Dare to Love (Maxwell #3)

by S. B. Alexander

  Zach and Kade were listening attentively.

  “Yeah,” she said. “His neighbor told me a moving truck had been parked in the driveway for two days.” She swung her gaze to Zach. “Do you know if your father moved out of Florida?”

  “No clue. But given what Kelton just explained, the law should help you.”

  “The law will help, but things don’t work that fast within the legal system,” I said.

  “The cops haven’t been any help either,” Lizzie added. “Your father has the accounting records on my estate. I need them.” She sounded as though she was on the verge of tears. “I can’t say for sure if your father is guilty of stealing my money, but it would be much quicker if he would talk to me and cooperate.”

  Zach rubbed his temples. “I’ll see what I can do. I got to run.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Kade said.

  The room fell silent as Zach and Kade left. I set my attention on the gorgeous lady who was chewing on her finger. I wanted desperately to be that finger. Patriots, football, Super Bowl. But no amount of chanting my sports mantra was going to tame the beast inside my pants. The more time I spent with Lizzie, the more my dick disobeyed me.

  She switched to another fingernail. “Once Mr. Davenport gets my estate documents and analyzes the money trail and my parents’ accounts, then what?”

  “Mr. Davenport will lay out your options based on Florida statute. Whatever the next steps are, they’ll involve the court. He’ll probably recommend freezing all assets in the estate. That way Terrance can’t touch it anymore.”

  She twisted her earring. “It’s going to take forever to get to the bottom of my problem, isn’t it?”

  “Look on the bright side. That means you’re not leaving Boston any time soon, and it gives us a chance to get to know each other again.”

  A body-tingling smile spread across her face. Fuck. I’d risk my heart a million times if it meant that I would see that sparkle in her eyes, just like when we were kids.

  “Are you asking me on a date?”

  I slid my hands up her thighs, leaned in, and kissed her on the nose. “Only if I can see those toe socks. And if you’ll allow me to cook you dinner this week.”

  She jerked back. “You cook?”

  “Chocolate and strawberries to start. I always like dessert before the main meal.”

  18

  Lizzie

  Dillon pulled up along the curb right outside Fourteen Louisburg Square. Tonight I wasn’t thinking about lawyers, my problem, or Terrance. I couldn’t anyway. Not when Kelton dominated my thoughts. Although I’d wanted to check in with Zach. But Kelton had said Zach was MIA for the night, and according to Zach, he’d left a message for his father.

  “Rich neighborhood,” Dillon said, shifting the Camaro into park. “You sure that guy, Terrance, doesn’t own this place?”

  “Would it matter?” I asked. Zach had mentioned he was housesitting for a friend of his father’s, and I didn’t get the impression Zach would lie. Nevertheless, if Terrance had spent my money on that place, I couldn’t do anything about it right then.

  “Can I go in with you?” Bee asked from the backseat. She’d tagged along since Dillon was dropping her off at the mall where she worked.

  “Maybe next time,” I said, although I could use a wingman. Bee would certainly keep the conversation flowing, which would help to ease the bucket of nerves that was sloshing around in my stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone on a dinner date, let alone with a guy—Kelton, no less—who was cooking. On the drive there, I’d pictured Kelton standing in front of a stove in nothing but an apron, his bare butt showing.

  Bee tapped me on the shoulder. “Let me make sure your makeup is still flawless.”

  I turned in my seat.

  She surveyed her work as though she was smoothing out the final details of a finished painting. “Perfect,” she said.

  I had to give her credit. I knew how to apply makeup, but not like her. She worked in the cosmetic department at Nordstrom’s for MAC products.

  Bee wished me luck as I got out, then she crawled into the passenger’s seat. With that, I made my way up the steps and rang the bell. Kelton opened the door, wearing an apron that said No Kiss, No Food.

  I pointed to his chest. “Does that mean I can’t eat until I kiss the cook?” Please say yes.

  “There are several questions you need to answer tonight in order to get any food.” His tone was deep and husky. “First, are you wearing your toe socks?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  Dillon beeped his horn. When his car rumbled to life, so did my stomach. I felt like I was on my very first date ever. My hands became clammy, my mouth became dry, and I had the urge to jump off the porch and chase Dillon down as his car sped away.

  “Well?” Kelton’s bulging biceps poked out from under his T-shirt as he crossed his arms.

  “For me to know and you to find out.” I stuck out my tongue. If he wanted to play, I could too.

  “Wrong answer.” He turned and moved farther inside. “Oh, and be careful with that tongue.”

  I tripped over the threshold, almost falling flat on my face. Fortunately I caught myself on the edge of the heavy door. When I was safely upright, Kelton was gone. I slinked into the opulent townhome as if I was robbing the place. I giggled at the thought. As big as the place was, I’d bet no one would even hear me. I peeked into the dining room on my right. The shiny wooden table was clear. I guessed we weren’t eating in there. He’d said he liked dessert before the main meal. A picture of Kelton licking chocolate off me ignited heat in my cheeks.

  “Lizzie,” Kelton called.

  I glanced ahead. My chin hit my chest. I shook my head once then again. I knew Kelton had said he was cooking, but to actually see him standing in the large foyer whisking something in a stainless steel bowl just didn’t jive with his playboy persona.

  He strutted up to me. “I’ll ask you again. Are you wearing your toe socks?” No grin. No jackass smile. His expression was serious.

  “What is it with you and my toe socks?”

  “That was the requirement.”

  “Do you want to inspect me before I go any farther?” Good thing I’d worn my best bra and panties.

  He froze, his hooded blue gaze undressing me. He let go of the whisk, dipped his finger into the bowl, then scooped out a dab of white stuff. Before I could clear the cobwebs clouding my brain, he smeared the sugary concoction over my lips. My tongue slithered out, tasting the sweet meringue.

  He groaned, then repeated the process. Only this time he eased his finger into my mouth. A fire erupted low in my belly as I sucked on his finger. Not a bad way to start a date.

  A ding went off. He slowly removed his finger. “Dessert is almost ready,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Come on.” He began whisking again.

  He wasn’t kidding about dessert before dinner. I wiped my mouth with my fingers and removed my jacket, dropping it on a chair next to the Cinderella-like staircase before following him into the spacious kitchen. The cabinets were a rich, dark cherry; the appliances large and stainless steel; and the counters white marble. A marble island traveled from one end of the kitchen to the wall of windows in the back. My mom would’ve been in heaven. She had remodeled our kitchen at our home in Miami not long before the boating accident.

  Kelton removed a pie from the restaurant-grade fridge.

  “Lemon meringue? No chocolate and strawberries?” I took a seat on a barstool across from him.

  “Lemon pie is your favorite.” He set down the pie on the island and began covering the top with meringue, concentrating on getting the peaks just right.

  In addition to the giddiness making my heart race, shock and awe careened through me. “What else do you remember?”

  “Your favorite color is blue. You love the ocean, dolphins, football, and Grimms’ fairy tales.” He finished adding the topping to the pie then licked the spatula.

  Blue be
cause of your eyes. I’m still in love with you, and football because I loved when you tackled me.

  “Is this our dinner?” I didn’t see any protein or veggies.

  He grinned sinfully as he retrieved a fork then came around to sit next to me. “This is where the game begins. For every right answer, you get a bite of pie. For every wrong answer or refusal to answer, I take off a piece of your clothing. You in?” He dragged the pie over to us.

  I was wearing jeans, a belt, and a tank top underneath a sheer lace tee that Bee had insisted I wear. She’d said it was eye-catching. “Um. This is how you envisioned our first date?” I had other ideas—a movie, dinner, and good conversation.

  “Yep,” he said easily.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Kelton didn’t do normal. I’d always liked a challenge, anyway. I was also intrigued by what questions he would ask me. And he did go to a lot of trouble to bake my favorite dessert. “But the pie isn’t done. You’re supposed to bake the pie again so the meringue can stiffen then let it cool for a couple of hours.”

  “Lizzie. You’re stalling. And I know you like it this way.”

  Darn guy was right. I loved freshly made meringue that I could eat right out of the bowl. “I’m in on one condition. I get to ask you questions too.” If we were playing a game of Strip Questions, it was only fair that the tables were turned.

  Excitement blazed in his eyes. “Fair. First question. Are you nervous?”

  “No.” I toyed with my chain.

  “Liar. Let’s start with your shirt.” He grasped the bottom.

  I lifted my arms without arguing. I really had to learn to control my nervous habits. He studied me as my sheer lace tee floated to the floor.

  “My turn.” I wanted to start with an easy one, but as he smirked like an ass, I couldn’t concentrate. “What color underwear do you have on?” A lame question, but with the different colors he wore, maybe he wouldn’t remember what he’d put on that morning. I puffed out my breasts, trying to divert him from looking down at the rip below the pocket of his jeans.

  A mischievous grin emerged. “Black.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you know the correct color and you’re lying?”

  “Maybe I want to get naked.”

  I gulped down air, remembering the outline of his penis as he’d posed in his green boxer briefs.

  He raised his arms. “Go ahead, take off my shirt.”

  I reached over and helped him out of his T-shirt. My jaw hit the floor before the shirt. No matter how many times I’d seen Kelton in art class with barely anything on, I was still in awe as I studied his tattoo. I couldn’t help but run my fingers over the colorful lizard—something I’d wanted to do since I’d first seen it. He groaned as my fingers roamed over his shifting abs, making their way down to the waist of his jeans where the head of the lizard disappeared. When I reached his belt buckle, he sucked in his stomach. I giggled nervously.

  A primitive wildness glinted in his eyes, making my heart jump and my stomach flip. “Keep going,” he said.

  I licked my lips. I could, but then we’d both be naked. That wasn’t a bad thing, but I was interested in what other questions he had in store. I straightened.

  He pouted briefly before he asked, “Are you wearing your toe socks?”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted my leg to rest on his knee. “I have to confirm.”

  I thought for a second about arguing, but then he wouldn’t know if I was telling the truth, and I was enjoying his hands on me. I quickly gripped the island to prevent myself from falling backward.

  He untied my boot before pulling it off slowly. He said nothing about my striped toe socks. Instead, he captured my foot between his large hands and kissed the tops of my toes. “You have the cutest feet, especially in these striped toe socks.”

  I snorted. “You’re weird.” Good thing my socks were fresh and clean.

  Lowering my leg, I adjusted myself on the barstool. My mouth watered as I anticipated the tanginess of the lemon meringue.

  He dug the fork into the pie then brought the piece up to my mouth. As soon as the lemon hit my tongue, an explosion of sugar and tart made me pucker. “You’ve outdone yourself.” I closed my eyes briefly, thinking back to a hot summer day when we’d been twelve. Kelton and I had sat on the edge of my pool with our legs dangling in the water, eating a lemon pie my mom had baked.

  “You’re remembering that day by the pool. Aren’t you?” he asked.

  My eyes flew open, as did my mouth.

  “I think about that day a lot,” he said. “That was the day of our first kiss. And not the one where I kissed you on the cheek in the sixth grade and you punched me.”

  “Care to replay our first kiss?” My breathing prowled up the charts.

  “Nope.”

  My heart severed in two.

  He dragged his barstool closer to me. “Describe our first kiss.”

  I sucked in a breath, trying to loosen the marbles rattling around in my system. “Wait a minute. Is it your turn?”

  Spellbound, he watched me. “Yes. Now answer, baby doll. Or else another piece of clothing comes off.”

  I played with my earring. “It was awful.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not lying.” In part I was.

  “Lizzie, you give yourself away every time.” He snatched my hand away from my ear.

  Darn habit. “You licked pie off my face,” I protested. We’d been playing footsy in the pool, swinging our legs out and up while eating pie. My leg had swung up too high, the momentum causing me to fall backward. My plate had landed on my face.

  “After that. But before you continue”—he grabbed the bottom of my tank top—“time to remove this,” he said in a wicked tone.

  I almost argued, but I was eager to see his reaction when I was left with only a black lace bra.

  He groaned as he undressed me. Once my tank top was in his hands, he flung it aside. Then he traced a path along my cleavage, over one side then the other.

  My pulse kicked up. “My turn.” I tapped his hand.

  He licked his lips, plastering a shit-eating grin on his face. “Not yet. The truth.”

  Make him sweat. I stuck out my chest, pressed on his thighs, strong and hard, and closed the distance between us. “It was awkward.” No lie. “Your hair tickled my nose. When I started to giggle, you pressed your lips to mine. The kiss was hard at first, then softened as we explored each other.” My fingers danced farther up his legs, stopping short of his pockets.

  The muscles in his thighs strained in his jeans.

  “When our tongues touched”—I swallowed air—“tingles exploded in my belly. And…” I nipped at the scar on his chin.

  He made a low noise in the back of his throat.

  “…the goosebumps stayed with me for a week after that day. Did I pass?”

  The pained expression on his face was priceless. It was as though he was trying not to tear off the rest of my clothes.

  He fed me a piece of pie.

  After my belly erupted with glee, I asked, “Aside from the meringue, did you really make this pie? And don’t lie just so you can take off your clothes.”

  Gone was the pain on his handsome face. In its place was a sexy smile. “I did. And if you don’t believe me, we can call Kody. He taught me. He’s the baker in the house.” He scooped out a large piece and held it while he eyed me.

  “Go ahead. I believe you for now. If I find you lied, then we can duke it out.”

  He shoved the helping in his mouth. “At the art gala you said I had flaws. Name one. If I agree, you get your reward.”

  We might be here all night. I tapped my lip. Kelton was cocky and stubborn. He always had been. Fast forward seven years and his cocksure attitude had multiplied. I wasn’t a shrink, but my Spidey sense was telling me that he used those attributes as a cover so no one saw the real him. “Your bravado is a shield so others don’t see the real you.”

  He chuckled even th
ough his eyes expressed something else, maybe surprise that I was right. “And you know this how?”

  Coolly, I lifted a shoulder. “Woman’s intuition. Isn’t that why you model?” The Kelton I knew wouldn’t show the world all of him. The Maxwells had always been private people. The brothers were picky about who they let into their circle and who they showed their softer sides to. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Is it that obvious?” He scooped another forkful of pie and inserted it into my mouth.

  The sweet concoction melted on my tongue. “What scares you?” Somewhere beneath all the layers of Kelton, he was hiding behind something.

  He lowered his gaze to my breasts, his chest rising. Then he jumped off the barstool and went over to the sink. He snagged a glass off the counter and filled it with water. His back muscles tightened as he gulped the clear liquid. When he finished, he turned, piercing me with a pained look.

  I couldn’t tell what he was wrestling with—keeping his hands off me or something else. “If you don’t want to answer, take off your jeans,” I teased. He’d made the rules—wrong answer or no answer and an article of clothing came off.

  He glared at me as he crossed one arm over his chest and gripped his other arm.

  Whoa! “Hey, I didn’t ask you to marry me.” I got up and made my way to him. I waved a hand to break his trance. “Kelton Maxwell, you’re not going to hell if you don’t answer the question.” My tone was light.

  “I’m in hell.” His tone was hard.

  Way to drive a knife through my heart. “So you consider me hell?” A knot formed in my stomach. If I caused him that much pain, then I didn’t need to be there. “This is your game, not mine,” I snapped. If I stayed any longer, my own heart was going to stop beating.

  He homed in on my breasts.

  I covered myself with my arm as much as I could as I grabbed my necklace.