Double Dare You

She moved like the model she should’ve been: tall, elegant, lean. Just watching the bar light catch those fire-engine red highlights of hers made him want to put his hands in that messy bun and tug it down, unraveling the silky strands with his fingers. He remembered the feel of her waves in his fingers, soft but strong, and the feel of her thick lips on his. He recalled, too, her sheer lace underwear—and garter belts. She might be a buttoned-up accountant on the outside, but peel off that first layer, and any man was in for a surprise. Her lingerie had matched perfectly—a shock since the blizzard had taken them both by surprise, and they’d ended up stuck at the same lodge by sheer accident. He had wanted to study it and rip it off at the same time. He wondered what she might be wearing beneath that tight cashmere sweater. Red lace? God, he hoped it was red.

His groin tightened at the mere thought.

Stop it, he told himself. He wasn’t crossing that line again. It was best for her. He knew that even if she didn’t yet. He’d plowed through a couple of rebound trysts since then, but he’d had to choke them down, force himself. Liam Beck had never been the kind of guy who had to force himself to oblige a willing woman, and yet, lately, sex had become a chore. In fact, he hadn’t even touched another woman in a full month. Because the more women he took to his bed, the more he realized they were nothing like Allie. He’d been through enough plain cotton thongs and mismatched sports bras and fumbling awkwardness to last a lifetime. They all seemed immature somehow, even though none was more than a couple of years younger than him. Even Channing, with her corset and plunging cleavage, seemed just like a girl playing dress-up.

Allie, on the other hand, was a woman. Complex, grown-up, sexier and infinitely more dangerous. He watched her glide through the crowd, the men and women parting to let her to the bar. She was tall, lithe and graceful as she leaned in to get the bartender’s attention. Not that he needed a signal. He dropped everything and scurried over to get her order, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Of course. She was gorgeous, that auburn hair and delicate pale neck. She was a knockout, not that she knew it. Her power over men always came as a surprise to her. Not to Beck.

He frowned as he watched the bartender’s eyes light up as he bathed in her attention. He remembered the feel of being the focus of those clear green eyes, and the feeling, too, of truly being seen.He noticed their conversation dragged on longer than should be right for a quick order of drinks. The man laughed, too, at one of her jokes, he assumed, and then Beck wondered with a shock if she were flirting with him. The dad-bod bartender? The one with the patchy beard? Looked like he couldn’t grow any in on the middle part of his chin. Was she serious? He was maybe a three, and she was most definitely a nine. Was she doing this to get his attention?

If so, goal achieved.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Why was she leaning so far over the bar? The bartender’s eyes drifted down to the V-neck of her sweater, which barely contained her. And he suddenly wanted to fly across the bar and remind the man about good old-fashioned manners. The jingly, upbeat Christmas music drifting out through the speakers suddenly grated, as his mood turned dark. This wasn’t the happiest season of all. He hated Christmas. It reminded him of the day he watched his dad being led out of their house in handcuffs. He hadn’t come from the kind of family who baked cookies and sang carols.

The whole season got him into a defensive mood, and it didn’t help watching the bartender fall all over himself to serve Allie right now. He had a goofy grin plastered on his face as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Well, of course. He’d just won the lottery with the sexiest woman in the bar whispering something directly into his ear. Whatever she said, she seemed to make his night. And then he realized with a shock that maybe she knew him. Was she dating this guy? Were they a…thing?

Then, in a flash, she was kissing the guy, on the mouth, in front of everyone in this damn bar. That answered his question then. What the holy hell? If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. What was Al doing sticking her tongue down that guy’s throat? Then he had to remind himself that he’d set her free for this very reason.He clutched his beer harder. Didn’t make the reality of her using that freedom any easier to take. Whoops and hollers of approval went up from the bar, as the nearest revelers seemed to enjoy the show. The attention didn’t bother Allie at all, which confounded Beck. How could this be? She hated the idea of people watching her. Then the bartender reached up and put his hands in her auburn hair,threatening to bring the whole messy bun down.

He couldn’t watch anymore. He turned away then, chugging a big swig of beer.

None of your fucking business, Beck.

He set her free, and it was for her own damn good. If this was how she used her freedom, then that was her choice. He’d had this stupid notion that he’d nobly let her go and she’d find the man of her dreams, a boring lawyer type who’d deliver all the things she wanted: an engagement ring, a white picket fence and kids—the life he’d sworn he’d never have. He wasn’t the kind of man to be domesticated. He had serious issues with his father, but the one thing he’d learned from the drug addict was that it was best not to put someone in a cage who didn’t want to be there. Otherwise, he’d hurt everyone around him trying to escape.

He took another drink of his beer. Then a cry went up from the bar—Allie’s cry. He whirled in time to see some other patron at the bar deciding to get in on the action. He had an arm around her and was dragging her to him against her will, asking for a kiss as well, though the look on Allie’s face told him she was in no mood to oblige him. The bartender was gesturing and yelling at the man, but whatever the threat from her new boyfriend, it wasn’t enough. Before he could stop himself, he’d stashed his beer on a ledge near Channing and was on the move, every muscle in his body telling him that he had to intervene. He felt a sense of possessiveness he had no business feeling rising up in him, a ridiculous primal instinct he knew was wrong but couldn’t fight. Nobody touched Allie without her permission. Ever. Period.

He made it to the bar just in time to see Allie give the patron a good stomp with her stiletto ankle boot on the inside of his foot, and he leaped back, cursing. Allie’s frown and the wagging finger in the man’s face told Beck she had the situation handled. But then, she always did. He felt a fierce swell of pride in his chest. That was his Al, all right. Lord help the man who underestimated her. God, he missed her. She swiped past him, glancing up for a split second, her green eyes ablaze. He watched her head to the ladies’ room, and without thinking, he followed her into the small corridor. He found her outside the locked door, leaning against the corner and fiddling with her heel. He watched as the heel fell off the sole of her shoe. She’d broken it against the man’s foot! He couldn’t help himself—a sly grin wiggled across his face.

“Well, that’s one way to make sure he understands the value of consent,” he managed, folding his forearms across his chest. “You okay?”

Her head snapped up then, her green eyes fixed on him, fury still flickering there. She’d stashed her librarian glasses somewhere, and now he could see her green eyes clearly, large and burning. The fire in them didn’t cool when she saw him, either.

“I’m fine,” she said as she tried unsuccessfully to reattach the heel. Whatever had held it there was useless now.

“I might have superglue in my truck,” he offered. The idea of her wobbling about on lopsided shoes for the evening wouldn’t do.

“I don’t need your help.” She ground out the words as she glared at him. There was a series of novels in that one little sentence, added meaning behind every word. Frustrated with her heel, she let out a sigh and stopped trying to affix it to her boot, as she sagged against the wall one legged, like a depressed flamingo. He almost laughed but thought better of it. Laughing would make her only more furious and he didn’t want to chance her breaking her good heel on his foot. She wobbled a little, biting her lip in frustration. She ducked down and tried to unzip the broken-heeled boot, but balancing on one stiletto in a small corridor with no good handholds made her less like a flamingo and more like an amateur athlete stuck on the end of a pole midvault.

“Al…” He leaned in now, close enough to get a whiff of her amazing perfume, the signature floral scent that always used to drive him mad. She smelled like the Rockies in springtime, all in bloom beneath the Colorado sunshine. “Please,” he said with deliberate deference. He reached out and touched her elbow. Instantly, her wobble steadied. “Let me help.”

She glanced up at him, an unanswered question in her emerald green eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to strong-arm her any more than he could tell daffodils where to grow.

“Please, Al.”

She softened a bit. Fairly confident she wouldn’t try to stick her good stiletto in his eye, he knelt before her and helped her unzip the broken boot, her delicate foot slipping out, revealing sheer lace socks. His eyebrows rose in appreciation. Only Al could make socks sexy. He saw the bright green polish on her toes and thought of her eyes. Still kneeling, he held her tiny foot on his knee, giving her a steady base, and tried not to think about the warmth of her toes against his jeans. He studied the shoe, and the heel that she wordlessly handed to him. He wasn’t sure if glue would work after all. Beck studied the slope of the boot’s sole, surprised to find it more like suede than leather, more pliable.

“Can I see the other one?” He reached for the good boot. She hesitated, but then let him, slipping her socked foot on the mat near the bathroom doors and raising her other foot. He slowly worked the zipper down the side, trying not to think about how he’d taken off her boots just this way…that night at the lodge. Boots…then jeans…then the delicate lace beneath. She stood very still, eyes watching his every move. He freed her from the second boot, and now she was standing in her lacy socks, her freshly painted green toes a beacon. He wanted to kiss them and stroke her calf all the way up to her knee. He watched as she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Floor cold?” he asked her, and she gave him a swift nod. He glanced around, seeing a stack of kitchen towels stashed in the shelves near the bathrooms. He grabbed a thick one and dropped it down near her feet. She tiptoed on the terry cloth delicately and stood there on the balls of her feet. He managed to divert his attention back to her boot in his hand. The good one. He’d put the broken one down on the floor. He straightened, as he studied the black suede boot, an idea coming to him. An idea she wouldn’t like, but that would help prevent her feet from freezing for the rest of the night.

He took the boot, which seemed so delicate and small in his hands, and quickly snapped the other heel off.

“What the hell!” cried Allie, her face beet red with anger. “Beck!”

“You can walk in these now and your feet won’t get cold,” he said, even as she gave his chest a shove. He tried to defend himself against her blows. “And calm down. I’ll buy you a new pair.”

She angrily swiped the boot out of his hand and jammed her foot in it. “I don’t need you to buy me anything.”

“I know,” he said. Allie could take care of herself, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to if she’d ever let him. Her head bounced up, a tendril of auburn hair falling across her forehead.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

“So you break my shoe?”

“I evened the pair,” he managed. Now her ire was fully focused on him, the jerk at the bar long forgotten. Suddenly, the heel fiasco was all his fault, instead of the handsy SOB who’d started all this—or the wimpy bartender who couldn’t defend her even in his own place. “I didn’t want your feet freezing, or for you to fall and break your knee hobbling around like a pirate.”

She stuffed her other foot in the other boot and zipped it. They both glanced down at the flattened boots and saw her toes pointing oddly in the air. The once sexy ankle boots looked a bit like something that one of Santa’s elves might wear. Now Beck really did want to laugh. Hard. But he had to swallow his chuckle as she glared at her feet, exasperated.

“I look ridiculous now.”

Beck said nothing. She did, kind of, look ridiculous in her elf shoes. Not that any of the guys at this bar, or any other bar, would care. No man would be looking at her feet. She could wear a pair of stuffed bear paw slippers and still get hit on by every straight guy in the place.

Allie frowned, more tendrils of loose hair falling forward in her face, her bun all but coming undone. He wanted to put his hands in her hair and finish the job. He longed to see her face framed by the silken auburn streaked with red, wanted to feel that silky hair once more on his bare chest. He mentally shook himself. More thoughts like these and he’d have a hard-on in the bar, right there. And he’d promised himself: hands off Allie. Period.

“I don’t think your new boyfriend will care about the shoes, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Beck offered.

“Boyfriend?” Confusion crossed Allie’s face.

“The bartender?” Beck reluctantly nodded toward the bar, still not quite believing that the solidly below-average man was Allie’s choice to replace him.

“Him?” Allie laughed, confusing Beck. “He’s not my boyfriend. Any more than you are.”

The sting of the comment was surprisingly sharp. Beck blinked fast. “Sure seemed like you guys were friendly.”

Allie’s gaze focused on him with the intensity of a lion looking for the weak member of a pack.

“Were you watching me?” she asked, a note of accusation in her voice.

“Of course I was.” If she were in the room, then that was where his attention would be. Plain and simple. That hadn’t changed, might never change. “So you’re not dating him?”

Allie laughed. “The bartender? No.”

Relief flooded Beck. “Good.” That bartender couldn’t handle a woman like Allie. She was way out of his league.

“I don’t even know his name,” she added.

This felt like a punch in the gut. “You kissed a guy and you didn’t even know his name?” Beck felt like an alien had come down and taken over his friend’s body. She was not the make-out-with-strangers-in-a-bar type. Allie picked her lingerie with care, and her men with more deliberation. It was one of the things that made Allie…Allie. They’d spent enough time at enough happy hours to know how the other operated, enough time together lamenting the Aspen dating scene to know what made the other tick. It had been why they’d been such great friends. Until the blizzard that had snowed them in on top of the mountain and everything changed.

“Why?”