The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) (12 page)

“Not going to indulge your biggest fan?” Bones asked.

“I’ve had a long day and I’m not in the mood.” Brittany pouted, turned on her high heels and escaped behind an old curtain separating the back of the bar from the front.

Curious about the source of her disappointment, Adam spun his stool halfway around.
The man who strutted in measured to Adam’s armpit in height. The lower buttons of his tucked-in, dress shirt strained to hold a belly shaped like a small pumpkin, at odds with the rest of his slight build. He’d borrowed his hairstyle from Patrick Swayze circa
Road House,
but with streaks of gray at the temples. His eyes were pale blue in his leathery face. A light-brown beard flecked with gray framed his thin lips. He wasn’t an unattractive guy, but not the most memorable—except he wore a long duster jacket in this insane heat and a large brown cowboy hat with some kind of feather sticking out of it. He also wore an attitude of righteousness like a badge of honor.

An Old West sheriff wannabe.
A cowboy without a cause.

“Is Brittany here?” he asked, his robust façade replaced by an eager puppy expression.

“Her shift doesn’t start for thirty minutes,” Bones replied in a weary tone.

The man frowned. “I saw her car parked in the back. I know she’s here.”

Uh, creeper,
Adam thought. The kind of guy who needed to know where people were
and what was happening at all times, because it made him feel important.
Hell, yeah. Pull up a stool, my friend. Let me buy you a drink
and listen to your stories.

“I’ve got her taking stock in the storage room,” Bones said. “She’ll be behind the bar a little later.”

“No problem.” The man nodded. “I’ll just play her favorite songs while I wait.”

Bones grabbed a remote and switched the output from background rock music to feature the jukebox. The first song blared “Separate Ways” by Journey. Then “Just What I Needed” by The Cars. Followed by a couple Motley Crew hits. This guy was crushing hard on Brittany, the sort of devotion that made him feel sorry for the guy aiming too far out of his league.

Then again, who was Adam to judge? Everybody had their talents—and he planned to work this man over until he’d uncovered all the information he needed. Starting with the auction, since Marissa hadn’t mentioned the topic any time during their ride down.

“I’d like to buy this man a round,” Adam announced to Bones, his voice loud enough for the gentleman cowboy to hear.

The man turned, eyed Adam suspiciously, then shrugged and strolled up to the bar. “I don’t do liquor anymore since the arrest. It’s near-beer for me, if I want to drive home. Gotta breathe into a tube to make my car start. Party plates on my truck and all, going on three years now.”

“That sucks.” Adam offered his sympathy. “I’ll switch to cola.” He needed to keep a clear head while fishing for info.

“O’Doul’s and a Coke. You guys are lousy for business,” Bones said in a joking tone, but Adam suspected plenty of truth underlying the words.

“Tate put safety over money,” the new guy said with his chin raised, as if he were the resident expert on the deceased.

Perfect.
“
Hey, man. I’m Adam.”

“People around here call me Red Eye.” They shook hands. “You new in town?”

“Visiting.
Paying my respects to Cousin Tate for my family back in Vegas.” Adam let the man take a pull off his fake beer before launching into his quest for knowledge about Marissa’s past, this place, Tate, and Butcher.

Turned out Red Eye didn’t need an invitation to talk. “Tate was like family to me.” He absently traced the feather on his hat. “To everyone in this town. You might be his official family, I can’t figure why none of y’all ever came out here before his death. But every man has pieces of his past he
won’t share.”

“Yeah, we regret not being closer with him before it was too late. You always think there’s going to be time, you know?”Adam said, blending a fraction of truth with his fiction.

Red Eye nodded. “Sure, sure.
Happens to the best of us.”

“Can you tell me more about him? About his life here, stories I can take home with me?”

When Red Eye smiled broadly, Adam noticed the unusual cut of his teeth. They were neatly spaced yet each descended at different lengths. The way water cuts through rock leaving uneven layers. “I was his first patron when he opened this bar. I don’t sleep much, is the thing, that’s how I earned my name. Tate often let me stick around after he locked the doors, and we talked until dawn as he closed up shop, preparing to do it all over again the next day. The man never missed work. Never went to the doctor, not even for a flu shot. He rarely caught a cold. He was a tank, just kept on rolling through thick and thin. So we were all shocked when the heart attack took him. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “One day here, next day gone. We never saw it coming.”

“Damn shame.” Adam bent the red straw over the rim of his glass, trapped it between the side of his glass and his forefinger. He took a swallow, ice clinking against his teeth. The fizz danced on his tongue. “He comes from a long line of hard workers.” Marissa must’ve learned her dedication from him. “His work ethic doesn’t surprise me.”

“You always knew he was one of the good guys.” Red Eye’s exhalation wafting over the lip of his green bottle, creating a hollow whistle. “Even when the gang activity started, he stayed neutral. Except for the one night—”

“We don’t talk about that, Red Eye,” Bones interrupted, his eyebrows dropping into a stern look. “Brittany’s right in back and I don’t want to her to overhear. She’s still not over it.”

“Right, right.” Red Eye swallowed hard. “It took Tate more than a year to bounce back from the brink of catastrophe. The damage to the bar was bad enough. But the scars…sometimes you could see the pain creep into his eyes before he covered it up.”

Damn it, Bones.
Adam wished the bartender hadn’t interrupted. Could the catastrophe have to do with the reason Marissa relocated and never returned?

“Finally the gang left town,” Red Eye said in low tones. “Took their blood money with them, along with their dangerous crew. Good riddance, but then the recession hit and times got lean for everyone in this town. Tate managed to keep the bar going, thank God. People need a spot to forget their troubles, and Tate gave us that. He had a joke to make you laugh. Or let you bum a smoke if you ran out. Or let you talk his ear off, and just listened. He was the life and soul of this bar—of this town, some might say. He’ll be missed.”

No wonder Marissa spoke of her grandfather so fondly. The man was all things to all people, a chameleon, an excellent trait for a bar owner. And for a friend. The dude seemed legit, but Adam needed more to form an opinion than others’ reflections. He wanted a gage of Tate’s actions, specifically surrounding “the incident.”

“Did this used to be a biker bar?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Red Eye waved as if Adam had stated a fact everybody knew. “Tate owned a motorcycle repair shop before he cashed in the business to start the bar. He brought his loyal clientele with him. Then the darkness started seeping in, taking over. A shifty guy here, a shady guy there, motorcycles spinning their wheels at all hours, till Ames Gray rallied enough devils to his cause to create the Gray Wolves Motorcycle Club.”

“I take it you’re being generous, calling them a
club.
”

Red Eye scoffed. “No doubt, no doubt. They were a gang. Wasn’t long after Gray took over when this town turned into a hotbed of vice. Strip joints, drugs, guns, violence. Tate kept it clean here, or tried to, but everyone knew who ruled these streets. And it wasn’t the good guys. Hell, rumor had it the police were in Gray’s deep pockets. Tate became the only guy with pull a man could trust around here.”

“What about the guys cruising around today?” Adam questioned, without stating Butcher’s name.
“What’s their story?”

Red Eye and Bones met each other’s gaze. They shared a frown. “I heard from my bar buddies at the Colony Inn the gang’s coming back.” Red Eye tapped his fingers nervously on the wood beside his beer. “They want a piece of this town again.”

“No one knows that,” Bones snapped, his eyes crackling with anger.

With a righteous air Red Eye puffed his chest. “Why else are they here just in time for the auction? It’s too convenient.”

“Hey, what’s the auction all about?” Adam pretended he hadn’t discussed it earlier with Bones. “Wouldn’t Tate leave his belongings to someone in his will, or something?”

Bones sent a sharp look at Red Eye that said
keep
silent.
“There was no will, because there’s no one to inherit Tate’s possessions, his house or the bar.”

“Wait, his house is up for auction, too?”

“Yep, yep,” Red Eye said, “and tomorrow is the estate sale. Everything goes, or so the lawyer said.”

“There’s a lawyer?” This was news to Adam, and he doubted Marissa had any clue either.
God love you, Red Eye, you’re the best informant I’ve ever met.

“Don’t go getting any ideas. Even if you are family, like you say.” Red Eye shook his head. “I met the lawyer, cornered him at the diner this morning. He says he’s from Phoenix, just in town through the weekend to handle the transactions. He said Tate didn’t leave anything to anyone, there wasn’t a will.” The man’s face drooped with a downcast expression. “I asked.”

“So, wait.” Adam couldn’t make this add up. “Tate has the foresight to hire a lawyer from Phoenix, no one in town, to handle his estate after his death, but he didn’t draw up a will?”

“When you say it like that,” Red Eye contemplated, “something does seem off.”

“Tate wasn’t big on planning,” Bones added. “But he wasn’t careless. It’s hard to believe with all the friends and personal things of importance he’s left behind, he didn’t want the people close to him to know his final wishes.”

“Who hired this lawyer?” Adam demanded, then caught himself and quickly dialed down his intensity. He needed to keep his concerns on Marissa’s behalf to himself. “I mean, did anyone check his credentials? How do we know he’s not working under the table for B—for the gang?”

Red Eye’s eyes widened. “Hell a’mighty, I’d never considered that angle.”

“Neither did I,” Bones said, looking pale under his caramel complexion.

“The Tate family breeds some smart stock.” Red Eye clapped Adam’s back. “Since you’re related, you have a better shot than anyone finding out who this lawyer is and if he’s the real deal.” He grumbled, “I wouldn’t put it past Gray’s henchman, Paul Butcher, to do something underhanded. As far as I’m concerned, Butcher’s every bit the demon Gray was.”

Though his chest had tightened learning about the random lawyer, Adam finally found his chance to bring Butcher into the discussion. Playing innocent, he asked, “Why is this Butcher guy in charge now?”

“Gray is in prison for another twenty years.” Red Eye nodded gravely. “Butcher was his second, so he’s become the leader.”

“Prison.” A block of ice dropped into Adam’s stomach and spread a chill through his veins like a bad omen. “For what?”

“Murder.”

Restlessness banged against Adam’s nerves like chains against stone, wearing him down as he zoomed through the streets toward Marissa. He took one curve too tight, had to touch his foot down to avoid dumping his bike, to get to her as fast as possible.

Leaving her alone at night with killers on the loose, possibly hunting for her, left him raw with repentance. Damn it, why hadn’t she told him any of this? Yeah, she’d hinted at her need for protection and secrecy, but if he’d understood why…

Hell, he didn’t know what he would’ve done different. Thanks to Red Eye, at least he knew the bigger picture. Devon’s idea that Marissa might’ve been in witness protection rang glaringly true. As for her returning to the place where it all went down, with her as witness to a murder, didn’t require one bodyguard. She should’ve come with an army. Though such a force would draw more unnecessary attention, he admitted, frustrated by her lies that could cost her at best her anonymity and at worst her life.

Men like Ames Gray and Butcher cared nothing about the law. If they discovered her here, they’d wield their own brand of justice. An eye for an eye.
Her life in exchange for sending Gray to prison for the rest of his.

No matter what, Adam needed to keep people’s attention focused on him, his fake family ties to Tate. If the townspeople or the gang caught any hint of Marissa’s true identity, she might face another move to a secret location somewhere in the U.S. And Adam would never see or hear from her again.

The thought hit him like a fist to the gut. Why the idea of losing her caused him so much disappointment and fear, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t lose her, that’s all he had figured out. He needed her in his life. He cared about her. Too much for his own good. What those feelings looked like in his future, he didn’t know. But he wanted the option, damn it. He wanted a
choice.

Yeah, he knew the truth. She was too good for his adrenaline-junky sorry ass. Parts of him likely reminded her of some of the dickheads she’d testified against.

But he’d changed since he’d met her, for the better. He was sure of it. He even felt different, more dedicated, more determined to make his mark on the world and his business. Through her tutoring, and just being near her, she gave him a future to look forward to, she gave him…hope.

A daring, dangerous glimmer of something worth having.
Worth fighting for.
Worth changing for. Something he’d never had before. He wasn’t ready to lose that—or her.

No clear answers came to him. Right now his sole focus centered on returning to the motel and seeing for himself she was safe.

A short distance from their motel door, he shut off the engine and coasted into a parking spot. He shoved down the kickstand and strode to the door. Not wanting to draw attention to them, he knocked quietly. “Marissa.”

No answer.

Shit.
Anxiety spiked his heart rate.

Unable to wait, he unlocked the doorknob then the deadbolt. The door opened a few inches until the chain stopped the momentum.
Thank
God.
No one had busted through the door. He stuck his big hand through the narrow gap and unhooked the chain.

Entering the room, he found her stretched on a diagonal across the bed, her ankles crossed, her laptop dark, her head tucked into the crook of her arm. The light steady sound of her breathing soothed him like aloe on a burn.
She’s okay.

Nerves still stretched thin, he paced the room for a few minutes, kind of hoping she’d wake up so he didn’t have to move her. Holding her in his arms in a bed would be all kinds of a bad idea. He wasn’t sure he had it in him pull back once their bodies touched and his lips found hers. He wanted her. Fiercely.

As he paced, his biker boots thumped the floor, the metal buckles and hardware clinking with each step. He crossed his arms and considered how much to tell her. The new information he’d learned tonight about the gang might help him better protect her, but what if she’d sworn some sort of oath to the witness protection people? What if, say, Adam confronted her about her true identity, was she legally bound to tell the authorities? Marissa might stretch the rules here and there, but she didn’t outright break them. It wasn’t in her nature.

If Adam confronted her about the truth, and she was forced to tell someone her identity had been compromised, then he was back to the awful thought of losing her. Not to mention, it sounded like she’d maintained the same persona since the day she left Rogerstown.

How could he take that away from her? She’d lost enough in the past ten years. God help him if his careless selfishness cost her this second identity, too.

Damn. No way around it. He glanced at her gracefully sleeping form. He needed to keep everything he’d found out about her past to himself. Possibly forever. One more secret, another lie, wedged between them. Hell, could they even have a relationship—if they ever ended up at that point down the road—based on made-up stories and half-truths?

In that moment his heart went out to her. Compassion gripped his chest. She probably couldn’t form normal attachments with anyone, for fear of losing her safety or leaving suddenly with no explanation. Great for his track record, but not the potential he saw ahead of him.

Whatever. You’re an idiot, Soren.
He scrubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his hands, annoyed with himself.

They didn’t have a relationship, and they probably never would. He was likely
spinning his wheels for nothing.

For some reason his dick didn’t get the message. His erection pressed urgently
against the front of his button fly, making his fully loaded sex drive and consuming desire for Marissa tough to ignore.

Deciding not to move her himself, he sat on the edge of the mattress, cursing himself for not requesting separate beds. Though that might’ve punched holes through their “couple” cover. He couldn’t win for losing.

“Marissa.” He nudged her shoulder gently. She didn’t budge. Dang, the girl slept like the dead. To be fair, she’d endured one hell of a day, physically and emotionally. “Marissa,” he whispered closer to her ear. “I need you to move over a little. At least give me part of the bed.”

Starling awake, she sat up and raked the hair back from her face. Tension tightened her limbs. “Adam?”

“Yep. Just me,” he said in a calm tone.

“Oh. Okay.”

Marissa glanced around, orienting herself to the space. She’d fallen into a deep dark sleep and woken unsure of herself or her surroundings. Her only true source of stability and comfort stood and hauled his shirt from his back over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Her mouth went dry.

Sure, she’d pictured what he looked like beneath his clothes. More times than she or her vibrator would confess. But the reality took her breath away. Thick ridges of muscle carved his back and shoulders. His huge biceps flexed with every subtle motion. She wanted to trace every raised ridge and shadowed valley of his bodybuilder physique. With her tongue.

Keeping his back to her, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. The denim fell in a thud to the floor. Then he slid under the covers. Facing away from her.

He seemed so far away. She scooted a little closer, enjoying the heat radiating off his large body. “Did everything go okay at Tate’s Bar?”

“Fine.” He yawned. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

That sounded vague. What wasn’t he telling her?

Then again, they had the morning to discuss the details. Right now she wanted something other than information. She wanted
him.

Seeking comfort and affection, she lifted the comforter and trailed her fingertips along his back. His entire body tensed, muscles leaping beneath her fingers.

“Sugar, don’t make this harder than it already is,” he said tightly.

“Isn’t that the point?” She infused sexy playfulness into her tone. “That’s supposed to happen when a woman touches you, right?”

“It happens without you touching me.” He huffed as if her touch was an annoyance. “Like I said the first night I took you out on my bike, you don’t want this. With me.”

“My body disagrees.” She spooned him, continuing to caress his back and shoulders. “So do I.”

Without warning he flipped onto his back, requiring her to scoot out of the way before he crushed her. Dim light from a motel lantern revealed the firm set of his jaw. “You don’t get it. I’m an egotistical, selfish asshole. I use women. There, it’s all out on the table. Now go to sleep.”

The length of his body formed a rigid plank beside her.
Please, don’t push me away.
A tangle of emotion knotted inside her. She wanted to get lost in touch, sensation, satisfaction. “Then use me, I don’t care. I just want to feel something besides hurt and loss, Adam.” Her voice quivered a little. “This is just for right now. I won’t hold you to anything, I promise. I know you don’t do relationships. I’m okay with that.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he snarled softly. “You deserve better. More. Way more than one night.”

“Then we’ll have sex tomorrow, too,” she said, though her smile faded when he didn’t move.

Minutes passed. His rejection burned like the hot tears lining her lashes.

Then he rolled onto his side facing her. “You sure this is what you want?”

With a vigorous nod, she gasped in pleasure as one of his huge hands skimmed down her body, from her shoulder, along the outer curve of her breast, molding to the indentation of her waist, until his fingers fanned across her abdomen and over her hip.

He yanked her against him, letting her know who was in charge from now on. The outline of his bold erection shot tingles of anticipation through her. He wedged one thigh between hers, spreading her for his exploration.

When she lifted her lips to his, he dropped his head to neck instead, sucking her skin lightly, then harder. His arousal burned through the fabric of her shorts like a brand of possession. His hand coasted over her curves, the rough calluses catching on the silk. Reaching underneath, his palms lightly abraded her skin, exfoliating her sorrow and uncertainty.

Rolling her hips, eager for his touch in her most private places, she stripped off her camisole top. He arced above her and settled his hips between her thighs. He smelled like hard caramel candy and thick arousal.

God she needed this, needed him to create this sensual escape with her.

Slowly he dragged himself down her body. She adored the way his muscles flexed and moved, the way he surrounded her. She welcomed the masculine weight of him, his big hands contouring to her body, the subtle nudge of his hips against hers, a preview of coming attractions. She smiled.

A hungry growl vibrated from his chest as his mouth caught one nipple, then the other. His mouth felt so hot as his tongue flicked and lips tugged at the hard beads. His hair drifted against her skin, soft whispers of contact that tickled and excited her.

He took his time—not what she’d expected.
Hard, fast, and satisfying yes, but not this slow, measured seduction.

The heavy bristle on his jaw chafed the undersides of her breasts, a delicious contrast to his soft lips. His mouth trailed heat down her stomach, across the small swell of her abdomen.

“You’re so soft.” His whisper raked over her. “So perfect.
So
small.
”

“Is that bad?”

“Perfect,” he repeated, nipping at her hip bones.

His tongue traced the inner creases of her thighs. She clenched her hands in the sheets. “Oh, God.
Oh, God.”

Pausing, he let his mouth hover above her feminine mound. “Sugar, I’m just getting started. Save your prayers for when you beg me to stop. And I don’t.”

Then his tongue followed the seam of her, tracing the delicate folds, avoiding the aching place desperate for his caress. “Adam. Please.”

A low, rumbling, devilish laugh drifted to her. “Careful what you wish for.”

At last his tongue slid against her fully. She nearly bucked off the bed, until he clamped his forearms across her hips, forcing her to stay still. “I didn’t say you could move. You’re mine now. And I’ll do what I want with you.”

As he dropped his head and savored her taste, his mouth performed magic. Had anything ever felt so good?

“Mmm.” She hummed her approval, hooking her knees over his broad shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t go anywhere any time soon. “So good.”

She lost track of time, space, distance, how many times he nearly made her come before drawing back.

The next time he stopped to kiss her inner thighs, she shrieked in frustration. “You’re the biggest tease.”

“A tease doesn’t give you what you want. I will,” he told her gruffly. “When I decide you deserve it.”

“What?”

“I’m not nearly done with you.” She felt him smile against her skin. “You’ll know when I am. Because you won’t be able to move.”

The artful, practiced flicks of his tongue resumed. He switched between long, devouring laps and touches so feather-light she nearly went insane with yearning.