Down for the Count (Dare Me 1)

by Christine Bell

  She sent him a dirty look and picked up another shot. “You are so full of it. In fact, a bunch of us went together in this very lake!”

  “True. I’ll drink, too, then. I was getting thirsty.” He drank his down in one swallow while Lacey stared at hers like it was a cup full of poison. “Well?”

  “It’s worse because now I know what it’s going to taste like,” she admitted. She glared at it for a second then straightened her shoulders. “Here’s mud in your eye.” She managed to get it down easier than the first and grinned triumphantly as she slammed the glass back on the table. “My turn. I’ve never cheated on a test.”

  He waited to see if she picked up a drink and rolled his eyes when she didn’t. “Of course you haven’t.” He took a shot and she laughed. He liked the sound of it, so from that point on, he made sure to ham it up.

  “I’ve never…seen a rated X movie,” he said, picking up another whiskey.

  She shrugged. “Nope.”

  He shook his head incredulously. “That’s sad.” He drank.

  “I’ve never had a threesome,” she said, raising a challenging brow.

  He pretended to mull that one over for a second then grabbed a glass before pausing. “Do I have to do one for each incident or…?”

  She gaped, her mouth wide enough for him to see her tonsils. “More than once? Seriously?”

  “I’ll take that as a no and do the one shot,” he said with a grin. Truth was, although he’d had the opportunity a few times when his career was at its high point, he’d only actually gone through with it once. Not his style. He wanted to focus all his energy on that one person and wring out every drop of pleasure from the lady sharing his bed. It was the one way to be sure she came back for more. He watched Lacey refill the glasses in her ordered, precise way, and wondered if Marty had ever blown her mind.

  His tongue was loose from the drinks and curiosity burned a hole in his gut. The words were out before he could stop them. “I’ve never had multiple orgasms with a man before.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as she set down the bottle.

  For a tense moment, he thought she might opt to drink a full shot to avoid answering either way. He’d clearly set her up, and he wouldn’t blame her. Instead, she countered in a voice almost too soft to hear.

  “I’ve never had one orgasm with a man before.”

  Chapter Three

  The shot glass fell from his suddenly limp fingers and hit the coffee table with a clunk.

  Well, damn.

  It was his turn to gape now. Forget blowing her mind, Marty hadn’t been getting Lacey off at all. His earlier assertion that the man was a spineless prick now seemed like an insult to spineless pricks everywhere. He was worse than that. He was a selfish, pathetic, spineless prick.

  “And this is the man you picked to marry?” he demanded before he thought better of it. “Why would you want to subject yourself to a lifetime of bad sex?”

  Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, toying with the hood string of her sweatshirt. “It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t…good. Anyway, it wasn’t his fault.”

  “Bullshit.” He was surprised at his own vehemence. His instincts bleated out those warnings again, but the haze of liquor relegated them to background noise.

  “The problem wasn’t Marty, okay? It was me,” she blurted. “I…can’t do it. It’s complicated.”

  She looked so utterly miserable that he slapped back the urge to rant about the fucker. Now wasn’t the time. Hell, maybe it would never be time, but suddenly he wanted Lacey to know it wasn’t complicated. In fact, he could make it all very, very simple.

  Blood pumped south, and his cock swelled as images of Lacey sprawled out beneath him filled his head. He plucked up another glass and drank it down. “That one was just because I’m thirsty,” he said, and sat back. “Listen, squirt, with every hour that passes, it’s becoming more and more obvious to me that you got lucky today finding out what kind of person he really is. You were together how long?”

  She held up three fingers. “Almost two years.” She looked at her hand and did a double take before using her other hand to fold down her index finger.

  Good. She might be too drunk to count, but at least she wasn’t crying. “And he still couldn’t make you come? That’s a lot of time to figure out what makes you tick.”

  “That’s the problem. Nothing makes me tick. My ticker’s broken, I think.” She picked up the bottle and swirled it absently, pretending to be enthralled with the liquid inside rather than meeting his gaze.

  “That’s what guys who don’t understand how to handle the delicate gears of a clock will tell you. I’m telling you something different. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no liar.”

  “It wasn’t only him, though. There was a guy in college. That was just as ba—” She set the bottle down and seemed to regroup. “I mean, with him, too, I couldn’t…yanno.”

  She waggled her brows until he nodded his understanding, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “We tried, believe me. We flipped through the Kama Sutra and picked out some of the positions, but he had an issue with his electrolytes and kept getting cramps.” She was totally straight-faced, as if that were the most logical explanation in the world.

  “You don’t need to be a human pretzel, Lacey. There are dozens, hell, hundreds of ways to come without stretching into strange positions.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hundreds? Are you sure?” Before he could answer, she shook her head. “That doesn’t matter, anyway. Sex isn’t that important. At least, not as important as companionship, and respect, and—”

  “Bullshit,” he said again.

  She turned slightly unfocused but indignant eyes on him. “You don’t think those things are important?”

  “Of course they are. But so is sex. Otherwise why not have everyone be just friends? We can all sit around a campfire and sing ‘Kumbaya’ together and talk about how much we respect each other.”

  “Don’t make fun of me, Galen. Just because we don’t agree doesn’t mean you’re right.”

  “We don’t agree because you have no clue what you’re talking about. It’s like trying to talk boxing with a lawyer.” He couldn’t resist another not-so-subtle jab at Marty. “There’s no frame of reference for him to work off of. Same goes here for you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, leaning over the table until his face was only a foot from hers. “If you’ve never had a man trail his fingertips over every inch of your naked body until he figured out what made you squirm…”

  The instant dilation of her pupils gave him pause and left his cock twitching. He pressed on, determined to make his point.

  “If you’ve never had a man lick you from your navel to your knees…”

  She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips.

  “If you’ve never had a man slide deep, in and out, until your head tossed on the pillow and you begged for more…” His voice had gone dark and gravelly, and he swallowed hard. “Then how can you possibly understand the importance of sexuality in a relationship?”

  The room that had crackled with warmth and comfort a few minutes before felt hot and tense. The silence was thick, broken only by harsh breathing and the hooting of owls in the distance.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered finally, breaking the all but palpable connection between them. “I just don’t know.” She knocked back a drink and swiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

  He sat back, opting to let her off the hook. It wasn’t the time to push her on this—or any other—issue. When she realized that she’d dodged a bullet with Marty, maybe he could convince her that she deserved passion in her life. And damned if he didn’t want to give her the first taste.

  Not tonight, though. She was still hurting, so he forced himself to steer things back to a safer path. “Your turn,” he said with what he hoped was an affable smile.

  An hour later, the bottle between them was almost—he squinted and tried to bri
ng it into focus—three-quarters of the way empty. They’d ceased any pretense of keeping up the game and had spent the last thirty minutes talking. Not about Lacey’s situation but about everything else. Her job as marketing director for her family’s law firm, his last fight, and what he planned to do when his boxing days were behind him. At some point as they talked, she’d made her way onto the couch next to him and had burrowed her bare feet under his thighs.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to peer at the text.

  Call me.

  “I’ve got to call Cat. You want to talk?”

  She shook her head. “Not right now.”

  He hit the call button and his sister picked up after one ring. “Hey.”

  “Where’d you end up taking her?”

  “The cottage.”

  “You drove her all the way to the cottage in her wedding dress?”

  He paused, wondering how much he should say, and went for a half truth. “No, she, ah, took that off at the reception hall.” The buttons and the ripping and the creamy skin and his subsequent boner? Not relevant. “In fact, it’s probably still in the back parking lot.”

  Cat cracked out a shocked laugh. “Woo-hoo! Good for her. I’m going to have to get her a plaque or something to celebrate her total kick-assery for doing that. Did you guys stop and get her a new phone before you dropped her off? I’m worried about her being alone.”

  “I’m still with her.” Cat was quiet for so long, he wondered if the call had been dropped. “Hello?”

  “I’m here.”

  Her suspicious tone made him feel twitchy, so he hurried to explain. “You said it. She didn’t want to be alone, and I didn’t feel right leaving her.”

  “You’re being nice, right?”

  “Of course,” he grumbled. “What am I, a monster?”

  “Well, should I come there? After dealing with the guests, all the details, and Lacey’s mother, I’m stone cold sober now, so I don’t mind driving up.”

  She definitely sounded sober, but she also sounded exhausted. It couldn’t have been an easy night holding down the fort and keeping Lacey’s family at bay. From what he knew of her, Rowena Garrity was one tough bitch. “I don’t think you need to. We’re managing fine, and she’ll need you more tomorrow, I’m sure.”

  “How is she holding up so far?”

  He snuck a glance at Lacey. Her head had lolled to the side. Light snores trembled on her lips and he resisted the urge to run his thumb across the plump bottom one. “She’s good, considering.”

  “Does she want to talk to me?”

  “She’s sleeping right now. I’ll have her call you in the morning.”

  “It’s only eight o’clock at night,” she protested. “Wait, are you guys drunk?”

  “Her, totally. Me…mostly.”

  She chuckled on the other end of the line. “Good. She’s so uptight sometimes, I was afraid she wouldn’t let herself have a day to break down a little. I was half thinking she’d be in a hotel somewhere writing apology letters to the wedding guests and re-mapping her future out on a spreadsheet or whatever.” She paused. “Listen, I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sure you’re doing a great job, and I feel a lot better knowing she’s got someone there looking out for her.”

  They said their good-byes and he disconnected, setting the phone on the coffee table.

  Lacey stirred, opening her eyes. “Cat worried?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but I told her you were handling it like a champ.”

  She used the arm of the couch to drag herself into a sitting position. “You really think so? Because it sure doesn’t feel that way.”

  Her hair was sticking out in all directions and he reached out to pat it into place. “I do.”

  When he pulled back, she clutched his hand to her cheek and murmured, “Thanks again for all of this.”

  He allowed himself to stroke the soft skin with his finger for a second before pulling away. “No sweat. You ready to get some sleep?”

  “Not yet. Please?”

  “It’s early, so I’m good to stay up for a while if you are.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Not even nine o’clock.”

  Her eyes clouded with sadness and she shook her head. “Nine o’clock. That’s what time the limo was supposed to pick us up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marty and me. We were supposed to leave for our honeymoon late tonight. Hey! There’s one for I Never.” She bent forward, and this time she didn’t even bother with the glass. “I’ve never been on an amazing vacation to Puerto Rico,” she said, and took a shot straight from the bottle, but she didn’t stop there, thrusting it in the air for emphasis. “On the beach, with sugar-white sand and aquamarine water. And mojitos with umbrellas in them instead of this crap.”

  Her tone was incongruously jovial and he knew she’d reached point break. She moved to drink more of “that crap” but he stayed her hand.

  “No more. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  The borderline hysteria faded from her eyes and she let him take the bottle. “I’m already sick,” she mumbled, absently mopping up a few spilled drops of whiskey with the sleeve of her shirt.

  He set the bottle on the table and gave her arm a tug until she toppled into his chest. “It’s going to get better. I promise you,” he whispered into her sweet-smelling hair.

  “I know it will. But right now, it blows. I’ve never been on a real trip without my parents. I was so excited. It felt so decadent and fun. I thought…”

  “You thought?”

  “I thought I could be someone else for a couple of weeks. And maybe Marty could be someone else, too. We could do all the fun, wild things we—well, at least, I—imagined doing. I know that sounds so stupid.”

  The thought hit him like an oncoming bus, and no matter how hard he tried to squash it, his liquor-soaked brain wouldn’t let it go. He pushed her away. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

  “Wait, wha?” Visibly baffled by the abrupt change in subject, she stared at him, a question in her eyes.

  “Truth or dare. Let’s play,” he pressed.

  She held up her hands in surrender. “Uh, okay.”

  “I’ll go first. Do you want truth or dare?” He tried not to let the importance of her answer show on his face, but it was all riding on this. If he truly wanted to help her—and God help him, but for some strange reason, he did—he needed to set her free. Over the past few hours, he had realized how much she deserved that, and he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d done it. He was going to find a way to show her what she’d missed living under her parents’ thumbs. If only she’d let him…

  She finally met his gaze after a long pause, fire lighting her eyes, and he knew her answer before she even spoke.

  “Dare.”

  Chapter Four

  Sunlight streamed in through the window, like red knives piercing her closed lids. Lacey rolled to her side to escape it, wincing as her knee connected with something harder than itself.

  “Oof. What the hell?” a low, male voice hissed.

  She lurched into a sitting position, regretting it instantly as pain exploded in her temples and the whole room began to spin. Clutching at her aching head, she turned to see Galen stretched out on the bed next to her.

  “Sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s just, when you gave me that nice little wakeup kick to the Johnson, you grazed my nuts. Makes it hard to be polite.”

  He sat up, sucking long breaths in through his nose and blowing them out his mouth, moving the sheet in the process. His broad shoulders came into view, and she found herself needing to do the whole breathing thing, too. Man, he was fit. His traps were thick and strong. Hard-looking, like—

  Oh my God. I kneed him in the wiener. And oh my frigging God, it was like stone.

  The gauzy white curtains across the room fluttered in the balmy breeze, inviting and coy. So unlike the curtains in the Thomas family cabin
. Memories from the previous night battered around in her mind until she settled on the only one that mattered right now.

  They’d done it. They’d really done it.

  “I dare you to go on your honeymoon without him,” Galen had said last night. “I’ll even go with you to keep you company. I could use the rest. I just came off a big fight, and my organs haven’t settled back into their proper places yet. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “You’re insane!” Even as tipsy as she’d been, it had taken her almost twenty minutes to talk herself into it. She’d tossed up every roadblock she could think of at first, ticking them off on her fingers as she went, ending with, “The flight’s probably sold out by now and you don’t have a ticket.”

  “Well, if Marty doesn’t show up, then they’ll obviously have an open seat for standbys,” he’d said, a challenging gleam in his eye.

  They’d gone to her apartment to pick up her bags and then went straight to the airport. By the time their flight was called a couple hours later, though, she’d been as sober as a nun and had almost backed out. Galen must have seen it coming, because he had leaned in close to whisper, “Bock. Bock.”

  For a long moment, she’d just gaped at him. “Seriously? You’re seriously going to make chicken noises at me? What are we, ten?”

  He’d just folded his arms over his chest and grinned.

  “Last call for all passengers on flight seventeen fifty-six to San Juan, Puerto Rico,” the ticket agent had squawked through the loudspeaker.

  “What’s it going to be, squirt?”

  Maybe it had been the bock-ing. Maybe it was that stupid nickname that he wouldn’t let die. Or maybe it was that, when she had gone through her alternatives one last time, the thought of staying home and dealing with the aftermath of the wedding just yet was too much to bear. Whatever it was, she’d gotten on that plane.

  And now she was on her honeymoon with Galen Thomas.

  Panic threw a splash of nausea into the pitching cauldron of noxious brew that was her stomach, and she groaned.