CHAPTER 1
Jennifer
“Truth or Dare, Jen,” challenged Chaz, my one and only gay boyfriend. “Have you had multiple orgasms with Bradley?”
Bradley Wick was my fiancé. We’d gotten engaged a few nights ago though the ring was still coming. My friends had spontaneously taken me out to Greystone Manor, one of Hollywood’s hottest clubs to celebrate. The group at our VIP table included college classmates and my very best friend in the world, Libby Clearfield, Chaz’s twin sister. Leave it to Chaz to get us into this impossible-to-get-into celebrity hangout. Libby’s brother was one of LA’s up-and-coming fashion designers. Doors opened to Chaz. The world was his oyster.
Chaz repeated the question as if I had deaf ears. My circle of friends oohed and aahed. I felt myself flush. Turn the color of the strawberry margarita I was drinking. The answer to that question was on the tip of my tongue. A single word. “Dare.” I wasn’t telling. Truth: I’d never had an orgasm with Bradley. Not a single one.
Chaz’s boyishly handsome face lit up. He seemed pleased with my response. The disappointed sighs from the others at the table made it clear they were way more interested in hearing about my sex life than in watching me make a total fool of myself. Whatever. I was a fair player and was going to have to live up to the challenge.
“Okay, so what’s my dare?” I asked Chaz.
A wicked glint flickered in his chocolate-brown eyes. “You have to kiss the man over there.”
What? “Which man?”
“That man sitting at that table for two in the corner.”
My gaze followed his gesturing finger across the opulent, crowded club to a corner table close to the dance floor. I eyed a man seated by himself, his back to me. One arm was angled upward, so he was probably drinking a cocktail or eating something. The dark suit he was wearing looked expensive, and though it was hard to gauge how tall he was, his erect posture and broad shoulders suggested he was likely over six feet and built. His thick dark hair, styled in that trendy mussed up way, brushed his collar. I summed him up in an instant. Some filthy rich player looking for a hook-up. Okay. I could handle him. It was just a dare. A silly game. And I was sloshed.
I rose to my feet. And so did Chaz.
“Let’s make this a real challenge,” he crooned with a fiendish grin. In a flash, he yanked off his Burberry plaid tie, and the next thing I knew, it was tied tightly around my eyes. I was unable to see a thing.
My table of friends went crazy, with shit-faced screams of approval. Okay. So, blinded, I was going to have to make my way across the bustling nightclub to that man’s table, find him, and then kiss him.
“On the lips,” instructed Chaz.
Gah! What had I gotten myself into? “No way,” I pleaded, my voice hoarse from all the alcohol. I’d lost track of how many margaritas I’d consumed.
“Way!” shouted the group in unison.
To my absolute horror, Chaz spun me around several times. When he stopped, I was dizzier than a lush on a three-day binge. I swayed on my feet and had no clue about my bearings. Loud, pulsating techno music thrummed in my ear.
“Will someone at least tell me which direction to head in?” I asked, teetering between laughter and anxiety. I’d had one too many drinks. Had I not, I would be running out of this joint, blindfold and all.
Gripping my shoulders, Chaz pointed me in the direction of my target. I took small hesitant steps in my heels, my friends guiding me with roars of laughter. “That’s it . . . to the right . . . no to the left . . . you’re getting closer . . .”
If I wasn’t so smashed, I would have felt enormously embarrassed, stumbling and fumbling through this chic club, blindfolded. Along the way, I felt up some big-boobed girl, knocked over a bottle of something super expensive, and bumped into a server carrying a tray. Actually, this wasn’t too bad given how accident-prone I was. Most of these encounters were met with giggles, but there were also a few what-the-fucks. Though blindfolded, I could feel people staring at me. My skin prickled. I knew now what a blind person felt like going through life. A bolt of compassion shot through me.
“Just two more steps to the right,” I heard Chaz shout out.
With my arms outstretched, I did as he directed, and suddenly my fingers were tangled in a thick wad of silky hair. It must be him. He didn’t flinch or say a word.
“Kiss him, kiss him!” I heard my friends chanting in the distance.
Oh, God. What was I going to do? I couldn’t let them down or I’d never live it down. I’d come this far. Without overthinking, I blindly ran my hands over my victim’s face. His skin was soft with a fine layer of silky stubble, and his features were distinct and defined—a straight, manly nose; a strong, slightly clefted chin; and above it, a set of lush, velvety lips. I lingered on his lips, tracing them with my fingertips, building up the courage to touch down on them with my own.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m playing a game of Truth or Dare, and I have to kiss you.” God, how ridiculous I must sound and look with my blindfold.
I took my victim’s silence as a sign he was willing to play along. Okay, here goes. Clutching his angular jaw between my hands, I bent down to kiss him. But before I could latch my lips onto his, he rose and, in one swift move, crashed his lips onto mine.
Oh. My. God. A heat wave shot through me. It was one of those kisses like in a movie. Fierce, delicious, passionate. Opened mouth and oh so consuming. And he tasted divine—the sweet taste of champagne lacing his breath. He bit my upper lip, forcing me to part them, and plunged his warm, velvety tongue inside my mouth. His tongue instantly found mine and they entwined, dancing like they’d been together forever. He tugged hard on my ponytail, yanking back my head, and coiled it around his hand, tearing at my roots. The delicious pain mixed with the delicious pleasure of his kiss, sending a rush of erotic sensations through me. Every nerve ending was a sparking fuse. My breathing grew shallow. Already lightheaded, I was now borderline delirious. I’d never been kissed by a man like this before. I didn’t want him to stop. What was wrong with me? I’d just gotten engaged.
In the background, I could vaguely hear my friends cheering and whistling. “Go, girl!” For sure, head cheerleader Chaz.
My inner voice told me to stop, but no matter how much I willed it, I couldn’t get my lips to part from his. In fact, I deepened the kiss, pulling him closer to me by the collar of his shirt. The material felt expensive, like the gazillion thread Egyptian cotton kind. Everything about this man tasted and felt divine. He squeezed my ponytail tighter. I moaned into his mouth and he moaned back. God, the throaty sound of him was sexy!
And then suddenly, as fast as he had plunged his tongue into my mouth, he withdrew it. In tandem, he let go of my hair. I gasped, desperate for more.
“Wait!” I cried out, my hands grappling for him. Instead of finding him, I found myself knocking over a chilled glass. My heightened sense of smell told me it was his champagne.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked, struggling to tear off the tight, blinding tie. “I’ll buy you another.” Finally, I undid the tie. I blinked once. He was gone, and I was painfully all alone. Where did he go? My eyes frantically searched the pulsating crowd, darting left and right, but he was nowhere to be found. Even if he was facing me somewhere, staring into my eyes, I wouldn’t know it because I didn’t know what he looked like.
My friends were now all standing and applauding me. I’d lived up to the dare. Kissed a strange man on the lips. Oh, those lips!
Dazed, I staggered back to the group and dared not tell them how much I’d enjoyed it. And wanted more.