Truth or Dare (11 page)

So her motor wasn’t exactly humming at the idea of locking lips with the guy, so what? Rumor had it, Aaron got a fair amount of play around the office, and she was banking on his well-honed
mack
to distract her from her misplaced crush and get her on board.

Her phone started to ring with the Black Eyed Peas song Ava had loaded the week before.

“Well, good afternoon, my matchmaking friend. Are you calling to tell me how very kissalicious Aaron’s looking today?”

“Not exactly.”

Maggie’s brow did a little downward hustle at the hushed sound of Ava’s voice through the line.

“You have to cancel.”

“What are you talking about, cancel? It’s four forty-five
P.M.
I’m meeting him at seven.”

“Okay, except this is a second date, Maggie. We both know what that means. And I can guarantee you, two hours and fifteen minutes from now, you will be regretting your decision to go. This date will make the one with Ford look like a dream come true.”

Belly tight, she stopped walking. “What are you talking about? Does he have a new piercing or something?”

For a few seconds there was only shuffling and then a barely intelligible whisper.

“Ava, I can’t hear you. He’s sore?”

“No!
He’s got a cold sore and it’s as big as a nickel, split open and looking totally infected. You can’t kiss him.
I forbid it!”

No date. No kiss. No snack for her starving libido.

By the time Maggie was trudging up the steps to her apartment, she’d texted her apologies to Aaron for the last-minute bail, and whatever spring she’d had in her step was definitely lost.

It wasn’t the end of the world. She had another week and a half to date-up before her January pact situation hit dire status. But suddenly she felt defeated. Exhausted by months of pretending to be open to possibilities, when in reality, she was all about the sabotage from the get-go. Sure, there was the possibility some guy would convince her to give him a shot, which was the whole premise of the pact, but still.

She was tired of it.

Tired of making herself do the things she didn’t want to do.

And tired of telling herself she didn’t want the things she really did.

As if conjured by that single betraying thought, Apartment Three was suddenly headed down the stairs she was going up. And he was looking good. Big and broad. Like maybe she should press her back to the wall as he went past if she didn’t want to brush into him.

It wasn’t the case.

They’d passed each other on the stairs like this a hundred times. But today…

He had his peacoat tucked under one arm and his oxford was a warm, buttery yellow, untucked and opened all the way down. A soft heather T-shirt riding the ridges and valleys of his abdomen beneath, while dark jeans, sporting enough wear not to be stiff, hugged his thighs with each step.

“—gie, you okay?”

Wow.
What did it say that his body was distracting enough to prevent her from noticing him talking?

She blinked. This was getting serious.

Or maybe not.

Looking into his eyes, a kernel of hope took root within her. Because maybe that was exactly the good news she’d been waiting for. Maybe it said this was more a physical thing than any kind of crushy clickage with messy emotional potential. Maybe it was as simple as an itch that needed scratching and rather than looking to some other guy to take the edge off, she ought to go straight to the source of her problem.

No.

She needed to get it together and stop grasping for scratching sticks with deep dimples and an almost drugging scent. “Sorry, Tyler. I was—I—it doesn’t matter.”

Just keep walking, Maggie. Not another word.
Tyler was not the tide-over her libido needed. He was not a snack.

He was the dessert tray tempting her to blow her diet.

“Hey.” He caught her elbow, setting off a chain reaction of heat radiating up her arm, warming over her shoulder and through her chest before settling hot and deep in her belly. “What’s up?”

She needed to look away, break the contact, but she couldn’t do it. Just like she couldn’t lie and tell him she was distracted thinking of some book she wasn’t reading or the gallery or any of the million-plus possible alternatives. Because when he was looking at her like that, when he was touching her, when they were this close and that almost electric connection was burning through her defenses…the only thing she had was the truth. “My date for tonight fell through.”

Or at least a part of it.

“Oh.” He straightened, pulling out of the intimate fold of space they’d been sharing. His arms crossed and he leaned back into the wall, giving her a speculative once-over. “You look disappointed. This someone you actually liked?”

“Not really,” she answered with a quiet laugh as she peered up the stairwell so she could breathe. “But I think I’d kind of convinced myself this was going to be a good one. Not the start of a relationship or anything, just a decent date.”

Then, because the pull was too great, she met his eyes again. “You might have spoiled me.”

He made that contemplative humming sound, jaw shifting to one side. “Ruined for all other dates, huh?”

And
God,
there was that dimple again, making her belly dip and roll. Or maybe it was his confidence, and the cocky attitude that really wasn’t so serious at all. Or more likely it was simply that the answer was
yes.

Not that she could admit it to either of them.

“I’ll concede you set the bar a little higher, but that’s all you’ll get out of me.”

“Fair enough.” His nod was thoughtful. “Got a backup in mind?”

She leaned into her own wall.

“There’s a guy I can call.”

“First date?” he asked, a pointedness to the question she wanted to read into.

“No,” she answered quietly. “Third.”

More muscle jumping as the seconds stretched and the weight of her response sat heavy between them. He didn’t like it. She could see it in his eyes.
Feel it
in the subtle charge that filled the air whenever they stood this close. Only then it was gone. Tyler blinked and it was as if everything shut off. His eyes were clear and all that was left was the chill of an otherwise empty stairwell.

“Right.” He cleared his throat and gave her a short nod. “Well, good luck. Catch you later.”

“Later,” she answered bleakly, watching as he walked down the stairs and out the front door.

Inside her apartment, Maggie pulled her new dress from its bag and hung it on the open hall closet door, debating whether to turn around and take it back. Date-wise, her inspiration was sapped.

“Good luck…”

She didn’t want to feel disappointed.

Seriously, had she thought that because he was one of those rare men capable of extended eye contact, he’d be begging to bail out another date? Especially one requiring a kiss, and of the French variety, no less?

A shiver ran through her as she thought about what it might be like to kiss Tyler. Where he’d put his hands. If he’d hold her gently, or hard enough so she still felt him after he’d let her go. If he’d tease or take or—

Three knocks landed on the door behind her. Hard knocks that resonated through her chest, carrying a sort of intensity of purpose that had her heart pounding and her feet moving before her head had fully caught up.

She’d opened the door and there he was. “Tyler?”

Arms braced against the frame, shoulders wide, his broad chest rising with each stiff breath, he stared at her, frustration in his eyes. “I’ll take you out tonight.”

Frustration and something else.

Something…hot.

Something she could feel sizzling over her skin even as it warned, this wasn’t the kind of mistake she wanted to make. Only it was. One look at this man who made her feel things no one else could, and she knew this was a mistake she
needed
to make.

So instead of doing the right thing, telling him not to worry and promising she’d come up with some innocuous solution that didn’t involve anything more corrupting than a handshake, she leaned into the side of the open door and asked, “You will?”

His eyes flicked to the dress hanging behind her and, blowing out a strained breath, he ran one big hand all over his face. “Yeah, but it’s the same deal as last time—”

“I remember. I
will
remember. This is about tonight.” About taking the edge off something sharp enough to be dangerous.

His focus shifted to her mouth, and she knew he was thinking about the end of the date. Same as she was. “So the kiss business.”

“It’s got to be a real one.” She swallowed and, suddenly conscious of her dry lips, wet them with the barest brush of her tongue.

His eyes darkened, fixed on that motion.

“If it’s about the kiss, maybe we should get it out of the way now,” he suggested, his voice lower and slower than usual. His stare still locked on her mouth, making her hyperaware of it.

This was so different than it had been with Ford. Ty wasn’t looking at her like he was wondering how much he’d have to do. He was looking at her like he was trying hard not to think about how much he
got
to do.

And that look was hot enough to turn her center molten, melt her thoughts until they’d left her head altogether, pooling into a warm puddle low in her belly.

Taking a step into her apartment, he reached for her. Covered the curve of her waist with the heat of his big hand and it was like every part of her came alive, like her entire body was suddenly aware, alert, and yearning for that touch to encompass it as well.

And then his other hand was sliding beneath her hair and around the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the line of her jaw so her head tipped back and she was looking into those dark eyes and,
oh God,
it had been so long since anything, since anyone—

“Okay, so this is it…”

With those words, some far-removed bit of brain function fired to life and Maggie pulled back as Tyler leaned in.

That little furrow between his eyes dug deeper. “Maggie?”

“Wait.” Her hands moved to his chest to put the distance back between them so she could explain that wasn’t how the date worked.

Think, Maggie.

Use your words.

Only then she had the firm resistance and solid-packed muscle of Tyler’s powerful chest beneath her palms, more of that drugging heat, this time accompanied by the heavy beat of his heart beneath.

Strong fingers flexed at her hip as her name ground past his lips.
“Maggie.”

And oh yeah, the gruff sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest was almost better than the feel of her hands splayed across it.

She looked up into the face she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Blinked. Because there was something different about Tyler’s eyes now. They were cooler, as though maybe he’d remembered who he was with and what they were doing.

“Maggie,” he said again, and yes, he definitely sounded more in control than he had seconds before. “Let’s get this over with.”

That hazy fog of hormones she’d nearly given herself over to cleared and instead of feeling enveloped in this intimate heat they shared, she felt cold. Alone.

Better. Definitely better.

Even if it didn’t actually feel that way, it was.

“Ty, it’s got to be at the end of the date to count. So there’s no cheating. You know, not really treating it like a date…because the date-y part is out of the way.”

Tyler’s eyes closed in what looked like an inner-soul search for patience. “Any other rules for the kiss?”

“Front stoop. Not inside my apartment. No gagging,” she added, aiming for a bit of levity she hoped would carry over through the one last rule. “And…our tongues have to touch at least once.”

Tyler’s head dropped forward as a low chuckle rumbled free. “Right, no gagging.”

He squinted at her, shoving his hands through his hair and roughing it up with a few vigorous strokes. “So what time should I pick you up?”

Inside his apartment, Ty pressed a fist against the kitchen counter, wondering what the hell he’d been thinking going back to her apartment and picking up another one of Maggie’s spare dates. Except he knew.

He’d been thinking about some other guy putting his hands and mouth and fucking tongue on Maggie. And he hadn’t liked it. Not even a little bit, but he’d tried to walk away regardless, and he’d gotten as far as the hydrant at the corner before he let himself wonder what exactly a
third
date required. And then his feet were taking him back down the block, up the stairs to the second floor two at a time, and into Maggie’s apartment.

Into the space that smelled like cookies and the woman who baked them, and when it was filled with only the two of them rather than the usual entourage, was quiet and peaceful and warm and calm.

The worst part? He
wanted
that kiss.

Bad. He’d been so ready to take it. And all he’d been thinking about was getting Maggie beneath his mouth, learning the taste of her, and discovering what it would take to make her moan…to put his name on her lips because she wanted something only he could give her. Yeah, that was about when he remembered what this date was about.
And what it wasn’t.

Something Maggie had been trying to remind him herself before he dragged her into that little cave of insanity, where two people who didn’t get enough play could get lost if they weren’t careful.

That
thing
between them that fired up every time their eyes locked or she turned her head a certain way, giving him more of a look at the slender curve of her neck than he should ever have—that
thing
he wanted to ignore because, when it wasn’t messing with his head, Maggie was the kind of friend,
shit,
the kind of friend he really needed—that
thing
had threatened to take over.

But tempting as it was to let it, he couldn’t have Maggie that way. She couldn’t be his girlfriend. And as to what he could give her? Hell.
All
he could give her was a second date with whatever stipulations it involved.