Dare Me Once

by Shelly Alexander

  “Good one,” said Lily. The kid was smart.

  They made a game of it and took turns dubbing each with a funny name.

  The tension in her shoulders released. Ben had managed to add a little unexpected fun to her crummy day. If she’d learned nothing else, it was to seize those moments that brought joy to her soul because she never knew when they’d slip away and be lost forever in the harsh reality of life.

  When there was only one unnamed duckling left, she let Ben do the honors. With the gentleness of a grown-up, he set Daisy back in the tub and picked up the small duck that had strayed from the flock and sat alone in the corner of the tub. “Megan,” he said, and a veil of sadness dropped over his angelic face. “This one is Megan.”

  “Ben?” A deep voice filtered in from the den.

  An involuntary shiver licked over Lily’s skin.

  “Ben?”

  “Dad! Come see!” Ben hollered.

  Trace Remington appeared in the bathroom doorway just as Lily climbed to her feet. She shot a look between him and Ben.

  Wait. Oh.

  She drew in a breath. Karma, persistent little witch that she obviously was, must have a GPS lock on Lily.

  Trace’s brooding look hooked into her, but he spoke to his son. “What’re you doing here? You know better.” Then those cloudy eyes slid all the way down to the muddy hem of her jeans before he cleared his throat and looked away.

  Lily shifted from one foot to the other. Since her verbal skills had been on vacation the entire day, she stayed silent.

  His gentle but scolding tone seemed to go right over Ben’s head. “Look, Dad! Baby ducks!” His body hummed with excitement. “I named them.”

  Trace’s jaw ticked. “Naming them isn’t a good idea. It’ll make it even sadder when we have to say goodbye. Remember the hermit crab?”

  Ben started to rock back and forth.

  Trace’s no-pets-allowed rule made more sense now. Naming a pet usually meant a connection. An attachment.

  Well, didn’t she feel like a slug. “I . . . I’m sorry. We were having so much fun. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

  Trace gave her a pointed look that said her entire existence was a problem.

  Ben ticked off names as he pointed to each duck, even though there was no way to tell them apart. “Daisy, Sir Walter Raleigh—”

  One of Trace’s silky brows arched high, and his arms folded across that broad chest.

  Lily bit her lip and shrugged.

  “Roxy, Oscar, Squeaks, Bandit, Oreo, Scooter, and Belle.” Ben named every duck except the one in his hand.

  Lily gave it a stroke with the back of her finger. “This one’s Megan.”

  The air in the room thickened with silence.

  Ben rubbed his thigh with one hand the way he had when he first arrived. He looked down at Megan with so much love, it nearly melted Lily’s heart.

  Trace’s stiff posture softened when he spoke to his son. “It’s getting late.” He gave Ben a reassuring look. “Go on home. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Ben handed the bird to Lily and said his goodbyes.

  “I’m sorry he bothered you.” Raindrops starred Trace’s long black lashes. Lashes so thick, they could make any woman drop her guard.

  Trace equals boss. Boss equals threat of unemployment. Unemployment equals going back to a place filled with hatred for the Devereauxes. All Devereauxes, even though Lily had never committed a crime . . . unless her one-and-only parking ticket counted. Okay, two parking tickets. “Oh, it was no bother.” Lily cuddled the duck against her chest.

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

  “I do.” He scrubbed a hand over that chiseled jaw, and Lily melted a little. The new shirt he was wearing dialed up the heat even more. It opened at the neck one button too low, and the phone in his pocket caused it to sag even farther, revealing a hard chest with a smattering of dark hair in the center.

  The tip of Lily’s tongue darted out and traced her bottom lip before she could stop it.

  He pulled in a breath that said he was trying to be polite but was finding it difficult. “Look, I wasn’t in favor of hiring you.”

  Obviously Ben got his bluntness from his father.

  He glanced at the empty doorway where his son had just left. “Change complicates things.” His gaze zeroed in on Megan, whom Lily was still holding at her chest. “Your presence here is already complicating things.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, but your dad did hire me, and I intend to do my job.” She kept stroking the duck. “Change is growth.” She repeated one of the mantras she’d been taught at every hotel management seminar she’d been required to attend at her old job.

  It had sounded much less cheesy in her head.

  “You seem like a decent person.” His piercing eyes licked over her face and down her neck. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “Oh, but you’re so good at it.” She lifted her chin.

  “It’s not like that.” He swiped at the damp wavy locks, pushing them off his forehead. A few curls fell back into place just messy enough to look stylish. “It’s just that I have to look out for my son.” Trace hitched his chin toward Megan. “So do me a favor and rename that one. And the sooner they’re gone, the better for Ben.” He hooked both thumbs into his front belt loops. “I know you’ve had a long day.” He didn’t say goodbye. Or see you around. Or even buzz off. Instead, he simply walked out without a word.

  Which probably meant buzz off.

  The front door closed with a thud.

  “Doesn’t look like he wants either one of us around,” Lily said to the duckling in her hands.

  Megan squawked and spread her wings as if protesting the injustice.

  “I’m right there with you, girlfriend.” But out of respect for Trace’s fatherly concern, she renamed the bird Molly. She returned the duck to the tub, then dumped her clothes onto the queen-size bed. She made a makeshift habitat out of an empty suitcase, a few towels, and a table lamp to keep the ducks warm.

  After scouring the tub, she took a long, hot shower and dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt that said CAJUNS LIKE IT HOT from her favorite New Orleans restaurant. Then she organized her closet and dresser.

  When she went to pull up a new playlist, she flipped her phone ringer back on, and it instantly blared to life with “Jambalaya (On the Bayou).” Her mother’s number glared at her like an accusation. Lily’s head dropped back, and then she sent the call to voice mail.

  Soon. She’d deal with her mother soon. She tapped in a quick text, assuring her mother she’d arrived safely and would call as soon as she was settled. She scrolled through the long list of recent calls and messages, all from her mom until a strange number popped up.

  Her brows scrunched together. She fired off a text, praying the press hadn’t found her already.

  Who is this?

  Her heart pounded a wild thwackity, thwack, thwack against her rib cage. She had a death grip on the phone and plopped onto the edge of the bed, waiting for a response. Time stopped until the dots finally began to skip and jump.

  I’m the pilot from the airport.

  The Voice. Better than the press. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and fell back on the bed, only to sit bolt upright again.

  Why is your number in my phone?

  You let me use it. Remember?

  Lily thought for a second, then shook her head. Still didn’t make sense. Why would he have borrowed a phone to call himself?

  Are you stalking me???? I own a gun.

  She so did not. But the first chance she got, she intended to buy pepper spray. And maybe a Taser.

  Whoa, I’m not a stalker.

  THEN WHY DID YOU CALL YOURSELF FROM MY PHONE?????

  Another decade passed before he answered.

  So, funny story . . .

  She narrowed her eyes and typed.

  You have 10 sec
onds before I have the FBI trace your phone. My dad’s well connected.

  That sounded tough. The Voice didn’t need to know that her father’s connection to the FBI was from their investigation that had landed him in prison.

  Calm down, Brienne of Tarth. YOU texted ME, not the other way around.

  True. Plus, he was obviously a Game of Thrones fan, which put points on the board for him. Still . . .

  5 seconds . . . And I’m MANLY???? Cuz Brienne of Tarth is manly.

  Meant you’re obviously badass with the threats. Truth . . . siblings dared me to get a pretty girl’s number. Kinda juvenile. Sorry.

  Honesty. She wasn’t sure how to deal with that one. Except to be impressed. Lily’s false identity, albeit well intentioned, made her feel like the bird droppings she’d just scrubbed out of the bottom of her tub. This guy sounded legit, though. For some reason she believed him, especially since he’d apologized.

  Why me?

  Obvious—you were the prettiest. More Daenerys with brown hair.

  Lily smiled, even though she shouldn’t let this continue. He was a stranger, and she planned to stay emotionally unavailable until she got her life on track.

  How would you know? Don’t think you saw my face.

  She had to admit, flirting with the Voice was fun. Without getting creepy, he’d already shown more interest in her in five minutes of texting than Andrew had during their entire engagement.

  Saw enough. Is SWAT about to break down my door?

  No, but don’t get comfortable. That the only reason you picked me?

  This time she added a smiley face.

  Don’t ask a question unless you can handle an honest answer.

  Go for it.

  Wouldn’t have contacted you since I got your # w/o permission, but if you want truth, I owe you. As long as my house isn’t swarming with cops soon.

  She laughed out loud. Did she really want to hear his answer? She wasn’t sure, so she hung more clothes in the closet while she thought about it. Finally, her phone dinged with another text.

  Still there?

  Here, just taking care of something. Kind of have a life going here.

  Not really, but she was trying.

  Want to know or not? Your choice.

  Shoot.

  She hurried to send another text, since she’d threatened to sic law enforcement on him.

  Not literally. I mean continue.

  His response came swiftly.

  You caught my attention with your sexy moan. That gorgeous body and the moaning made it impossible NOT to talk to you. Imagination went wild.

  Heat flooded her cheeks.

  Good Lord.

  Was this sexting? With a stranger! She wasn’t entirely sure, but she wanted to hear more. His response was so real. So raw. So refreshing. It made a tingle rush through her veins, and lady land sighed. She’d never had a sensual text conversation with anyone, but after the day she’d had . . . after the year she’d had, she needed to feel alive. Needed to feel sexy. Needed to feel anything besides Andrew’s rejection and the humiliation that had nearly drained every last ounce of self-esteem she possessed.

  Sexting with a guy she’d never see again couldn’t hurt, and it was all she had for the foreseeable future.

  The night had taken an interesting turn.

  Trace stared at his phone, waiting for Sexy Airport Girl to respond. He’d never texted with strange women before, but he had to admit, it was a nice diversion from the stress caused by talking to his ex-wife. Not to mention his finding Ben in Lily’s cottage, getting chummy with her and her ducks.

  “Ben, I ran your bath. Go jump in.” Trace found a bag of cough drops in the medicine cabinet and popped one in his mouth. He pulled up the “For Sale” listing for a new cargo plane on his laptop and set it on the coffee table while he waited for his phone to ding again.

  Ben sat on the floor in front of the coffee table with Legos scattered around him. He rocked back and forth on his knees as he separated yellow blocks from the rest. Two duck-shaped figures were complete, and he was almost finished building a third.

  Oh boy.

  “Go on, buddy. It’s getting late, and you’ve got school tomorrow.” Trace retrieved a mechanical pencil and a legal pad with his scribbled notes and numbers. “How about tomorrow we build dinosaurs instead? You like dinosaurs.” Dinosaurs were a safe bet. No way Ben could get attached to a live one.

  Ben shrugged and padded toward the bathroom. “I like ducks better.”

  Trace sighed and focused on the cargo plane listing on his laptop. A fair price for a plane in good condition.

  The only delivery service still operating on Cape Celeste was unreliable at best and one of the primary reasons the resort and the island in general weren’t flourishing. Trace saw no reason to rely on a delivery service based on the mainland. Why not start one right there in Angel Fire Falls? Unfortunately, his plane was equipped for passengers and didn’t have enough tail room for major cargo. The financial projections Elliott had put together made it clear the Remington couldn’t afford both a new hospitality director and a new cargo plane, though.

  His only option was to take out a loan, using his existing plane as collateral. That was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take. If he lost it, the Remington might go under completely with only the ferry to transport guests.

  Trace slouched on the sofa. He’d rather text with Sexy Airport Girl than deal with all the problems that had surfaced today. There were so damn many.

  He stared at his silent phone.

  Call him crazy, but her attempt at intimidation had been fun. A challenge. Until he’d gone and screwed it up by mentioning her sexy moan and his filthy imagination.

  The dots still didn’t budge.

  Ben came out of the bathroom, smelling of Superman bubble bath and toothpaste. He scrambled onto the sofa with a book in one hand and a Lego duckling in the other. Trace slung an arm on the back of the sofa and deposited his phone onto the side table to read with his son. It was their nightly ritual.

  “Lily’s nice.” Ben opened the book.

  A little too nice, in Trace’s opinion. Inviting Ben into her cottage and then letting him name the ducks was an overstep. One that would leave his kid crushed when the birds were gone. And Trace would be left to help his son cope with the loss.

  No thank you. He had to do enough of that every time Megan let Ben down.

  So Trace would push Lily Barns to find a new home for the ducks, ASAP, before Ben fell hopelessly in love with them.

  The phone dinged. Trace flipped the screen facedown, as though that would make the temptation to text disappear so he could devote one hundred percent of his attention to his son. “What are we reading tonight?”

  Ben’s smile reached from one ear to the other. “Quackers the Duck Goes to School,” he said.

  Hell.

  Ben got stuck on a few words, and Trace had him sound them out. Fifteen minutes later, Ben was tucked under his blue sheets and comforter decorated all over with airplanes and clouds. “Night, buddy.” Trace kissed his forehead. “Sleep tight.” He switched off the airplane-shaped lamp.

  “Don’t let the duckies bite.” Ben yawned on the last word.

  Trace grabbed a beer from the fridge, dimmed the lights, and pulled up his DVR recordings to catch up on Game of Thrones, hoping to satisfy his sudden hankering for fiery women. The cargo plane was a lost cause, at least for the time being, so he closed the laptop and pushed it aside. With his feet propped on the coffee table, he flipped through the recordings. When his phone dinged again, he settled on a random channel and read the last text.

  Was the moaning that bad?

  Trace put his beer down and texted back.

  I’m a guy. Wouldn’t call it “bad.”

  More like sensual. In a late-night-premium-channel kind of way.

  What would you call it?

  Answer comes with a warning label. Doubt we should go there.

  Seriously want to kn
ow.

  Trace considered her request.

  Curiosity killed the cat, but it’s your funeral, beautiful. It was a porn-flick moan only classier. Won’t forget it in this lifetime. Was dying to kiss you to see if you’d moan louder.

  His pulse revved just thinking about it.

  How did you imagine kissing me?

  He took a long pull from his beer bottle before responding. No way could he follow through with any of this, but damned if he didn’t want to. Every cell ached to touch that gorgeous girl until she moaned just for him.

  Which was stupid, since she obviously didn’t live in the area. Then again, maybe that was safest. She’d been the first woman to catch his eye and his interest in longer than he could remember, and a relationship of the moaning variety was off the table because of Ben.

  We’d watch the sunset from the cliffs over the ocean. Bottle of wine and a blanket.

  And?

  Trace hadn’t thrown caution to the wind since the day Megan told him she was pregnant. Maybe he was overdue. His fingers flew over the keys, typing in a message he’d erase just as soon as he got it out of his system.

  I’d lay you back and kiss you deep. Hard. Slide my tongue over every inch of you until I found the spots that made you moan. I’d lift your skirt and move your thong to one side, because hell yes, you’d be wearing a thong, and I’d put my mouth on your—

  A familiar voice tore his attention from the long monologue-text, and he glanced up at the television, doing a double take so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. There was his ex-wife. With a motherly look of love and concern on her face, Megan talked about the challenges and the joys of parenting an autistic child. She implored viewers to call the number on the screen with their generous donations to a nationally recognized charity for autism that helped children just like hers.

  A picture of Megan and Ben flashed on the screen. Trace had taken it himself the last time she’d visited. She’d shown up wearing an outfit better suited for a conservative country-club brunch instead of a day trip to a vacation island. The second she’d stepped out of Trace’s plane, Ben had grabbed her hand and dragged her off the dock and into the grass to show her a frog. Her expensive stilettos had sunk into the mud, and one heel had snapped off.

  Her forty-five-minute visit with Ben was mostly spent fidgeting with her broken shoe while she mumbled under her breath. She’d insisted Trace take a few pictures with her phone, and then she asked him to fly her back to the Cape so she could take the next flight to LA.