Charm School After Dark: Lesson 1 (18 page)

The person she was proving the point to? Herself. The person who would unknowingly help to prove said point? Dare.

Just as she was wending her way across the street, a car horn blared, almost knocking her from her perch. Swinging the steering wheel wildly to right herself, she looked up and saw a carful of teenagers whizzing by. One of them rolled down the window and screamed, “Isn’t it a little early for bedtime, grandma?”

Did she mention it was a carful of teenage
girls?

So much for girl power.

Grandma
? What the hell? The girls were inadvertently making her point for her, but there was no need to take it to grandma. Maybe she’d accept mom comparisons, but grandma? “I meant to dress like this, you brats,” she screamed in agreement but with total attitude. The girls were long gone by the time she’d responded, but she swore she heard their peals of laughter echoing down the street.

See what happened when people saw the “real her?” If only Brynn were here so she could politely make that point by running her over with her bike. Just the thought of her sister made her grit her teeth in full-on
pissed-off.
The nerve of her! She’d gotten mad about the completely wrong
thing.

Pushing Brynn from her mind, she focused on her true target. Dare. How would he react? The anticipation of the answer made her palms sweat and her stomach flip with nerves. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn around? She came to an abrupt stop and came face to face with Dare’s fourplex. The dark brown wood was surprisingly peaceful. Light blue and pink flowers, she didn’t begin to know the names of, dotted the walkways and windowsills.

Taking in a deep breath, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the cell in order to give proper notice. Five seconds seemed long enough for Dare to get used to the idea of her dropping in for a visit.

So she texted him.

Want 2 see u. Open up.

Please, God, don’t let him peek out the window, or else he’ll never let me in looking like this
.

She hit Send, and her throat dropped into her stomach. Embarrassment and trepidation were still only the “scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of the apple pie” of anger that she had toward her sister, her boss, her life…

But tonight wasn’t about thinking. It was about the task at hand, blowing Dare’s dick so hard he’d stay cross-eyed for a week. No. No, it was about the school and complying with Ms. Belle’s wishes.

Landing at the top of the stairs, she slung her pack over her shoulder, hung a right and raised her hand to pound on Dare’s door. It suddenly occurred to her he might not even be home.

He was probably out with his secret wife and three children. The ridiculous thought ratcheted her anger up another notch.

The door flew open before she made contact with the mahogany wood, framed in chrome. Dare stood in casual glory, wearing nothing but his wicked grin and nylon sweats that sat deliciously low on defined hips. He leaned against the doorjamb and said, “You’re here.”

“I…” Before she could finish her sentence, she felt a small tug on her wrist, and then she was half flying, half stumbling through the door.

*

D
ARE TUGGED HER
in fast, his heart still pounding from one of the best texts he’d received in, well, a while. He shut the door, convinced she’d bolt at any moment. Once he had her safely inside, he spun around and tried his best to hold onto his laughter.

For reasons he could only guess—and hoped to discover soon—Caelen stood decked out in a pink, fluffy robe, complete with matching curlers and fuzzy purple bunny slippers. Her arms were crossed, and her small chin jutted out, expecting him to… what? Ask about the outfit?

Not in a million years.

It was time to stretch his patience muscle. Besides, he’d find out the reason soon enough. She could never keep a secret.

Instead, he focused on the fact that he finally had Caelen exactly where he wanted her, in his arms, at his place, a willing prisoner for as long as he could keep her. He pulled her in close, inhaling deeply, allowing her unique scent to soak in and permeate his senses. But he was careful. Careful not to touch her neck with his mouth. He didn’t want to use up his kiss for the night. Not yet. “Hi.”

She cleared her throat. “Hi. I’m…” She took a quick breath in, looking anywhere but at him, and finished, “here.”

He brought his face up from the crook of her neck and got poked in the eye by a pink curler.
Didn’t matter.
“I can see that.”

“Got a problem with it?”

“Why would I have a problem?”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Because I just showed up, unannounced.”

“Nope. Not a problem for me. Unexpected guests are only a problem when you
don’t
want to see them.”

“You want to see me?”

“Sometimes.”
What he really wanted to say was,
Hell yeah
, but he’d keep the enthusiasm down to a minimum, so she didn’t run screaming from the room.

She gazed up at him, caged in by his arms, one brow cocked quizzically. “Why are you being so
agreeable?”

“I’m always agreeable, Betty.” He felt the corners of his lips tilting up, and he could no longer fight the grin.

“Not with me, you’re not,
Goldie.”

“How am I usually with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Surly, opinionated, macho, big-mouthed!”

“You didn’t even take a minute to come up with that list! Okay, okay. I think I get the picture. Well, lust trumps all of my other stellar personality traits.” His hands slowly slid up and down her sides, but he was frustrated, because all he could feel was her robe. Maybe she’d worn the outfit to torture him.

“Lust?”

“Yup. I am a man
firmly
in lust.” His mouth came millimeters from her neck and he noticed her chest start to rise and fall a little more rapidly than before. “Emphasis on the firm. What’s got you so grumpy?”

“I’m not grumpy, I’m pissed.” She pushed his hands away and stepped away from the wall. “Watch it, buddy. You are dangerously close to breaking the rules.”

“Not breaking the rules. I’m a safe distance away.” He wiped some sweat off his brow with his forearm. “Wanna talk about it?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. You’re sweaty.”

He bounded away and started to prowl the apartment. “You’re right, just got back from a run. Burned off some excess energy.” He started to rifle around in her bag. “What you got here?”

“Hey!” She rushed over and slapped his hands away. “Don’t go through my stuff.”

“What is that?”

“Lubricant.” Her cheeks were slightly pink as she answered with a smile.

His eyebrows rose considerably. Gulping down the pool of drool that had just collected from his Pavlovian response, he said, “Lubricant?”

“Yeah, you know, something to make everything go down a little smoother.” She pulled out a six pack of beer, two shot glasses, a small bottle of Patron Tequila, and three lemons. “All I need is the salt.”

“I’m on it,” he said with a chuckle, convinced she had a few more items hidden away in her pack.

“Aren’t you even going to ask me about the getup?” Her pique from earlier had returned.

“Nope.”

“But I have curlers in my hair and look at what I’m
wearing.”

He shrugged. Come to think of it, he’d never,
ever,
seen her in anything less than a stunning outfit, from head to toe. Point was, he didn’t care. He was just so damn glad she was here, and what that meant, that he would happily keep his mouth shut. He sent up a silent
Thank you!
to Ms. Belle for the thousandth time. “So?”

Her mouth dropped, and she just stared.

“Actually, I was thinking about how short you are. Never seen you without heels before.”

She visibly gasped, and placed a hand against her chest in typical dramatic fashion. Yet she was completely serious. He remembered as kids, her height had always been a sore point. That was why he’d mentioned it. “I’ll have you know I am five feet two inches tall. That is a completely respectable height for a woman.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“How tall are you, Hotshot?”

“Just over six feet, but believe it or not, I used to lie and say I was shorter.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“All part of boxing. My weight class was always right on the edge between Light Heavyweight and Cruiser. My trainer said I’d do more damage in the lighter weight class, so I would try and play down my stats to take the opponent by surprise.”

“You still boxing?”

“Just sparring. Nothing serious.”

“How come?”

Another shrug. He wasn’t willing to say more.

“You never want to talk about that time.”

“Nope.”

Why do you hate it so much?
The question floated between the two of them, unasked, unspoken, but still as powerful as if she’d shouted it out to him from a bullhorn. He’d never really come to terms with his feelings about the sport, too complicated.

It had saved him, taken him off the dirty streets of South L.A. It had given him room to showcase a talent, a God-given gift to face an opponent, and within seconds analyze his every weakness, take advantage, and then beat the holy crap out of him.

The last part was the problem.

All of the good was mixed with hate. He hated it, because he’d needed it, needed it as much as air and water. Hated the feel of his gloves connecting with flesh, breaking bone, crunching cartilage. Hated it, because most of his childhood had been spent on the other side of those blows.

His father had regularly used him and his brothers as punching bags. Every time he’d gone into the ring and pulverized an opponent, it made him feel just like
him.
So, no, he wouldn’t be talking about boxing tonight. No reason to give Caelen another excuse to pull away.

Her mouth opened, a small crease appearing between delicate brows, the question hovering on pouty red lips. Finally, she shook her head and asked, “Old news?”

He ran a quick hand through his sweaty hair and took a step back, no longer meeting her gaze. “Old news.” He cleared his throat and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna hit the shower. By the way, I do like the getup. You look soft and cozy, good enough to eat.”

Her eyes narrowed, looking pissed all over again as he strode through the bathroom door, not bothering to shut it while he stripped down, turning on the tap. He saw her greedy gaze trace the proud jut of his cock, and he winked when she finally looked up at his face.

She placed her hands against bright red cheeks as he chuckled and stepped into the stark, white stall.

“You’re welcome to join me.”

Chapter 19

‡

T
HE WEIGHT OF
his words slammed into her, reigniting the slow burn between her thighs. Damn frustrating man. Why hadn’t Ms. Belle insisted on teaching techniques on giving women blowjobs? Then she’d be as relaxed as Dare. Didn’t matter that her last thought made no sense; she knew what she meant. “No thanks. Just hurry up,” she called out.

Caelen tried really, really hard
–hardly at all–
not to peek at Dare’s wet, muscled body, as he bounded into the shower. Didn’t that man ever do anything calmly? He was such a whirling cauldron of energy. At times she swore she could feel the wheels turning, the giant generators whirling under his skull, constantly on high alert.

But it was an energy he kept well-contained. It only showed with an occasional leg tap or hand flex. The idea of it sent a shiver down her spine. All of that energy and power hyper-focused on her, was… heady.

Giving herself a mental pinch, she refocused on her bag. Rifling around, she made sure a few of the lubricants she hadn’t taken out yet were still there. Cock ring? Check. That’s right! No way would Dare be allowed to finish as quickly as he had this morning, blue balls or not.

List of naughty techniques? Check. All diligently researched and placed in alphabetical order. It was just a backup, of course. The list was burned into her memory. She was nothing if not organized. And she had to admit, she couldn’t wait to see Dare’s reactions to her techniques.

Finally, her most powerful lubricant of all, the designer thigh-high, black boots Dare had been drooling over yesterday in her apartment.

All set. She blew out a breath, steeling herself for her always volatile but never dull encounters with Dare, when she felt a warm breath tickling the back of her neck. The heat from Dare’s muscular frame seeped through her robe, warming her from skin to bone.

“You smell so good.” His low whisper traced a path up her neck.

She stepped back the tiniest degree, unwilling to give up his warmth, relishing it for a few stolen seconds. Taking in a deep breath, she pulled in his unique scent, a combination of musk and soap. Just as she let out a soft sigh, she spun around, deciding to take charge before she was the one who turned to mush. “Ready to get started?” she asked as she slipped around him, leisurely making her way toward his couch. With deliberate care, she lounged against the sofa, striking as sexy a pose as possible, considering what she wore.

It didn’t work. At all.

“Started?” he asked with a sarcastic tilt to his mouth, using a small white towel to vigorously dry his hair.

“Ha, ha. You know why I’m here.”

He stood with his arms crossed, only wearing faded jeans, his dark hair damp and spiking around the front of his head. No shirt. Instead, she had an unimpeded view of hard, tanned muscle. Laughing slightly, he asked, “What’s the rush?”

A burst of satisfaction coursed through her veins, as powerful as the first bite of a warm, gooey Pop Tart straight out of the toaster. But before she could hop up and say,
Aha!
she realized she still had a long way to go before she proved her point. “Rush? This whole arrangement is a rush. Why the hesitation?”

“What about the lubrication?” he asked, still not moving from his spot next to the dining room able.