shot to find Terrance quickly. “One way or another we’ll get to the bottom of all this.” My gut told me Terrance had probably gambled away all of her money. Unless her dad had a separate trust set up for the 401Ks. Even so, I wasn’t certain Terrance hadn’t discovered a way to steal that money, too. I scoured the shelves for anything related to estate law. As I did, I asked, “Are you doing anything on Sunday?” Hopefully taking her mind off the problem even for a minute would help reduce her stress level. “I’d like to invite you to Sunday dinner with my family.” I’d explained Lizzie’s predicament to my old man, including the passing of her family.

  He’d taken the news like I had, swearing, pacing, and looking in shock for several minutes before he’d settled down. Then the psychiatrist in him had emerged. “I’ll need to speak to your mother’s doctor. We’ll decide the best route to take regarding how we break the news to her.”

  I’d wondered why we should break the news at all. We were a family again. Our mom was home. She still had moments of depression, but they weren’t severe like they had been, or bad enough for her to return to a mental health facility.

  But my father had said, “Since your mom heard Lizzie’s name, she continually asks when the Reardons will be here. I believe her wanting to see the Reardons is another step in the healing process. Although, as her husband, I’m just as afraid as you boys are of how she’ll react to the Reardons’ deaths.”

  Death—that word again. I’d lived with it for so long—Karen and then Kody’s girlfriend. And in a way, Mom living in a mental health facility had felt like she’d died. In a way, she had. We lost her for years, and it was devastating and terrifying. All those emotions were heightened once again. The living, breathing, sexy woman so close to me, yet so freaking far, frightened the fuck out of me. I’d planned to walk away from Lizzie after I’d spoken to her on Dillon’s porch. I’d had no plans to build a relationship with her. But for fuck’s sake, every moment I spent with her was another moment I wanted to wrap my arms around her and kiss her until we died from lack of oxygen, got drunk off each other’s touches, got dizzy off each other’s scent. Was another moment I wanted to get so deep inside her I wouldn’t want her to leave me for a moment.

  I snapped back to the present when Lizzie came up to me.

  “You want me to have dinner with your family?” She scratched her head, scrunching up her face.

  I couldn’t tell if her twisted expression was from my invitation or because her wig was bothering her. Either way, I wanted to burn that wig.

  “You sound shocked.” I spotted two shelves on estate law and scanned the books, removing one titled The Florida Probate Guide.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t accept the invitation.” Her words were clipped.

  “Why? It’s just dinner. It’s not like you’ve never met my family, and you’ve already broken the ice with Kade.” I’d gotten a text just before art class from Kade filling me in on Lizzie’s visit. It fried my ass that she hadn’t told me.

  She pinned me with a glare. “Are you forgetting the past?”

  “My mom wants to see you.”

  She stuck her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest. “Why? So we can talk about how my sister shot Karen? Sorry, but I’m not up for that. I’ve been through more bad shit than I care to talk about. And I don’t want anyone to take pity on me, especially your family. I saw the look in Kade’s eyes.”

  I dumped the book on the table, the sound exploding around the room. “I get it, okay? I understand the pain of death. My mom may not have died that day, but she did try to end her life and a
s a result ended up living in a mental health facility for years. Which hasn’t been a walk in the park. I also get you don’t want pity. And if you haven’t noticed, I haven’t given you any.” I clenched my teeth, itching like a fucker to either kiss her or spank her.

  “You mean that kiss the other day wasn’t out of pity?” The woman had the nerve to flaunt a smile.

  Easy, dude. You’re in a law office. One that you might be working at soon. Don’t ruin your chances. I quickly checked the exit. Two windows framed the door, but no sign of anyone watching or passing by. “You think that kiss was because I felt sorry for you? Is that what you felt?” I kept my voice low.

  She played with her earring.

  “Nervous?” I couldn’t help but taunt.

  She began to walk away. “I need to use the ladies’ room and speak to Bonnie.”

  “Are you running? Is that your MO these days?” I tucked my hands in my pockets when all I wanted to do was rip off that ugly wig and feel the silk strands of her long, dark hair.

  “Asswipe,” she spat.

  “While you’re in the ladies’ room, take the wig and the contacts off, then throw them in the trash.” If she didn’t, I would before we left there.

  She flipped me the bird as she sashayed her luscious body out of the room.

  My chest tightened, and so did my dick. The woman knew how to irritate me and get me so fucking horny I was about to erupt. I grumbled as I sat down then began perusing the probate guide—nothing like a law text to get my dick to calm the fuck down. I jotted note after note on the role of the trustee, the beneficiary’s rights and entitlements, and several reasons a trustee could be removed, including not handling the estate properly, death, stealing, and if the trustee no longer lived in Florida.

  The door squeaked open. I kept reading and taking notes, not wanting to check if my guest was Lizzie, out of fear that she probably wasn’t coming back. We were both trying hard to keep our emotions in check. The operative word was trying. I was failing miserably. One minute I was an asswipe, the next minute I was sweet. Then I was angry and irritated. I wanted Lizzie, then I didn’t want Lizzie. I wanted to feel her again, but I didn’t.