She Who Dares

by Jane O'Reilly

  ‘I deserved to be drenched with ice cold water?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because…’ she gritted her teeth and wrapped her damp fingers tightly round the spanner, ‘you filled my forecourt with photographers without giving me any warning. And then you suggested that I let them take my photo while I looked like…’ she pulled on the bolt. It didn’t budge.

  ‘Looked like what?’

  ‘Like a total fricking mess, that’s what!’ She pulled again, harder this time, focussing all her fury, all her shame, all her frustration on that stupid, rusted bolt. Something moved.

  But it wasn’t the bolt. Nic felt herself stumble backwards, straight into a solid wall of hard, wet muscle. The spanner hit the concrete with a clang. Her entire body seemed to stop for a minute — heart, lungs, everything — and then explode back into life. Pain screamed across her palm, her fingers curling over it, but not before she’d seen the two neatly sliced edges of flesh. Then the valley filled with blood, bright red and burning.

  Chapter Five

  Someone swore. Nic couldn’t tell if it was her, Sebastian, or both of them together, but the rude little word at least reminded her that he was human, somewhere inside that perfect body.

  Long fingers closed over her wrist as his other arm moved around her waist, holding her against him. She shouldn’t like it, god knows she shouldn’t, but he felt strong and safe, in stark contrast to her own vulnerable, wobbly state. ‘It’s not that bad,’ she protested, wondering why on earth she’d said that when she’d seen for herself that it was bad with a capital B.

  ‘Shut up, Nic.’ He leaned to one side, grabbed his wet t-shirt and held it against her palm. ‘We need to get you out of here. Do you feel faint?’

  Ever since the second you took your shirt off. ‘No.’

  ‘Truth?’

  ‘I’m in no fit state to accept a dare,’ Nic pointed out.

  ‘Hmm.’ His breath warmed the nape of her neck. She might have tingled, if she wasn’t so busy trying to pretend her hand didn’t hurt like there was no tomorrow. ‘Okay. I’m going to sit up on the edge of the pit. Then I’m going to lift you out. Got that?’

  Nic was still processing that instruction when large hands gripped her firmly under the arms and she found herself being hoisted up and out of the pit. A moment later she was nestled firmly between Sebastian’s thighs, her feet dangling close to his ankles. She didn’t even want to think about what her bottom was touching. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll go get the first aid kit.’

  ‘I don’t think so, princess. You’re going straight to A and E.’

  An hour later Nic found herself sat on a sweaty plastic chair, her hand bandaged in a clean tea towel, her mood thunderous. The woman on reception fiddled with her flowery blouse and glanced their way, giving her a sympathetic smile.

  The only reason she didn’t stick her tongue out in return was because Sebastian was watching her like a hawk. He’d changed into the spare set of overalls that hung on the back of the office door, then driven her to the hospital in the Jaguar before physically picking her up and carrying her into A and E. She’d swear the only reason she’d been waiting so long was because all the nurses had swooned at the sight of him striding in like Sir Lancelot in dodgy overalls.

  She’d never been more embarrassed in her entire life. If her hand didn’t feel like it was about to fall off, she’d tell Sebastian exactly where he could stick his business partnership. But as things stood, she was in a hole deeper than the garage pit he’d pulled her out of.

  Her hands were, quite literally, the tools of her trade. An injured hand meant she couldn’t work. And if she couldn’t work, how was she supposed to keep things going?

  More than that, how was she supposed to fix herself a car in time for Misses and Motors? It was nothing short of an A-grade disaster. At the root of it all was Ella. Ella had dropped her in this situation. But her stepsister wasn’t here, so instead she focussed her foul mood on Sebastian.

  If only he wasn’t pretty much the only person who could help her out of the mess she was in.

  ‘Miss Sinclair?’ called a nurse from the other side of reception, a clipboard in one hand.

  ‘Here,’ called Nic. With a quick glance at Sebastian, who was deep in a copy of Guilty Pleasures magazine, she got to her feet, steeled her spine, and went to get herself some stitches.

  By the time they made it back to Lostwithiel it was late evening, the dark pushing at the light, and Sebastian’s stomach was complaining loudly. He ignored it. He had more important things to think about, like the long, hot shower he was going to take as soon as he got home. And Nic.

  A hot shower and Nic. Get those things sorted, and he’d feel normal again. He’d be able to shake off this hideous sense of unease, the acidic burn in his stomach, the feeling of not being quite steady.

  Tiredness, he decided. It had been a crazy couple of days. All he needed to do was get Nic into bed, make sure she took the painkillers that the doctor had forced her to bring home, and he’d be able to head off. He’d get a pizza delivered, watch trash on the TV and sleep till noon. And why not? He was his own boss right now. He was going to make the most of it.

  ‘I’ll be fine now.’ Nic took a moment to unlock the door tucked away around the side of the garage. It swung silently open as the security lights flicked on automatically, drowning the pair of them in sharp white light. ‘Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow.’

  She sounded like the annoying robot female on sat nav. ‘Everyone hates hospitals,’ Sebastian pointed out. ‘It’s okay if you feel a little creeped out.’ Get her inside, he told himself. Get her into bed, and go home. Through the open door he could see a little entranceway, no bigger than the doormat that sat inside it, and a set of steep stairs.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said again, walking forward into the space. ‘You were the one sat in the waiting room holding a magazine upside down.’

  ‘I was not,’ he said, though he wasn’t sure if it was true. He’d barely been able to focus on anything in that damn place. Even breathing took concentration, what with the hospital smell filling his nostrils every time he took in oxygen. He’d let their trip to casualty get to him. Worse than that, he’d let it show, and he never showed that sort of vulnerability. He would not let her think he was pathetic. This was about Nic, not about him. ‘Just shows how much pain you were in, if you were hallucinating.’

  ‘I was worried about you.’ She glanced back at him over her shoulder, but didn’t quite meet his gaze. ‘You seemed…distracted.’

  Sebastian shrugged. ‘You’d be distracted if you were wearing overalls three sizes too small. Anyway, this isn’t about me. You had what, fifteen stitches?’

  ‘Twelve. And like I told you, it’s nothing.’ She started up the stairs, fingers resting on the rail.

  ‘A dozen stitches is not nothing,’ Sebastian pointed out. He didn’t know if she wanted him to follow her up or not, but as she hadn’t told him not to, he decided to do exactly that. ‘Your hand is a mess.’

  ‘Thanks for pointing that out.’

  ‘Have you always been so damn stubborn?’ He watched as she fumbled with the keys, trying to manage the bunch one handed. When they slipped from her fingers and hit the floor, he scooped them up before she could even get close.

  She glared at him, her face pale and tired. ‘Give me my keys!’

  Sebastian put a hand to her waist and moved her out of the way. ‘When we’re done,’ he told her shortly, unlocking the door and shoving it open. He fumbled at the wall by the door until he located a switch, then flicked it.

  ‘Believe me,’ she snapped. ‘We’re done.’

  ‘Princess, I wish that were true. I really do. But we’ve barely even begun. Now are you going to sit yourself down on the sofa, or do I have to put you there?’

  She shoved her way past him, face sulky, but her attempt to look capable was marred by the way she cradled her bandaged hand against h
er chest.

  Sebastian closed the door gently behind him, tucked his hands in his pockets, and took in her tiny flat with a single, sweeping glance. Small living area, minimally furnished with a cheap yellow sofa that had a sweatshirt slung over the back. A pile of magazines sat next to an even higher pile of DVD’s. Her social life?

  Looking around, he didn’t find it hard to believe that it was. Didn’t she need company? Other people?

  To his left lay a small, functional kitchen. He found a glass on the drainer and rinsed it out, then filled it with cold water from the tap and took it through to Nic. ‘Here,’ he said, pushing it into her good hand. ‘Now for god’s sake, take the pills before the wind changes and you get stuck as a complete cow forever.’

  Her shoulders stiffened as she set the glass down on the floor and pulled the bottle of pills from her pocket. Sebastian felt a kick of regret at his words as he watched her struggle with the lid. He waited for her to ask him to do it.

  She didn’t.

  He sat himself next to her on the sofa and grabbed the bottle from her hand. ‘For god’s sake, princess, don’t you know when to ask for help?’ He popped the lid and shook out a couple. ‘Stick out your tongue.’

  Her head jerked up, and those big dark eyes fixed on him. He saw pain in the creases that fanned out from the corners. But more than that, he saw awareness, as that darkness became almost black, and colour gathered in those pale cheeks. ‘Open,’ he said softly.

  She hesitated for the briefest of moments, then did as she was told.

  Sebastian slowly deposited the small white capsules on the end of her tongue. The heat of her mouth caressed his fingertips as she exhaled a jerky breath. She’s hurt, he told himself fiercely. This is not happening. Don’t be a jerk.

  But knowing it was wrong didn’t stop him wanting to take everything she was offering. He wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to do it hard and deep and now.

  Then she turned her head, and the moment was gone. But the urge, well that remained exactly where it was. All he could think about was soft lips and great legs and how much watching her work had turned him on.

  She picked up the glass, lifted it to her lips and gulped down the water, then got up and disappeared through a door on the other side of the room. The door didn’t quite slam behind her, but it wasn’t far off.

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Sebastian huffed out a breath. What was he still doing here? Why hadn’t he shoved her in the door, chucked the bottle in after her, and then left? What was he doing getting comfortable on her sofa?

  ‘I’m going to bed now,’ came a shout from the other side of the door.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to bed!’ A drawer slammed, and a bed creaked. Sebastian knew he should take the hint, given what had just happened, but her sofa had the extreme comfort of a well loved piece of furniture and he couldn’t quite persuade himself to move. Plus she had looked like hell. What if she passed out?

  More muffled sounds came from the other side of the door. Sitting forward on the sofa, Sebastian picked up the remote, turned on the TV and started to flick. Bad TV was bad TV no matter where you watched it, he reasoned

  As soon as she was asleep, he’d leave. Yup. That was a good plan, and not that far removed from the original one. She was his business partner, and it was his duty to make sure she was okay. Rolling out his shoulders, he tried to unlock viciously tense muscles. Nothing short of a medical emergency was going to get him on the other side of that door, but it didn’t stop him thinking about it. Thinking about her, and what she was doing in there.

  He flicked through a few channels, found a twenty-four hour cartoon channel and let Road Runner pull him through a few mindless minutes. An anvil was in freefall when the door opened.

  ‘Sebastian?’

  He turned in his seat. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I, er …’ Her face was no longer pale. If anything, she looked a little flushed. The curve of her cheeks was bright pink, her gaze glued to the floor. ‘Oh, god.’

  He was in his feet in an instant. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself again?’

  She shook her head violently. ‘No, nothing like that. I just…this is so awkward.’

  ‘More awkward than when you kissed me?’

  ‘I can’t undress myself.’

  If there was a more humiliating scenario than this, Nic couldn’t think what it was. She’d got as far as unzipping her overalls before she’d realised that pulling them off her shoulders and down over her injured hand was going to be impossible without help. She’d briefly considered keeping them on, but the fabric was thick and sweaty and dirty.

  No way would she be able to sleep in it. Exhaustion wrapped around her, hot and stifling, and she felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer, spots of light dancing in front of her eyes as the pills threw themselves into the mix.

  Her knees dissolved.

  Sebastian caught her just in time. ‘You’re crashing,’ he said. ‘We need to get you into bed.’ He half carried, half walked her back into her bedroom. ‘Your adrenaline levels have dropped. You’re going to feel pretty damn awful for the next few hours.’

  ‘Great,’ Nic mumbled. ‘So not only is everything a complete sodding disaster, I’m going to feel crap too. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.’

  ‘Stop complaining. Things could be worse.’

  ‘How could they possibly be worse?’

  Sebastian sat her down on the bed. He slid one big, warm hand inside the overalls and pulled out her left arm. Then he repeated the move with her other arm. Nic winced as the sleeve pulled over her battered hand. ‘We could’ve had sex,’ he said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable and perfectly normal thing to say. ‘Then things would really be awkward.’

  Nic turned her head so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Yes we could, she thought. But you had sex with my sister instead.

  Throat tight, she turned her head to the side, though the effort nearly killed her, given that it felt like a bowling ball. The shiny full length mirror that she’d bought as part of her preparation for the Misses and Motors contest, hauled up into the flat, leaned against the bedroom wall and then refused to look in reflected the scene straight back at her. The overalls were scrunched around her hips, the dark grey fabric in stark contrast to the plain white cotton of her bed covers and her even whiter skin. Her hair looked like it belonged to someone else, glossy and rich, even pulled back in a scruffy stub of a ponytail.

  She looked a mess.

  And yet with Sebastian knelt between her thighs, so dark and masculine, she looked something more. She looked…naughty. He slid one hand down under her bottom and lifted her slightly, forcing her to plant her uninjured hand on his shoulder to keep herself steady as his other hand went to the edge of her overalls.

  Her fuzzy brain guessed his intention just in time. ‘No!’ The word came out hard, a shout that shocked her. ‘No,’ she said again, trying to control her volume level. ‘It’s fine. I can do it now.’ She wasn’t wearing anything under the overalls but her cotton vest and heart print knickers, and she absolutely couldn’t let Sebastian see her left hip, and the long, ugly lines that ran across it, most white, three still purple, all precisely spaced.

  His knuckles grazed her waist, but his hand stopped. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nic shoved at his chest, but it was like shoving a boulder. A warm, gorgeous smelling boulder. She pushed him harder. Still nothing. One of her vest straps fell down her arm, exposing the top of her breast, and she grabbed at it with clumsy fingers.

  ‘Jeez,’ she heard Sebastian whisper. One hand slipped back to her bottom, and his other one joined it. She thought she heard him inhale, but that had to be her imagination.

  ‘What?’

  He shook his head slightly, but didn’t lift his gaze. In the mirror, she saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Her gaze dropped lower, as she tried to work out what exactly he was looking at.

/>   Then she realised. A fast glance down told her exactly what had caught his attention. The vest she’d pulled on that morning was old, thin, and had shrunk in the wash. It had been a soft baby pink at some point, but now it was more sludgy grey. It clung to her breasts like paint to the bonnet of a sports car.

  And she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

  Her nipples were outlined in perfect detail. Size, shape, the works. Nothing left to the imagination. Nothing at all.

  ‘I’m going to leave now,’ Sebastian said, his voice cool.

  ‘Okay,’ Nic replied, a little too loudly. ‘ Right.’

  He scrambled to his feet, shoved his hands back through his hair. ‘I’ll, ah, see you tomorrow.’

  And then he was gone, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him. A few seconds later, she heard her front door slam. Nic gripped the edge of the bed, heeled off her boots, then bounced and kicked her legs until her overalls were flung across the room. They fell in a messy heap in front of the stupid mirror.

  He’d taken one look and scarpered, and she’d only been half undressed. He hadn’t even needed to see her scars. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so bloody unfunny. But what did she expect? She wasn’t Ella, all soft curves and satin lingerie. She was Nic, all over-washed cotton undies and muscle. Most of the time, the athletic build she’d gained doing such a physical job made her feel strong, fit, powerful. But the second she took off her clothes, she hated it. All she could see was what was missing, what was flawed, what was wrong, what she’d done to herself. Her whole body wracked with pain, Nic crawled under the sheets, buried her face in the pillow, and cried herself to sleep.

  Sebastian took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. God, he seriously did need therapy. He’d just had the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen inches from his mouth, and he’d had just one thought in his head.

  Stopping himself had been too bloody hard, given that she was exhausted, in shock, crashing. There was something about Nic, something challenging and interesting that stirred him up. Where Ella was predictable, straightforward, uncomplicated, Nic was the exact opposite. He’d only needed five minutes in her company to figure that out.