Dare Me

by Tara Wylde

  I’m not sure that’s a better fate than what Anna had in store for me, if I’m being honest.

  A blue light inside the elevator glows as we reach the top floor. Then the doors open, and I forget to breathe for a full ten seconds.

  It’s the most spectacular apartment I’ve ever seen. The floor-to-ceiling windows, the marble floors, the crystal light fixtures hanging from the twelve-foot ceilings. The art on the walls: Picasso, Matisse, Pollock, Warhol.

  “It’s stunning,” I say. It’s the only word I can think of.

  Carson smiles. “Would you like a tour?”

  “Now? Don’t be stupid.”

  I reach down and grab the hem of my dress, pulling it up and over my head in a single movement. Then I jump onto him and wrap my limbs around his body like a four-armed octopus, my heart pounding.

  My mouth is mashed against his so hard it’s almost painful.

  He grabs hold of my back and reciprocates, twisting his fingers into my hair.

  “I was so scared,” he breathes in my ear. “When I realized what was happening. And then I saw Anna, what she was going to do…”

  “Shhhh. It’s over.”

  “I couldn’t lose you. Not again. I would have given everything I had not to.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  He carries me down the opulent hallway into a bedroom that’s easily three times the size of my apartment. He drops me gently on the bed before ripping off his shirt and sliding off his shorts.

  Our lovemaking is urgent. Not like the night at the Regent; that was pure desire. This is something else, something deeper. Assuring each other that we’re still here. That everything is okay. That we’re together.

  Carson reaches behind me and unclasps my bra, freeing my breasts to brush against the skin of his chest. I don’t ever want to get used to that feeling of his skin on mine; I want it always to be as new and thrilling as it is now.

  I pull off my own panties and lie back on the bed, pulling him down on top of me.

  “Carson,” I moan as his lips find my neck.

  “I love you, Cassie,” he whispers in my ear.

  Hot tears squirt from the corner of my eyes. I never though I could ever feel like this. I never understood what life could be like. A whole new world is opening for me.

  “I love you, Carson,” I whisper back. “God, I love you so much.”

  With the words comes a new urgency. He presses his body hard into mine, and I open my legs wide for him. No foreplay, no athletic sex games, no furious passion.

  Just the unyielding need to become one.

  I hold my breath as his hard shaft enters me. His strokes are slow at first, our bodies still gripped together, our mouths and tongues locked on each other. Neither of us wants to let go, even for a moment.

  Then the urgency builds, and his thrusts become deeper. We disengage from kissing and I place my chin on his shoulder. Soon he’s driving harder, faster. I wrap my arms tight around his neck and my legs around his waist, matching each stroke with a lift of my own.

  “I love you,” I pant as my orgasm builds. “I love you I love you I love you I love you.”

  I grit my teeth as the pleasure wave crashes into me, lifting me into a stratosphere where Carson and I float together, melded into one, drifting toward infinity.

  We lie together like that, still in each other’s grip, for several long moments. It wasn’t our usual gymnastics, but we’re both spent as if it was. Our breathing finally slows and we separate, lying face to face.

  His gray eyes scan me all over, as if checking for damages.

  “I’ve never said those words to anyone,” I say. I know his answer can’t be the same, but I want him to understand.

  “Neither have I,” he says.

  My eyes go round.

  “Really?” I ask. The words sound childlike to my own ears.

  “Really. I won’t lie, Cass – I’ve taken a lot of women to bed. But I’ve never been in love. Unless you count our time in high school.”

  “I don’t know if we understood what love was back then,” I say. “But I do now. It’s having someone who sees you for who you really are, and wants you, not in spite of it, but because of it.”

  He kisses my ear.

  “That’s exactly how I feel,” he says. “You know who I really am, not the face I put on for the world.”

  We lie there in silence for a while.

  “I’ve never had anyone to worry about me,” I say. “Let alone someone willing to give up billions of dollars for me. It’s still processing.”

  “Don’t forget,” he says. “I punched a girl for you, too. Twice. That’s not something I go around doing for just anyone.”

  I snort a giggle. “High five on that one, babe.”

  We kiss slowly, leisurely.

  “There’s something I need to ask you,” I say after a while. “Something really important.”

  I look around the room. It makes the suite at the Regent on our first night together look like a Motel 6.

  He props himself on an elbow and looks me in the eye.

  “Of course,” he says. “Anything.”

  “Can I move in here?” I ask. “Because, seriously, babe, this place is just fucking sick.”

  Chapter 163

  60. CARSON

  “I can’t believe we’re still arguing about this,” I say.

  “We’re not arguing,” says Cassie. “I’m telling you how it is.”

  I sip my double espresso to keep from saying something I’ll regret. Cassie takes this as me acknowledging her win and flashes me a smug grin.

  Tricia wanders over with a tray of ice cold treats and sits down. A handful of customers are sitting inside, escaping the rain on a dreary September morning.

  “Having you two as friends is like living in a sit-com,” she says, sitting down. “The Billionaire and the Bitch. I should pitch it to Netflix.”

  “See?” I say. “Even Tricia thinks you should let me put up the cash for your stake in Tricialicious.”

  “No, I don’t,” says Tricia. “Why would I want you as a silent partner in my business? You’d eat all the profits.”

  Cassie’s grin gets even smugger.

  “Look, I told you I’ve found a better option,” she says. “One that’s going to work out for everyone.”

  “Really?” I say, reaching for a brownie.

  Tricia slaps my hand away. “Leave it alone, fatty. It’s not for you.”

  I pull my hand back and give her my most wounded look.

  “Who could possibly deserve this more than me?”

  “My new partner,” says Cassie.

  At that moment, the door on the bell clangs. Maks walks into the shop, shaking the rain from his umbrella.

  “Hey, comrade,” says Tricia.

  She yanks him to her and plants an aggressive kiss on his mouth. His smile when she finally disengages is heartwarming. I’ve never seen the guy so happy before.

  “That is my kind of hello,” he says as he sits down.

  “Play your cards right and you’ll get a ‘how are ya’ later, too,” Tricia purrs.

  His cheeks blossom with color.

  “All right,” says Cassie. “Before you two get a room – did you bring it?”

  Maksim grins and reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket.

  “Right here,” he says, handing an envelope to Cassie.

  She opens it and pulls out a long piece of paper. A quick scan and she’s all smiles. She reaches a hand out to Maks, who takes it.

  “A pleasure doing business with you, partner,” she says.

  “I look forward to doing the work with you,” he replies.

  My eyes dart from one to the other and back again. Tricia pushes the other brownie in front of Maks.

  “What just happened?” I ask.

  Cassie waves a hand in Maks’ direction.

  “Meet my new partner.”

  I open my mouth, then close it again. Then open it again.
<
br />   “What?” I say.

  “No point in going to Tate Capital when I know someone who’s got the full $11 million,” says Cassie. “And not just someone – someone who gets me and knows how I work.”

  Maks looks at me and shrugs.

  “I will make three times my money back,” he says.

  “Since when do you have money?” I ask.

  “Well,” he says. “Maybe I am not abstainly rich…”

  Cassie winces. “I think you mean obscenely.”

  “Yes, what she says. But I have a trust fund, tovarishch. And I am looking to be the investment tycoon, yes?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and look Cassie in the eye.

  “So you’ll take his money but not mine?”

  “I don’t sleep with him,” she says.

  Tricia gives her an appraising look.

  “You better not, ho,” she warns with an exaggerated snap of her fingers.

  I shake my head and chuckle. Just another of the compromises I’ll have to make to keep Cassie in my life. Sometimes she drives me up the wall, but I’ll take it over living without her any day. I honestly don’t think I could live without her.

  At least she didn’t drag me to meet her parents last month. I’ve still got a little time to prepare for that.

  “Whatever,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’ll just wait till Tricialicious goes public and then buy the controlling interest. I’ll end up running the show in the end.”

  “Go right ahead, sucker,” says Tricia. “Your money’s as green as anyone else’s. We’ll be retired and rich, so what do we care?”

  We all bust up over that one. After the laughter dies down, the three of them go over some of the details of the plan, particularly the construction schedule, now that fall is around the corner. I watch them with a smile on my face and in my heart.

  My mind drifts back just a couple of months, to standing on a cliff in the Alps, thinking I was somehow going to find the meaning of life by jumping off. Now I realize how utterly ridiculous that was.

  This is the meaning of life right here, in a little ice cream shop in Midtown. With these crazy, frustrating, wonderful people. How could I supposedly be so smart and yet not get that for so long?

  Cassie runs a hand along my arm and leans close.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she says. Then she holds up Maksim’s check. “I can afford it, I’ve got this.”

  I smile and kiss her temple. The same one Anna held her gun against.

  “I was just thinking we should go to Italy soon,” I say. “I think we’ve kept David waiting long enough, don’t you?”

  EPILOGUE: CASSIE

  Four Years Later

  I stand at the edge of a cliff, looking down at the 1,500-foot drop just beyond my toes. Far below is an outcropping of jagged granite pointing toward the sky, like fingers from the earth reaching up to the heavens.

  In the distance is Lake Garda, the summer sunlight dappling off its turquoise surface as the Alps stand sentinel behind it. There’s not a cloud in the sky, not a breath of wind.

  Carson wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

  “What do you think?” he whispers in my ear.

  I smile at his touch, the warmth of his embrace, the feel of his beard scruff against my cheek.

  “I think you were a fucking idiot,” I sigh.

  He chuckles. “Don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel.”

  I turn inside the circle of his arms to face him, wrapping my own arms around his waist. In the afternoon light, his gray eyes are the same pale shade as the stone fingers on the valley floor below.

  “A single miscalculation and you would have been bug splatter on the side of the mountain,” I say. “Or you could have hit the water at the wrong angle and broken your neck. You would have been the world’s richest quadriplegic.”

  He winces at my words.

  “You’re absolutely right,” he says. “Either of those things was very possible.”

  “That’s not why you were an idiot, though.”

  “Oh, good. Thanks for clearing that up.”

  I grin. “Hey, I was no better back in those days. A redhead disguising herself as a Middle Eastern woman and hanging out with terrorists is quite a bit stupider than jumping off a cliff in a flying suit.”

  Carson throws his head back and laughs. I chuckle at the memory, too. It’s been long enough that I can do that.

  “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand your point,” he says. “Why was I an idiot?”

  “Because,” I say, hugging him tight and pressing my face against his chiseled chest. “There was so much more you could have been doing with your time and your brain and your money.”

  “You mean like when you and I came that first time a few years ago?”

  “Exactly. That was incredible. A private tour of David in the Galleria d’Accademia, vineyards in Tuscany, shopping in Milan, hiking the cliffs of Cinque Terre…”

  The memories of that month still give me goosebumps to this day, even after all the times we’ve been back to Italy. We’ve tried on the entire boot, from here in the north all the way to the toe and beyond to Sicily. But that first trip was magical.

  We walk hand-in-hand back toward our waiting Aston Martin roadster. Carson rented it specifically for the sensation that we were in a James Bond movie as we drove the winding road through the mountains. He won’t admit it to me – the last thing he wants is a lecture on what a real secret agent’s life is like – but I know it’s true.

  It’s one of the many reasons I love him – sometimes he’s just a big kid. With a really expensive toy box.

  “In my defense, I was pretty lost in those days,” he says, opening the passenger door for me. “I thought I was bored; that I needed excitement to make my life worthwhile.”

  He slides in behind the wheel and sparks the Aston’s savage twelve-cylinder engine to life.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “And that’s changed how, Mr. Bond?”

  Carson laughs as he pulls away from the trailhead parking lot and onto the winding road that will take us back down to Bardolino and the villa we’ve booked for the wedding.

  “I met you,” he says, having to raise his voice over the sound of the engine and the air rushing into the cockpit of the convertible. “That was when I learned what life is really about.”

  Awww. I want to squeeze his hand, but it’s busy working the gearshift. So I figure I might as well take advantage of the opening he’s given me to fish for a compliment or two.

  “And what, exactly, would that be?” I ask.

  He grins.

  “Sex with virgins.”

  Oh, you little…

  I smack his rock-hard shoulder.

  “Try again, Romeo,” I say. “And bear in mind that we’re just up the street from fair Verona.”

  “Two households, both alike in dignity,” Carson says, reciting the opening lines of Romeo & Juliet. Show-off. “In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

  “Exactly. So if you don’t want any grudges or mutinies or civil blood, I suggest you come up with a better answer.”

  He gears down in an attempt to keep me from losing my headscarf as we round a hairpin curve. It works, allowing me to maintain my Grace Kelly vibe for a little while longer.

  “Life,” he says, “is really about connection. That indescribable feeling you get when you realize that you’ve found the missing part of you that you didn’t even know you were looking for. Sharing your life and your heart and your experiences with that person.”

  Geez, even after all this time, he can still make my heart swell up. I take the silly scarf off my head – it’s not going to do any good for my crazy, curly mop – and dab at the corner of my eyes.

  “Not bad, eh?” he asks.

  I sniffle. “Been practicing that one, have you?”

  We reach a straightaway a
nd he takes his hand off the gearshift to squeeze mine.

  “I just opened my mouth and that’s what came out,” he says. “That tends to happen when I’m with you. You bring out the best in me.”

  His hand slides down the hem of my dress and back up the bare thigh underneath.

  “And the worst,” he says with a grin.

  “I’ll be the judge of which is which,” I say, opening my legs a bit to accommodate his touch.

  He teases me for a couple of minutes, until he can’t avoid gearing down any longer. The road gets steeper the closer we get to the village, so I pout a bit and close my legs again.

  “Can I have a rain check?” he asks with just the right amount of begging in his tone.

  “If you play your cards right,” I say. “Maybe I’ll practice my own manual shifting with you later.”

  He flashes me a look that combines lust and theatrical surprise, eliciting a hearty giggle from me.

  Later, in Bardolino, we sit at our table at a little café across from the marina. It’s a tiny place, downscale, but that’s why we love it. It has an unbeatable view of the water, delicious food and wonderful staff.

  Carson and I have both learned over the years that value doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with cost. My oversized D&G knockoff sunglasses, for example, were twenty-four dollars at the airport in Milan. His deck shoes were thirty-five dollars at a shop up the street from here. And we have to get used to living on less.

  I kick off my sandals and run my bare foot along the muscles of his calves under the table.

  “So,” I say. “Ready for the wedding?”

  He takes a sip of his after-lunch grappa. He’s developed a taste for it; I’d sooner drink kerosene myself.

  “Not really that much to it,” he says. “But it’s always easier for guys. Throw on a tux and show up. How about you?”

  I smile, thinking about the gorgeous dress I’ll be wearing tomorrow. Then I sigh, because it reminds me of the night Carson bought me that plum-colored Oscar De La Renta gown that eventually ended up on the floor of our suite at the Regent Hotel.