Untamed (Untamed #1) (12 page)

“You’re really cooking? By yourself? With your own hands?”

“Yeah, I gave my chef the week off.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, Princess. My gardener and maid are still here. So if your driver—”

“Once again, that’s not what I meant!” Still, I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s just that no one has ever offered to cook for me.” I’d been on countless dates to fancy restaurants with world famous chefs, but cooking at home?
Never
. “Honestly, I’ve never even had mac and cheese.”

“What?” he said. “
Never?
”

“Nope.” My parents had fed me foie gras when most kids got mac and cheese.

“Then it’s decided. You’re coming over. I’m going to change your life.”

He already had. A thrill ran through me.

Fuck
.

“I’ll try to make it,” I said, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I needed to run while I still could. “Dare, I have to—oh, wait! I have a quick question about some artwork in your apartment.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“There are a couple of nudes by someone named Wilde.”

“Oh, those.”

“I’d really like to find out more about the artist.”

Dare was quiet for a moment. “Tell you what, if you find a way to make it to dinner, I’ll ensure he comes by.”

“You’d really do that?”

“Sure. It’s a deal. I’ll even push the dinner to nine o’clock, so you have some time to go to your important political meeting, Princess.” He cleared his throat, then said, “See you tomorrow, Ree.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. Tomorrow I would be one step closer to Wilde.

And Dare.

Again.

fifteen

S
unday evening was abnormally hot for September—the kind of night that inspired bad decisions. I finished my homework, but as soon as I put on my Mother-Approved Oscar de la Renta pencil dress, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. The wool was too itchy and hot against my skin, my Jimmy Choos made me feel like I wasn’t standing on solid ground, and the red lipstick my mother had insisted I wear was too dark, too much.

I looked like I was going to a funeral.

I felt like it, too.

Without really thinking it through, I made the decision right then. I washed my face and ripped off the dress, then put on jean shorts, a cropped, sleeveless top, and flats. SO much better. I pulled out my phone, thanked the gods my mother’s voicemail picked up, and begged off, claiming I’d pulled an all-nighter and had been up for thirty-six hours straight. I told her I’d be turning off my phone and just sleeping so I’d be in good shape for class tomorrow morning, and that I
knew
she’d understand because of how important my classes were to my future.

By the time my cab pulled up in front of Dare’s apartment complex, I felt more like myself than I had in a long time, and didn’t feel even remotely bad for ducking out on my parents. Screw mayoral debates and codes of conduct and video trackers. Screw perfect, little Reagan.

Wait. I did want to get screwed.

Just not by Marcus and Eleanor.

Although, as I walked up the three flights of stairs, I realized that I wasn’t coming here just for the sex. My heart pounded with excitement at seeing Dare. Yeah, just seeing him. I wanted to know everything about him. And I wanted to meet Wilde. The thought of getting my hands on some of his art made me giddy.

This was so much better than politics.

Dare didn’t answer right away, and I realized that I was way early. I tried calling his number and could hear the phone ring unanswered inside. It had been stupid of me to show up unannounced. He might still be at work or at the store. Or maybe he’d gone out for drinks.

Just as I was about to turn around and go, the door swung open and my breath hitched as my gaze met his bare, wet torso.

Helloooo
, muscles. And tattoos.

Dark, damp hair clung to his forehead, going in a mess of directions that made me want to run my fingers through it. His skin glistened as water droplets trailed down his chest and over the peaks and valleys of his abs, disappearing into the waistband of his low-riding jeans. The top few buttons of his pants were undone as if he’d just stepped into them, revealing a sexy triangle of muscle and making it
very
clear he was going commando.

Again.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep from licking my lips.

“You’re early,” he said, sounding pleased.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s only seven, but I…” I wanted to see you.

“You were hungry?” His voice dropped to a teasing low.

“For the mac and cheese?
Totally
.”

His chest vibrated with a deep, husky laugh. “Of course. Come on in.” He turned to the side so I could slide past him.

“Thanks.” I crossed my hands over my chest to keep myself from doing something stupid like reaching out and running my fingers across that sexy grin, then sliding them down his chest and stomach into—no. I stopped myself because if I thought about it much longer, I would lose all control.

Dare did up his jeans and pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar. “Have a seat. I’m just going to finish toweling off, then get started on dinner.”

“Can I help?” I said.

His mouth quirked. “With the toweling off or the dinner?”

And I actually thought about it because now that I was here all I wanted to do was get my hands on him again. And my lips.

God. I was so fucked.

“Sit tight, Princess,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

The moment he disappeared into the bathroom, I walked over to Wilde’s paintings to look through them again, and confirmed what I’d known right away—the artist would be a perfect fit at La Période Bleue.

“So you really like them?” I hadn’t heard him come back and startled at his voice. He stood leaning against the wall, a black t-shirt stretched across his chest.

“Is the painter still coming? I’m dying to meet—” Something in his eyes stopped me. I looked down at the canvas. Up at Dare. Down to his long fingers and paint-speckled jeans. Back up to the spark in his eyes. “YOU? You told me you were a
house
painter.”

He shrugged. Just freaking shrugged like it was no big deal.

“You’re Wilde?!” I was in serious peril of fangirling.

“Dare Wilde,” he said, extending his hand. “Nice to
officially
meet you.”

“Dare, and never Daren, right?”

The light in his eyes dimmed as his jaw tightened. “My mom is the only person in the world who can get away with Daren. It’s my father’s name. And she still clings to it because she can’t fully kick the habit.”

“Well, Dare Wilde,” I said, placing my hand in his, “nice to officially meet you, too. Reagan McKinley.”

“You look so uncomfortable saying that.”

I looked down at the painting next to my legs so he wouldn’t see the blush on my face. “I don’t know what makes me more uncomfortable…my first name or my last.”

His fingers nudged mine. “Then how about I stick to Ree?”

“I’d like that.” I waved my hand at the paintings. “You’re really good. Why are you painting houses when you can do THIS? Why aren’t you screaming it from the rooftops? If I was this talented, I’d want the entire world to know.”

“Nobody cares,” he said, shrugging. “Being an artist in this city doesn’t put food on the table. Especially not when you have three other people relying on you.”

“So what does?” I asked.

“Very little. Right now, making sure I put the right shade of
rich
on my clients’ walls gets us by. No one gives a shit about art.”

“I do.” I turned to face him. “I care.”

“Do you want to stir the cheese sauce while I do the pasta?” Dare asked.

I was watching him work from across the counter—a safe distance from the food, but close enough I could enjoy the view. Him cooking for me was so freaking sexy.

“I don’t know how to cook,” I said. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

He laughed. “There’s very little you can do to mess this up, Ree.”

I shook my head and raised my arms in protest. “I really can’t.”

Turning from the stove, he grabbed my hands and pulled me from the stool. He brought me around to stand in front of him, my back to his chest.

“It’s easy.” He placed his hands over mine, interlocking our fingers. “And I’m a really good teacher,” he whispered in my ear as he guided my fingers around the handle of the wooden spoon. “Hold on and move it in circles.”

There was a tattoo of a paintbrush on the inside of his forearm, the bristles pointing toward his palm, and it pressed against my skin as he began to move.

“Nice and slow.” His voice caressed my ear and sent shivers through me. “Just like that.”

Oh, god
.
I bit down on my lip. Was cooking always this hot? Or was it just my teacher who made it so erotic?

“So you’ve really never cooked a single thing in your life?” He nipped my ear as he spoke and I couldn’t keep from moaning.

I shook my head. “It’s embarrassing, I know. You don’t have to say anything.”

His body vibrated against my back.

“Are you
laughing
at me?”

“I’m laughing at the situation. I’m not only taking your mac and cheese virginity, but also your culinary one.” His voice dropped to a husky low as he said, “I better make this a meal to remember.”

I pressed my back into him. “I have no doubt it will be.”

“If you keep talking and not stirring, that sauce is going to boil over prematurely.” He smacked my butt playfully, then shifted to the side and turned his attention to the pasta.

The heat from the stove dampened my skin, beading sweat across my chest and plastering my cotton top to my back. Dare reached up to turn on the vent above my head, his shirt riding up in the process, exposing his hard abs.

Still keeping one hand on the spoon, I pointed at him. “Hang on. I want to see it.”

One eyebrow lifted and his face broke out into a wicked grin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Not
that
,” I said, laughing. “Your phoenix tattoo. I’ve been fascinated with the design since I first saw it. I want to know the story behind it.” Then I glanced down at his pants. “Though we can play that game, too. Later.” I reached over and pulled his shirt up. “Let me see.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You really need my shirt off for this?”

“I’d
really
like to admire the artwork.” And his entire freaking body.

“I forgot. You live for art.” He smirked and pulled the shirt over his head, turning his back to me. “Like what you see?”

Hell yes
.
I ran my eyes up the taut muscles to his shoulder, and stared. The bird took my breath away. “It’s remarkable. How does it look so...alive?”

“That was the point,” Dare said. “I got it as a symbol of reincarnation. Starting over. Creating new life from the ashes of the old.”

I reached out to touch it, my fingers grazing a scar. I hadn’t even noticed it before.

“What’s this from?”

He shrugged. “Dad fights dirty.”

My eyes widened and I stared at him, not sure what to say. “Oh, Dare…”

“It’s over,” he said. “I don’t dwell on the past.”

He shuddered slightly as I traced the outline of the bird with my fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“Rex did it.”

“Rex?”

“Vogel. He drew it for me,” he said like it was no big deal. I gaped at him. “
Rex Vogel?
You
know
Rex Vogel? Well enough for him to draw you a tattoo?”

He nodded. “I worked for him—well,
under
him for a while. He taught me everything I know.”

“Vogel doesn’t take apprentices.” That was a well-known fact in the industry.

“He made an exception for me,” Dare said. “His studio was next door to our old place in Queens. I hung out there every day when I was a kid. We drifted apart when I became mixed up with my father’s work. Once I got out of juvie, I begged him to take me back. He saved my life.”

“Amazing.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize the paintings were yours.” I guess I simply couldn’t fathom that someone so young and—let’s face it—dangerously good-looking could also be so incredibly talented. It wasn’t fair.