The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  But he’s lost the HQ2 race, so what has he won? Perhaps some happiness for his daughter, and he knows it.

  I wink. “I dare you to try.”

  His lips quirk, fighting the smile he wants to flash as he tries to maintain his badass persona. I give him the absolute truth so that he can smile freely. “I will never hurt her. I love her. And if I do, I’ll gladly stand still so you can kill me slowly and painfully.”

  He does smile at that. “Deal.”

  Chapter 34

  Elle

  “Again, I’d like to offer my utmost apologies and beg forgiveness from the Royal family,” Colton says from the television in his penthouse apartment. “There are no excuses for my behavior, and I’d like to reiterate that Miss Stryker is entirely blameless in the entire incident.”

  “Is it true that you’re moving home to London, Colton? Bringing not only your sweetie but an American company with you?” The Good Morning, Britain host is digging for dirt, hoping for first run at some juicy gossip.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss business matters, but yes, I am coming home. And I’m bringing Elle with me.”

  Even through the screen, he looks like a man in love. And that has been our saving grace in the media circus. It’s one thing to badger someone over sordid acts. It’s quite another when Colton and I have stood up and apologized profusely, stating that we are in love and were celebrating.

  It seems ‘we got carried away’ settles quite a few feathers as new lovebirds who are committed to one another and to London. Who knew the British were so enamored with love?

  Or at least that’s how I’m choosing to see it. Colton is a bit more practical and thinks they’ve just all done some public snogging and are feeling ‘right jammy they weren’t the ones caught with their arse in the air.’

  Luckily, it also seems that the princess didn’t see as much as we feared. She was fitted for glasses just a week after the whole incident and debuted the chic pink frames at a belated birthday celebration. Thank heavens for small favors.

  Whatever it is, I’ll take it because I do not want to see my O-face on the cover of a tabloid ever again.

  Colton’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Turn that thing off. I don’t want to hear myself playing nice again.”

  I don’t do it right away, instead freezing the frame so I can appreciate just how gorgeous he is. Back when he used to walk past my lobby desk, I thought he was the big, bad Wolfe and wanted him to eat me up. Now, I can see the many facets of him. Yes, he is a monster in the boardroom, and even occasionally in the bedroom. But he’s also the little boy who needs some assurance sometimes, the serious man who needs an injection of fun, and the one who holds my heart with tender care.

  “Busted!” he calls out, coming into the room with a tray, which he sets down on the coffee table. I quickly turn off the television in favor of the treats he’s brought. He’s got a decadent spread of cheeses and slices of meats, strawberries, and tiny bits of toasted bread crackers for us to celebrate his proposal win. It’s a small, at-home celebration, just the two of us, which feels right after all the hard work we put into it. Even if Nan was the true savior. “Hope you’re hungry?”

  “As a horse,” I say, stuffing a cracker, cheese, and meat stack into my mouth all at once.

  His brows jump together. “Are horses particularly hungry? Like compared to say, a cow or a sheep? What makes horses so starved?”

  I laugh, spewing crumbs everywhere. “I don’t know! It’s just a saying.”

  He nods, eyes dancing. “Ah, more of these American idioms so obsessed with animals.”

  We both laugh, falling back onto the couch. I kick my feet a bit, accidentally knocking the edge of the tray like the graceful swan I am. It spills his tidy display of dinner into a mess of food. “Oops! My bad.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s quite alright, love. I’m finding I rather like a bit of your brand of crazy in my day. And my night. It’s all still edible. You just have to search a bit to find what you want.” He demonstrates by exaggeratingly looking for a slice of cheese to add to his cracker-meat stack. There are at least four slices of cheddar right in front of his face that he purposefully overlooks in favor of looking under my shirt.

  “Definitely not any cheese there. But there might be a little something you could nibble on.” I lift a brow, daring him.

  He shoves his own unfinished stack into my mouth. “Hope you got enough, horse. Let’s go.” He stands, pulling me to my feet as I try to chew the too-big bite.

  “Diff yu juss call me a horf?” I say, or try to say. I swallow and try again. “Did you just call me a horse?”

  Colton smiles so big his rarely seen dimple pops out. I’m a lucky bitch because I get to see it all the time. It feels like my own secret.

  He shrugs. "You did first. Hungry as a . . ." he leads me. Before I can smack him, he bends down to toss me over his shoulder as I sputter. “Tally-ho!” he yells, spanking my ass.

  From my upside-down vantage, I bite his cheek through his cotton sweatpants. “Don’t call me a ho too!” Truthfully, I don’t care in the least. He can call me whatever he wants because I know where he’s going as he takes the stairs two at a time.

  He’s getting a workout today, and we haven’t even started.

  As he tosses me onto our tennis-court-sized bed, I scissor my legs, already feeling the heat building there. “Hey, Colton?” He’s shoving down his pants, rock-hard cock in hand as he looks at me.

  “If I’m a horse . . .” His lips quirk, doing that no-smile thing that tells me he’s laughing on the inside. “Then I dare you . . . to ride me hard all night long.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, Elle. Tally-fuckin’-ho!”

  He grabs my ankle, pulling me to the edge of the bed and spinning me around so that my head hangs off. With his cock right in front of me, I lick from his balls to his crown, enjoying his hiss as a sign of my good work. “Yes, suck me, love.”

  He slips into my mouth, into my throat easily at this angle, and I moan against him. His hands pull at my nightgown, gathering it up to expose my body to his eyes, his hands.

  He plucks at my nipples, and I arch, begging for more. With a groan, he folds over me, shoving my legs wide so he can lap at my pussy. The new angle pushes him deeper into my mouth, and I almost gag, but he sucks my clit hard and I cry out. The distraction and cry are exactly what I need to open my throat and let him in comfortably.

  We work each other like that, him in my mouth and his mouth on me, getting closer and closer to the edge. Of the bed, and of coming. But I know he won’t let me fall, except into bliss.

  “Arr-vung,” I say around his cock as I spasm. He loses his pace for a second but picks back up, his fingers blurring across my clit.

  As I float back to earth, I realize he’s fucking my mouth hard and fast. His thighs go tight under my palms a split second before he fills me with his cream. I swallow and swallow, fighting gravity to keep it all.

  With a shudder, I hear him growl, “Wow.”

  I preen, pleased with myself, but pretty damn pleased with him too because my whole body is tingling with what he did to me. It’s rainbow-coated unicorn sprinkles every time with him.

  He pulls out of my mouth slowly, helping me sit up.

  “Oh, fuck, hang on.”

  So blowjobs, or jobbies, as I’ve taken to calling them too, can be messy business. Saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth, eyes watering, and cum everywhere if it’s too much, too fast. And that’s when you’re right side up and it goes down your chin. Upside down, it goes the other way.

  I’ve got tears in my hair, spit going up my cheeks, and I’m pretty sure I just blew a snot bubble.

  I don’t care in the least. Sex is sloppy, sweaty fun if you’re doing it right. Colton offers me a warm, wet washcloth, and I wipe my face as he strokes along my skin . . . across my collarbone, down my arm, and back up to trace my neck. I know where he’s going. Ear lobe loving man. Sure enough, he holds it bet
ween his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it like most men would appreciate a hundred-dollar bill.

  “What did you say as you came?” he says softly. “I wasn’t sure you were okay, but you damn near chased me with that hungry pussy.”

  I grin behind the washcloth. “It’s sort of an inside joke. It just came out unintentionally.”

  His brows knit together. “What did you say?”

  “I’m arriving?” I say, knowing I’m blushing ten shades of red. “It’s a British thing, right?”

  He laughs, but I’m not sure he gets the joke because he says, “You Americans are quite funny sometimes.”

  But it’s not Americans. It’s the British who crack me up, with their properness and fancy pinkie-finger tea parties, who curse like sailors and talk about snogging all the time.

  I think they’re pretty perfect. Or at least Colton is. And Lizzie and Nan, too.

  Chapter 35

  Colton

  “You can’t come,” Elle tells me seriously. She’s shaking her head and holding out a hand, palm to me, to emphasize her point.

  “I’m invited, I swear it. Actually, he invited me and then told me to bring you.” I take that hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

  Her eyes narrow as she pulls away from me, both hands going to her hips. “My father, Daniel Stryker, invited you to lunch? And not just any lunch, but to Frankie’s Burger Hut? That’s what you’re telling me?”

  Her eyes scan me like a lie detector, but I don’t know why.

  I mean, yeah, it’s a little unexpected for Daniel to call out of nowhere and invite me to lunch, and maybe my first thought was that it was an ambush attack before I drag his little girl halfway across the globe. But then he’d said to bring Elle. With her there as a witness, I don’t think even Daniel would kill me.

  No, he’d do it quietly, with an airtight alibi in place. Smart, methodical, strategic man. He’s awesome, a right role model for me to aspire to follow and certainly better than my own father.

  “He did. And I’m not going to be late, so get some clothes on.” I swat her ass and she balks.

  “Get naked, love. Get dressed, love. Make up your damn mind, Wolfe!” she rants, but she heads to the bedroom to pull on clothes.

  Hopefully, she goes for one of the outfits Tiffany helped her organize toward the front because that would definitely be faster than the mess of things she stuffed near the back of her side of the closet. I’d questioned her need for a hot dog costume at first, but Tiffany had slapped her hand over my mouth and shook her head gravely, telling me to not even try because greater people than I had failed that mission. I’m pretty sure she meant herself, or at least I hope so, because I don’t want to think about other guys having ever been in Elle’s closet.

  I wait by the front door, controlling my tapping foot by willpower alone as I check my watch for the sixth time. “Elle?” I dare call out. I will not be late to this lunch, especially if it’s as big of a deal as Elle’s making it out to be.

  I can’t wait any longer. I follow her upstairs to find her still naked, leaning over the bathroom counter to put her makeup on.

  “Love, we have to go.” I’m risking beheading and I know it. I only pray that Daniel will understand that it’s his daughter making me late, not my own disrespect.

  “We’re fine. I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  “What’s a jiffy? Is that fast?” I ask, looking at my watch again. “How about this . . .”

  I scan her luscious body and glance to the closet behind me. “I dare you . . . to let me pick out your outfit.” It’s a double win . . . one, I can get her to hurry up, and two, I can choose what I’m going to take off her later.

  She begins pulling her hair up into some twisted thing I know will end up with a scatter of bobby pins on the nightstand later. “Okay,” she says.

  Yes. Thank the fuckin’ Queen Mary!

  I don’t look at the pictures of outfits Tiffany spent hours compiling because even if I found a suitable one, I’d then have to find the actual pieces somewhere in here. In this . . . I won’t say mess, but . . . chaos?

  I look along the bottom edge of the clothes, looking for a hemline that falls a bit longer. There!

  I pull out a black dress that I absolutely love on Elle. The one she likely already knows I’m going to select for her. Not only because it looks lovely on her with its silky softness that skates over her skin, but because the tiny spaghetti straps mean she can’t wear a bra.

  Usually, that sexiness does me in. And later, it will. But right now, it’s one less piece of clothing she has to get on so we can get out the damn door.

  I gather the fabric in my hands and hold it low. “Step in.”

  Elle lifts one leg and then the other, and I slip the dress up her body. I hold a strap out, noting the knowing smirk as she feeds her arm through. “Done? Ready?” I ask.

  “You forgot panties.” She’s done with her hair, at least, and turns to head toward the bedroom.

  “No, I didn’t.” I toss her over my shoulder, grabbing her sandals as I go out the door.

  “Colton!” she yells from upside down. “I am not meeting my dad for lunch with no underwear on. No bra is bad enough!”

  The lift takes us down quickly, but not quick enough. I don’t even get to enjoy the view of the city, too busy keeping ahold of Elle as she squirms, smacking my ass with her cat fight, don’t-hurt-a-bit swats.

  I drop her semi-carefully into the Lotus, taking special delight that the dress slides up, exposing a long length of her thigh. “I dare you to.”

  She sputters, going still and quiet in an instant. Her arms cross over her chest. “I hate you sometimes, Wolfe.”

  I set her sandals at her feet. “Here, you can put these on while we drive.”

  “You’re going to regret this, you know?”

  Fuckin’ hell, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Had only thought about this getting us out of the apartment and to lunch as quickly as possible. But I can see that light of challenge in Elle’s eyes. We might be on time, and she might be wearing my favorite dress, the one I can’t wait to take off her later, but damned if she’s not going to drive me crazy with her lack of a bra and knickers.

  While we’re having lunch with her dad and I’m trying not to look like a lovesick fool who wants to snog his daughter.

  “Hey, Dad!” Elle says in greeting, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m going to go order for us. Be right back.”

  She starts to go, leaving me alone with Daniel. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not scared of the man, but this isn’t the professional version of our relationship we’ve worked out. This is personal, and okay . . . I’m a little scared.

  “You don’t know what I want.” It’s a ploy to stall, but Elle just grins over her shoulder.

  “I dare you . . . to let me pick. Chili, bacon, and jalapeños, right?”

  She’s gone, too far away to catch her unless I want to make a scene by yelling. Daniel laughs, pulling my attention back to him.

  “She’s kidding, right? That sounds disgusting.”

  His face falls into anger. “That’s my favorite burger you’re smack talking.”

  I pale, just as I suspect he wanted, and he laughs again. “Just kidding. That sounds like heartburn on a plate. I don’t eat this shit anymore, too old for greasy burgers, but it’s always been our place. I think I singlehandedly got Frankie to add black bean burgers to the menu so that I could eat here with Elle and not have a heart attack.”

  We both look over to the window where Elle is ordering our food. Frankie’s Burger Hut is a small, hole-in-the-wall place with dirty picnic tables outside under an awning, paper towels on wooden dowel stands, and what appears to be a fox mascot. Frankie the Fox. I get it. But the painting is half-worn and his eyes give him a glazed look, almost making him look . . . high? Well, okay, then.

  “How did you end up with this as your place? It doesn’t seem quite like you.”

  Daniel smiles, lost to the past. “Elle
, of course. Frankie’s used to have commercials on Saturday mornings during cartoons. There was a jingle the animated fox sang, something about Frankie’s being frankly the best. It was awful, and Elle used to sing it constantly, begging to come see the fox. For a while, I had pictures of her next to that painting, like a growth chart as she got taller, older.”

  I can see what she means about this being their place, and I suddenly feel out of place even though I was invited.

  Elle reappears with three baskets of burgers, balancing them all easily, much to my surprise. She’s not exactly known for being graceful, after all.

  “Stryker special for Dad, BBQ gut blaster for me, and a basic for you, Colton. Figured I’d start you off easy so you didn’t get too scared.”

  I look down at Daniel’s, which is stacked with thick slices of tomatoes and avocado and wrapped in lettuce leaves instead of a bun. Then to Elle’s, which is a mess of brown sauce, bacon slices, and I think I see an onion ring peeking out from inside the burger? Finally, to mine, which is a pretty standard cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, and onion. I feel grateful for my basic burger and say, “Thank you.”

  We begin eating, and I can’t help but smile as Elle picks up her monstrosity of a burger with two hands and takes a huge bite, getting sauce along her cheek. I hold up a paper towel, but she shakes her head. “No sense in cleaning up now because I’ll only get messy again with the next bite. I’ll clean up when I’m done.”

  Daniel laughs. “She’s yours now. No returns, no exchanges, no backsies.”

  Elle growls, spitting out a tiny bit of burger, but she catches it with her thumb, shoving it back into her mouth. My brows raise. I can only imagine her at a proper tea.

  Somehow, she swallows her bite and turns to Daniel. “So, what’s up, Dad?”

  Daniel sets his burger back in his basket. “Actually, I have ulterior motives for lunch today. Both with work and with you two.”