Double Dare You

Channing pulled Beck through the crowd, and he went, casting one more look over his shoulder. Concern once more on his face. Don’t fall for it, she told herself. He’s not really worried. It’s all just part of the game.

“Good riddance,” Mira almost spit, glaring at his retreating figure.

“What does ‘Greenie’ mean?” Allie asked Mira, who glanced at her, suddenly looking guilty.

“Nothing,” Mira said, but she bit her lip, a telltale sign she was lying. Allie had known Mira for years, and she was one of the first people she’d met in Aspen.

“You know what it means.”

Mira hesitated. “Well…”

“Spit it out.” Now Allie was beginning to be frustrated. It had to be bad, because Mira was stalling. The strand of hair popped loose from Allie’s ear, and she twirled it around her finger. Suddenly, she felt anxious.

“Well…look, I saw somebody’s Snap about you. It was one of Beck’s…friends.” She said it with disdain, so Allie knew she meant one of the many women rotating through his bedroom. “I guess…well, I guess someone—I don’t even know who, actually—gave you a nickname.” Mira took a deep breath. “Greenie, as in a green run.”

“What does a bunny hill have to do with me? I’m a decent skier.” She wasn’t an Olympic champion, but she was a black-diamond skier. She’d been skiing for years and thought she was pretty good.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with skiing,” Mira said. “They mean that you play it safe.”

She was an accountant born in a family of non-risk-taking accountants. Of course she played it safe. The only risky thing her parents ever did was occasionally go about two miles over the speed limit. Her parents had raised her to be afraid of almost everything: strangers, trampolines, drugs, driving too fast in the rain, and the list went on and on.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Allie challenged.

“Well, nothing—except when you’re in bed.”

“Wait… You mean…”

Mira gave her a knowing look and the full realization hit Allie. Beck thought she was boring in life and in bed. Plain Jane. Greenie? The unfairness of it felt like a slap. She was not boring in bed, at least she didn’t think she was with Beck. In that damn lodge, she’d done things with him that she’d never done with anyone else. But maybe Beck’s pulse had barely ticked up a notch. Oh, God. Maybe that was why she’d never heard from him again. Maybe…she’d bored him so much he ran away.

She felt a deep, stinging embarrassment, and heat rushed through her from her nose to the roots of her hair. Had he measured her against the dozens and dozens of other women he’d taken to his bed and found her wanting? Had the best sex in her life…turned out to be the worst for him? She felt a hard, slick pit at the bottom of her stomach, an oily nauseating mess. She suddenly badly wanted the floor of the bar to open up and swallow her whole.

“But you’re not. You know that, right? You are not boring.” Mira was babbling now, trying to comfort Allie in a rush. “You’re badass awesome, and if he can’t see that, then screw him. Who cares what he thinks or anybody else thinks? I know you’re amazing and fun, and if he doesn’t, that’s his loss. You are one of the most exciting and dynamic people I know. If he can’t see that, then he’s blind.”

“I can’t believe he thinks I’m boring.” She felt…crushed. Completely and utterly crushed. She wanted to run home—immediately. Or she needed to drink. Literally everything in this bar. She grabbed her cocktail and took a huge gulp.

“On the bright side, do you know how many women in Aspen would kill to get a nickname from Liam Beck? Even a bad one?” Mira was just grasping at desperate jokes, trying to make her feel better, but Allie felt like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. At the very least, she’d thought Beck had been…her friend. Friends didn’t treat friends like this. It felt like one more betrayal. “Oh, geez. I’m making this worse.” Mira shook her head. “Look, do not let him into your head like this. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. Who cares what he or any of his loser groupies say?”

Allie did. She wished she didn’t, but she did. It was that simple. The worst part was that, deep down, she didn’t believe it was true. She’d seen Beck’s face when he’d come; she’d looked right into the man’s eyes. He didn’t look bored. He looked…electric, enthralled, completely and utterly focused on her. And would a bored man have gone back for seconds…thirds…and fourths? It seemed like his frantic want had matched hers, that he’d needed it as much as she had.

But maybe she’d read him all wrong.

After all, he hadn’t called her. On the contrary, he’d deliberately avoided her. And now…that damn nickname. Greenie. She wasn’t timid or boring or any of those things. She might be an accountant raised by helicopter parents, but she wasn’t a mouse. She glanced over at Beck and saw him throw back his head and laugh, his teeth almost too white against his tanned face. Maybe he and Channing were laughing at her right now.

“I think I should go.” Allie didn’t want to run scared, but she also didn’t want to be in a room anymore with Liam Beck.

“Stop that right now,” Mira commanded and snapped her fingers near Allie’s face. Once more, her attention was on her best friend. “Don’t let him ruin your night. You hear me?”

“He can’t ruin my night,” Allie said. “Not if I don’t let him.”

“That’s my girl,” Mira said, her dark eyes fierce. She glanced over at the bartender, and her face lit up. “Why not get your mind off Liam Beck. I know!”

“What?”

“Go kiss that bartender.” Mira nodded over at the floppy-haired server who had a silver martini shaker high above his head. He was no Beck, but he was cute. Kind of. In a slightly-out-of-shape, cuddly way. But, on the bright side, he probably wasn’t the type to go free-climbing up one of the highest peaks in the Rockies, without even the thought of a harness. The bartender was one hundred percent nonthreatening. Not like Beck, whose flick of a single eyebrow offered a whole menu of dangerous options. The bartender did have kind eyes, and Allie liked the flannel shirt he wore. He seemed nice. Maybe after Beck, nice was what she needed. Though, her body rebelled at the thought. Her body didn’t want nice.

“I couldn’t,” she said, laughing self-consciously.

“Why not? I bet he won’t think you’re boring. Because you’re not. You will knock his socks off.”

“No, I won’t!” Allie laughed.

“I dare you.” Mira’s red lips slipped into a devious grin. “I double dare you.”

“Mira. Come on. We’re not in third grade.” She didn’t need to prove anything. She knew who she was. But she also knew that the one weekend she’d spent with Beck had kept her head spinning for two months straight. Nothing quite seemed normal.

“No, and hold that thought—my boss wants something.” Mira nodded over to a dark-haired man in his forties who was signaling her. “Probably wants to make sure we have extra bottles of his favorite champagne. I’ll be right back. Meantime… Get on that bartender, would you?”

Allie was tempted. She glanced over at Channing, who was practically rubbing herself on Beck like a cat.

Why the hell not? How did she even know if she didn’t like “nice” until she tried it? Maybe the cure for Beck was to hop into bed with his exact opposite. And she was no coward. She wasn’t going to let Beck run her out of the bar. That would mean he won.

“Well, then.” Allie took a deep breath and slipped off her new glasses, putting them in her pocket. “Looks like I’m going to do this.”

“Atta girl,” Mira called over her shoulder.

CHAPTER TWO

BECK SAW ALLIE move from the corner of his eye. He was only half listening to Channing. She loved talking about herself, and while she found the subject endlessly fascinating, Beck most certainly did not. He wanted to head right back to Allie. She looked tired. Worn down. Had he done this? Guilt pricked the back of his neck, feeling like the scratchy edge of a clothing tag he’d forgotten to cut out. If he didn’t know better, Allie looked heartsick and he hated himself. He knew she couldn’t handle casual, but he’d gone in anyway. It was just that…he couldn’t resist her. That was the problem.

If he were truly honest with himself, those two days with Allie in that snowbound lodge had blown his mind. He couldn’t even say that if he had to do it all over again, that he’d do anything differently. Afterward, he’d spent weeks dreaming about her petal-soft skin, and the fact that he’d never in his whole life had a woman so attuned to him, so willing, so completely focused on the moment. Plus, he practically sneezed and she came. Once, twice…and again, and again and again. And none of them faked. That was the amazing part. They were one hundred percent real, just like Allie herself. Most of the women he took to his bed seemed to be only there to star in their own personal porn, acutely aware of which angle looked best for them, as if performing the whole thing for some imaginary audience, but Allie wasn’t like that. Allie was carefree, completely authentic. Because of that, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met.

But he’d crossed a line he’d promised he’d never cross with her. She’d been one of the few women he’d managed to be friends with and he’d gone and let a little wine and a blizzard get in the way of his good judgment. All he’d been trying to do was minimize the damage afterward. He thought if he made himself scarce it would somehow be easier. Sure, for him, but also for her. She could recover and they could both pretend those two days never happened. Maybe, even, after a little time, they could be friends again. Because what was he going to do? Settle down? Ask her to marry him? Have two kids?

Marriage, kids, a picket fence—those were never going to be in his future. He had too much Beck blood in him. Becks didn’t do families. Or when they did, they did them all wrong.

He’d disappeared for her own good, but it looked like she’d done a lousy job of recovering. And it was all his fault. It didn’t look like she was thriving. Sure, she was as gorgeous as ever, especially with the new hair—yellow and red like a single flame—and those sexy AF librarian glasses. God, they made her look razor sharp and…so delectable. But the faint circles under her eyes told him she wasn’t sleeping, and her too-slim hips told him she wasn’t eating enough. Beck knew that when she was stressed, she didn’t eat. Like during her busy time at work last year when he’d have to practically force-feed her dinner, because she fretted so much about her deadlines that she forgot she needed food to fuel her. Who was making sure she ate now? Her cheekbones were sharper, her waist thinner than usual. She needed to eat, that much he knew. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and take her to the nearest burger joint and watch her gobble down a large order of fries. The instinct to take care of her burned in him.

That was why they’d made such good friends. He wanted to take care of her. But now they’d slipped into bed together and everything had changed. He’d known it would, but he’d crossed the line anyway. He was a fool.

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.