If You Dare

by Jessica Lemmon

  She opened and closed her mouth, then frowned. “Well, I think it’s stupid that you had Clive drive you here like you two were on some high-school mission.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to get my car dirty.”

  She curled her lip like Billy Idol, which should have been a turnoff but was actually kind of cute. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s white. I just washed it.”

  Why that infuriated her, he had no idea. Everything about him seemed to infuriate her. Everything she did only made him want her a little bit more. Ah, the cruel irony.

  “Well, it doesn’t change the bet.” She reached for her phone to check the time. “Six hours to go.”

  Six hours to figure out how to get her to lose. Now that he’d been unmasked, he’d have to rely on the speaker upstairs. Damn, she’d called him on it, too. Smart, his girl.

  This girl, he mentally corrected. Not his. Not yet.

  “Since you insist on stealing Hawaii from me”—he paused to appreciate her flared nostrils—”you really should throw me a bone for the annual design dinner.”

  Her eyebrows jolted. “Is that a sex joke?”

  “What?” He thought back to what he’d said and chuckled. “No. That’s funny, though.”

  She didn’t smile, but her pressed lips seemed to be slanted at a slightly amused angle. Progress.

  “What would it hurt if you went with me?” he asked. “You go every year anyway. You’re obviously not bringing that last guy you dated.”

  “Andy? How do you know?” A flash of hurt briefly crossed her features, and he hated seeing it there. Hated knowing that dickhead hurt her.

  “Are you?” The answer had better be no. If he ever saw him again, he’d flatten him. He didn’t like the way Andy talked to her—like her very presence irritated him.

  “No. I’m not bringing him.” She tossed her wavy strawberry hair and met his eyes. “Who are you bringing? Barbie or Bambi?”

  Ah. Back on the clock.

  “Neither,” he answered truthfully. The answer seemed to fluster her. She looked away.

  “Why do you want to take me, anyway? It’s your big night. The last thing you need is me butting in while you’re bragging about how wonderful you are.”

  The barb bounced off him. He’d like to take her because it’d be nice to share the spotlight with someone who knew what she was talking about. Schmoozing with his peers wasn’t on the very short list of things he was good at.

  “Believe me, after my speech—” Even the word made him start to sweat. He tugged his flannel off of his arms before grumbling, “I’ll gladly hide behind you.”

  Her attention was on him fully, and he got the idea she was working something out in her head. Crap. That made him nervous. He didn’t like being carefully examined by highly intelligent women.

  “Marcus Black,” she finally said, her voice lilting gracefully.

  Shit. He leaned back some, as if that might help him escape whatever she might say next.

  Her pretty lips lifted into a smile. “Are you…nervous?”

  Chapter Six

  The question was supposed to be teasing, but Marcus didn’t laugh it off or shoot another insult in her direction. Instead, he reached for her iPad and tapped the screen. Avoidance. Interesting.

  His head-in-the-sand reaction was a surprise. There was simply no way this confident, talented, alluring man was battling a case of nerves over an acceptance speech. All he had to do was say “thank you” and talk for a few minutes about how he became retail design’s golden boy. She’d have thought he’d lap up that kind of centered attention like a fat cat would cream. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around the idea of him being insecure about addressing his colleagues. Addressing anyone.

  Figuring his worry was due to lack of preparedness, she asked, “Do you have your speech memorized?”

  “Of course.” He looked up from the tablet, eyebrows drawn, clearly offended.

  “Well, let’s hear it.” Practicing aloud always helped her before a big presentation.

  The corners of his mouth turned down. He dropped the iPad on the mattress between them and licked his lips, distracting her for a split second. Because really, his mouth was…

  Well. She just wasn’t going to think about what it was.

  Rather than turn her down, he surprised her with a gruff, “Okay. Fine.” Then he rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and wiped his brow.

  “It’s a speech, Marcus. You’re not signaling me to throw a fastball.”

  “I’m getting to it.” He scratched the back of his neck, scrubbed his chin, and cleared his throat. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Cameron Designs and my fellow colleagues, I’d like to…” He trailed off and studied her. “What?”

  “You’re frowning.”

  “No, I’m not.” He marred his brow further.

  “Are, too.” She made a peace sign and separated where his eyebrows met over the center of his nose. The moment the pads of her fingers touched his skin, everything changed. She became aware of the heat rolling off him and seeping through her fingertips, of his whiskey-colored gaze meeting her wide-eyed stare. Of the supercharged air between them zapping like a live electric wire.

  She snatched her hand away, hoping her shaking voice wouldn’t clue him in on her now-stuttering heart. “And speak slower. It might sound odd to your ears, but speaking calmly will put your audience at ease.” She intentionally slowed and softened her words. “And you’ll be more relaxed, too.”

  She waited for him to argue or make fun, but he only blinked and watched her in the yellowish lantern light. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

  “Oh. You’re welcome.” Being the recipient of his gratitude was new territory. She shook off the urge to blush…and decided to lighten the mood with a subject change. “What are you worried about, anyway? We’re not going anywhere if we don’t find my car keys.”

  But the mention of their predicament made the smile on her face turn sickly. She had searched the bedding and bags surrounding them. Marcus half-heartedly helped while whole-heartedly chowing down on her food. Neither of them had found a single sign of her missing keychain. It was like it had vanished into thin air.

  “Just picture the audience in their underwear,” she said as she rifled again through her purse, which she’d hurriedly retrieved from outside.

  “Will you be in the audience, Lil?” She snapped her head up to find Marcus leaning an elbow on one knee, a wry and damn sexy smile on his face. “Because as I recall, if I win this bet, you have to show up not wearing any…”

  Her pulse raced against her throat, and she had to work extra hard to be offended. “I mean…” She shut her eyes to recalibrate her brain. “What I meant was, it’s easier to give a speech if you focus on talking to the people you know. Joanie or Clive…or me.” She returned to digging through her bag, reconsidering. “Or not me. Someone you like.”

  “I like you.”

  Her heart thudded. Such a simple sentiment, but for some reason, the words hit deep in her gut. Mostly, they teased, but when they worked together, when they had a task they shared, she liked him, too. He must have thought her twisted lips were a show of doubt, because he continued to argue his point.

  “What?” He gave her a tender smile, a rarity, and her favorite from his arsenal of expressions. “I do.”

  “Oh, okay.” She tossed her handbag aside and tried to get back onto familiar footing with him. “That explains the plastic spiders you’ve been hiding in my desk since we made this bet. Let’s see, one in my paperclips, one on top of my monitor…one on the glass of my scanner.”

  “I heard you scream from the other side of the building.” He grinned, inordinately pleased with himself.

  She shook her head. Marcus was a lot like having a bratty brother around. He dragged a hand through his cropped hair and chuckled, the flash of his white teeth offsetting the dark shadow of his jaw. Heat flushed her neck.
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  Maybe “brother” was a poor choice of word.

  “I’m not exactly on your top-ten list, either,” he mumbled, leaning back on his forearms. The air-filled bed shifted, and she steadied herself with her hands. “Can’t even get you to act like my date at a company dinner without adding it to the stakes of a bet.”

  Despite the easy smile on his face, he sounded almost hurt.

  “I— It’s not that.” What was his angle, anyway? Why would he care if the stuffy redhead from work turned him down? His black book was likely thicker than both testaments of the King James Bible. “You’re the one who made it part of the bet rather than ask me outright.”

  He pushed himself up and the air in the mattress shifted again, tipping his face close to hers. For a half second, she forgot to breathe. She wasn’t sure what gave him the allure. The casual way he wore his hair, the mischievous spark in his dark eyes, or the way the lantern lit his face, making him look like a boy and a man at the same time.

  “I asked you out before. You said you didn’t date your coworkers.”

  “I don’t. But that was before…before I knew you.”

  He watched her for a few long, sweaty seconds.

  She tried not to fidget.

  “Would you have said yes if I had asked you recently?”

  “You mean if you asked…” She licked her dry lips. “Just…asked?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  He blew out a laugh, his eyebrows jumping.

  “I respect our working relationship too much to risk it,” she blurted. She did respect him, but that wasn’t the full truth. The truth was an ex-boyfriend had raked her over the coals. Emmett had used the fact that they’d shared a bed to promote himself and get her fabulously fired. She’d been the brunt of the workplace rumors that’d come with the relationship. Her ex had accused her of lacking ethics, and the pompous assholes running Lawson and Becker had believed him.

  Not that she thought for one second Marcus would do the same…but at the time she had been stinging from that recent slap. She hadn’t even told him the real reason she left her former firm. So, yeah, back then, freshly wounded and freshly shit-canned, she’d taken one look at Marcus and concluded that the dark-haired, sexy beast asked out every girl within earshot. It wasn’t hard to guess they had all said yes. Every last one of them. She didn’t want to be one in a string of many. She’d had injuries to lick.

  But now, looking at Marcus, she chewed on the side of her lip, wondering if she’d made too many assumptions about him. Assumptions that had stuck, despite her seeing clear evidence refuting them. Like the fact that yes, he used to date a lot when she started, but recently, his numerous dates had waned. He spent late nights at the office almost as often as she did. And when he came in Monday morning, it was he and Clive who talked about hanging out at the Shot Spot playing pool or darts. Hell, at last year’s RSD dinner, his date seemed more like an acquaintance he’d called in a favor with than a girl interested in him.

  Huh. She hadn’t really thought about that before.

  “You respect me. That’s a new one.” His downturned eyes threw her off. Had she ever seen this man with anything less than 110 percent confidence?

  “You don’t need me to get through the dinner anyway,” she said, almost laughing aloud at the idea of him “needing” her for anything at all. The man was talent squared. “Everyone attending knows you’re ten times the designer they are.” That was the truth, and so was the next thing she said. “And you’re twenty times the designer I am on my best day.”

  Chapter Seven

  He waited for the punch line, but nothing came.

  Lily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had cute ears.

  “Like on the London store¸” she continued. “I sketched the interior of that building at least eighteen times, and I never once thought to position the POS stations throughout the store.”

  “Yeah, innovative.”

  “Exactly. It was.” She poked his knee with one finger.

  The third time she’d touched him tonight. Interesting.

  “I was being sarcastic.” Feeling uncharacteristically humble, he added, “Clive helped.”

  “With the final layout. But he argued for the traditional placement of the cash registers lined up near the exit. You were the one who insisted customers would be more likely to make impulse purchases if they didn’t have to traipse to the front of the store to check out.”

  He vaguely recalled the conversation she referenced. The discussion with Clive hadn’t been a heated one, and not one she should remember so vividly. Which meant she’d been paying attention to him, and he hadn’t even known. How about that? And here he thought all they had in common was that they disagreed on everything.

  “You sound like you agree.” The two of them on the same side of an argument was new. Intriguing.

  “I do.” She looked at her hands like she was embarrassed. Or maybe she wasn’t sure how to handle them on even ground. He could relate. Compliments weren’t their usual fare.

  “While I praise you on your good taste, I can’t take all the credit. The London account was won in the boardroom.” He could picture her standing there, her royal blue suit skimming over her curves, her hair pinned at the back of her head. She’d addressed Reginald with confidence, all while maintaining a smile and including him in the presentation rather than talking at him. “You were amazing in there, Lil.”

  “Oh. Um, thanks.” She tipped her chin and blinked, her long, sloping lashes hiding her light blue eyes ever so briefly. “That’s nice.”

  “I’m not being nice. I’m telling the truth.”

  Her eyes diverted to his mouth, and she licked those soft pink lips. The look she pinned him with next absolutely stunned him. The pursed lips, upturned chin, the way she was leaning toward him the slightest bit… He couldn’t believe it.

  Lily McIntire wanted him to kiss her.

  Since he had wanted to kiss her since the day he’d met her, he was surprised to find his initial reaction was panic. Instead of closing his mouth over hers like the stud he was, he reacted like a kid with a grade school crush…and play-punched her in the shoulder.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “Hey.” He cleared his throat intentionally, still unsure what to make of his reaction. “I have an idea.” I’ll abruptly change the subject so I don’t maul you where you sit. “You can, uh”—he scratched his neck and averted his eyes—”do my speech for me.” He shrugged and gave her a cocky smile. “You’ll be like a ghostwriter. Only you’ll be a ghostspeaker.”

  Wow. What a freaking reach. What was he so nervous about, anyway? How about because the girl of your dreams is coming onto you?

  Yeah, that’d do it. And he’d blown it pretty bad that first time. He did not want a replay of getting shot down in double slow-mo.

  The longing ebbed from her expression so gradually, he actually watched it go. Her heart wasn’t in the smile she offered him, and he was hit with the strongest twinge of regret.

  She focused on winding the end of the blanket around her fingers, steadfastly changing the subject. “Well, you earned the award, Marcus. I’m sure everyone there will be—”

  A crash from the kitchen interrupted whatever good-intentioned compliment she’d been about to pay him. She scrambled away from the sound behind her and across the mattress, practically landing in his lap. Her grip on his left forearm was so tight, he began to lose the feeling in his wrist.

  “What was that?” she asked in a hurried whisper.

  What it sounded like was someone overturning a china cabinet and emptying teacups, dinner plates, and various other place settings onto the worn wooden floor. From his memory of peering through those windows earlier, there were no dishes in there. And the speaker he’d hidden upstairs to play voices was not equipped with the sound of crashing china.

  “I don’t know.” He studied the dark doorway in front of them, now silent in the gloom. He stood and she came with
him, still latched to his arm. He placed a hand over both of hers, trying to calm himself and his thundering heart. Not only from the shock echoing through his body, but also from the feel of her smooth skin. “But I’m going to find out.”

  She released his arm and half hid behind him as they stepped closer to the kitchen. He reached around and held her against him, keeping her at his back as he listened, his every sense on high alert. He could hear the wind blowing outside, the propane heater humming quietly at his feet, and Lily’s sharp, short breaths over his shoulder. Other than that, the house was still.

  An electronic chirp made her yip, and she clutched the sides of his shirt tighter in both fists. “Sorry. My phone alarm.”

  He turned and faced her, pulling her hands off him and holding them in his. “Wait here.”

  He was supposed to leave her there and do his manly obligation of checking the kitchen, but found he couldn’t move. The way her strawberry-blond hair framed her cherubic face, the way her plush lips parted, made Lily much too tempting to turn away from just yet.

  Gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he lowered his head and placed a kiss on the center of her lips. “And calm down.”

  …

  Earth to Lily.

  Marcus disappeared through the doorway of the massive kitchen to confront whoever or whatever was destroying Willow Mansion’s dishware. She knew there wasn’t a single breakable item in there, but she’d heard it, too—the creak of the cabinet doors swinging open, the sound of china shattering into a zillion pieces.

  She should be terrified out of her mind. Either nonexistent breakables had been shattered, or she was in need of a psychiatric evaluation. But “terrified” wasn’t her reigning emotion. The predominant feeling was attraction, and it cloaked her in warmth despite the cobwebs and splintered boards at her back.

  Marcus Black was an exceptional kisser. He had firm lips, the bottom one slightly larger than the top. His kiss was no more than a peck, but his mouth had hovered over hers long enough for her to conclude that wine tasted a lot better on his lips than from a red Solo cup.