The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) (4 page)

After this, even if he needed to go visit his booty call, Brandi, he’d stay with Marissa as long as she’d let him. Marissa did things to him he couldn’t begin to name, didn’t want to understand.

Problematic?
Definitely.

Worth it?
For sure.

Regardless, he wanted to show her the view.

“How do you know about this spot?” she asked as he took the lead and guided her off the motorcycle.

“My cousin Trey owns acreage up here. We’re good.”

“Oh, okay.”

The closer they came to the Cliffside, and the distant glow of city lights illuminated Marissa’s profile, he recognized something was definitely wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s totally none of my business, but have you been crying?”

Instantly two tears dripped from her eyes as if his words had summoned them.

“Jesus, sugar. What happened?”

She shook her head a fraction, so he gave her time to decide whether or not to tell him what bothered her. If this was about some guy, he’d punch the bastard. Then maybe thank him and ask Marissa out. He’d contemplated it since the night they met, wondering if she’d bother saying yes.

Typically he went out with women who were easy and available. Come to think of it, he’d never asked out a girl he actually liked before. He liked Marissa. Which probably meant he should stay the hell away from her. She deserved better.

Because he didn’t do relationships.
Or breakups.
Too complicated and messy. He didn’t waste time on all that crap. He was sleeping with a girl, or several, or he wasn’t. That simple. He didn’t “date.”

So what compelled him to want to make an exception for Marissa?

Stupidity, he thought, filling in his own blank.

Unless she liked him, too…

In that case, also, he needed to stay away. But he couldn’t. She stole into his thoughts in the middle of the day. He pictured making out with her until their lips were raw. Not even taking her clothes off. Just kissing.
And talking. He’d invent excuses in his head why he needed to see her, the dumbest things, even though he never acted on them.

Seriously messed up.

And here he was, making this moment all about him. He could be a real dick sometimes.

Pulling his head out of his ass, he stepped closer to Marissa, who stared down at a thousand pinpricks of light below. “You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really.”

Hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, he stood there at a loss. “Can’t talk about it, or won’t?”

Another tear rolled down her cheek. “Both.”

Girls’ tears bothered him. Created a churning sensation in his gut resembling helplessness, and he couldn’t stand that. Usually in those scenarios, he just walked away. Because the tears tended to be a dramatic ploy to get him to stay, when he’d already dropped the “we’re done” bomb.

Not so much the case right now. In this situation he had no decent coping skills to fall back on. He almost wished he were Cade, or Trey, or Liam. Guys who understood the normal human psyche, knew the right thing to do or say. He failed epically at relationships, and he’d never had a girl as a friend.

Suck it up,
he berated himself.
She needs you. Do the right thing for once.

Instead of launching into a dumb discussion that would go nowhere, he shrugged out of his coat and dropped it at his feet. Then he came behind her and slid his arms around her, gliding his chin against the hair at her left temple.

“It’s okay, sugar,” he murmured. “It hurts. I get it. I’m sorry.”

Then he waited for her cues to show him what to do next.

Marissa gazed wistfully out at the gorgeous view from up here. She soaked in the sensation of being held by an equally gorgeous man, his arms locked securely around her.

At her hour of greatest need and despair, Adam had asked questions but hadn’t badgered her for answers. His presence provided a comfort she’d desperately wanted but never assumed would come to her.

But here he was.

Don’t get used to this,
she warned herself.
Adam isn’t permanent.
Nothing in her life was permanent.
Except loneliness.

More tears spilled from her unblinking eyes. They flowed with a force of anguish she couldn’t contain.

One tear must have fallen onto his exposed forearm, because his hold tightened. She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder. She wished she could melt into him. Disappear. Without knowing where she stopped and he started.

The intimacy of such a rare and special moment seeped into her pores. Not since Grandpa Tate had anyone held her, supported her, and just let her
be.
Sad.
Angry.
Helpless.
Weak.

And if she’d made a direct request to heaven, she couldn’t have received a better physical support than Adam. His arms were huge bands of steel, roped with thick muscle. If she wrapped both hands around one of his arms, her fingers wouldn’t touch. She let herself bask in his closeness.

The intense heat from his body warmed her chilled skin. Unlocking her knees, she tested his strength. He responded by flexing his biceps, embracing the heaviness that weighed her down with uncomplicated ease. He offered a gentle yet firm blanket of security she’d almost forgotten existed.

Actually, it
no longer
existed. She would never hug her grandfather again.

“Thank you, Adam,” she said in a tearful whisper.

He nodded against her hair, a few strands catching in his perpetual five-o’clock shadow.

One more aspect she found enduringly sexy about him. He was the kind of guy who shaved every third day because he didn’t care, and yet the ruggedness only enhanced his appeal.

Turning her head, she lifted her damp cheek to feel the texture of his bristle against her face. Rough, real, the coarse follicles chafed her skin, reminding her she still existed to someone, somewhere.

For this fleeing moment, she existed with him. And for this brief flicker in time, he held her as if he’d never let her go.

A lie she desperately wanted to believe.

But like Adam’s miracles, her fairy tales had faded long ago. Still, gratitude welled inside her. He’d accomplished the impossible. He’d made her feel a little less alone under this great big sky packed with stars.

I love you, Grandpa Tate. I miss you with every breath.

When Adam lowered his chin, she realized how close their mouths were. Heat and need flooded her veins. If she turned her head, just a little…

Briefly their lips brushed. Their mouths grazed each other, a small sensual caress. She tasted the whisper of his warm breath mingling with hers.

But he pulled back, even though he didn’t release her.

A deep sigh rumbled from his chest, and she felt the vibration against her back. “You don’t want to do this,” he said.

She found no question beneath his words. Just fact, and truth.

Her shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I can’t.”

“No, that’s different.” He kissed her temple and her bones turned liquid. “Don’t want and can’t are two separate things.”

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t have a hot make out session with Adam. Because he was sex incarnate, a walking barrel of testosterone, and what she wanted with him wouldn’t stop at a kiss.

God, she missed being held, made love to all night, skin against skin. Waking up to sweaty sheets, and doing it all over again.

Not possible. Can’t happen.

She wanted him too much.

And although she felt the compelling bulge of his impressive arousal against her backside, this wasn’t meant to be. Ever. He reminded her too much of everything she missed from her past. Those set-in-stone lines would blur. Then, before she knew it, she’d reveal one secret too many, and poof—she’d be gone. Moved to another location, an anonymous life she’d have to start all over again. Her burdened, broken heart couldn’t bear it.

“You’re right,” she said, her chest aching. “There is a difference.” Then she forced out the false words. “I don’t want this.”

“That’s what I figured.”

Inwardly she flinched, wishing she could tell him everything. That her choices were forced on her—and in another place, another time, she would’ve fallen for him in a heartbeat.

“You’re hurting. It’s normal to want to be close to someone. But that someone isn’t meant to be me, Marissa,” he said with blunt honesty.

She hooked her fingers around his thick forearms. “Thanks for understanding.”

He made a gruff sound in his throat. “I know I’m no good for you. I’m not the guy you need. But it’s cool I got to hold you. You made my night.”

“What?” She laughed. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

“Don’t think so.” He released a self-deprecating huff. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Thank you for being here for me.”

He shrugged. “The least I can do.”

When his arms released, she automatically grabbed his hand. She squeezed his fingers. They engulfed hers before he let go. Her hand fell to her side. “I mean it, Adam. I trust you, and you’re a good friend.”

As he faced away from her, he appeared to be adjusting the front of his pants. “Yeah, I’ll tell myself what a good friend I am later when I have a raging hard-on and can’t sleep because of you.”

Laughing, she rolled her eyes. “Like you couldn’t strut into any bar and have your choice of willing women.”

“Who’s willing and who I want—again, two separate things.”

His bold admission washed tingles of pleasure across her skin. “Should I pretend you didn’t say that?”

“Probably.”

Against her better judgment she asked, “If I’d come out here on the bike with you on a less emotional day, would you have kissed me?”

“It’s likely.” He scoffed. “I’m a guy. And I’m into you.” He rubbed his ear. “Forget I said that, too.”

Averting her face to hide a grin, she discovered a lightness in her step, a giant contrast to how she’d felt when they’d arrived. “That was a beautiful view,” she said gesturing behind them. “Thanks for sharing it with me.”

He nodded and headed back to where he’d parked his motorcycle. “Thanks for…” He kneaded the back of his neck with one hand. “Not sharing?” He dropped his hand. “That came out wrong.”

Actually, she liked that Adam wasn’t good with words. “Actions are more important than knowing the right words. Actions can be trusted.  People with bad intentions can manipulate words for their own gain, and the best among them are psychopaths.”

“So if I didn’t have dyslexia, I’d be a psychopath? Great.”

She snorted a laugh. “No, Adam. You’re not manipulative. You’re honest to a fault. I admire that about you.”

“Not if we were dating.” He cursed under his breath and shook his head at himself. “Does having no filter also strike me from the psychopath list?”

“Definitely.” She grinned. “You’re in the clear.”

“Okay.” His serious expression tugged at her heart. “Cool.”

As she approached his motorcycle, she stepped on the foot peg to propel herself upward. She kissed his cheek. “I think you’re a great guy.”

Suddenly, he appeared downright depressed. “If you knew the…what fifty-cent word did you use Monday? Sordid—yeah, if you knew the sordid positions I’d like to put you in right now on my bike, you’d think different.”

A thrill of attraction zipped through her abdomen. Knowing she couldn’t act on it or encourage his
sordid
fantasies, she sat on the small rear seat of his motorcycle and notched the zipper of her jacket a little closer to her neck. “That’s the great thing about friendship. You can be honest with each other, and no one holds it against you.”

A raw expression stole over his face, illuminated by moonlight. “Okay. Then tell me what happened to you today.”

At his request, tears gathered in her eyes. She looked up at the stars, blinking against the blur. “Today, my grandfather…”  After years of convoluting the truth of her past, she automatically covered her near slip, barely skipping a beat. “It’s the anniversary of my grandfather’s death.”

Hips in a wide-spread stance, he shoved his hands in his pockets. His chest rose and fell on a labored breath. “I get it. That day never goes away. The day you lose your anchor.”

Amazed, she stared up at him. He really did understand.

He removed one hand from his pocket to run a thumb over his handlebars where the rubber met the chrome. “My dad went out in a blaze of glory with a side of road rash, finishing in an explosion. Just like he said he’d leave this world. The only time he was ever predictable.”

Sympathy welled inside her. “Tell me more.”

He slanted her a look that said
nice try.
“This is your tell-all, sugar. Not mine.”

“You first,” she said.

“Fine.” He rolled his neck, the muscular chords visible with the movement. “But I hate you a little for making me talk about this.”

“I’ll hate you a little, too, when it’s my turn.”

Releasing a stark laugh, he shrugged as if to convince himself sharing this slice of his history was no big deal. “My dad was my rock.” His gaze sharpened when he glanced at her, his eyes almost iridescent in the moon-silvered darkness. “He was my saving grace, you know. Signed off on me leaving school in tenth grade. Maybe he was sick of me getting expelled all the time. Or maybe he felt for me, because he had a screwed-up brain for letters like me. We never talked about it. We weren’t that kind of family.”

She cupped his elbow, the leather stiff and warm. “Your brain isn’t screwed up, Adam. You’ve proven to me when you’re determined you can unscramble the letters so they make sense. You’re doing really well. Better than expected.”

With an unconcerned lift of one shoulder, he stared into the distance. “The only time I ever saw Dad pick up a pen was when he signed his name. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever.”

“Brain disorders can have a genetic component. Your situation isn’t your fault.”

“Sure as hell ain’t his now either, is it?”

Tucking her arms close against her sides, she sat back on the motorcycle. “No, it’s not.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He died how he lived. On his Harley, riding life full throttle. Next minute, he’s gone.”

“And nothing is ever the same,” she whispered, sharing the burden of that reality along with him.

“I never talk about it. To anyone. Not even my brother.” He gazed at her with a flash of anger in his eyes. “Why the fuck am I telling you any of this?”

“To make it easier for me to share,” she replied softly. “My grandfather worked repairing motorcycles in his shop as far back as I can remember.”

“Now I get how you know so much about bikes,” he reflected, awareness dawning.

“Yes.” But she needed to tread carefully around the truth. Even while he’d been open and honest.
Hypocrite,
she told herself, guilt gnawing at her. “Then Grandpa sold his shop and bought a biker bar. All his clients followed, becoming his patrons.”

“Sweet gig.” Adam nodded. “He was a smart guy. You ever work for him?”

She offered a half-smile. “Do ducks quack?”

A grin lit his face. “Pops used to say the same thing. I know how it goes. After dropping out, I worked for the family business. I was the number one bounty hunter in the tri-county area, and even after, when we expanded to franchise to the West Coast. Books weren’t my thing, so I had to be good at something.”

He flexed his knuckles, littered with star-shaped scars from catching teeth with his fist. She remembered Grandpa and his bar manager, Bones, had shown the same scars.

“And look at you now,” she said,
wearing a smile. “A millionaire, ten times over. Impressive for a bounty hunter and high-school dropout.”

He gazed at her shrewdly. “Second grade teacher with a master’s degree.
Impressive, for a barfly.”

“Touché.”

“So? Grandpa and his bar?”

Here, truth blended with fiction. She spoke with care.

“Grandpa Tate always told me I’d excel at school if I applied myself. I never saw a reason to, since he owned a bar and I assumed I’d work there after high school. I did, of course, but one night ten years ago hell itself unleashed there. I hid in the backroom. It was a really bad scene.”

“Were you hurt?” Rough protectiveness edged his tone.

“Not physically. But I still have nightmares.” Flashbacks of bruises on pale skin, blood dripping onto the floor, and a young girl’s innocence ripped away, along with her life, twisted the knife of regret into her heart. “That’s when Grandpa sent me away to school. I never went back.”