A little shake of her head, and for the first time in long minutes, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I want to. This is me, you know? And I guess . . . I don’t know why, but . . . I guess I’d really just like to let you know me.”
Jesus if those words didn’t reach right into his chest and own him. The sentiment resonated so deep inside him that the world rocked a little around his feet, shaking him to the core. Because there weren’t many people who knew about his mom and Kyle, and Dare’s role in their deaths. For the most part, their murders were a secret shame he carried, one that left him feeling like almost no one knew the real depth of his pain—or his failings. And sometimes he felt like such a goddamned fraud that he could barely look at his reflection in a mirror.
“What did he do?” Dare asked, his growing anger coming through in the gritty tone of his voice.
The cast of her eyes went bleak. “We had two Rotties, Roxy and Xena. He chained me to the dog run in the backyard with them for two days. He put my food in their food dishes, and though the dogs were never mean to me, I wasn’t able to compete with them for it, either. The second night, it stormed. One of the worst storms I’d ever seen in my life—or maybe it only seemed that way because I was out in it. I think the only thing that kept me from going crazy was that the dogs laid right with me all night. They were scared, too. I’m not sure who comforted who more.”
White-hot fury ripped through Dare’s veins. He’d chained her up like a fucking dog? Dare’s imagination unhelpfully provided a picture of what she must’ve looked like, lying on the ground soaking wet, a chain around her neck, dogs huddled up against her shivering body. The revenge fantasies instantly tearing through his mind were gruesomely satisfying. There was little Dare hated more than a cowardly bully who got off on torturing those weaker than him. And Rhett Randall was clearly that in spades. “Haven—”
“I’ve never liked storms since,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him say her name.
Little fucking wonder. He scrubbed his hand over his lips, the gesture making him realize that his fury had him trembling, had him right on the edge of getting on his motorcycle and road tripping it down to Georgia to put an end to her bastard of a father once and for fucking all.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
“Am I okay?” he rasped. “Jesus, Haven—”
She ducked her chin as if he’d reprimanded her.
“No,” he said, forcing her to look at him again. “I will never be okay hearing about all the ways you’ve been wronged. I want to hear them, because I want to know you. I want that, Haven. But right now I would squeeze the life out of your father with my bare hands if I had the opportunity, and watching awareness bleed from his eyes would be one of the most satisfying moments of my life. I would revel in it.”
Her mouth dropped open, and he immediately worried that the violence of his words would scare her, would make her think that her father and he were cut from the same evil cloth. Fuck, Dare had often worried that was true about him and his own father—and it was clear that Butch Kenyon and Rhett Randall had a goddamned scary amount in common.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever known who wanted to stand up for me,” she said, tears making her eyes glassy for the first time. “The only man I’ve ever really known who didn’t want to hurt me.”
The words unleashed a chaos of thoughts inside his mind. He wanted to promise to always protect her. He wanted to rebuild her trust in men one day, one kiss, one touch at a time. And he was terrified that circumstances were about to keep him from being there to do any of it—and that she’d find somebody else instead. Because how could she not? Gorgeous, kind, brave, talented—any man would be privileged to have her.
“I would protect you with my life,” he bit out, surprised by the vehemence of the declaration, but meaning it deep down into his soul. When had her happiness and safety become so fundamentally important to him? How had that happened?
Haven blinked until she reined in the threatening tears. Slowly, tentatively, she cupped her palm around his hand where it still held her face. And then, with a deep breath and in a trembling voice, she said, “I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know, but I wonder . . . I wonder if there’s any way . . .”
The words hung there until Dare thought he’d lose his fucking mind. “What, Haven? Say it. You can say anything to me.”
Those fierce blue eyes looked straight into his, full of a need that reached inside his chest and squeezed. “I wonder if you’d have any interest in helping me live the life your protection has finally given me,” she rushed out.
“Meaning what?”
Heat poured into her cheek under his hand. “Well, you see, I’ve been making this list.”
CHAPTER 19
Haven could hardly believe she’d uttered the words, and a really big part of her wanted to take them back or tell him to forget she’d said anything. Oh, God, why did I say that? He’s going to think I’m ridiculous. He could have anyone, and probably does. He—
“A list,” he said, his tone odd, intense but also wary.
It was enough to make her lose whatever moment of crazy-reckless bravery she’d managed to call forth. “Never mind,” she said, pulling away and trying to step around him.
He caught her easily, his big, calloused hands grasping her arms.
“Please forget I said anything,” she said, panic rising up inside her and making her want to flee. She twisted out of his grasp and stepped to his side.
“Stop,” Dare said, catching her by the hips and pulling her in tight against him. His arms banded around her front—one around her belly and the other snug against the bottom of her breasts. Her breath caught in her throat, as much from the quickness of his movements as from their position. Clearly, Dare could overpower her if he wanted, but she knew in her heart he wouldn’t. Maybe it was reckless and naïve, but she trusted him. “Haven,” he said, the word caressing her ear.
She shook her head, but she didn’t try to get away.
“Tell me about the list,” he said.
She shivered. Could she really tell him? Going through with this was ridiculous, wasn’t it? She gave a little shrug, and adrenaline and fear made her tremble against him. “It’s . . . it’s probably stupid.”
His arms tightened around her, plastering her back to his front. “What did I tell you about saying that? Stop cutting yourself down. Every time you do, it’s actually your father talking anyway. And hasn’t he said efuckingnough?”
“So much yes,” she whispered. God, Dare could read her, and he always seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear—like how he’d reacted to what happened after the night her father had caught her with Zach. Dare’s anger, his outrage, his desire to get vengeance for her all filled her with such a sense of understanding, acceptance, and more than a little affection, too. “Okay,” she finally said.
“Tell me about the list.” His voice was gruff in her ear, and she couldn’t help but lean her face against his. His skin was so warm, his cheek scratchy from stubble. It was thrilling.
“It’s a to-do list of things I want to experience now that I finally can,” she said. Okay, that wasn’t so hard, and that realization made the words come faster. “I’m so tired of being scared, Dare. And being taken in by the Ravens has let me believe I can actually want things, and have a chance of having them, for the first time ever.”
“Look at me.” He loosened his hold on her so she could turn, and then his arms went right back around her, hauling her up tight against his front. Jaw hard, eyes guarded, brow furrowed, tension rolled off him.
“I guess it sounds pretty silly—”
“Knowing what you want and going after it is fucking brave, Haven.” One beat passed, and another, and he heaved a deep breath. “I know about the list.”
For a moment, Haven couldn’t make sense of the words, and then they crashed over her like a breaking wave. “Oh, God.” Instinctively, she pushed against his chest,
needing to escape, to hide, to run. With each second he resisted her efforts, the full ramifications of his admission pounded through her. Embarrassment turned into humiliation that morphed into gut-wrenching mortification. “Your confession.” She gasped the realization. That’s what he’d been trying to tell her?
“Yeah,” he said, letting her go.
She reeled back until her spine hit the wall, and then she slid down into a ball and buried her face in her knees. “I can’t believe . . . oh God.” Right about now would be a great time for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“It was the day I found out about the reward. I knew you’d been keeping something from me, and the reward, the reward was pretty fucking big. I came to confront you about it, but you weren’t in your room. And then I remembered seeing you write in that notebook, and I thought maybe it was a diary that would tell me if there was anything else I needed to know,” he said, his voice gravelly, and maybe a little . . . sad?
Haven lifted her face enough to see him standing in the middle of the room, feet spread, arms folded across his chest. Lifting her gaze higher revealed that Dare’s head hung down, his eyes to the floor. He looked almost defeated, and it struck her as so wrong. “Go on,” she said, mind reeling but needing to hear it all.
A single tight nod. “At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was, but then I realized that there was nothing there that could help me. But I was so moved by the things you wanted that I couldn’t make myself stop reading. More than that, I wanted to help you make the list come true. Every fucking thing. I wanted it to be me, Haven. But then, I already knew that new identities were one possibility for you and Cora, and that would mean you’d have to go, so I . . .”
She looked up at his face, her mind and body a confused mix of embarrassed, angry, grudgingly understanding, and, impossibly, even a little intrigued. And then she gasped. “The motorcycle ride.”
“Yeah,” he said, gaze still down.
Slowly, Haven rose to her feet, her back still against the wall because this whole conversation was making the room spin. “The . . . beach?”
Dare finally looked up, and his dark eyes absolutely blazed with need and regret. “I didn’t plan that. And I wasn’t thinking about the list when I put my mouth on you either.”
The blunt mention of what’d happened made Haven’s belly clench. She swallowed, hard.
“I just needed my mouth on you like I needed my next breath. And I loved it—your taste, your come on my tongue, your hand pulling my fucking hair. I shouldn’t have done it knowing I needed to confront you, but I sure as shit couldn’t let anything more happen, which is why I pushed you away.”
His recollection of what they shared, and his raw, honest description of it did strange things to her. Oddly, the worst of her embarrassment cooled. Much of her anger yielded to a feeling of regret about how circumstances had forced both of them to questionable decisions. But most pronounced was how hearing him say these things out loud had her core suddenly aching with arousal and need. “You tried to tell me,” Haven said, the room still a little spinny around her.
“I did,” Dare said. “But I more than anyone know that trying ain’t worth shit. Doing is what counts, and by that score I fucked up pretty much every way I could.”
Hugging herself, Haven forced a long, deep breath, trying to figure out what all of this should mean to her. And then something occurred to her—Dare knew what was on the list. He knew and said he wanted to make it come true for her—make everything come true for her. Which meant . . . the hard part of maybe telling him what she wanted had already happened. And Dare wanted to experience with her all the things she’d dreamt of experiencing with him. “You wanted it to be you?”
His eyes narrowed, and the look he gave her was so hungry it made her wet. “I still want it to be me.”
Haven’s pulse was suddenly a runaway freight train pounding through her veins. She could feel it beating against her skin everywhere—against her breasts, her nipples, the slick place between her legs. She felt like the two of them stood on a cliff’s edge and she didn’t know whether to move or hold absolutely still.
And then Dare made the decision for her.
He was on her in an instant, his hands in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, his body trapping hers hard and insistent against the bathroom wall. Haven moaned at the contact and surrendered to him, her mouth sucking hard on his tongue, her hands pulling his still-wet hair in return, her hips thrusting against his. Willingly. Eagerly. Wantonly.
“Tell me you want this,” he rasped around the edge of the kiss.
“I do,” she said, plowing her hands underneath the damp fabric of his cut.
“Tell me you want me,” he growled, his mouth sucking at her jaw, her ear, her throat.
“Want you, Dare,” she whispered loudly, the sound morphing into a moan when he bit along the tendon sloping down toward her shoulder.
“How?” he asked, his hands going roughly to the hem of her shirt. A million competing answers rushed forth, leaving Haven momentarily unable to answer. He jerked his face back into her line of vision. “How do you want me?”
Breathing hard, Haven spoke the only words she could. “Every way I can have you.” She could barely believe she’d said it, but Dare didn’t give her even a moment to worry about it. He had her shirt off and then her bra, and her nakedness made Haven need his. “Off,” she said as she tugged at the denim vest he wore over a black shirt, her voice almost embarrassingly breathy.
He leaned back enough to remove the cut, which he tossed onto the closed toilet seat, and then he tugged off his shirt for good measure.
Haven’s eyes went wide, because Dare . . . Dare was the sexiest man she’d ever seen in her life. Tattoos covered his chest, his neck, his biceps, his ribs. She didn’t have time to take them in before his tongue was in her mouth again, demanding and intoxicating. His chest hair was ticklish against her hands but was thrilling, too. Masculine and rough. His palms were calloused against her breasts, and the sensation made her gasp and moan and writhe against him, especially as his fingers plucked and twisted at her nipples.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, gasping for a breath. Her brain could barely keep up with her body, and part of her hardly believed this was real. But then Dare reminded her touch by touch. His teeth tugging her bottom lip. His rough callouses dragging against all her sensitive softness. His hard erection grinding so deliciously into her lower belly that she wanted to wrap her legs around his hips and ride him. Hard.
Dare’s hands settled on the button of her shorts. Breathing hard, he rested his forehead heavily against hers, his dark brown eyes piercingly clear. “You want to stop, just say the word.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to want you to stop.”
“I’m just sayin’—”
Eyes still open, she kissed him. And the look he gave her back was almost ferocious. “Don’t stop,” she said when she released his lips.
And then he was tugging down her shorts and she was stepping out of her shoes and he was pulling down her panties so hard she thought she heard them rip. It was exciting and breath-stealing and made her heart pound so fast she was a little dizzy. Naked against the wall, Haven held on to Dare’s shoulders as he pushed his thigh between her knees and his fingers between her thighs, right where she was wet and hungry and almost desperate to have him.
“Aw, feel that fucking pussy,” he rasped, his face right up against hers. He kissed her hard, his tongue mimicking the act they were barreling toward, his fingers circling and stroking and pushing inside her one at a time. “So ready for me.”
“Yes,” she said, rocking against his hand, faster, harder, searching, needing. She grasped his neck and hauled his mouth to hers. Their teeth knocked, but she didn’t care. She just knew she might die if she didn’t have him touching her everywhere he could and penetrating her every way he could. His tongue filled her mouth and his fingers filled the aching place between her legs, and the h
ard heel of his hand rubbed against her again and again where she was most sensitive and most desperate and suddenly about to come apart in his arms.
The orgasm was shattering, the most powerful thing she’d ever felt in her life. She nearly screamed into Dare’s mouth and he grasped the side of her face, holding her through it, almost praising her in the gentleness of the touch.
“Fuck, yeah,” he rasped, easing his hand from between her legs. He brought his fingers to his mouth, and, looking her right in the eye, he slowly licked at the wetness on his skin.
Haven’s mouth dropped open as she watched him savor what he’d just brought out of her. Without even thinking, she grasped his wrist and licked the back of his middle finger.
Dare’s eyes flared. “Jesus Christ, Haven, I need in you,” he said, tugging his hand free so he could unbutton his jeans. He shoved the denim and a pair of boxers down over his hips until they were hanging on his thighs, and then his fist circled his erection and stroked it hard, once, twice.
Haven watched hungrily, finding what he was doing incredibly erotic but a little intimidating, too. Dare was much bigger than Zach had been—his whole body and that particular part of him. A man where Zach had been a boy. She wasn’t a virgin, but it had been a long time, and it suddenly made her nervous.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, stepping in close again, the hanging denim heavy against her legs, his moving hand bumping his knuckles and the head of his erection against her belly.
“You,” she whispered. Despite the nerves, she was utterly sure. “I want you.”
He shuddered out a breath. “What am I . . .” He shook his head. “I should slow this down, lay you out, do this right.” He grasped her hand and made to pull her toward the door.
“No,” she said, tugging against his hold. “Here. Now.” Part of her was afraid she’d freak out in the time it took to go wherever he wanted to take her, but a part of her liked the idea of it here. In the bathroom. Standing up. Against the wall.