DARE: A Bad Boy Romance (6 page)

“Yeah, he’s over there.” The man pointed her to the adjacent section of the hall, separated from the dining area by a rope cordon and a series of banners and large portraits of military personnel. Presumably those were some the wounded veterans who had received assistance from Homes for Heroes. “I’d get in there quick if I was you,” the man said, smiling. “Dude thinks he’s John Travolta.”

“Thank you.”

Holly made her way through the maze of tables and chairs and, unable to locate the proper way around the cordon rope, hiked up her skirt and strode over the damn thing. Her right heel
almost
gave way. The shock sobered her up a little.

She looked out across the dance floor, and her fists balled at her side. “That fucking rat!”

John Travolta, a.k.a. Trey “Two Left Feet” Oregon, and two of his fighter pals were jiving and thrusting their way through a dance scene straight out of that underground hideout in
Dirty Dancing.
The women with them weren’t just dancing, they were sleazing all over them—at least that’s how it seemed to Holly. Spectators appeared to approve: they clapped and cheered. Even some of the older couples joined in, if not so energetically, with their own old-timer twists.

But she recognized Trey’s partner from somewhere…wait a minute…yes, from that night—the ring girl he’d checked out at a time when he never usually looked away from the ring. The Slavic stick insect. Slinkier than a Russian assassin under a bed of fur. She draped herself over Trey, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt as if she’d done it so many times before she could do it with her eyes closed. The tramp. And now look at
him,
after all his bullshit about behaving tonight for appearance’s sake, letting the whole world know that he was a free agent and she—Miss Holly Watkins—was yesterday’s news. Yesterday’s garbage, stuffed into the most expensive and revealing garbage bag he could afford.
Now
she could be tossed out into the street.

Okay, we’ll see about that.

Funny how her focus had returned when she needed it most. The room no longer spun. She picked out Dare Bowden quickly. Even in a room full of luminaries and tuxes and to-die-for couture, he did kind of stand out. There, across the dance floor. He wasn’t dancing, at least not yet, not until
she
got there.

Those evaporated emotions all came flooding back as she imagined what would happen when Trey saw her dancing with Dare—when the asshole got a taste of his own medicine. Would he pick a fight with a former Marine? A part of her hoped not, for Dare’s sake; the guy didn’t deserve that. Another part of her, the hurt, boiling part, couldn’t think of anything she wanted to see more: her big military hero beating the living hell out of the man who’d made her life a misery, who was
still
making her life a misery, even after he’d officially dumped her.

She stopped. Remembered. Dare was not here alone. He’d brought his own date, another pale ring-girl type who no man with a pulse would spurn in order to dance with a fatty in a garbage bag. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. See? There she was, and there he was: the ring girl and Dare Bowden, already chatting away like besties. A few smooth moves and he’d have her out of that dress in his hotel room so he could give her the ride of her life. And that was how things went in this world—the world of MMA and professional sports and celebrities—a world she’d been around but had never really been a part of.

The danger, the risk, the casual sex: what the hell had she been missing all this time? She’d only ever had the one man, but how many women had
he
had while she’d played at Little Miss Monogamous? Seeing him gyrating like Patrick Swayze—or rather a wooden Ray Harryhausen version of Patrick Swayze—with that Victoria’s Secret wannabe, it was enough to get Holly Section-Eighted alongside him.

He made her sick! She made herself fucking sick.

Holly turned away in disgust, ready to storm out and never look back. As she did, her heel gave way and she slipped onto her ass. It didn’t really hurt, but the shock of it (and the shame of it, at such a wide-open moment) made her cry. A few men helped her up and she limped away, dying a little with each step.

Suddenly the future was terrifying, because it was so blank. The dance music dimmed and the voices disappeared. She found herself alone in the foyer, staring at the senior prom photo of Sergeant Snow and Private Etcheverria. It broke her heart, seeing those two young people so happy and so innocent. Knowing the hardships they would have to endure to reach their “happily ever after” made her even more emotional. She felt herself about to burst into heavy sobs. It was welling, and she had no more resistance to it. This had been the worst evening of her life, bar none.

“Holly? Are you okay?”

She composed herself instinctively, took her time before turning to face the speaker. To her genuine surprise, Dare Bowden stood before her, and he was alone.

Had he followed her out?

“You fell hard back there. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Me? No, no, I just…needed to get some air. It was getting…oppressive in there.” She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Won’t your date being wondering where you are?”

“My date? You mean my niece, Lesley. She made me promise to bring her. These special guests—” He motioned his champagne glass at the senior prom photo, “—they’re her heroes. She’s doing some kind of college project on them. I think she’s hoping for an interview.”

“College, huh?”

“Yeah. A freshman. Amazing. Seems only yesterday I helped take the stabilizers off her bike. Now she’s ten times smarter than me and knows all the tricks to get around me, or at least she thinks she does.”

Holly laughed, more with relief than anything. He wasn’t dating anyone after all. At least no one here tonight. “Maybe I should get her to show me a few of those tricks,” she said. Definitely the champagne speaking, but now that she was out on a limb, she might as well test its limit.

“Well, the first one is easy,” he replied. “I’m a sucker for a woman who tells the truth.”

“Really? About what?”

“About everything.”

“For instance…?”

He downed the last of his bubbly and set the flute down on top of the brass cordon post. “For instance, why are you really out here?”

“I told you, I…” Holly sighed, let her head bow in shame. “The truth? I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“The crowd?”

“Everyone having a good time like that. That’s not what I want to see right now. I want every motherfucker in there to be as miserable as me.”

He gazed at her, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “Why are you miserable? Is it Trey Oregon? Has he done something to you?” Dare stepped toward her. His face tightened, and she saw the rage just under the surface. Maybe it was there at all times, and he could summon it at will, whenever something offended him.

She stopped him right there. No way was she going to be the cause of another cockfight. “He hasn’t touched me…this time. But he made me come here tonight, even though he said we’re finished.”

“You two have split up?”

She nodded. Saying the words was still too painful. “He’s been screwing around, and when I caught him making a call to his whore, he didn’t even deny it. Bastard was
proud
of it. Then he tried to turn it all on me! I can’t even begin to get my head around that part. I swear he’s making this shit up as he goes along. It’s just…too much. Then when I saw him dancing with that slut in there, after he’d
forced
me to come here with him, it was as if he wanted me to see it. He brought me here to punish me.” She swallowed hard. “It’s not me, is it? I feel like I’m losing it. Tell me I’m not losing it.”

“You’re not losing it, Holly. He is. He’s either a delusional asshole or just an asshole. Either way, you’re better off without him.”

“There was a second part to that truth,” she said, “about why I had to get out of there.”

“Go on.”

“There was this guy I’m kind of sweet on. I hoped he’d be here tonight. But the truth is, when I saw him, he was with another girl. It made me feel…jealous.”

“How jealous?”

“Jealous enough to want to drop-kick her.” Holly cleared her throat, sensing she’d gone too far. “Of course, I’d never touch a college freshman.”

With the corner of his mouth, Dare flashed her a very brief but telling smile. “You might not have gotten that far. I taught her a few moves when she was younger.”

“Who said I was talking about your niece?”

“You weren’t?”

“What do you think?”

Dare took another step toward her, close enough for her to smell his delicious cologne. “I think you’ve been admirably honest until now. I like my women honest.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah, but here’s something I haven’t said yet:
I
was jealous tonight as well.”

“You were?”

“Past tense,” he said. “He’s gone and blown it for himself, so rather than drop-kicking him, I should probably thank him.”

Holly didn’t know what to say. Had the champagne caught up with her, making her hear only what she wanted to hear? Was this guy playing with her? Drawing her out, only to throw it back in her stupid face when she’d made a complete ass of herself? Something told her no. Maybe because of his selfless stunt at the fight the other week, risking everything to save a guy he didn’t even like. Or maybe because he just looked so damn hot in a tux, and the smoldering look he was giving her…

“Are you for real?” she asked.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how real you want me.”

She cozied up to him, running a flat palm over the breast of his jacket. Then she pressed her cheek to his chest. His arms curled round her, and she felt so safe, so unusually safe, his firm but tender touch took her breath away.

“I think I like you just the way you are,” she said.

“I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad night.”

“Me too. But it wasn’t your fault. And it’s not anymore—not bad, that is. I don’t hate this night anymore.”

“If you wanted, we could improve it some more.”

“How?” Her question came out at an excited whisper.

“I think I know a way.”

“Does it involve us leaving here?”

“Uh-huh.”

Holly began to tremble—a wonderfully nervous tremble. “What about your niece?”

“What about her?”

“How will she get home?”

“Oh, she’s a smart girl,” he replied. “When she saw me come out after you and when I don’t return, she’ll have put two and two together.”

“Did anyone else see you follow me?” A scary thought right there.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. All that matters is that we turn this night around, right? No one who looks as good as you should have to end tonight in tears.”

“Something’s telling me I won’t.”

He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her free. “Shall we?”

“Uh-huh.” As they left the foyer, Holly glanced over her shoulder at the veterans’ senior prom photo. She threw it a wink.

It was quite cool out and Holly wished she could remember what she’d done with her wrap. She hugged herself instead. Seeing her discomfort, Dare took off his tuxedo jacket and draped it over her as soon as they’d crossed the street. “Thanks,” she said, then hiccupped. And again. Too much champagne had left her muddle-headed, but even through the wacky where-am-I she knew she’d lucked out in a big way here. The last thing she wanted was to blow it by irritating him with her notoriously loud and persistent hiccups. She sucked in a deep breath and held it.

Please God, let this work.

Holly saw a cab approaching; the center light on its roof was lit. She scurried off the curb to flag it down.

“No need,” he called after her. “I’m parked just round the next corner.”

Still holding her breath—it was her only shot at relieving her hiccups under the circumstances—she waved the cab on. The Arab driver gesticulated angrily and threw a serious tantrum when the car behind honked its horn at him. He jabbed his finger at Holly. She flipped him off and gave him X-rated directions at the top of her voice. The following driver yelled something at her as well. She treated him to a double flip-off.

“Assholes, every one of them,” she explained to Dare. “God, I hate L.A. drivers.”

“Impressive.” He eyed her from top to toe and back up again. “You, ah, always that assertive?”

“Are you kidding? I’m
never
that assertive.” But she found her own outburst really kind of thrilling, as if the pressure had been mounting inside her for a while now, and that was just the first taste of what she could erupt, given the chance. Sure, the champagne had uncorked her, but the passion spewing out was all hers.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “We could always go get a coffee somewhere. Have a talk.”

“I’ve had enough of talking,” she replied. “I’ve talked myself into staying with a guy who doesn’t love me for far too long. I don’t want to hear myself talk. Not now. I want to be with you, but not for talking.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” He offered her his arm, which she took. They passed umpteen couples before they reached his car, and none them gave her and Dare a second glance. That pleased her. She wanted to be invisible right now, anonymous to everyone but Dare Bowden. If she could pull this off, spend the night with him without screwing it all up with her neurotic, insecure bullshit, there might just be hope for Holly Watkins after all…

***

He drove a gas-guzzling Jeep Grand Cherokee, black and mint; it was really comfortable inside. He played a Jim Morrison CD. Several times he checked her out, a different part of her each time, his gaze hungry and in no way coy. He’d already made it clear what he wanted without saying it outright like a sleaze ball would. Holly liked that, even more so when the bubbly began to wear off and the full impact of where she was, whom she was with, and where he was taking her really rattled her nerves with a zeal she couldn’t get enough of. She slid in and out of
Holy shit!-
mode and loved every shiver of realization.

I
am
going home with him. With Dare Bowden.

She blushed when he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and again when they stopped at a red light and he secretly mouthed the word
Wow
whilst checking out her tits. Hoping to give as good as she got tonight, Holly mentally undressed him several times. She’d already seen his upper body in all its ripped, tattooed glory, and his massive arms that could break a man in half or hold her right where he wanted her. But what about the rest of him? A former Marine and a high-ranking fighter, at the same time? Could he
be
any more of a stud? Not that she’d sampled a variety of men in her life. Trey, her one and only conquest, had given her pleasure but, looking back, he’d taken a lot more pleasure from her than he’d given. Were all men like that? Or was there something she’d been missing out on all this time?

Her breath hitched when she realized that the answer to that question was close. Dare was pulling into a driveway.

His driveway.

***

“Sure you don’t want a coffee or something?” He peeled his jacket off her.

“No thanks. I’m just about right.”

“True.” He flicked her a wink, then disappeared into the back. “Give me a minute. I need to say hi to Penny.”

She was about to ask him why he hadn’t told her he had a daughter—or why he’d even brought Holly here like this, for shame—when an excited bark from the yard answered it for her. She heaved a sigh. Kicked off her shoes, then snatched them up and placed them on the sideboard. Penny might be one of those dogs that instinctively chewed any alien object left within reach. Cute name for a dog though. She’d always liked dogs—especially when they came with smoking hot Marine MMA fighter owners.

Dare’s home was smaller than Trey’s, more modest: a three bedroom detached house in the English Tudor style, with a slightly gothic black and white motif. Inside, it was fairly sparse. Pictures of extreme sports covered some of the walls, while an antique pistol and a harpoon gun hung over the mantel.

He returned carrying Penny in his arms. She was a really cute black-and-tan Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, quite a bit bigger than others of that breed that she’d seen but equally as gorgeous. Her tail wagged like crazy, and she was straining to leap out of his arms and lick Holly’s face.

“Oh my gosh! She’s beautiful.” Penny loved being rubbed behind her floppy ears. Mouth open, tongue hanging, those big eyes bright and staring, she was in ecstasy. “How old is she?”

“Three,” he replied. “She used to belong to a buddy of mine, but when his wife split, he…ah, needed help looking after this little lady. So she’s staying here till he’s on his feet again. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” He flipped Penny over and gave her the sweetest tummy rub Holly had ever seen.

“Aw, but you’ll be sorry to give her up.”

“I know. I’m having second thoughts. Lesley thinks the world of her, too. She comes over to walk her and feed her while I’m away.”

“She’s
so
not the dog I imagined for a Semper Fi Marine, never mind a hardcore cage fighter.”

Dare laughed. “Tell me about it. The good news is she loves running. The bad news is…okay, there is no bad news. Screw what anyone else thinks, right? Let them have their pit bulls. I’ll take her anytime.”

“Yep. Good for you.”

“Okay, sweetheart, let’s put you back in your home for now. You can come in here later.” He carried her outside, where she had a pretty big kennel with what looked like under-floor heating. When he came back in, he’d removed his bowtie and unbuttoned his collar. “All right, where were we?” he asked.

Holly shrugged coyly, then set her purse down on the sideboard. She glanced around the living room, looking for clues of his background, his tastes, what made him tick. “You don’t have any framed photos,” she observed, “except this one.” It was a group photo of his Marine combat unit in full desert gear out in the sticks, maybe Afghanistan. She picked him out right away, not the tallest or the heftiest, but easily the most handsome. He looked happy in that picture, younger, proud. He was high-fiving the guy next to him, a goofy-looking blond guy who was a little shorter than Dare and from his overall look and build had to be either a Viking or a surfer. Maybe a Viking surfer.

“You keep in touch with any of these guys from your unit?”

“Some,” he replied, pouring himself a Scotch. “Most of ‘em are still overseas. I try to catch up with ‘em when they’re on leave, but we’re spread all over the country. It’s not always doable.”

“Any live around here? The ones who aren’t still overseas?”

“Yeah.” He paused to take a long sip. “The guy next to me in the photo lives over in Glassell Park. That’s how I’ve got Penny…when his wife left him. She just split—no warning, no word, just…like that.”

“Harsh. So he’s not much of a dog person, I take it?” It had sounded more amusing in her head, but now she remembered what Dare had said about his buddy “needing help” looking after the dog. It suddenly had graver connotations, for an ex-military guy.

Dare hesitated. “Let’s just say he’s having some problems. Finn’s a good guy, but his wife leaving him like that…it wasn’t exactly unprovoked. An easy way out maybe. But everyone has his or her limits, right? I don’t have to tell you.”

“He’s got PTSD.”

Dare looked up at her, not judging, not giving away anything of himself either. It was a warm, wise look that reminded her that brains and brawn needn’t be mutually exclusive. He’d been through a lot in his life, but unlike Trey, and maybe this Finn, Dare Bowden seemed to have emerged relatively cool and collected on the other side. At least that was her impression.

She wouldn’t be here with him otherwise.

“Want to change the subject? That’s cool,” she said.

“Well, maybe it’s best kept for another time. Old wounds and all that. How about you? Family and friends in L.A.? You were born here, right?”

“Uh-huh. Blue collar all the way. Dad spent most of his career on passenger trains. He was a Big O, and proud of it.”

“What’s that?”

“A train conductor. He busted his ass on the railway till he retired a couple of years back. Mom started out as a Beanery Queen—a dining car waitress—that’s where she met Dad. Later she taught netball part-time. I’ve got a younger brother up in Oregon, and an older sister, Jenny, who lives over at Faircrest Heights.”

“Who were you closest to growing up?”

“Jenn. Always Jenn. She’s looked out for me since day one. I don’t see as much as much of her as I used to—You-Know-Who likes to drag me along—
liked
to drag me along.” Holly gave her own head a knock. “I’ve gotta start thinking past tense.”

Dare finished his drink, walked over as smooth as you like, and took her by the hand. It felt coarse—coarse but warm, safe, and dangerous at the same time. It reminded her that this was a man who’d killed for his country, for all the other guys in that photograph. He fought for what he believed in, just like that night when he’d intervened in the ring. And he fought for what he wanted, as he’d told her that day in the café.

It all added up to one thing: he wanted her.

The flutter in her stomach and the sudden rapid thump in her chest left her incredibly uncertain but dying to find out what might happen next.

The insecurity gripped her first, and she blurted out: “You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“No.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

He seemed amused by the line of questioning. “There’s no other girl, I promise.”

“That’s good. I just thought, with you being so high profile and all…”

“And in the top five of…whatever that list was you checked out.”

“The most eligible bachelors in MMA,” she said. “Together with pictures of the celebrities they’ve dated.”

“I don’t date celebrities.”

“Oh? Why not?”

He smiled. “But I could always call one up if you wanted. There’s bound to be directory hotline for lonely on-call celebrities.”

Holly gave him a soft, goofy punch to the arm. “I think you
do
have one. I think all you guys do.”

“Touché. And you?” he asked. “I know you said you haven’t dated anyone else since high school. But have you ever been propositioned by a celebrity? At one of those million-and-one functions he’d made you attend with him?”

“Who? Me?”

“Uh-huh.” He caressed her cheek with his hand that suddenly didn’t feel coarse or dangerous anymore. It felt lovely.