The Dare Collection April 2020

It wasn’t a lie. I had wanted to go and do all that stuff and I still did. I also could use a break and some fresh air to calm myself down, get rid of the sex hormones clouding my brain with stupid things like jealousy and wanting to be special to him in some way.

Plus, maybe it would be good for us both to put on some clothes and be just friends again for a while.

He stood there watching me, rubbing at his chin with one hand, the other buried in his jeans pocket. He had some golden morning beard running along his jaw and it looked good on him, made him look even more like a Viking than normal—a disreputable one—and I wanted to touch it, to see if it felt as soft as it looked. I also wanted to touch him, to run my fingers over his golden skin, trace the muscles of his powerful chest and stomach…with my tongue…

No, bad Freya. I wanted to do some sightseeing and that was sightseeing of the city, not yet more of Everett’s glorious body.

I tore my gaze away from him and shovelled some more bacon into my mouth.

‘Sightseeing,’ he echoed, as if the word didn’t mean anything to him.

‘Yeah, you know. As in seeing the sights. Doing touristy stuff.’

There was a silence.

Then he came over to the table and pulled out one of the chairs where he’d been sitting before, sitting down fluidly in it, his long legs stretched out before him. His blue gaze swept speculatively over me.

I held up a hand. ‘Don’t do it.’

One fair brow arched. ‘Don’t do what?’

‘Do that Dom thing. Looking at me like you’re trying to read my mind.’

Instantly he frowned. ‘I wasn’t.’

‘Yes, you were. I don’t want to talk about anything, E. I said I wanted more and so that’s what we’re doing. But I’m in London and I don’t want to spend all of it in bed, okay? So stop analysing my every reaction.’

He said nothing, the look on his face unreadable. And for a second tension gathered in the air between us the way it had before, and I knew that all I’d need to do was throw out a challenge and we’d end up back in bed again.

But that wouldn’t get me seeing the sights of London and right now I needed out of this hotel room. So I didn’t throw out a challenge. I ate some of my pancakes instead.

Eventually, Everett let out a breath. ‘Okay, sightseeing it is. I’ve got a few things organised for you anyway.’

I felt the usual combination of irritation and pleasure that always went through me whenever Everett ‘organised a few things’. He was a thoughtful guy, and often did things to help me out. But it was always a double-edged sword. I liked that he thought of me, yet I preferred to handle things myself. Especially after Aunt Helen used to make such a big deal of it. ‘You’re a big, strong girl,’ she’d tell me whenever I asked her for something. ‘You should be able to handle it yourself.’

And so I had. And I continued to do so. And though I might have needed Everett’s help with the orgasm stuff, I could handle looking around London on my own.

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but you know you didn’t need to do that. I was planning on having a look around myself.’

A muscle flicked in his impressive jaw, a subtle tension gathering around him, and when he spoke his voice was gritty with irritation. ‘Can’t you let me do just one fucking thing for you?’

I blinked at him, surprise washing over me. He’d never got angry with me when I refused his help before. Never even got irritated. He would simply shrug one of those impressive shoulders and say stuff like ‘Well, the offer’s there’. He’d never seemed bothered one way or the other.

But he was definitely bothered now. Which in turn bothered me.

I put my fork down. ‘Hey, I didn’t ask you to organise anything. I was happy to look around on my own.’

‘Yeah, you’re always happy to look around on your own. You never want anyone to do a single fucking thing for you.’ He put his hands on the arms of the chair and shoved it back forcefully as he stood up. ‘Fine. We’ll do it your way.’

Then, before I had a chance to reply, he strode from the room.

I watched him go, open-mouthed, shocked. He’d never before let me know that my insistence on standing on my own two feet bothered him. Never.

But shit. What did he expect? I couldn’t go running to him every time I needed something. He was very generous, I knew that. And he always wanted to help.

So why don’t you let him?

I frowned, because I had no answer to that. I just didn’t let him. He’d offered me money and support and all kinds of things over the years and I’d never accepted any of it—well, definitely not the money anyway.

The business was mine to deal with and I wanted to deal with it my way. It was the only thing I had that was wholly mine, the one place in the world where I felt at home and I didn’t want to be reliant on anyone else.

Not the way I’d been reliant on my aunt and uncle after my mother had died. Coming into their house with nothing, knowing my aunt in particular didn’t want me there, even though Mom was her sister. Knowing that if Mom hadn’t been killed, they wouldn’t have had a grief-stricken eight-year-old to bring up, because my dad was long since out of the picture.

But… Everett didn’t know that, did he? I’d never talked in any great detail about growing up with my aunt and uncle, though he’d picked up on quite a bit.

Perhaps he should know why you’re being a jerk? Especially after what he told you just before.

Yeah, when I’d asked him about what he got out of ordering women around and taking charge. Because I’d been curious. It hadn’t surprised me when he’d talked about control, especially in relation to his dad. Though Everett was nothing like his dad and never would be. I hadn’t been surprised when he’d mentioned that having control was less about the power he had over other people and more about giving them what they really wanted. Of course he’d see it in terms of giving to people, about helping them, because that was what Everett had always been about.

And he’s always offering to help you and you keep refusing.

Yeah, but he’d never said it bothered him before, so where did he get off suddenly being all angry at me about it?

Annoyed with him and feeling guilty for being annoyed at him, the pancake I was chewing on suddenly didn’t taste very good.

Come on, he was trying to do something nice and you flung it back in his face.

That was true. And then I’d snapped at him when he’d been irritable about it. Perhaps I needed to go and explain my position to him, so he understood. Hell, maybe I could even let him do whatever things he had ‘organised’ for me. It wasn’t a big deal and it would make him happy, so why not?

Irritated with myself, I got up from the table and went to find him.

He was in the bedroom and he must have had a lightning-fast shower because he had a towel wrapped around him and his golden skin was glistening with moisture.

God, he was gorgeous.

I couldn’t help simply standing there to watch him as he leaned down to pick up some underwear that he had on the bed, the towel dropping from his hips to reveal his magnificent naked body.

Leaning against the doorway, I tried to moisten my suddenly dry mouth and find my voice. ‘Hey…uh… I didn’t mean to snap at you before. I’m sorry.’

He gave me one searing blue glance, then turned away, beginning to dress.

There was a thick silence.

Oh, yeah, I’d really offended him, hadn’t I? Shit.

‘I didn’t know it bothered you so much that I didn’t accept your help,’ I said quickly, hoping it didn’t sound defensive. ‘You should have told me.’

Stepping into his jeans, he tugged them on, doing up his zipper. ‘It’s not your problem.’

‘Well, you’ve kind of made it my problem now.’ I swallowed. ‘I don’t want to upset you, E.’

He turned to pick up the dark blue T-shirt that was lying on the bed. ‘I’m not upset.’

I snorted. ‘Now who’s talking bullshit?’

He went still, his back to me. Then he turned abruptly, and there was something fierce burning in his blue eyes. ‘I’ve got all this fucking money. And if I can’t help anyone with it, then what’s the fucking point of it? What’s the fucking point of any of it?’

Surprise rippled through me. I’d never thought that much about his money, about him as a billionaire. I mean, I knew he was loaded and I knew he worked hard for it. But I hadn’t thought about what he did with that money, other than donate to charitable foundations and stuff, plus helping out worthy causes in our small town.

I never thought he’d have definite feelings about that money either.

Are you sure this is just about the money?

Good question.

Frowning, I folded my arms. ‘What has helping me got to do with “all this fucking money”?’

He ignored that, staring at me, an expression I couldn’t interpret on his face. ‘Why won’t you let me help you?’

An uncomfortable feeling shifted inside my chest and I was conscious of the wood of the doorframe digging into my shoulder. I didn’t really want to talk about this, but it was probably something he should know, given how much it was pissing him off.

Sex is really dealing out massive truth bombs all over the place, huh?

Oh, that was crap. Telling him this had nothing to do with the sex. Nothing.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I think it’s got something to do with losing Mom. With having to go and live with Aunt Helen, and having to rely on them. And I was so different to them. Not just physically, but in other things as well. My cousins were into girly stuff and I was more interested in cars and fixing things.’ I folded my arms, not sure why I was finding this difficult to talk about. ‘I had to be given things. And my aunt always kind of made a big deal out of having to buy me clothes, and stuff I needed for school. Not in a bad way, just…in a way that made me not want to ask her for things.’ I bit my lip and looked away from him, the way he was looking at me making me feel weirdly exposed. ‘I didn’t like mentioning when I grew out of my clothes because she always made some comment about how big I was getting and how tall, and how expensive it was to have to get me new clothes all the time.’

‘So that’s why you kept wearing those sneakers that were way too small for you and jeans that were always too short?’

Oh, God. He’d seen that? How embarrassing.

I glanced away again. ‘I didn’t want to tell her.’

‘Because you wanted her to notice, right?’

I could feel my face getting hot. ‘No, of course not.’

‘And the more she didn’t notice, the more you wore clothes that were too small, shoving it in her face.’

He’s right. You were punishing her for that.

I kept my gaze on the windows behind him. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because I noticed,’ he said. ‘I noticed everything about you, Freya.’

My cheeks burned and I kept staring at the city glittering in the sunlight beyond the glass. I didn’t know why I felt so weird about the fact that he’d noticed my stubborn rebellions. Perhaps because it had felt petty. Aunt Helen hadn’t had to take me in after Mom’s death, yet she had, saving me from going into the foster system.

But still. I’d got a certain satisfaction out of seeing her eventually take notice of the fact that my T-shirts were way too tight and my jeans too short. That I winced when I walked because my feet hurt. She’d huff, irritated, and then make noise about having to buy me more and what a shame it was that I couldn’t get hand-me-downs from her girls because I was too big.

‘Yeah, well,’ I said, deciding this conversation needed to get back on track. ‘Me not wanting to accept help wasn’t to do with you, okay? It was my deal. Plus…the garage is mine. It’s kind of the only thing that really is and I didn’t want anyone coming in and taking over.’

‘I wasn’t taking over. I was only offering you some financial help.’

‘Sure.’ I glanced at him again. ‘But you’re a take-charge kind of guy, E. So forgive me if I was trying to protect myself from that.’

‘You don’t want to be protected from it,’ he shot back, staring hard at me. ‘You like it. And you’re strong enough to push back if it’s a problem for you.’

He’s not wrong.

No, he wasn’t. Damn him. I really liked it in the bedroom after all.

Shifting restlessly yet again, I couldn’t work out why this conversation felt so difficult when it was supposed to be about him, not me. Which, on reflection, was probably why this conversation was difficult. ‘Look, I just wanted to explain why I didn’t want you to organise sightseeing stuff for me. And to say sorry. And also that if you had organised a few touristy things for me—’ I steeled myself and met his relentless blue stare ‘—then I’d like to take you up on them.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Everett

I STARED AT FREYA, my T-shirt still gripped in one hand, forgotten about.

Hell, was this her actually accepting something I’d done for her for a change? She’d accepted my help the night before about the orgasm stuff, but then she was the one who’d come to me.

This was different. This was about me offering, wanting to do something for her, and her refusing, the way she always did.

It shouldn’t have affected me the way it had out there in the living area. Sure, I found it frustrating normally, but she was right. I’d never told her how much it bothered me. Mainly because I didn’t want it to bother me.

Yet it had really fucking bothered me just before and, for some reason, my patience with it had just snapped.

Nothing at all to do with the fact that you crossed the line and started screwing her.

I shoved that thought away. Sex had nothing to do with this. It wasn’t supposed to have any impact on our friendship and I wouldn’t let it.

You need to stay in control, man.

That was true. Yet I hadn’t. I’d let myself get pissed off, then I’d snapped at her and stalked off. I hadn’t expected her to follow. And I hadn’t expected her to explain or apologise. And now here she was, doing both.

She leaned against the doorframe, looking sexy in the white towelling robe, her hair flowing, long and thick and tousled, over her shoulders. Her arms were folded and she was giving me a defiant look, as if daring me to argue with her.

As if I would.

I’d been offering her things for years and she’d never accepted any of it, and now I finally got why. And I understood. I’d seen her stumbling around in too small shoes and too small clothes and wondered why she’d never just asked her aunt to get her new ones. She’d never really explained why not and because we’d both been young I hadn’t pushed for more of an explanation. And afterwards I’d kind of accepted that it was just part of Freya being stubborn.

But it wasn’t. It was Freya wanting to be noticed. Freya wanting to be cared about.

Unwanted emotion sat on my chest like a stone, sympathy for her and yet more anger at her goddamn family who had been so reluctant to take her in after her mom had been killed, and who’d never made any attempt to hide how much of an imposition it had been for them.

I couldn’t do anything about that, couldn’t change the way her aunt especially had treated her. But I could make her feel noticed. I could make her feel beautiful and special, and all the things she truly was.

I could make her feel cared about. And perhaps this time she’d let me.

‘Good,’ I said gruffly. ‘I appreciate it.’

Her expression softened. ‘I know you do.’

I wanted to pull her into my arms in that moment, kiss her, take her over to the bed and make slow, sweet love to her, show her how appreciative I truly was. But slow, sweet love wasn’t our dynamic, and it sure as hell wasn’t mine. And, besides, it would have been changing something that was already working well, and since everything already felt like it was in a state of flux I ignored the urge.

Instead I said, ‘You’d better get some clothes on. Can’t have you running around London bare-assed.’

She grinned. ‘You’d kind of like that though, wouldn’t you?’

I gave her a measuring look. ‘Keep pushing and you might just find yourself on the receiving end of a few punishments. Such as taking a naked stroll, sure.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

This time it was my turn to grin. ‘The question isn’t whether I would or wouldn’t. The question is whether you’d obey me or not.’

She flushed, which was interesting, then pushed herself away from the doorframe. ‘I’m going to…uh…go get dressed.’

I let her go, finishing getting ready myself then going back out into the living area to complete a few tasks. Ulysses had left me a couple of texts and more than a few voicemail messages, asking me where I was because we needed to meet to go over the funds we’d raised at our event the night before, and also where the fuck was Damian, because he wasn’t answering his texts.

I did care about the fundraiser, but it didn’t require ten texts and five missed phone calls about having a goddamn meeting right the hell now. I cared even less about whether Damian was answering his texts—given his preferences, he was probably still asleep in some woman’s bed. And I cared even less than that about Ulysses being pedantic about all this shit.

What I cared about was that finally Freya was letting me do something for her and I was going to take that opportunity with both hands.

So I ignored Ulysses, made a few other phone calls, arranged a few things, then I turned my phone off.

And waited for her.

The things I’d arranged were a private tour of the Tower of London so we didn’t have to wrestle with the crowds, including a look at the Crown Jewels and a visit with the Ravenmaster who looked after the ravens. And after that I took her for a special lunch at a historic London pub, where she had a pint and a ploughman’s lunch and then made me laugh at the face she pulled at the packet of pork scratchings I’d also bought for her to try.

Afterwards, I took her up in one of the Black and White helicopters—I’d flown in the army and I liked to keep my hand in—and we took a sightseeing trip over London by air. She loved that, I could tell, though I thought she was at least as interested in the helicopter as she was in the city below us, which made sense: Freya loved machines.

Back on the ground, we went back to the hotel and got rid of some of the steam we’d built up over the course of the day by indulging ourselves for a couple of hours in the suite. Naked.

Then I took her out for dinner on the Thames, on one of the company’s luxury yachts, motoring slowly under a beautifully lit up Tower Bridge.

She stood on the deck, leaning against the rail, and I watched her tip her head back to look at the bridge as we went under it, the lights shining on her face. She was grinning, her eyes alight, and the tight feeling I’d experienced back in the suite that day returned.

It felt good to make her smile like that. To make her happy. Because if there was one thing Freya deserved it was to be happy.

‘This is great, E,’ she said as the lights slid over her skin. ‘Thank you.’

Simple words and yet I knew she meant them. And that meant something to me too.

I didn’t speak. I just reached out and took hold of her hand, lacing her fingers with mine, and for a moment I felt like I had the night before, when I’d pushed myself inside her. As if the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle had been found and locked in, revealing the entire picture. A picture I’d never seen the whole of before.

Why are you thinking about goddamn jigsaw puzzles? And, more to the point, why are you holding her hand?

Shit.

I glanced at her to see if she’d noticed, but she was still looking at the bridge. Yet her fingers were tight around mine as if holding hands was something we did every day.

It wasn’t, of course. Because holding hands wasn’t something friends did.

But I didn’t pull my hand away and neither did she.

After the boat trip, we went back to the hotel and I had her on her knees in the elevator as we went up to our suite, ordering her to get me off by the time the doors opened or else there’d be trouble.

Little witch was damn near successful too, but I’d had years of controlling my physical responses and I managed to hold off until we got back to our suite. Which naturally meant I could dole out a few punishments, which she loved.

We didn’t get to sleep until exceptionally late and that involved another sleep-in the next morning. I’d arranged a few more trips that day too, another helicopter ride, this time to Windsor Castle, and then a private tour around a wizard theme park based on one of her favourite books as a kid. She squealed a lot about that and even let me buy her a few souvenirs.

But I’d saved the best—or at least what I considered the best—till last. I knew she didn’t like shopping and wasn’t much into clothes, and part of that was because she just wasn’t interested. But I wanted to show her how beautiful she was. That I noticed her. And so I’d booked a private couple of hours in one of London’s most exclusive sex stores. It wasn’t sleazy, catering only to ultra-high net worth clientele, and you couldn’t just walk in off the street. You had to make an appointment.

It was tucked away in a historic building in an alley near Oxford Street, and Freya was still talking about the wand I’d bought her as the limo stopped outside it and I got out, holding the door open for her.

‘Where to now, Jeeves?’ she asked in a terrible faux English accent, looking around at the old buildings surrounding us.

I took her hand and pulled her to the entrance of the store and pushed the buzzer. The door opened and a small, delicate Bambi of a woman pulled it open, smiling at us both. ‘Mr Calhoun, Ms Johnson, please come in.’

Freya was frowning now as I pulled her through the door and into the plush interior of the store.

The floor was dark, ancient-looking wood polished to a high sheen and covered with silk rugs. The walls were painted dark blue with lots of medieval-looking paintings in heavy gold frames. Thin stainless steel rails held hangers on which were positioned bits of silk and lace in every kind of colour there was, as well as long negligees and nightgowns. All very pretty and all very vanilla. As long as you didn’t see that the rails also contained all sorts of very expensive and exquisitely made fetish-wear too.

Freya looked around, her eyes getting rounder and rounder as she took in the glass cases on the walls with all the jewellery in them—jewellery you wouldn’t find in a normal jewellery store, that was. Rings and chains and studs for all kinds of piercings, plus clamps and plugs in various different metals, studded with gems or plain. There was a variety of vibrators and dildos and lots of other fancy sex toys too.

I tended to go for plain and functional when it came to toys, though I did prefer the materials to be of the highest quality.

‘What the hell is this?’ Freya hissed in my ear as the shop assistant made herself scarce, as per my instructions.

Once she’d vanished out the back, I turned to Freya and said, ‘I wanted to buy you something.’

‘Buy me what?’ Her face had gone very pink. ‘Because if you’re thinking that rubber mask thing over there then—’

‘I want to buy you something pretty and frilly and sexy,’ I said very deliberately. ‘Something feminine. Something that’s just for you. I’d also like you to choose something that we can both find pleasurable.’

She blinked, glancing at the rails of pretty lingerie and then the cases full of jewellery. At the crops and whips displayed on the wall, and the leather restraints displayed nearby. ‘Um…’

I watched her face, saw the doubt and anxiety flicker across her familiar features. ‘I don’t go for hardcore stuff,’ I said, addressing the anxiety at least. ‘So don’t worry about that. This needs to be something you’d like too.’