by Julie Kenner
Ella was tucked up into the corner of the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees. She hadn’t answered his question, and he wondered if she thought he’d been joking. He hadn’t, of course. Nothing about tonight—about Ella—was a joke to him. And by the time he caught that plane home, he intended to make sure she understood that.
“Well?” he asked, conjuring a teasing smile. “How about it?”
“Truth or Dare?” she asked. “You were serious?”
“I figure it’s either that or pop in a movie. But unless you have a battery-powered television and DVD player, I’m thinking that’s not an option.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “I do have one of those portable players, actually. Remember? My mother gave it to me last January. It was the super cool high-tech present that was supposed to make up for her being a crappy mom and forgetting to even call me over the holidays.”
“Right,” he said, mentally cringing. The last thing he wanted to do was invite Ella’s mother into the conversation. “I’d forgotten.” He cocked his head toward her entertainment armoire. “So what shall we watch? Holy Grail? Star Wars?” 9 ½ Weeks? Okay, so he couldn’t manage to say the last one out loud. So much for his take-no-prisoners strategy.
Coward.
Maybe so. But not for long. And if she wanted to start with a movie, well, he could do that, too. A lot of dates started with dinner and a movie, after all. “El?”
“Um, we can’t watch anything at all.”
“No?”
“The thing hasn’t been charged since the winter. I used it once, then shoved it in the closet with the rest of the crap my mom sends me.” She relaxed a little then, looking him straight in the eye with one of her patented Ella Davenport smiles. “You want it? You could watch flicks on your way to Texas.”
His heart twisted a little, a reaction to the cavalier note in her voice. He was leaving and it sure as hell sounded as if she’d already made her peace with that. “Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Thanks. But we’ve gotten off topic again. If we’re not watching a movie, then…”
“I guess we’re playing Truth or Dare.” Her arms went back around her knees, her entire posture vulnerable.
Shane didn’t want her uncomfortable, but he did want her. He pounced. “Something wrong?”
“What?” She peered at him, baffled.
He gestured, the motion of his hand indicating her posture. “Considering the way you’re hiding in that corner, I might as well have asked if you wanted an appendectomy without anesthesia. Is something bugging you? You’re not uncomfortable about earlier, are you?”
“I…no. Of course not.” She shifted again, this time sitting more casually on the sofa. There was still a stiffness to her body, but Shane figured she’d loosen up. Or, rather, he was determined to loosen her up. “So, um, Truth or Dare, then?”
“It’ll pass the time,” he said. “Unless you want to just head on to bed.”
“What?”
Shane hid a smile and tried to look innocent. Oh yeah. He was certain now. He’d spent the night too many times for her to read anything into his comment other than simply going to sleep. Unless, of course, her ideas about what it meant to go to bed with him had evolved.
“Sleep,” he said. “I’m still too wired to go to sleep. But since we don’t have power, if you want—”
“Right,” she said. “No. I’m not tired either. I mean, awake is fine. The game is fine.”
“I figured. Old time’s sake and all that.” He shifted on the sofa, moving infinitesimally closer as he did so. “When did we first play this game, anyway?”
“High school,” she said.
“That much I remember.”
“With Joan and Preston and the Tyler twins. At Jimmy Anderson’s graduation party.”
He nodded, savoring the memory. A group of freshmen—himself and Ella included—had crashed the party. A ballsy, totally nonfreshman thing to do. Exactly the kind of thing he and Ella had done back then. At the time he’d thought she was his coolest friend. Now he was just all the more convinced that they’d been soul mates from the get-go.
“So let’s start,” he said, settling back against the hard-stuffed pillows of the sofa. “Truth or dare?”
She shifted, a half dozen unreadable expressions dancing over her face. She took a deep breath even as he held his. “Truth,” she finally said. “Yeah. Truth.”
He nodded, his expression serious. “And so it begins.”
She rolled her eyes and whacked him with the pillow before clutching it to her once again, this time looking way more relaxed. “Just ask your question, Walker.”
“Do you want more champagne?”
She stared at him. “That’s your question?”
“Yup. Why? What do you think I should ask?”
She held her hands up, a classic gesture of surrender. “No, no. If that’s your choice, far be it from me to belittle it.”
“Trust me. I play a take-no-prisoners game of Truth or Dare. There are no softball questions.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m still sticking with truth, and the answer is yes. I want more champagne.”
He reached over, grabbed the bottle and topped up her flute. “Your turn.”
“Oh. Well, that was easy.”
He cracked his knuckles. “I’m just easing into it.”
Her smile, wide and genuine without a hint of hesitation or nerves, warmed him. He wanted that smile all the time. Most of all, he wanted to see that smile when her head was resting on a pillow and her body was naked under the sheets. Soon. Very soon.
She nibbled on the tip of her forefinger, then nodded. “Okay. Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he said.
“Oh.” She frowned, looking slightly flummoxed.
“What?”
“I was expecting you to say truth. Give me a sec to think up a dare.”
He tapped his fingers.
She glared.
“Ella…?”
“Just hang on. You can’t rush perfection.” The finger slipped back to her lips, and she ran the pad over her plump lower lip in a way that he found utterly provocative. Ella, of course, probably had no idea that she’d even lifted her finger to her lips, much less that she looked totally sexy doing it.
She pondered for a few moments, then nodded. “I dare you to do a striptease.”
“A what?” He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Ella to suggest, but that hadn’t been among the list.
“A dance. You know. Boom-chicka boom-chicka boom-boom-boom. A striptease.”
“Right here? For you?” Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a bad dare, after all.
She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Out there.” She raised her arm, pointing toward the fire escape. “Since you couldn’t find the flashlights, we’ll have to put candles around you. It doesn’t exactly make us even, but it’ll come close to balancing the score.” A sly grin eased over her face, and her eyes twinkled. Shane’s heart did a little flip; he loved it when she laughed. “And I figure I’m one-upping you a little. I mean, you’ll have an audience.”
“I will?”
“Sure. Blackout. Boring night. The rain’s stopped. I figure there’s a minimum of at least twenty bored folks in other apartments looking out in this general direction. Maybe if you’re lucky, one of the girls will be so impressed she’ll track you down.”
“I can only hope,” he said, his voice dry.
“So you’ll do it?”
“Why not?” But he wasn’t going to be dancing for the neighbors. This was all about Ella. And he intended to make sure she realized that.
He met her eyes. “You’re sure? This is the dare you want me to do?” Even if she didn’t realize how hot he was for her, she had to know she’d just taken this game in a dangerous direction. Make him do a striptease, and he might just make her…well, he’d think of something to take the dares up a notch.
She blinked, and for just an instant he saw a hint of realization flash through her feat
ures. But then she nodded, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly. “You’re not getting out of this one, Walker. Striptease. On the balcony. No holds barred. And you can get your tush out there right now.”
SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH, HE DID. Her knees grew weak and her nipples peaked at the idea of watching Shane perform a striptease for her.
Good Lord, had she really thought that? She’d meant perform a striptease for the neighbors. Not for her. Never for her.
She crossed her arms over her chest as she followed him to the balcony, determined to make her body come off this tight wire.
He had one leg slung over the window—a position that gave her quite a nice view of his jeans pulling tight against his thigh and ass—when he stopped, then turned back to her. “Don’t forget my music. And some candles. The lighting at this venue is atrocious.”
She fought a giggle but turned to get the stuff, tossing one comment back over her shoulder. “I think you’re enjoying this a little too much. Dares aren’t supposed to be easy.”
“You should’ve picked something harder then. I mean, why shouldn’t I enjoy it? A dark night and the chance to dance for such a captive audience.”
She laughed. “Hardly captive. I can always go back inside.”
“You?” He looked at her, his eyes entirely guileless but a smile tugging at his mouth. “I didn’t realize you were my target audience. I was talking about your neighbors.”
Oops.
“Right. Whatever. I’ll get the candles.”
She headed back inside, happy for an excuse to get away and force the blood to rush away from her cheeks. Still, she had to admit she was looking forward to the performance, even if she wouldn’t ever admit it out loud.
She gathered up a dozen taper candles and tucked them under one arm, then grabbed the radio with her free hand. When she turned it on, “Killing Me Softly” drifted out of the speakers, and Ella grimaced as she put the contraption down. “I thought these songs were supposed to be decadent and sexy.”
“Slow dancing,” Shane said without missing a beat. “Trust me. This song has some serious potential.”
“You know this from experience?” She almost didn’t want to hear the answer. Already a treacherous little knot of jealousy had formed in her stomach.
“No, but I’m working with what I’ve got.” He lifted his brows and opened his arms. “We could test the theory. Come on, slow dance with me. Right here. Right now.”
She tossed a candle at him. “You’re not getting out of your dare that easy, bucko.”
“It was worth a shot.” He lifted the candle. “If you want me to light this, pass me some matches.”
She did, and they went about lighting the candles, dripping hot wax onto the railing, then setting the candles in the warm puddles, waiting for the white wax to harden and hold the tapers in place. Once all twelve were securely set, Ella went around and lit each one, transforming the balcony into a sparkling wonderland.
The song died away, replaced by the DJ’s soft voice announcing the next tune: “I’m Too Sexy.”
“Now that is one you can strip to,” she said. “It’s fate. Shall I shout out your cell phone number at the end of the performance in case there are any agents or managers out there?”
“Just watch, Davenport,” he said. “And prepare to be awed.”
She nodded, trying to look serious, but at the same time she wanted to burst out laughing. Nervous laughter, though, because no matter how she sliced it, she was looking forward to this. A lot.
The music cranked up and the lead singer for Right Said Fred started belting out his tune. In front of her Shane swayed and gyrated, more or less keeping with the rhythm of the song. The tune lacked the boom-chicka-chicka tune of a traditional striptease, but the lyrics made up for it, and as the singer stressed how sexy he was, Shane ran his hands over his own chest, his pelvis thrust forward, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.
When the singer hit the word shirt, off it went.
Dear Lord almighty. The man might be her best friend, but he was fine. Fine, fine, fine. His body all the more amazing in the flickering light.
She should probably tell him. After all, friends complimented each other. She’d keep the rest of it to herself, though. Like the part about how she wanted to splay her fingers over that bare chest, and let her palms tease the smattering of hair there. And the part about how she’d like to press her mouth to his pec and flick the end of her tongue over his nipple, then trail kisses down until she got to his waistband and the fly of his jeans.
His jeans. His hands were there now. His thumbs hooked under the waistband as his fingers slid toward the fly. He was facing her, his eyes closed as he moved to the music. He opened them then, and she saw something dark and hot reflected there.
She swallowed, determined to keep her cool.
“You’re supposed to be dancing for the neighbors,” she said, her voice coming out in little more than a croak.
“Right,” he whispered. He turned, managing to ease out of his jeans as he did so, so that now she had an absolutely stunning view of his backside. He was wearing black briefs, and the candlelight illuminated his skin, accentuating the shadows and making his already hard body look even more delicious.
He’d already taken off his shoes and socks before they’d started playing the game, and now he was down to only that one small piece of cotton. She wanted to reach out and touch his ass. She wanted to press up against him and dance with him. She didn’t want him to be her friend anymore. Right then she just wanted him to kiss her, hard and deep, and make her as naked as he was. She wanted—
Stop!
She needed to get a hold of herself. She was almost engaged. She was happy. She wasn’t going to ruin everything just because she lusted after some guy, especially not some guy who was her best friend.
The music still blared, and Shane turned slightly. And when he did, Ella’s entire world shattered. She couldn’t see everything, but she could see enough. The long, hard bulge of his erection.
Dammit all, what had she done?
His hands eased under the waistband of his briefs, and she held her breath, part of her praying that he took them off and Tony be damned, and the other part frantically hoping that he stopped before this got out of control. She might not have been certain before, but she was now. Something was going on here. A chemistry. An attraction. Something between her and Shane.
So what was she going to do about it?
In front of her he turned, his eyes meeting hers, his emerald irises glinting seductively in the glow of candles. He inched the briefs down, and she saw the slightest hint of pubic hair, when the song stopped—and so did Shane.
A second ticked by, then another. He seemed frozen, and she also didn’t move.
“Your call,” he finally said, his voice a low whisper. “Want me to finish the show?”
The DJ was talking now, rattling on about the cause of the blackout.
Ella shook her head. “No. The…the song’s over. You, um, were great.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded and reached to grab his shirt from the metal railing. Tension filled the air, and Ella wanted nothing more than to scream, I lied. Take it all off. Take ME. She didn’t, of course. How could she?
So instead she just stood there and stared as he got dressed. He pulled each piece of his clothes on slowly, and as the clothing covered his body, she felt her senses return to normal. Just lust. Nothing that couldn’t be repaired. Or ignored.
By the time he was dressed and the candles blown out, she felt almost human again. And certainly in control. Next time, though, she’d pick a safer dare. Like bungee jumping from the Empire State Building.
“Think anyone liked the show?” Shane asked.
“I did,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“I’m glad. But I meant—”
“Encore! Encore!” The words floated across the alley, slightly slurred, as if the fema
le who shouted them had been drinking.
Ella looked at Shane, who looked right back at her. And then they both burst into peals of laughter and clambered through the window. They fell in a heap on the rug, still laughing. “Someone did,” Ella said. “Oh, Shane, I think you’ve got a hot date if you want it!”
That set them off again, and they laughed some more until they both were exhausted. They lay there, Shane’s head on Ella’s thigh, a position they’d been in hundreds of times before, whether they were talking or watching a movie. Tonight, though, the position seemed more intimate.
They stayed that way for a while, Ella absorbing his touch, memorizing the way it felt simply to be with him. She’d lose that soon and she wanted to hang on to the memory forever.
“Not a bad dare,” he said after a moment. “I’m surprised, though. A striptease doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
“No? What does?”
She felt his shoulders move in a shrug. “I don’t know. Running through the building in just a towel maybe.”
“You can do that, too, if you want to.”
He laughed. “No, thanks. All right. My turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she said, then reconsidered. “No, wait. Dare.”
He shook his head. “No way. You go with your gut. You picked truth, you’re stuck with it.”
“Fine. It’ll be boring, though. You know I don’t keep secrets from you.”
He tilted his head so that he was looking at her more directly. In doing so, he brushed against her thighs, the pressure of the back of his head against her crotch near to driving her insane. “Except about your sex life with Tony, right?”
“Right. And that’s because it’s not your business.” Not that she was withholding juicy details or anything. She and Tony had a rapport, a connection. But they didn’t have wild monkey sex.
But they were a family. And that was more important than having mind-blowing sex. Sex and passion died, but the kind of connection she had with Tony survived and buoyed a marriage.
