When You Dare
Page 59

Now she knew, and her life would never be the same.
If it hadn’t been for Dare, she might be there still. Or she could have even been killed, and no one would have ever known what happened to her.
But he had saved her. In a no-nonsense way, he’d reassured her, cared for her, protected her.
And last night he had touched her, giving her new memories to focus on.
The ugliness of captivity faded as she thought about Dare and how he’d made her feel. She almost felt it again, just remembering.
Her pale, marred skin now had a becoming flush. Thanks to Dare and what he’d done, she looked better, but she couldn’t lie to herself.
She was still an average thirty-year-old woman, and nothing would change that.
To hell with it, Molly decided. She’d never been vain, and she wasn’t going to start now. She liked herself, and she was satisfied with her looks. No, she wasn’t glamorous or flashy. She would never turn heads. But neither would anyone call her a troll, even with a few discolored bruises.
With new resolve, she went back downstairs and stood right outside the basement door. Dare worked for her, she reminded herself. In the end, she would be paying him an indeterminate yet surely hefty fee. That meant she was due a few answers, whether she had a romantic involvement with him or not.
As soon as she opened the door, she could hear a steady punching sound accompanied by loud, hard music. At least she had one curiosity satisfied; Dare liked hard rock, just as she did. Surely music wouldn’t be the only thing they had in common.
Her heart pounded in time to the beat. Putting her shoulders back, Molly descended the steps.
EVEN BEFORE SHE showed herself, Dare sensed Molly’s approach. So did the dogs. They jumped up, and the tail-wagging began.
Few people had ever encroached into his private workout territory, but oddly, he didn’t mind that she was here. In fact, he’d been thinking about her, wondering how her writing was going, and if she’d eaten.
Worrying for anyone, especially a woman for whom he’d accepted responsibility, was new to Dare. He’d always been able to separate the liability of the job with emotional attachment.
But with Molly, every damn thing seemed different, and very personal.
When he felt her burning gaze on his back, he paused and looked toward her. As a man who always noted the smallest details, he realized right off that she’d taken extra care with her appearance. To impress him?
His eyes narrowed at that thought. If the woman understood how much restraint it took to resist her, she wouldn’t be so comfortable with him.
As their gazes locked, Molly tried for a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Holding back, she stayed a good distance from him, as if unsure of her welcome.
That bugged him.
Picking up a towel and wiping sweat from his face, Dare turned toward her. “You look nice, Molly.”
Color tinged her cheeks. “Thank you.” And then, in a rush, “There’s really not much I can do. I mean, not without makeup and styling products for my hair—”
“You look damned good without it.” He liked it that she didn’t spend hours in the bathroom primping. Or maybe she did under normal circumstances. He couldn’t know.
He had to remember that in many ways, Molly was still a stranger to him.
What he did know about her counted for a lot, though.
She’d dealt rationally with her ordeal, forfeiting the expected hysterics as much from bone-deep pride as a commonsense need to survive. In a crisis, Molly would be a help, not a hindrance. Under pressure, she kept her wits about her.
Most of all, he knew that she was a fighter. And damn, but he admired that. Too much.
“So.” Aware of how she stared at his naked, sweaty chest—and lower—Dare studied her stiff posture. He sounded gruff when he asked, “Did you need something?”
“No.” She looked around the gym area. “Not really.”
Other than filling the basement with fitness gear, he’d never bothered to do anything with it. He had plenty of living space upstairs, and he sure as hell didn’t need fancy surroundings to stay in shape and break a sweat.
In organized fashion, mats covered the concrete floor, and equipment hung from hooks in the walls. A refrigerator stocked with cold water sat along the back wall, and adjacent to that was a treadmill, an elliptical machine, a bench and weights, and other assorted exercise apparatus. He had a generous, tiled corner shower and a cabinet filled with towels.
Picking up the stereo remote, Dare turned down the music. Molly had come to him for some reason, but she was being shy about speaking her mind. “Everything’s okay?”
She nodded as she continued to look around.
Not that there was all that much to see. Other than when it was cleaned and sanitized, no one ventured down here but him.
Leaving the towel to drape around his neck, Dare went for a water bottle. Since Molly stayed silent, he supposed it was up to him to figure out the reason behind her visit. “Get much writing done?”
Her gaze came back to him.
Then went over him. Slowly.
She drew in a shaky breath.
Ah. She still wanted him. Good thing, too, since he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to wait.
Maybe he should have taken her last night. That thought had driven him to a hard jog, and then a pounding workout. Not that the exertion had worked to relieve his need. Not enough.
He burned with wanting her. It was insane, unaccountable, but Ms. Molly Alexander pushed all his buttons. Even now, covered in sweat, he could take her. He saw it in her eyes and in the way she held herself. It was a unique type of hell, having to resist her.