Take My Dare Read online

  "Thouest?"

  She rolls her eyes, and I realize I'm actually grinning. A little.

  But at least I have a plan, and I can't deny that feels good.

  "Of course I'm taking him," I say.

  But then Cass goes and crushes my moment of levity. "If he loses his temper, it's not going to be good. He dodged a bullet once. Remind him that he may not be able to dodge it again."

  And that, I think, is very good advice.

  Hopefully, Jackson will heed it.

  Chapter 11

  ++

  "This is it," Jackson says, as he slides his Porsche into a slot in front of Mila's apartment in Silver Lake. It's dark now, and the two nearest streetlights are burned out. But even so, I can make out his face when he turns to look at me. And though his expression is both protective and supportive, I can see the fury boiling beneath the surface.

  I'd called him from Totally Tattoo and while he'd held it together--barely--when he'd read the note and seen the car, I almost wish he'd lost it on the street. Because I know it's all building up inside him. And somehow, someway, it's all going to explode.

  "Ready?" he asks, and my stomach twists with nerves.

  I want to tell him that he's the one who needs to be ready. That he has to keep it together. But he already knows that, and I trust him.

  Dear god, I hope I'm not wrong to trust him...

  "Syl?"

  "Yes," I say stoutly. "I'm ready."

  He opens the door, and the overhead light comes on so that I can see him clearly when he pauses to look back at me. "It's going to be fine," he says, and I nod in agreement. But whether he's reassuring me about the photos or his temper, I really don't know.

  I reach for my door handle, then hesitate. "When we see her, let me do the talking, okay?"

  "Afraid I'll lose my temper?" he asks with a grin, because of course he knows that's worrying me even though I haven't said a word since we left Venice Beach.

  "It's my life she's stomping all over," I say, dodging the question. "My pain she's treating so cavalierly. And that means this is something I have to do."

  "I know, baby," he says, then squeezes my hand. "I won't say a word. But I'm coming in with you." He brushes his fingertips over my jaw. "And not just because you need me there, but because I need to be there, too."

  "I do need you," I say, feeling some of the tension drain out of me. "You're what makes me strong."

  His smile is both gentle and encouraging. "No," he says. "You've always been strong. I'm just the man who helped you realize it."

  Mila's apartment is on the first floor near the back, and we walk past the empty laundry room and a small pool before we reach it.

  We stand in the circle of anorexic light cast by her porch light, and Jackson keeps a supportive hand on my back as I rap hard on the door. For a moment, there is simply silence, and I fear that she's not home. But then I hear footsteps, the jangle of someone pulling aside a chain, and then the click of a deadbolt unlocking.

  A second later, the door opens, revealing Mila standing there in a skin-tight tank top and ass-revealing cut-offs, her expression hard and calculating. And I don't care what Wyatt says; it's not a feline face at all. That would be an insult to cats.

  "Oh," she says, her eyes hard on me. "It's you. Come to fire me again?"

  "I would if I could, believe me. But no. I'm here to talk. Can we come in?"

  She crosses her arms over her chest, sighs, then steps aside. "Whatever."

  I glance at Jackson, who takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze for support. Then we step into her lair.

  "So, why are you here? Come to apologize?"

  I cock my head to the side and force my temper down. She's either completely innocent or she's a pathological, practiced liar. My money's on the second.

  "Well?" she demands when I don't respond immediately.

  "No apology," I say. "Just a warning."

  "Yeah? About what?"

  "About not trying to cut corners, Mila. Blackmail's a nasty way to make a living. It really never works out."

  Her lips thin so much they almost disappear. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says icily.

  "I'm pretty sure you do," I say. "But since I'm not one-hundred percent sure about your intelligence, I'll run it down for you anyway."

  She looks like she's going to snarl, but I just keep talking.

  "You were at Wyatt's house. You found the photos. You decided you'd get revenge on me for firing you and score a little cash at the same time. Well, guess what, Mila, it won't work. You're not getting paid. And if you release those photos, your ass is going to end up behind bars. You know who I'm married to," I say, glancing at Jackson. "You know who my brother-in-law is. And you know what they can do."

  "Don't you threaten me," she snaps, but while she sounds angry, her eyes look scared. "Someone's blackmailing you because of some photos?"

  "Yeah," I snap. "And that someone is you."

  "Sorry, chica, but you're all kinds of fucked in the head."

  I squeeze Jackson's hand. Because right now, I'm tempted to lash out and smack her across the face myself.

  Mila cocks her head. "And as for finding some bullshit pictures at Wyatt's studio, in case you weren't clued in, that boy has a revolving door policy. You visiting every one of those girls personally?"

  "No. Just the ones I fired. Just the ones who want revenge."

  "Bitch. I didn't do anything to you. And you know what else? I don't like you. Or your asshole of a bodyguard either," she adds, with a nod toward Jackson. "But just because I don't like you doesn't mean I'm out to get you. You can't prove shit. And if you keep on harassing me, then whoever really is blackmailing you is going to be pissed off and release the damn photos when they don't get their money."

  The problem of course is that she's right. Not that she's not the blackmailer, but about how it could all play out.

  I can pay, and hope she keeps her word.

  I can walk away with the threat hanging over Mila, and hope that she believes that there's a jail cell in her future.

  But if she thinks she can hide behind the other women in Wyatt's life--or if she's not the blackmailer at all--the pictures might still be released.

  All of that runs through my head.

  And then the most remarkable thing happens. I realize that I don't care.

  Well, I care. But not enough to pay off some bitch who's blackmailing me.

  Not enough to turn my life and my emotions inside out.

  Because the truth is, I'm okay. It's amazing. It's unexpected. But it's absolutely true, and it's been nagging at me since my father was released. The simple, inescapable fact that I didn't do anything wrong.

  I've always known it. But now I feel it.

  My father was in the wrong.

  Reed sure as hell was.

  But I was completely innocent.

  Do I want those pictures out there? No, I don't. But if they are released, all they show is a girl who'd been taken advantage of. Whatever guilt I thought the world would see doesn't exist.

  I don't want them released because I don't want the attention. Because they're private. Not because of guilt or of shame. I have nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Of all the people who brought those photos to light, I'm the only one who's guilt free.

  "Are we done?" Mila's been staring at me warily as I gathered my thoughts. "You wanna get the fuck out of my apartment?"

  "Actually, yes," I say. "I want to get as far away from you as I can." I conjure a broad, friendly smile. "But just so you're up to speed, I'm not paying you shit. And if the photos are released, then I'm okay with that. Because I can stand a little embarrassment if that's the price to see the shit storm that will rain down upon you when I tell the cops all that I know."

  Her eyes go wide. "I told you! I didn't do it. I'm not the one who threatened you. And if you don't pay and those photos get released, don't you be blaming me."

  "Shut up, Mila. We both kno
w it's you, even if you don't want to say it. Trust me. Don't release the photos. It'll be much better for you if you don't. Oh, and Mila," I add sweetly as we pause at the door, "you might want to consider moving. You've read about Jackson's temper, right?"

  She swallows, and I shrug. "It's just that you really do have a pretty face," I say. "It would be a shame to mess it up."

  I'm laughing as we hurry back toward the street, but my mirth is cut short when Jackson takes my arm and tugs me into the empty laundry room, then slams and locks the door.

  "What are you--"

  But it's not a question I need to ask, and when he presses me up against the washing machine and closes his mouth over mine, I'm not at all surprised. He'd held it in--the wildness, the anger, the fear for me. Now he's letting it go.

  Now, he needs me. And god knows, I need him.

  "Yes," I murmur when he pulls away, his eyes full of a heat that rages like wildfire.

  Without a word, he yanks up my skirt, then rips off my thong panties. He lifts me effortlessly so that my ass is balanced on the edge of the machine, and as he lowers his zipper and takes out his cock, I wrap my legs tight around his waist.

  He's hard--and I'm so damn wet--and he enters me in one quick thrust, making me arch back and gasp with pleasure. He doesn't kiss me, but we lock eyes as he pounds into me. As I hold on tight to the machine to steady myself and take it, thrust after punishing thrust, deep and wild as he works through it, turning the explosion of rage into a flood of passion. Using me to help him turn it around. Claiming me. Needing me.

  Just like I've always needed him.

  Just like we've always needed each other.

  We explode together, and I collapse forward into his arms, my breath coming in wild gasps. And that's when I realize that this wild encounter was just as much for me as for him. Because I'd been holding it in--my fear that he would do something to Mila. That somehow, he'd screw up and erase everything we'd built.

  I should have known better, and I cling to him, just wanting to feel him against me.

  "You thought I'd lose it in there," he says, and I nod, feeling miserable. "Oh, baby," he says gently, "don't you know that I would never--never--lose my temper like that? Not anymore. Not after I came so close to being locked up away from you."

  "I love you," I say as relief floods through me.

  "That's kind of my point," he says, mimicking the words I'd said to him just the other day.

  He helps me off the washing machine, then adjusts my skirt. My panties are toast, so he picks them up off the floor and tosses them in the trash. Then he just stands there looking at me as I run my hands over my clothes, making sure I'm decent before we step outside.

  "What?" I say, narrowing my eyes.

  A slow grin lights his face, giving him a devilishly sexy appeal. "You were brilliant," he says sincerely. "But you're taking a hell of a risk. She might still release them. Or she might not be the one."

  "She is," I say. "I'm certain. And she won't release them."

  "I actually agree with you on both counts. And you only got one thing wrong in there."

  I tilt my head in question.

  "I might spend a few pleasant moments fantasizing about rearranging her nose on that perky little face, but I wouldn't ever hit her. She's really not worth it."

  I shrug. "Mila doesn't know that. Do you have a problem with making her sweat a little?"

  His laugh fills the small room. "Nope," he says. "No problem at all." He turns the bolt and pulls the door open. "Home?"

  I shake my head. "Not just yet. There's one more place I need to go."

  Chapter 12

  ++

  My mother isn't home when we arrive at my parents' San Diego house, and I'm not at all surprised. I'm sure she left the moment my father said we were coming. I feel a slight twinge of pain, like a pinch in my side, but I ignore it. I've wasted enough energy thinking about my mom. I'm not going to waste any more.

  My dad, on the other hand, has clearly been anticipating our arrival. There's a bottle of wine on the small table in the kitchen along with a pot of coffee and a package of Chips Ahoy cookies.

  "I remembered you liked them as a kid," he says. "I bought a pack when I went to the grocery store yesterday. Nice thing, being able to walk into a grocery store and buy what you want." He turns to Jackson. "Don't ever take it for granted."

  "I won't," says Jackson, who came so close to being behind bars himself. "I don't."

  "Turns out I like the damn cookies so much I ate the whole package last night while I was watching NFL replays on ESPN. So when you said you were coming down, I made another trip. Wouldn't want you to do without."

  He says the whole speech without looking at me. Except for the bit about going back to the store.

  "Thanks, Daddy," I say, and I mean it. "I still love the damn things."

  He takes a deep breath, then slowly releases it. "So what is it you need to talk to me about? I suppose it's important if you're coming all the way down here in afternoon traffic."

  "It is," I say, and watch as he seems to flinch.

  "Daddy?"

  "If you're going to keep me away from my grandkids, I won't argue. But spit it out and let's get past it."

  I think about how vibrant Ronnie had been playing with her grandfather, and about how young and alive my father's face had been.

  "No," I say, catching Jackson's eye to see if he shares my confusion. "No, that's not why we're here at all."

  "Why would you think that?" Jackson asks, but I've already arrived at the answer, and blurt it out before my father can say it.

  "Mother," I say flatly. I feel a fresh anger rising in me, and I tamp it down. I'm not here about that woman or her fabrications. But I am here for something real. "No," I say again. "It's just ... well, it's just that the photos may come out." I tell him about the blackmail threat and how we've refused to pay.

  "I'm okay with it," I assure him. "But, Daddy, when I made that decision ... well, if those photos get out, it's going to erase what you did. You killed him to keep them hidden. You'll have killed him for nothing." My voice breaks a little. "I'm sorry about that. But I have to let them go." Beneath the table, Jackson squeezes my hand, and I draw strength from his touch. "I'm ready to let them go. More than that, I think I need to."

  My father takes a bite of his cookie. "And you drove all the way down here to tell me that? Because you think I'm going to be upset?"

  I lick my lips. "Aren't you? You served time to keep those photos hidden."

  He sighs. "Aw, sweetheart. I appreciate that, I do. But none of this is about me. It's about you. However you can get past this, then you do that thing. Whatever it takes for you to realize it wasn't your shame, but Reed's. And mine. And your mother's."

  I feel tears prick my eyes and look down at the hand that's still tight in Jackson's.

  "Take out a billboard," my dad continues. "Call me out on Oprah. Whatever you need so that you can hold your head up high."

  I nod, moved by his words. But in the end, there's really only one thing that I need. I shift in my chair so that I can see Jackson better, and find him looking back with a fierce and perfect intensity. Him, I think.

  "I have it, Daddy," I whisper. "Thanks."

  And for the first time in a very long time, I add one more thing. "I love you," I say. And I really mean it.

  I wake in a sensual haze, drawn from a sweet, dreamless sleep by Jackson's mouth teasing my breast and his strong hands holding me at the waist. My eyes flutter open and I look down to see the top of his head as his teeth tease my nipple.

  Most mornings I greet the day feeling soft and refreshed. Not so today.

  Now, I'm aroused, wild and needy, and I writhe beneath him, my hands gripping the sheets as a sensual heat cuts through every inch of my body. Craving more. Wanting everything.

  Wanting Jackson.

  "Yes," I murmur, spreading my legs in what I hope he takes as an invitation. I'm not disappointed, and with one fin
al tug on my breast, he trails his kisses lower and lower, tracing a slow, wonderfully tortuous path to my core.

  His hands slide upward taking over where his mouth had once been, and as his tongue teases my clit, his palms cup my breasts. Lightly, he pinches my nipples as his mouth rouses me to a fever pitch, taking me so close to the edge but never quite over it.

  I arch up, my body searching for more. For release. But it's always just out of reach. And only when I know that I can't stand the torment one more second do I resort to begging, my plea nothing more than his name, since that's all I can manage in the form of sound.

  He understands, though. And in proof that he was truly tormenting me--as evidence that he knows my body as intimately as I do--he slides his hand down and uses his tongue and his fingers to expertly and efficiently send me shooting off into space, my body trembling with the power of the orgasm that has been building and building, so that all I can do is ride it out, waiting until I break to pieces and fall back to the bed and into Jackson's arms.

  I'm breathing hard when he eases up beside me, grins, and then kisses me sweetly. "Good morning," he says, making me laugh.

  "A very good morning," I agree.

  It's been a week since I told Mila that we wouldn't pay, and so far the photos haven't surfaced. "They still might," I'd told Jackson last night, but he'd just shaken his head.

  "I don't think so," he'd said. "And even if they do, we'll be fine, just like you said. Because you're the strongest woman I know."

  I think about those words now, because it's Jackson who makes me strong, and I lean in for another kiss. This time, however, I'm foiled by a rhythmic pounding at the door to our bedroom followed by a high pitched little voice demanding, "Mommy! Daddy! Why is the door locked?"

  Jackson winks at me, then slides out of bed. He grabs a pair of pajama bottoms from atop the bench at the foot of the bed, then pulls them on after throwing me my nightgown. I get dressed, too, and once we're both decent, he opens the door.

  Ronnie marches in, frowning. "It was locked," she announces.

  "Sometimes mommies and daddies lock doors," Jackson explains as I move out of the room and down the hall to check on Jeffery. I can still hear them talking as I make silly faces while changing his diaper, then carry him back to the bedroom.