Dare

by Glenna Sinclair

  “I travel a lot,” he said with a shrug, as I stared, mouth agape, at his collection of furnishings.

  “I can tell.” I trailed my fingers over a soft woven blanket with colorful designs draped over the back of an armchair. “Everything is so…gorgeous.”

  “I don’t buy something unless it brings me joy,” he said, as I continued my visual and tactile explorations of his belongings. “Each of these pieces caught my eyes in my travels, so they serve as memories, too.”

  There were singing bowls that were coupled with maracas and hand-carved flutes, pillows covered in silks and satins and wools that were piled around a shaggy rug, a vast couch that looked like it could sleep at least three people on it comfortably, and gorgeous vases, one of which was filled with fresh, fragrant flowers. I sniffed experimentally.

  “Honeysuckle?” I guessed, puzzled. “That flower arrangement smells like my childhood.”

  “I have to confess that I don’t know what kinds of flowers are in that arrangement,” Sebastian said a little sheepishly. “Produce is more of my thing.”

  “Let’s see.” I walked over to that vase and plucked a strand of flowers from it. “Yes, it’s honeysuckle. There’s no mistaking that smell.” It was sweet and heady, like a glorious dessert. I gently pulled the delicate flower apart.

  “Hey, that’s my flower,” Sebastian joked. “You’re destroying it.”

  “I’m plundering it,” I retorted, showing him the bead of nectar I’d gleaned at the end of part of the flower. I held it up and placed it carefully on my tongue, tasting that forbidden sweetness—just a single drop of it, vanishing just as quickly as it had suddenly bloomed in my mouth.

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” he said, watching my mouth carefully.

  “You didn’t grow up in the country,” I said, smiling. “This used to grow wild everywhere—up against the house, climbing the wall at one point—on the farm. Better than candy. Try it.”

  I dissected another flower for Sebastian and held the droplet out for him, watching it as it dissolved on his wet, red tongue. He closed his eyes briefly as he savored the unique flavor for the first time.

  “That’s incredible,” he said, his eyes popping back open. “Can I have another one?” He smacked his lips. “It’s so sweet, but so short.”

  “Like life,” I replied, lowering my eyelids as I prepared another flower. “Here.”

  Sebastian accepted my offering yet again, but instead of taking a moment to enjoy it, he kissed me swiftly, surprising me, the taste of honeysuckle still on his tongue. My eyes fluttered closed, and I worked to take that taste off of his tongue, to make it last, but it was always so fleeting. Better to seize the moment and enjoy it for its brevity. It was even sweeter that way.

  “I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, breaking away, breathless. “I’m—that was stupid of me. Selfish. Off base. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Shut up,” I suggested, and I kissed him again, not caring that the taste of honeysuckle had already vanished, the memory of it, the swell of emotion I felt toward Sebastian just as sweet.

  He held my face in his hands, as if it were another one of his precious things and broke the kiss again. “I promised you dinner.”

  “I would be fine with dessert first,” I said, smiling against his lips. The shape of his mouth matched mine, and we kissed again, grinning with each other.

  Part of my mind told me I shouldn’t be grinning, shouldn’t even be smiling, let alone kissing Sebastian. Dad was in the hospital, the farm was going under, and I was having what felt suspiciously like an identity crisis, but the rest of me didn’t care. All I wanted was to feel good. I just wanted to feel good for a little bit. Or for longer than a little bit. I wanted Sebastian, and I needed him, and I was more than willing to set aside whatever anger I’d harbored toward him just for some succor in this turbulent moment.

  He was such a sweet distraction. As sweet as honeysuckle.

  Sebastian swept me up suddenly into his arms, and I giggled as I was forced to throw my arms around his neck.

  “Allow me to show you where I serve dessert, then,” he said, carrying me from the main room and into an adjoining bedroom. A flick of the switch revealed a bed that was low to the floor but covered in sumptuous pillows and blankets, a long chest of drawers, and not much else.

  “Where are all the decorations?” I asked, as Sebastian lowered us both to the bed. It was interesting to be this close to the carpeting. “Are you waiting to travel more to fill it up?”

  “I like to keep this room quiet,” he said. “To help me focus.”

  “On dessert?” I countered wickedly.

  “And sleeping.” He kissed me again, taking his time, inching my shirt up my torso until he had it over my head and off. “Better turn off the lights in here so we don’t give the neighbors a show.”

  “You can leave them on,” I suggested innocently.

  Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Are you sure about that?”

  I shrugged. “It’s kind of our thing, now, isn’t it? Sex in public places?” Our first tryst had been the barn at the farm, our second had been my truck at a loading dock. I’d discovered that I liked that edge, the excitement of the possibility of discovery. Maybe I had a little exhibitionism in me. I’d never explored the idea consciously until now.

  “I like the way you think,” Sebastian said, his grin widening enough for his dimples to mark his face.

  We undressed ourselves leisurely, as if we were doing it for an audience as well as each other, and I couldn’t help but shudder at the electricity I felt at the prospect of someone peeking in on us. It was damn sexy, and I was bound and determined that I was going to enjoy myself.

  Sebastian kissed every inch of me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes— and everywhere between—until I was breathless and writhing. He lapped at my pussy and I nearly came undone, grabbing at his head, my breath harsh in my own ears.

  “Don’t hold back,” he said, grinning up at me. “Our possible audience can see, but they can’t hear. You have no one to bother.”

  That was all the encouragement I needed to howl and moan and cajole him on as he did all sorts of wicked things with his tongue, my wetness soaking the bed beneath me, making my thighs soaking with sweetness.

  “You’re good at that,” I told him, limp and on fire all at once.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he said magnanimously—a true gentleman. He covered me with his body and sank his cock into me gently. Sebastian didn’t have to wait for me to adjust to him, but he did all the same, pausing until I pushed against him, desperate for more friction than what he was giving me.

  We moved together. We always moved together, but this was different. We were both here for the same reason—to feel good. Our thrusts were gentle but powerful, playful but meaningful. We were both here because we wanted to be here. The bed allowed for a lot more freedom of movement than our previous couplings, even though the erotic edge was still there, our lovemaking on display for anyone who cared to take a gander.

  I didn’t hold back at all when Sebastian shoved me right through the door to orgasm, shouting myself hoarse as he tossed his head back and joined me there. He continued to thrust so softly, extending that bliss until we’d wrung out the last drops of our pleasure together. We simply rested there, breathing on each other, until I realized that Sebastian’s deeper breaths meant he’d fallen asleep right on me, his cock still buried inside my body.

  My heart squeezed, and I remembered that I cared deeply for the man sprawled out on top of me, snoring softly. It was a vulnerability Sebastian hadn’t revealed to me before. Up until this little nap, he’d been all bravado, all the time. Something about holding him while he slept endeared him even more to me. My stomach grumbled fussily, and I winced before poking him gently.

  “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, waking up and rolling off of me. “Was I squishing you?”

  “You were fine,” I told him. “However
, dinner was promised. Even if we did have dessert beforehand. I’m hungry.”

  “I have just the thing.” Sebastian sat up in bed, rubbed his face, and pulled his boxers on over his shapely ass. It was almost a tragedy, but a girl couldn’t survive on nice looks alone. I needed food, and if he preferred to cook in his boxers, that was how I was going to get food.

  “I can help,” I offered.

  “No, no.” He leaned down and kissed me. “Stay. Relax. Grab a nap. There’s no need for you to be exhausted.”

  But the longer I stayed alone in the bed, smells wafting in the open door from the kitchen, the more my stomach grumbled. I wondered if there was anything I could poach, realizing that I hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Also if I didn’t work to distract myself, I found myself sliding into a pit of despair over Dad and the farm.

  I stepped out of bed and shrugged on Sebastian’s shirt before padding out to the kitchen to check on the status of dinner.

  Sebastian glanced up from a steaming stove, the food sizzling in front of him. “That’s a good color on you,” he told me, eyeing me in his shirt. “This is just about ready.”

  “That was fast.”

  Our late dinner was grilled vegetable and shrimp skewers, made right on Sebastian’s stove. The range was like something I imagined inside of a restaurant, full of devices and options that I didn’t even have names for. But the dinner was filling without being overpowering, and we stood there at the countertop even though chairs and tables abounded, feeding each other offerings from the skewers, Sebastian in his boxers, me wearing his button-down shirt.

  “Do you believe me now?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  “That I’m a good cook.”

  “I wouldn’t be eating it if you weren’t a good cook,” I said, laughing. “But yes, this is very delicious. The veggies are really good. You have a good source for those, I’m sure.”

  “I sure do,” he agreed. “They’re from your farm.”

  A slow smile spread across my face. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not. Why would I?”

  I sniffed. “To get me to fall into bed with you.”

  “Again? I think I’m doing pretty good on just my charms. Lies need not apply.”

  I laughed at him. I was doing a lot of laughing for how poorly Dad was doing in the hospital, and I sobered immediately. “I should go.”

  “Rachel, what are you going to do for your father at three in the morning?” Sebastian asked. “Be realistic. Take care of yourself. Let’s get some sleep.”

  I hesitated. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened and Dad was all alone.” That something was both him dying and him coming miraculously back to himself. He needed me there.

  “Okay, let me make a call.” Sebastian plucked his phone from the countertop and pecked at the display with his finger. “Yes, hello, doctor, this is Sebastian Clementine. I told you I might be calling you tonight so you could keep Rachel Dare informed about her father’s status. Yes. Here she is.”

  Sebastian handed me the phone, and I took it from him, tentative, my fingers still covered with the delicious juices from the skewers we’d just eaten.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, Rachel, it’s your father’s doctor,” the man said on the other end of the call. “You’re calling about his status, are you not?”

  “That’s right,” I said, clearing my throat lightly. “Yes. How is he doing, please? Has there been any change?”

  “No,” the doctor said. “All of the readings are what we’re expecting at this point. Like I said earlier, we’re more or less in a holding pattern in this point…” I let his voice wash over me, not willing to allow my mind to try and wrap around the concept of someone waiting for me to make a decision about Dad’s life. Wordlessly, I handed the phone back to Sebastian, who held it to his ear to listen.

  “Thank you, doctor,” he said, his tone professional and polite. “I appreciate you taking the time to keep us updated. We’ll see you in the morning…well, later this morning.”

  I watched as he ended the call and set the phone back down on the counter. “Thanks, Sebastian. I just can’t right now. I don’t know. It’s too frightening.”

  “You don’t have to be frightened,” he said, hugging me gently. “It’s a scary situation, sure, but your father has good people taking care of him. And a daughter who loves him—but who needs to get some rest.”

  I opened my mouth to try and argue, to try and say something, but my body suddenly made it known that it was tired and I yawned instead. “Maybe I could sleep for a few hours,” I admitted.

  “Then it’s to bed for us,” Sebastian said, leading us back into the bedroom, leaving the mess in the kitchen for later or for his maid or God knew who. It didn’t matter. I was exhausted.

  And maybe it was just an extra perk—a rare bit of mercy—that as I curled up with Sebastian in his bed, the lights of the city glittering through the windows and serving as our stars, it was the sweetest feeling I’d ever experienced. I was safe.

  Chapter 14

  A woman bent over Dad’s motionless form in the hospital bed as Sebastian and I walked in later that morning—showered and fresh and physically ready to face the day.

  “How is he doing?” I asked, nervous that there had been some change in his condition while I’d been away and enjoying myself. I was worried even though we’d settled that idea with a simple phone call.

  “You’re the health professional,” she tossed over her shoulder before resuming her observations.

  “No, I’m not. I thought you were.”

  The woman straightened and looked at me, and that’s when I realized it was my mother. She looked almost the same now as she did when she left us ten years ago, but how was that possible? I’d grown up in the interim, and Dad had practically withered before my eyes. Upon closer examination, I saw things that didn’t match my memories of my mother—a brighter red in her glossy tresses, telling me that she dyed her hair, an elevated slope of her breasts beneath her tight shirt that defied the laws of gravity, a blank smoothness on her face that screamed Botox.

  She had been escaping the march of time in whatever ways were available to her. It was my mother and it wasn’t all at the same time. I was sure I looked different to her, too.

  “You haven’t been wearing a hat,” she blurted out, and I sighed.

  “Really?”

  “You have a lot more freckles than I remember,” she amended. “Sorry. My dermatologist told me that if I’d taken more care with my skin when I was younger, I wouldn’t have had to have so many facials.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked carefully.

  “You’re the one who emailed me,” she said. “I got on the first flight out that I could make. Right after a performance.”

  “All I did was ask you a question,” I said. “You didn’t have to come out here.”

  “Yes, I did,” she said, unperturbed by my attitude. “You and your father need me. This is a situation where families need to come together.” She looked pointedly, then appraisingly, at Sebastian, who remained at my elbow. “Families only. Unless this fine young man is my son-in-law.”

  “Um, no,” I said quickly, cutting in before Sebastian could say anything. “This is Sebastian Clementine. He’s a friend.”

  “A well-proportioned friend,” my mother said. “And if he’s just a friend, maybe you wouldn’t mind me asking him out for a drink later.”

  I exhaled heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. Was this really how this interaction was going? It had been a decade since I’d seen my mother, and our reintroduction to each other was going horribly. I didn’t know what I had expected for this situation, but it definitely wasn’t this.

  “Let’s unpack that,” I said slowly. “The father of your daughter is on his deathbed. You haven’t seen either of them for ten years. And you’re asking Sebastian, who just so happens to be more than a friend, out for drinks in the midd
le of the morning.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dare,” Sebastian said smoothly, stepping forward to offer her his hand. “It’s considerate that you flew in to be here in this difficult time.”

  “Please, it’s Amanda,” my mother said. “I left Mrs. Dare behind a long time ago.”

  “Ten years ago, to be exact,” I put in, just to be difficult. But as my mother stepped away from Dad’s bedside, all of my rancor fell away. He looked so small beneath the sheets, dwarfed by all of the equipment around him, which was doing the heavy lifting of living right now for him. The guilt I felt at immersing myself in Sebastian deepened and widened, and I discovered that I didn’t care about my mother’s reasons for being here or how she acted. All I cared about was Dad. He was so frail. He didn’t deserve to be so weak, lying there in that hospital bed. He didn’t deserve this heart attack, or the farm going under, or my mother leaving him.

  I went to his side and took the hand that wasn’t impaled with a needle, squeezing it and willing him to squeeze back, to show me some kind of sign. His grip stayed limp in my hand, and I felt so devastated that I didn’t even have the urge to cry. It was more like an infinite emptiness inside of me. He’d been the only real parent I’d had for the last ten years of my life, through many, many difficult times. Why was he lying here instead of my mother? She had left us; she hadn’t been worth a damn during the tumult of puberty and beyond. A girl needed her mother, but Dad had worked so hard to fill those shoes for me.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew it was Sebastian from his touch, the smell of his cologne. It strengthened me significantly and made me angry in another vein. He’d seen that I needed comforting, but my mother hadn’t recognized it. How could someone I had only known for weeks know me better than the woman who had given birth to me?

  “It’s going to be okay, Rachel,” my mother said, and my name sounded foreign coming from her mouth.

  “You can’t say that,” I said, turning to face her. “You don’t get to say that. The only thing you get to say is whether he ever mentioned anything to you about his wishes. About what he wanted. How he wanted to go.”