“So much better out here,” Haven said, the night air cool against the tingling warmth of her skin. Although she was pretty sure that not all of the heat burning through her insides was from the alcohol—her unusual flirtatiousness and closeness to Dare over the past half hour had made her desperate with a heat that had nothing to do with her drinking game.
She walked to the railing and leaned against it, chuckling a little at herself for needing the support it offered. She felt so damn free, and it was a heady, exhilarating thing.
“What’s funny?” Dare asked, settling a hip against the railing right beside her. Arms crossed, jaw ticking with tension, dark eyes blazing, he was staring at her like he wanted to reprimand her or devour her. Oddly, neither alarmed her the way she would’ve expected it to.
Haven shook her head, leaning it back and letting her gaze float over the night sky. Blurry points of light swam in the moonlit heavens. It was beautiful and peaceful despite the pounding bass beat of music thumping from inside the clubhouse. “Not funny, just good. Happy, you know? Being able to do something a little . . . scary, but knowing I’d be safe doing it.” When Dare’s gaze narrowed, she shrugged. “I don’t know.”
A long moment passed before Dare finally spoke. “You are safe here, Haven. Never doubt it.”
Peering up at him, she nodded, all kinds of words sitting on the tip of her tongue, challenging her to let them fly. “It’s weird feeling safe—or at least safer—after a lifetime of not. It makes me want to try things I could never let myself try before. It makes me . . .” She shook her head and dipped her chin.
Dare stepped closer, his thighs coming up against her hip. He lifted her chin and made her look at him. The contact combined with the command in the gesture lanced white-hot desire through her veins. “Makes you what?”
“Want to feel alive,” she whispered, her heart suddenly racing in her chest.
Dare’s jaw ticked again as his gaze swept over her face. She didn’t think she was imagining the raw emotion pouring off of him and wrapping around her, but she wasn’t sure if she was reading that emotion right or projecting her own desire onto him.
“Do you feel alive, Dare?” she asked, the alcohol flowing through her and the night spinning around her like she was walking through a dream.
“Jesus Christ,” he bit out.
The rough desperation in his voice made her wet between her legs. “Just once,” she whispered, not sure what she was asking him for.
But he seemed to know. Because his hand was suddenly tangled in her hair and his mouth was suddenly on hers, claiming, probing, tasting. Haven moaned and parted her lips, inviting him deeper.
Dare jerked back from her, his fingers rubbing roughly over his lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
On instinct, Haven’s body pursued his, pinning his back to the railing. “Please don’t stop,” she said as her hands gripped his shoulders. She had the strongest urge to climb him, to wrap her legs around him, to grind against the hard bulge pressing electrically against her belly. “Please,” she whispered, tilting her mouth toward his. “I liked it.”
Dare’s hand cupped the back of her head. “You’re killing me.”
“Dare,” she said, her body restless against his.
In a move that sent the world spinning, he flipped them around so that she was the one pinned against the railing. He pushed his legs between hers and leaned down over her, forcing her to arch her back, to yield, to open to him. “Tell me what you want from me. Say the words,” he said, his eyes absolutely on fire.
Her heart was a runaway train in her chest, frantic and picking up speed. The thought of giving voice to her desires was terrifying and thrilling and dizzying all at once. “I want your mouth,” she said. The words sounded odder out loud than they had in her head, but they were more accurate than asking him to kiss her—because her mouth wasn’t the only place she wanted his.
“Jesus,” he rasped again, his mouth coming down on hers once more.
The whimper she released was part relief, part anticipation. It had been so long since she’d kissed someone that she felt a little uncertain, but Dare’s intensity barely allowed her the capacity to worry about it. He was like a dark storm bearing down on her, relentless, magnetic, all-consuming. Rough callouses from his hands scratched against her cheeks as he guided her. Hard breaths spilled over her lips, and the wet slide of his tongue tasted like whiskey and desire and man. Her hands found the soft length of his hair, and her breasts pushed against the hard plane of his chest.
Then her lips were freed as his mouth slid over her skin—exploring her cheek, her jaw, her ear, her neck. He hiked her up to sit on the wide railing, the move surprising a gasp out of her, especially as he crowded the space between her legs, pushing himself closer, bringing his erection against the place between her legs craving friction, hardness, so much more of him. Maybe even all of him.
One strong arm wrapped around her back and held her steady, while the other hand stroked her hair, her face, her breast. The soft groans and breathy grunts spilling out of him were delicious and thrilling, and bolstered her confidence that she wasn’t the only one losing herself in this moment, in these touches. She almost couldn’t believe this was happening, and part of her was certain she must be dreaming. Because Haven Randall didn’t have beautiful things in her life. At least, never before.
DARE HAD TO stop. He had to stop this.
Except he couldn’t. He couldn’t force his hands off Haven’s straining body, his tongue off her warm skin, his hard body from grinding against all her softness.
It didn’t matter that Haven had offered this—no, more than that, asked for it. Or, at least, it shouldn’t matter.
But it did. Dare didn’t know everything about Haven, but he did know her life hadn’t been easy, she’d been treated miserably by her father, if not outright abused, and that the trust she was demonstrating right now was a rare, precious gift. And her desperate need, the beautiful fucking honesty of it, was like a drug roaring through his veins, clouding his judgment, fueling his own need, turning his world upside down.
So Dare wanted to give her this. Hell, he wanted to give himself this.
He licked up her neck, and a needful moan spilled out of her as his tongue dragged over the spot below her ear. He sucked her there, and the sound got louder. Her hips thrust against his, bringing her core flush against his hard-on.
“Oh, Dare,” she whispered.
Loving the sound of his name on her tongue, he grasped her face in his hands and claimed her mouth with a devouring kiss. It was probably too rough, too aggressive, the way he forced her lips open and penetrated her mouth with thick, sweeping, dominating thrusts of his tongue, but she took everything he gave her, her small hands fisting and gripping at the lengths of his hair.
Haven scooted forward on the railing so that her body pressed harder against his. Her hips rocked and jerked against his cock, pulling shuddering, gasping breaths from her throat that ricocheted to his balls, making them heavy and hot with need.
“That’s it, Haven,” he said, gripping her ass in his palm. Despite the mess this could cause once the harsh light of daytime cast some glaring common sense on the situation of him screwing around with a client he was supposed to be protecting, with a young woman too innocent for all his demons, he wanted nothing more in that moment than for her to find pleasure using his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this kind of urgent arousal, and certainly not just from kissing. And he didn’t know whether to chase that feeling into oblivion or resent the hell out of it for making his usual fucks seem dull and ordinary by comparison.
And they weren’t even fucking.
A whine spilled from her throat and her hips moved erratically. “I . . . I . . .” She shook her head.
“What?” he asked, his lips brushing hers, their faces eye to eye. “You gonna come for me?”
Hooded eyes stared back at him, full of pleading and need. “I don’t know,” she whispered, heat filling her cheeks.
Unfuckingacceptable.
“I do,” Dare growled, tugging her off the railing to stand in the tight space before him. In an instant he had her jeans open and his hand down her panties, his rough fingers sliding into the slippery heat of her lips.
Her mouth dropped open on a surprised, desperate cry, and Dare forced her stance wider, his hand filling up the space between her thighs.
“Aw, Jesus, feel that,” he said, his harsh breaths mingling with hers. He stroked fingers against her wet heat, petting, preparing. “You need this, don’t you?”
“Oh, God. Yes,” she said, her eyes falling closed.
His middle finger sank deep inside her, and Jesus she was tight, the walls of her pussy sucking at his flesh. He moved his finger inside her, making sure his forearm gave her clit a hard, steady friction. “Look at me. Look at me when I make you come.” With his other hand he gripped her hair, tugging her head back so he could see all of her beautiful, painted face.
Her eyelids flipped open, and the abject need he saw there made his cock throb.
And then her brow furrowed and her mouth opened in a silent cry. She held her breath as her core fisted at his finger again and again, a moan finally spilling out of her. He could only imagine how good that would feel if it were his dick. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he gritted out as he watched and felt her shatter.
If he thought her face in ecstasy had been beautiful, it was nothing compared to the sated, adoring look she wore as she gazed up at him in the moments after. As much as the whole experience had speared a hard-core satisfaction through him, that adoration was also a problem. He slipped his finger free of her pussy, his hand out of her clothing.
Haven buried her face against his chest and gave her head a little shake.
“What?” he asked, his other hand petting the soft waves of her long hair.
She didn’t respond for a long moment, and then said, “I’ve just . . . never . . .”
Dare hung on the edge of her words. He stepped back and tipped her chin up, needing to know what she was going to say.
Suddenly, Haven frowned. “Oh, God.” Panic filled her eyes, and then she spun, bent over the railing, and threw up so hard her back arched at the force of it.
“Fuck,” Dare said as he held her hair out of her way. As she puked again and again, guilt and self-loathing gathered in his chest until it was a river rushing through his veins. He should never have let things go so far when she was this drunk. He knew better. She didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she rushed out between wretches.
The words made him feel that much worse. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said.
When it seemed her body had finally emptied itself, she pushed upright, shaky hands braced on the railing. Haven slowly turned to face him, and then her eyes went unfocused and she stumbled.
On a curse, Dare caught her in his arms, and then he lifted her into a carry.
Her eyes fluttered up at him. “Everything’s spinning,” she whispered.
“I’ve got you,” he said. Though she wouldn’t be in this position if he’d taken control of the situation the way he should’ve—starting in at the bar. Goddamnit.
He went in through the kitchen door and carried her through the dining room and lounge and up the central steps. Given that the party was still raging, there was no help for others seeing them, and Dare got a few catcalls and amused looks that only made him kick himself harder. Upstairs, he found her room door locked, so he awkwardly fished the master key out of his pocket and let himself in. He crossed the dark room and lay Haven on her bed, then reached to flick on the bedside lamp.
She barely responded to any of it, which pissed him the hell off—what if he hadn’t been the one standing here right now? What if she’d exposed this kind of vulnerability to someone else, someone willing to take advantage of it?
Like you just did?
Fuck.
Dare slipped off her sandals and pushed the door shut harder than he meant to, but not even the slamming of it disturbed her.
Given how violently she’d thrown up, Dare wasn’t sure he should leave her. So he planted his ass in the corner chair and reconciled himself to watching over her. Like he should’ve done from the start.
Her face at rest, her body so small in the queen-sized bed, she looked really young lying there. And, of course, she was really fucking young. Twenty-two. Twenty-two versus his thirty-seven. Twenty-two and on the run from bad men who’d taken advantage of her.
And damn if he didn’t feel like he’d just done the same thing.
Huffing out his frustration, he shifted in the chair, bringing his ankle up to rest on the opposite knee. His foot bounced and a tense restlessness surged through him—from his anger, from his guilt, from the unfulfilled need still simmering below the surface. And didn’t that make him an even bigger asshole.
He forced his gaze away from Haven and scanned it over the room. But there was really nothing distracting enough to look at. All the guest rooms were the same, and he’d been in them countless times over the years.
On a soft moan, Haven curled onto her side, facing him. She drew her knees up so she lay in a ball, and the movement knocked something to the floor.
Her notebook. The one she’d been writing in the day he’d asked about her past. The one she’d been so protective of.
Dare studied the book for a long moment. Finally, he scooped it off the floor. He examined the plain cover, and curiosity urged him to open it. Maybe it was a diary, and he’d find in its pages whatever it was she was holding back. Because his gut told him there was mostly definitely still something.
His gaze flickered to her beautiful face, just feet away from him. He remembered the look she’d worn as she’d come down from the high of her orgasm. All filled with blissful satisfaction and worshipful adoration.
Sonofabitch.
After all the other ways he’d wronged her tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to flip the book open. He tossed it onto the table beside the bed.
Dare blew out a long breath, figuring he might as well get comfortable. He rested his head on his fisted hand and closed his eyes, but then he caught the faint scent of her arousal still clinging to his fingers. As if he needed the additional reminder of what he’d done.
“Jesus,” he bit out. He shoved up from the chair and crossed to the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he met his own disapproving gaze in the dark mirror. She was so drunk that she puked and passed out, asshole.
He threw the towel onto the counter and braced his hands on the edge, his head hanging down on his shoulders. How the hell was she supposed to trust him when he’d taken such advantage?
Dare didn’t know. He only hoped she could forgive him. And it would start by his promising it would never happen again.