Dare

by Glenna Sinclair

  "Is it big, Cara?" he murmured with affected curiosity. She shuddered at the profound filthiness of his question. "How big is it? Does it fill you? Do I fill you?"

  "Fuck you," she moaned. His words were agonizing. All they did was call attention to the truth: Simon was the biggest she had ever encountered. After last night, she had found herself awake that morning and immediately craving that feeling of deep completion he awoke inside her. It was maddening even without his teasing and coaxing her.

  "I'd hate to put you out of a job," Simon whispered into her ear. Cara rolled her hips and thrust herself down against him, and was rewarded when she felt the man's grip on her tighten reflexively. He shuddered, and when his lips parted, she lowered her mouth down to join with his. Her tongue slid past her lips to tangle with his own as she rode him, her repeated thrusts guided by his hands and by pure, primitive instinct. The pounding of the rain outside and the smell of grass, dirt, and slick rock drove her to seek release, as did the heady noises of the man pinned beneath her.

  She felt his hand climb her back, palm pressing the indent of her actively tensing muscles, and his fingers freed the catch of her bra. The fabric fell away, revealing a pert pair of breasts fast tightening from contact with the cold. Cara felt the warm, wet press of his mouth as he covered the hardened peak of one nipple. His tongue flicked the pebbled flesh, and she gasped wildly. His hands forced her to keep a controlled pace, but she couldn't help it—the attentions of his mouth inspired her to speed up, to take him into her harder and faster until she felt as if they were galloping at breakneck speed toward the finish line. Simon's deeper moans echoed with her own as she called out, wordless and frantic, for the building pressure to release and send her hurtling over the brink.

  Simon thrust up into her, hard, and Cara called out his name as she came in his lap. She was beyond caring about whether or not he would take her last words before climax as a victory. She was, in that moment, wholly concerned with rocking herself against his turgid member and letting it plumb her most pleasurable reaches; every swirl of her hips brought her another white-hot thrill of pleasure, until she thought she couldn't possibly take any more.

  The Englishman bucked up beneath her again, and Simon came with an oath that Cara belatedly recognized as her own name. She felt the hot jet of his seed fill her, and thrust herself down against him to claim it all.

  She kissed him sedately in the aftermath of their completion, mouthing his parted lips with her own to coax them back to life. Simon returned her attentions lazily, his hand dragging up the curve of her rear to rest in the shelf of her lower back.

  The rain continued to fall in drifts outside, curtaining them from the outside world. Soon, she would have to journey back into it—for now, Cara was content to dismount her spent lover and curl against his warm side. Simon's hand fell to her hair, and he stroked her measuredly as they dozed.

  CHAPTER 13

  "Well, that's one way to keep warm."

  Cara pulled on her jeans, her back turned to him. She wasn't certain what time it was, but the rain outside had let up some, which meant it was time for her to journey back out and get the help that Simon needed. The man watched her dress, eyes lidded contently, hair askew. She supposed endorphins resulting from sex had probably helped to numb the pain in his leg. Still, she had other things to worry about, like food and hydration. It seemed absurd to feel so concerned about the latter when there was plenty of water falling outside, and she wasn't particularly thirsty herself, but Simon had been out here since morning.

  She bent down for a quick kiss, and Simon's hand came up to scoop the back of her head in for something more. Cara lost her balance, and nearly fell into him with a muffled laugh; he kissed her heatedly, fervently, and she had a hard time pulling away from him again.

  "I'm going to get help," she stressed. "I'm not leaving forever!"

  "I'll die without you," Simon reminded her as she pulled her hood up and moved toward the cave entrance. Cara turned back long enough to make a show of rolling her eyes at his one-man show, but his earlier words still hung between them. He had said she brought him back to life, right before they had made love. In fact, his words might have been the catalyst for Cara's sudden and inexpressible need for him.

  "Hang in there," she said more sincerely, and her face softened. She watched Simon's soften in turn, and felt staggered by how handsome she found him in that moment. He was so good at firing her up—in more ways than one—that it was easy to forget just how attractive he was in their down moments together. She fought a sudden inclination to stay, and instead turned back to the dreary world outside and exited the cave.

  Her trek across the lawn was a lot easier now that she didn't have an additional weight to haul beside her. The flooded ditch was a little more treacherous, but now that she knew she could make the jump, Cara barely hesitated. She wound up and vaulted over the gushing water, grasping onto the opposite bank to pull herself the rest of the way up. There had to be a bridge, she thought, maybe located somewhere farther down the road—she didn't want to waste time locating it now, but she felt sure someone back at the house would know a better route to Simon. She could only hope the servants got out onto the grounds at least as often as their employer did.

  She jogged back down the empty road. She passed Simon's car, and then her own, before turning off into the driveway. She was halfway up the drive when it suddenly occurred to her to feel angry at the party that was likely to receive her at the door. How long had she been gone for? Had the police been called? Or did they just assume she had magically fixed her car and gone on her merry way?

  She had her answer as soon as she arrived back on the doorstep. She must have been gone at least an hour, possibly more, but the servants and staff looked as if they had barely moved from milling about the foyer. They swarmed her upon entry, giving Cara scarcely enough room to pull her boots off and doff her hood. Any ungenerous feelings she had been experiencing for them on the way up died when she realized how genuinely worried they had all been.

  "I found him," she panted. "His car went off the road about a quarter mile north, just up the road. He managed to climb out of the ditch, but then…" Her throat clenched suddenly as she remembered finding Simon alone and injured. "…He's been hurt pretty badly. I managed to get him to a cave located out in the field. Does anyone know where I'm talking about?"

  "I do!" One of the groundskeepers put up his hand, and a few followed suit. Melinda was already on the hall phone, calling for what Cara hoped was an ambulance.

  "He was conscious when I left him," she continued. "He was coherent, but I'm afraid he's been out there a long time. He's going to need food and water when the medics arrive, and I think he's broken his leg." She swallowed the lump back down again. "I know it's broken. So they might need to take him to a hospital."

  "He isn't going to like that," one of the maids mentioned. Cara nodded to express that she knew.

  "I don't think it's anything that can be helped. He was going into town anyway this morning, so hopefully he can think of it like…a change of vehicle."

  "The roads are clear." Melinda had returned from her phone call. "The medics are on their way. Oh, I wish he hadn't fired the old doctor!" Then, composing herself, "I'll put in a call for two tows. If that's all right with you?"

  Cara nodded distractedly, pushing the hair out of her eyes. She had completely forgotten about that. Now that the roads were drivable, she really had no reason to remain at Simon's estate—at least, not unless he gave her one. The thought that he might extend some sort of invitation warmed her some. It wasn't just a passing wish—she knew, with complete confidence, that Simon would want to see her again as much as she wanted to see him. Clearly they would have a lot more complexities to deal with than they would in a more normal situation, but they were both strong-willed people. They would make it work.

  Two of the maids seized her then and helped to herd her upstairs. Cara relaxed gratefully beneath their attentions, but s
he wouldn't feel out of the woods until Simon was safely out of the literal woods. Still, she wasn't helping him any by allowing herself to drench his carpets and slowly get hypothermia. She was undressed and dumped into a hot bath almost immediately upon entering her room. She felt too tired and too exhausted to notice or care that she was being waited upon. It wasn't something she had ever thought she would get used to, but the female members of the staff who had assigned themselves to her worked quickly and efficiently, and then promptly made themselves scarce.

  She was out again in ten minutes, feeling clean and revitalized and ready to lend herself to the 'Save Simon' effort. She exited the bathroom fully dressed and toweling her hair dry.

  She was surprised to find Melinda, the housekeeper, sitting on her bed.

  Cara drew the towel away from her blond tresses, and was just wetting her lips to say something, when something else happened to draw her attention. She noticed her camera equipment and various other items she used for her major unpacked and lying out on the bed beside Melinda, all ordered neatly, all decidedly not where she had left them squirreled away in her duffle bag. She felt the color rise to her face, but tried to control her anger.

  "I didn't go through your things," the housekeeper said offhand. "When the servants brought your luggage up from your car, they saw fit to let me know what you were carrying with you. A reporter, are you?"

  "I'm a journalism major." Cara kept her voice level, when all she really wanted to do was ball her towel into a fist and throw it at the woman until she got out. She didn't take kindly to people invading her privacy, but then again, this wasn't her home. Perhaps it was only natural that they would go through her things as insurance that she meant their employer no harm… Then again, she couldn't imagine Simon signing off on such a bald-faced intrusion of privacy. Even if he did listen in on other peoples' phone conversations. "That equipment was bought and paid for by the school. I'm only renting it, because I can't afford my own."

  "Would you like to be able to afford your own?" Melinda asked pleasantly. "Because I have an idea, you see…oh, but I wouldn't want to get into it just yet. Not before I told you more about the master, Simon Banning. Aren't you curious about the man who has been hosting you?"

  "Has the ambulance arrived yet?" Cara interrupted. Melinda looked momentarily startled, before shaking her head no.

  "They're about twenty minutes out, by my reckoning. Some of the boys have already gone out to locate Mr. Banning. You were very heroic, you know, coming to his aid like that. It seems a shame that your efforts should go unrewarded."

  "Simon already told me all about himself," Cara put forward bluntly. "All of it. The accident, the lawsuit. Everything."

  "He told you who he was?" Melinda inquired curiously. "How much he was worth? He told you he was a billionaire, did he? That he can afford to spend close to half a million a day, for the rest of his natural life, and never run out?"

  Cara managed to remain standing for several moments after this revelation; then she sat down, hard, in the armchair beside the window. Melinda's mouth compressed into a tight line of sympathy.

  "Oh, I see. Then I suppose he didn't tell you…everything."

  "What do you want?" Cara murmured quietly. "I know you didn't come here just to chew the fat on Simon. I sure as hell know you didn't enter my room, unannounced, and root through my things, uninvited, just to remind me to pack lighter the next time."

  "Mr. Banning has told you things about himself, yes, but he hasn't told you the full story. Not as I can tell it." Melinda crossed her legs beneath her house frock and jogged her ankle conversationally. "And I've been wanting to tell this story for a while, Cara, dear. It's so expansive! So interesting! And I'm sure there are a lot of people across the pond who would be interested in knowing Mr. Banning's whereabouts. He pulled a bit of a vanishing act, you know, when he came all the way out here to disappear."

  "You want to rat him out," Cara surmised. "You want to publish a tell-all. You want me to interview you for a story and share the commission."

  "Journalism…" Melinda repeated thoughtfully, as if she hadn't heard a single detail of what Cara was proposing. "I wonder what a degree like that costs?"

  Cara stilled. She had been very close to opening her mouth, and informing the woman exactly what a degree like that cost—more than she was likely to be able to pay back in ten, maybe fifteen years. She was pursuing it out of love, and with the complete understanding that she might never find a job that would render her financially stable enough to recover from early student loan debt.

  A picture was starting to form in her mind, and Cara turned her head away in shame as she was forced to entertain it. A story on Simon Banning… What might a piece like that go for? Thousands? Tens of thousands? How much would a publication in his own country be willing to pay for an exposé? An exclusive? What might that do for her career?

  It would not only launch it; Cara felt sure that it would make it. She was only twenty, and most journalists twice her age could only dream of the opportunity she was presented with. It was once in a lifetime.

  But it was trash. It could be as truthful as could be, but it was exploitative, pure and simple. Even worse, it would be written at the expense of a man she cared for, whom she truly believed was incapable of the wrongs he thought he had committed. Simon already had enough sharks to deal with in his life, and the Great White was currently staring at her from across the room with black, ravenous eyes. Cara adjusted her skirt discreetly, before folding her hands in her lap.

  "No, thank you," she said. "I am not that kind of journalist, and I am not interested in that kind of story. You might try your luck with the National Inquirer. In fact, I would say a woman of your caliber would be better off going to work for them."

  Melinda's face, the gentle, compassionate face that Cara had trusted instantly upon her arrival at the mansion, twisted into something ugly and unrecognizable. She was forced to watch, horrified and fascinated, as the woman before her transformed into someone else completely. Her evolution was made all the worse when Cara realized that this was exactly who Melinda had been all along. So much for her investigative instinct—she should have sensed the housekeeper's deception the moment she set foot through the door. She would have to be more careful in her parsing of peoples' character traits in the future.

  "Be very careful how you navigate the next few minutes, my dear," Melinda warned her. "What I'm offering you may never come again in your life, and I'm only offering it once. Now is the perfect time to have a perfectly reasonable discussion, with Mr. Banning out of the house."

  "No thanks," Cara said again as she rose. "I'd appreciate it if you left my room now, Melinda. I can see that I am going to have to repack my things."

  The housekeeper continued to sit, frozen, with a barely repressed look of astonishment, until Cara crossed to the bed deliberately and yanked her camera bag off the duvet. She conveyed her contempt with every movement, until the elder woman had no choice but to admit defeat. Melinda rose and moved to the doorway, before pausing to turn back into the room.

  "We'll see how he likes you, won't we?" she said nastily. "Yes, we'll just see how much Mr. Banning likes you in the days—no, hours—to come. He can only expend so much of his time on a common, thankless whore."

  Cara's mouth fell open at the comment, but before she could fire back with an insult of her own, Melinda was gone. Now that the confrontation was over, she sat down hard on the bedspread, staring into empty space. Finally, she allowed herself to run a shaky hand through her still-damp hair. The movement reminded her of how Simon had stroked her hair similarly, less than an hour before, in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

  He cared for her. She knew that now. Melinda was either trying to blackmail her, or make a parting, baseless threat against her, and she would be damned if she would allow that viper (in a house frock!) to shake her confidence in her blooming relationship with Simon.

  Cara packed her things hastily, listening all
the while for the telltale wail of the ambulance siren. When it finally came, she vowed, she would follow it in the tow. She would have the truck driver deposit her at the hospital, and she would tell Simon everything that had just transpired.

  But before that, she would kiss him. She would fold herself in his arms. And maybe, just maybe, she would find the words to express her feelings.

  CHAPTER 14

  Within the hour, the mansion where she had spent the last few days was far behind her. The rain had finally let up, allowing Cara frequent and unfiltered glances over her shoulder as she watched Simon's vast estate recede in the distance. She was riding shotgun in the tow truck; the ambulance had come and gone without her knowing, unfortunately. Her own driver had been kind enough to offer to drop her at the hospital.

  The town just north of Simon's estate hadn't even registered as a dot on her GPS. She had passed through it without stopping on her way home to New Haven. Now, the driver pulled up outside the hospital, and Cara let herself down from the cab. The hospital was a squat building with a single floor—she doubted it even had wings. She gazed at it uncertainly, and the wind picked up. An unexpected gust blew her hair out from underneath her hood. The sky above was overcast. It looked like it was going to rain again.

  She was getting sick to death of rain.

  "Thank you," she told the driver, reaching for her wallet to tip him. The man put up his hand to stop her.

  "Everything's paid for, ma'am. You just come on by the shop in about an hour or so and we'll get you squared away. Hope your friend's doing all right," he added. Cara nodded, her throat feeling tight. Simon had paid for her tow. The first thing she was going to do upon seeing him again was thank him.