The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) (5 page)

“Where did you go?”

“Iowa State.”

“So you grew up in Iowa?”

She didn’t respond directly. “I left everything I’d ever known.”

God, this was the closest to the truth she’d ever revealed, and she closed her eyes.
Please don’t let it come back to haunt me.

“Ain’t easy, starting over.” He lowered his head in reverence. “And then they’re gone, and all that goes through your head is everything you never told them.”

Her chin trembled. “Yes.”

As he closed his arms around her again, nudging the top of her head with his jaw, his leather jacket cold against her hot cheeks. “I get it,” he murmured.

She clung to him like a coma patient clinging to life support, hoping beyond prayer to recover and have a full life once again. “I guess I don’t know what to do, how to feel, without him.”

Palm cradling her scalp, Adam soothed her with his large hand and surprisingly gentle touch. “It doesn’t get better. But it gets easier. I promise.”

She drew in a shivering breath. “I hope so.”

Stepping back, he glided his fingers from her hair to her chin. He lifted her face and brushed a tear from the corner of his eye with his thumb. The sweetly pained look on his face tugged at her heart. He hid a depth of concern behind his gruff exterior that she hadn’t expected.

Regret stole into his eyes before he turned away. “Let’s get you home.”

Unable to express herself with words, the very thing she was teaching him how to do, she nodded in gratitude for his patient understanding.

When he straddled his motorcycle, he turned the key and revved the engine. The sound echoed off the mountains and cliffs surrounding them. She twined her arms around his waist, resting her head between his wide shoulder blades. Though the thick layer of leather muted her hearing, she took comfort in the steady cadence of his heartbeat.

They returned and he pulled up to her house. To her surprise he shut off the motor, helped her off the bike and walked her to her door. There he shifted from boot to boot, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. He raked a hand through his shoulder-length hair, the waves barely tousled despite the windy ride. “You want me to come in or something?”

I want you to come in
and
something.
Preferably on her bed, with her lying under him, wrapped in his huge tattooed arms.

But that couldn’t happen, and not only because they were student and teacher. Adam was the opposite of the type of man she sought. He represented everything she’d gladly left behind in her old life. He lived on the edge, went at things full-throttle, the more daring and dangerous the better. And she needed someone steady, reliable, thoughtful, comfortable with a quiet life and status quo, desires that had perpetually eluded her. Always looking over her shoulder, carrying a constant concern of potential harm and the threat of picking up everything to move and protect her cover, offered enough intensity. She didn’t need or want any more “excitement” in her world. Even if it came in a sexy, ripped package like Adam.

“No, I’m okay. Thanks again for the ride.”

He slid a lock of her hair through his index and middle finger. “Next time, you’re wearing a helmet.”

Lowering her lashes, she shook her head. “There won’t be a next time, Adam.”

He shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Kinda what I figured.”

“It’s not about you,” she rushed to add.

“I know.” He shrugged. “I’m not totally narcissistic, only mostly.”

She grinned. “Since tonight was a wash, why don’t you come over tomorrow so we can make up the tutoring session? I’ll clear my schedule to fit you in.”

He snapped his head up. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. You’ve pre-paid for the week and tonight’s detour was my fault. I want to make it up to you.”

His glance fell to her lips. “I have a different idea, but you won’t want to hear it.”

A tug of longing gripped her insides. “Good night, Adam.”

“Later.”

As he turned, he removed his hands from his pockets, giving her a delicious view of his tight backside. She couldn’t quite assess Adam’s age – maybe thirty-three or thirty-four? – but he had the ass of a twenty-five-year-old bodybuilder. All over yummy to look at, dangerous to touch.

Especially for her. She guarded herself against even a hint of anything reckless. She hadn’t maintained her cover all this time by engaging in thoughtless, impulsive acts. No matter how tempting. She’d already revealed too much to him tonight.

A mistake she couldn’t afford to make again.

As she entered her house and turned off the porch light, she found herself staring at her coffee table, at the paper folded to her grandfather’s obituary. Fresh grief gripped her chest. She sank onto the couch and held the newsprint against her heart, wishing she could hug Grandpa one last time.

A shock of concern snapped her spine straight. Troubled thoughts tumbled through her mind.

What about all his belongings? The obituary said his home would be sold later this week at a Sheriff’s Auction.  Would the purchaser toss out her grandfather’s belongings like trash? An entire life – pictures, mementos, photo albums, memories – left at the curbside, destined for a garbage dump?

And what about the bar? Would the long-time manager, Bones, have the cash to finance the purchase? Or would it fall into the hands of some stranger, or worse, a biker gang like the one she’d given up her freedom to testify against?

Bleakness filled her with despair.

How could she let that happen? Let all reminders of her childhood, her life with Grandpa and their family history, end up alongside rotting waste in the Arizona desert?

Damn it. She wiped her eyes. She couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

Regardless of the danger, she needed to salvage her grandfather’s belongings before proof of his life – and her former existence – disappeared, and she lost all ties to her ancestry.

She had to find a way to return without being recognized, and without rousing the marshal’s suspicions. Two days, including travel time over the weekend, would be enough time to claim the physical remains of the loving man who’d been reduced to a apparition.

She’d become a pro at
presenting herself as a ghost anyway. She’d spent ten years drifting like a phantom. For the first time in years, electrical-intense purpose shot through her veins.

A sense of purpose lifted her from sadness to determination.

Some risks were worth taking.

Saving her heritage was one of them.

No matter what the cost.

Since Marissa had her days free for the summer months, and Adam had a morning meeting with company higher-ups—he still had a hard time admitting he belonged in that crowd—he scheduled their makeup tutoring session for the following afternoon.

At 3:00 pm he rolled into her driveway. He resented the stupid flips his stomach did whenever he came to Marissa’s house. The sensation happened every time, since the second night he arrived on her doorstep to uphold his end of Slone’s dare. Wasn’t about the writing drills she put him through, or the endless pages of wide-spaced lines where he repeated spellings of words third graders managed better than him. It was her.

The way his body reacted in her presence irritated him to distraction. Like he had no freaking control. Bumps raised on the skin of his arms beneath his ink. The back of his neck grew hot. His palms went damp. His dick hardened to the point of pain.

Useless responses. They made no sense. This shit had never happened to him around a woman before. Why did it have to start now? With a woman he swore wasn’t his type?

Last night he’d gotten rough in the bedroom with Tess, though he’d heard no complaints. He’d fucked her hard until his brain went numb and his body finally calmed the hell down.

Then the stupidest thing happened.

As they lay in bed together, he put his arms around her. He almost cuddled. Fucking cuddled? What the hell? Worse, he’d pictured holding Marissa.

In the next second he’d kicked Tess out of his place so fast, he’d slammed the door in her gaping face. Douche bag move. He’d sent Tess a text apologizing.

But this wasn’t cool.

No one got to him like Marissa. He hated it. The whole thing sucked. And there didn’t seem a damn thing he could do about it.

Because here he was walking up to her front door, more than ready to endure the torture again—just for the chance to be near her.
So messed up.

Balling his hands into fists, he wanted to punch something. Instead he cracked every knuckle in his fingers, rang the doorbell and waited for the object of his newfound obsession to answer.

And invite him in with a sweet smile that put heat in his cheeks.

And sit too close to him looking way to adorable in her little skirts and v-neck tops.

My God,
he thought, shaking his head, mourning his old unaffected self.
I need Tess on speed dial or I’ll
jack
up a good thing up with Marissa and be royally screwed.
Not in a good way. He refused to lose this dare to Slone. He planted the thought firm in his mind and slammed a wall of indifference up to guard his chest.

Then Marissa opened her door wearing that smile, one of those cute skirts, and his good intentions were shot to hell. “You look…better,” he managed, instead of admitting she looked
I-want-to-bend-you-over
fuckably hot.

Sweeping her arm in an arc, she invited him inside. Her home gave off a welcoming, comfortable vibe. Not too girlie, but not super modern like Cade’s place. Walking into her house felt like stepping into autumn, neutral brown and cream walls, soft light-colored carpet that tracked his footprints, a solid maroon couch a guy could kick back and relax into, including a matching recliner, with bright gold pillows. Cozy. He liked being in her house. He liked being with her.

“I do feel better.” She nodded.
“Thank you.”

His mind dove straight into the gutter.
You’d feel a lot better naked and under me.
Nope, not happening.
Focus,
moron.

“I was thinking, three days a week may be too much tutoring,” she said, walking toward her office area on the right, set up like an elementary school classroom. “Do you want to cut back to two days?”

No, I want you twenty-four-seven. In my bed.
H
e’d resigned himself to three days a week, for the chance to be in her company.
Pathetic. But he’d settle for nothing less. “Am I too much for you?” he asked, tossing out a careless smile he barely pulled off.

“No,” she said, her laugh reminding him of church bells, of salvation. “If you continue coming three days a week, you’ll progress further. I just don’t want to overload you.”

Yeah, he’d keep
coming
three days a week—but not with her. And he wasn’t progressing in that department. He was regressing into a constant state of lust he never seemed to fulfill. No matter how often or hard he and Tess went at it.

“It’s not overload,” he said honestly. “I’ve seen results. And I like it. I want to keep getting better.”

Already he’d experienced a huge, positive impact from her tutoring. Trey and Liam gave him props from the start, but the shocker came the other day when Mr. Smooth Talker himself, Cade, commented on how much better he responded to emails. He was learning, growing, changing. Becoming a better boss to his bodyguards and a better coworker for his team. He didn’t want that to stop.

Last week on the way back to his place from an onsite meeting with one of his bodyguards, he’d discovered he could actually read the letters on the freeway overpass signs. He’d never needed glasses, clear vision wasn’t the issue. Being able to unscramble the letters in his brain into a sensible order was like giving a near-sighted person the miracle of contact lenses. On the surface he’d appeared no different. Inside, he’d wanted to high-five to every person he passed in gridlock rush-hour traffic.

Because Marissa had given him a chance. No, more than that, a miracle. Even after he’d thought those things were dead, or not meant for a guy like him. She’d taught him a real skill, a life-altering ability.

Still, his baser instincts wanted to thank her with an all-night, hot, sweaty tumble between the sheets.
World class asshole.
Right here.
He might as well wear a neon sign with arrows pointing to his head. He could almost hear the mocking applause.

“Three days a week is good,” he forced out. “I’m a lot better than I was when we started.”

As she beamed up at him, her deep blue eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. Maybe when their sessions were through, and he “graduated,” he’d give her a pair of sapphire earrings to show off her eyes. She deserved to be spoiled by a guy. Even if she moved on to someone else.
When,
he told himself, gritting his teeth.
When she moves on with her life and leaves me in the dust like a random memory from a blackout night of drinking, better forgotten.

“I went online and downloaded study guides for the GED.” He held up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m nowhere near that level yet. But I wanted to keep sight of the end goal, you know?”

The corners of her lips curved into a gentle, encouraging smile. “I think you hit on a great idea. Goals are really important, and you couldn’t have picked a better one. You
will
pass the GED, Adam. I’ll do everything in my power to help you achieve that.”

For the space of a moment, he suspected Slone’s dare might’ve been the best thing to ever happen to him. He cleared his throat. “What’s on the schedule today, Miss Denning?”

As usual, they sat at a sturdy, squat table scrawled with magic marker stains. He turned the kid-sized plastic chair around backward and straddled it, and their elbows met in the corner—the only physical contact between them.

At first the kiddy surroundings had insulted him, alerting him like a slap in the face how delinquent he was. Yet he’d swallowed his pride for the sake of the dare. Best decision he’d ever made, at least one of them. Like most guys, he had a nine-year-old boy trapped inside him who’d come to appreciate the train set in the opposite corner and the goofy, colorful decorations and cartoon characters populating the space. It beat a boring, stuffy conference room at three in the afternoon any day. He’d rather dissect letters and words and sentences with her than listen to lame “advisors” drone on about graphs, spreadsheets and pie charts. There he suffered through endless meetings. Here, he participated. Probably a dumbass comparison for most normal people, but he liked action and progress he could measure for himself.

In answer to his question about what they’d work on today, Marissa reached for a box of professionally printed cards. The box held dividers, and she selected several cards from each slot, setting them in individual stacks on the table in front of him. “You’re going to put these cards into proper sentence structure,” she explained.

He spread his hands. “What happened to putting letters in the right order? Eat, eaten, ate…you know present and past tense, using words with those damn a’s and e’s, messes me up.”

She leveled a look at him. “Do you want to pass the GED?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re beyond letters.
You’re
beyond letters. It’s time to take the next leap. We ordered sentences on Monday. You brought me your practice sheets.” She glanced at them and set them off to the side. “The primary stuff is over. You recognize the words, Adam. Now you can
start putting them in order.”

“Sounds hard,” he mumbled.

“The easy road never leads to greatness.”

“I hate when you quote smart people.”

“I don’t even know if that’s a real quote. Trust me, you can do this.”

“I trust you.”

Their gazes held for a long, intimate moment.

A blush crested her cheeks and she glanced down. He smiled when she wasn’t looking. “Then let’s move forward,” she said. “We’re building on Monday’s lesson on parts of a sentence. First the subject, then the verb, an article if needed—remember, ‘the’ and ‘a’ and ‘an’—today we’re introducing adjectives.”

“Adjectives?” He frowned. “What are those?”

“They’re words used to describe the subject, or noun. For instance, a ‘happy’ dog.
A ‘sad’ boy.
A ‘pretty’ dress.”

Okay, so “fuckably hot” described her. He could totally do this. He shifted on the plastic chair, willing down his erection. As long as the box of cards didn’t include X-rated terms, he’d be fine. He could do this, damn it.
Focus.

Although…wouldn’t it be fun if they made a graphic, adult version? He’d love learning to read with those cards.
The “
horny” “guy” “wanted” the “fuckably hot” girl.
Hell, he nailed it, right?
Articles, subject, verb, and hello adjectives. Boo-ya.
He bit back a lusty smile.

Fine, she was right, he could do this.
Focus, and quit being a prick.

No, wait. “Fuckably” didn’t fit as an adjective. Monday she’d said words ending in –ly were ad…ad
verbs?
Damn, he was learning this stuff in spite of himself. Only Marissa could make reading entertaining and erotic.

He liked that she constantly pushed him past his comfort zone. In more ways than one. She proved the ultimate challenge. And he wasn’t a guy who took challenges lightly. Ha!—another adverb. Maybe? If only he could speak the thoughts going through his mind.

Midway through arranging the cards into a sentence, he stopped. Hold on. Usually she noticed when his brain dipped into inappropriate territory, and she called him on it. An amusing way he dug under her skin, flirtation on his part, though he never expected it to go anywhere.

As he studied her down-bent face, he saw signs of distraction and concern. Her lips formed a tight line, and a groove wedged between her eyebrows. Wheels were turning something fierce in her beautiful head, and it had nothing to do with their lesson.

What are you thinking, gorgeous?
He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. Then he curled his fingers into his palm. Last night she’d let him touch her, hold her, comfort her. Now in broad daylight as tutor and student, touching her seemed wrong, an invasion of protocol. He’d have to find another way to draw out her private thoughts.

“Here you go,” he said after plopping down random cards that kind of made sense.
The “
happy” “boy” “threw” the “bouncy” ball.
Gay, lame, but he’d performed the task she’d asked of him.

Blinking, she turned her unfocused gaze to the cards. Her smile appeared forced. “Very good, Adam. Let’s try another one.”

The second he went to assemble a new sentence, she detached again. So unlike her.
What’s cooking in your kitchen, sugar?

To regain her attention, like some selfish neglected kid seeking interest, he ordered a more impressive sentence with the cards given him.
The “
excited” “boy” “chased” the “bouncy” girl.
A dirtier version. He wanted to see if she noticed.

This time her smile appeared fainter. “See?” She flicked his forearm covered with tattoos, the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. “I knew you could do this. No problem. I never had a doubt.”

But he had a few. “Want me to keep going?”

She rested her chin in her hand, all enthusiasm drying up toward his new success with sentences. He’d reached a goddamn milestone, here, and she seemed too wrapped up in herself to notice. Not that he needed her approval, just her distance bothered him. Really unlike her.