When You Dare
Page 73
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Before he did something stupid, he set her away from him. “I told you this wouldn’t be easy.”
She nodded. “I need to talk to Natalie.”
Molly’s cell phone had been in her purse, which was now missing, and her landline looked as if someone had stepped on it.
Dare pulled his cell out of his pocket. “Go ahead and call her.” Talking to her sister would give her something to think about besides the mess and the note.
“What should I say?”
He shrugged. “Tell her something came up but that you can’t go into it over the phone. Ask her to come over.” Meeting her sister in person would let him control things and afford him the opportunity to gauge her reaction to Molly’s tale. Not that he had any real reason to suspect her sister; she was the only one who’d noted Molly’s absence, as far as he could tell. But it was too soon for him to rule out anyone or anything.
Molly put in the call, but after a few seconds she covered the phone. “No answer.”
“Don’t leave a message. That’ll just confuse things.” Dare took the phone from her and closed it. “You can call her again later.”
Regret had Molly biting her lips, but she accepted his decision. “If she’s still on spring break, she could be away from her phone.”
Keeping his hands off her wasn’t an option. It seemed the more he touched her, the more he needed to. He craved the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, her warmth and gentleness. It drew him like nothing ever had.
Trying to keep it casual with an arm around her waist, Dare led her from the bedroom. But even that affected him. He could feel her resilient flesh beneath the material of her top, the narrowness of her waist and how she fit so nicely into his side.
“What do we do now?” Molly asked.
“I want to hear about that note, but you’re pushing it today. The long trip was enough, but then to find this mess… You need to eat something, drink—”
“Dare, I’m okay,” she complained with a short laugh. “And I’m not hungry.”
He stopped with her in the kitchen. Smoothing back her hair, he studied her face. She looked pale, stressed and beautiful. “All right.” He couldn’t keep smothering her. She was too independent for that. “I’m not really hungry, either. But we might as well sit down to talk.”
She looked around at the remaining mess. “I still have so much to do.”
“We’ll get to it.” He cleared a chair and a spot on the table, then urged her to sit. “Take a few breaths, honey.”
She did a double take at the endearment. “I really am okay, you know.”
“I never doubted it.” Her inner strength never ceased to amaze him. She took one blow after another, but always rallied. It was that, as much as anything, that set her apart. “Just humor me.”
After ensuring that the carafe wasn’t broken, Dare started the coffee prep. He’d noticed where she kept things earlier when he’d checked the kitchen. “While I get this ready, why don’t you explain the gist of that note?”
She put her head in her hands. Voice muffled, she said, “It has to do with a book. The one that was so criticized.” She raised her face. “You remember what you read in the most scathing comments?”
Dare thought for a second. As he measured coffee into the basket, he recalled the dominant complaint. “You redeemed a character, right?”
Molly nodded. “In the beginning, he did some pretty awful things, mostly out of misguided emotion. He’d had a rough life, and because of that his outlook on certain things was skewed.”
“What kind of awful things?”
“He was a thief, a liar. Those sorts of things. He stole cars, credit cards. Definitely crossed the line. But while he was capable of it, he never really hurt anyone physically. Later in the book he realized his mistakes, tried to atone and the lead characters forgave him.”
The idea of forgiveness intrigued Dare—maybe because he, himself, wasn’t a very forgiving person. Cross him, and he never forgot, and he sure as hell stopped trusting. “Some readers felt duped.”
She gave one short nod. “I guess everyone doesn’t buy into second chances the way that I do.” As if she had a growing headache, Molly rubbed her temples. “I wouldn’t even make the connection, but one reader in particular sent me plenty of emails detailing different, sort-of-threatening scenarios about what it would take to push me past the point of forgiveness. She would always end the setup by asking if I’d still be forgiving if that happened to me.”
“The hell you say.” Dare took the seat beside her. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”
She dismissed that with a look. “It was bad enough that you saw those reviews. And honestly, until now, I really didn’t think that much of it. Over the years, I’ve gotten plenty of scathing letters from readers. It’s part and parcel with the job.”
“Give me an example.”
Keeping her attention on the tabletop, she thought back. “I once had this secondary character who was a father.”
Dare could feel her tension with the topic, and he hated it—but he needed details.
“After the character’s wife died, he emotionally bailed on his kids. He wasn’t there for them at all, didn’t see them through the tough times or encourage them.”
Had she drawn comparisons with her own father? From what she’d told him, he’d sure as hell neglected his daughters, especially when they needed him most: after their mother had died.
She nodded. “I need to talk to Natalie.”
Molly’s cell phone had been in her purse, which was now missing, and her landline looked as if someone had stepped on it.
Dare pulled his cell out of his pocket. “Go ahead and call her.” Talking to her sister would give her something to think about besides the mess and the note.
“What should I say?”
He shrugged. “Tell her something came up but that you can’t go into it over the phone. Ask her to come over.” Meeting her sister in person would let him control things and afford him the opportunity to gauge her reaction to Molly’s tale. Not that he had any real reason to suspect her sister; she was the only one who’d noted Molly’s absence, as far as he could tell. But it was too soon for him to rule out anyone or anything.
Molly put in the call, but after a few seconds she covered the phone. “No answer.”
“Don’t leave a message. That’ll just confuse things.” Dare took the phone from her and closed it. “You can call her again later.”
Regret had Molly biting her lips, but she accepted his decision. “If she’s still on spring break, she could be away from her phone.”
Keeping his hands off her wasn’t an option. It seemed the more he touched her, the more he needed to. He craved the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, her warmth and gentleness. It drew him like nothing ever had.
Trying to keep it casual with an arm around her waist, Dare led her from the bedroom. But even that affected him. He could feel her resilient flesh beneath the material of her top, the narrowness of her waist and how she fit so nicely into his side.
“What do we do now?” Molly asked.
“I want to hear about that note, but you’re pushing it today. The long trip was enough, but then to find this mess… You need to eat something, drink—”
“Dare, I’m okay,” she complained with a short laugh. “And I’m not hungry.”
He stopped with her in the kitchen. Smoothing back her hair, he studied her face. She looked pale, stressed and beautiful. “All right.” He couldn’t keep smothering her. She was too independent for that. “I’m not really hungry, either. But we might as well sit down to talk.”
She looked around at the remaining mess. “I still have so much to do.”
“We’ll get to it.” He cleared a chair and a spot on the table, then urged her to sit. “Take a few breaths, honey.”
She did a double take at the endearment. “I really am okay, you know.”
“I never doubted it.” Her inner strength never ceased to amaze him. She took one blow after another, but always rallied. It was that, as much as anything, that set her apart. “Just humor me.”
After ensuring that the carafe wasn’t broken, Dare started the coffee prep. He’d noticed where she kept things earlier when he’d checked the kitchen. “While I get this ready, why don’t you explain the gist of that note?”
She put her head in her hands. Voice muffled, she said, “It has to do with a book. The one that was so criticized.” She raised her face. “You remember what you read in the most scathing comments?”
Dare thought for a second. As he measured coffee into the basket, he recalled the dominant complaint. “You redeemed a character, right?”
Molly nodded. “In the beginning, he did some pretty awful things, mostly out of misguided emotion. He’d had a rough life, and because of that his outlook on certain things was skewed.”
“What kind of awful things?”
“He was a thief, a liar. Those sorts of things. He stole cars, credit cards. Definitely crossed the line. But while he was capable of it, he never really hurt anyone physically. Later in the book he realized his mistakes, tried to atone and the lead characters forgave him.”
The idea of forgiveness intrigued Dare—maybe because he, himself, wasn’t a very forgiving person. Cross him, and he never forgot, and he sure as hell stopped trusting. “Some readers felt duped.”
She gave one short nod. “I guess everyone doesn’t buy into second chances the way that I do.” As if she had a growing headache, Molly rubbed her temples. “I wouldn’t even make the connection, but one reader in particular sent me plenty of emails detailing different, sort-of-threatening scenarios about what it would take to push me past the point of forgiveness. She would always end the setup by asking if I’d still be forgiving if that happened to me.”
“The hell you say.” Dare took the seat beside her. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”
She dismissed that with a look. “It was bad enough that you saw those reviews. And honestly, until now, I really didn’t think that much of it. Over the years, I’ve gotten plenty of scathing letters from readers. It’s part and parcel with the job.”
“Give me an example.”
Keeping her attention on the tabletop, she thought back. “I once had this secondary character who was a father.”
Dare could feel her tension with the topic, and he hated it—but he needed details.
“After the character’s wife died, he emotionally bailed on his kids. He wasn’t there for them at all, didn’t see them through the tough times or encourage them.”
Had she drawn comparisons with her own father? From what she’d told him, he’d sure as hell neglected his daughters, especially when they needed him most: after their mother had died.
