Chapter 8
eight
ROSE
Dare’s home in Hudson Yards is magnificent, as expensive as my home in Tribeca but notably out of the way for someone who spends the majority of their time in the financial district. I wonder if he bought this property to put distance between himself and my family. The flat exterior of the brownstone is painted dark blue, the twin lamps on either side of the door giving the illusion of twinkling stars against a blanket of night.
I stare up at the darkened windows. The crisp breeze banking down the street and crashing into me practically topples me and my wobbling legs over. My heart is beating so hard, it almost hurts, and my body trembles as I walk up the stairs that lead to his door. Although Cassia disabled the camera before I left her place, I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched.
Thanks to her skills, we also discovered Dare had an evening appointment across the city on his calendar. Which means my Friday night consists of breaking and entering. Luckily, it’s as easy as sending a text to Cassia, and the biometric lock disengages and the keypad flashes green.
Dressed in all black—leggings and a long-sleeve shirt—I slink into the home, quietly closing the door behind me. No one is here, but part of me is terrified of alerting someone to my presence, despite Cassia’s assurance that she also disabled the motion and noise detectors.
How is it possible that even the air smells dangerous? A heady mix of masculine vetiver and musk threatens to choke me. Or maybe that’s the anxiety tightening my chest as darkness presses in.
Get it together, Rose. You made it this far.
The blueprints were easy enough to access, and I memorized the layout and saved pictures on my phone before I left Cassia’s loft.
Pristine, gleaming hardwood floors run the length of the foyer, which gives way to two staircases. A short one that leads to the second floor, which houses the kitchen, dining room, and guest bathroom, and another that leads to the basement that also functions as the first floor, with a living room, wet bar, another bathroom, and storage. There are four stories total, but the fourth is mostly open air, aside from a library and office, or at least, that’s what the blueprints showed the rooms to be. The third level has three bedrooms each, with their own en suites.
I head up the shorter staircase, intent on heading to his bedroom, stopping short when I spot a dark figure looming in the kitchen. My breath stutters in my chest. I squint and immediately scold myself for letting my childhood phobias get the better of me.
It’s the fridge.
Shaking my head, I breathe in and scan the darkened kitchen and dining room. Once I’m certain there’s no one lying in wait, and remind myself that shadow monsters aren’t real, I continue. My fingers tremble along the railing as I head up to the third level. A rug runs the length of a long hallway. The bedrooms take up one half of the building, and the other half is exposed to the level above and the one below.
I creep past the two guest bedrooms. Footsteps soft, air held tightly in my lungs, I’m as quiet as a mouse. Right as my hand closes around the door handle to the primary bedroom, I gather the rest of my confidence.
This has to work. I mean, sure, Dare could kill me when he gets home. It would be easy with no one else around. The fact that I’m willing to risk death over marrying Eric is...disturbing if I think about it for too long. But I can’t—won’t—become his trophy.
I twist the knob and slip into the room, pressing my back against the wall and sucking in a ragged breath of vetiver-scented air, as if I just finished a marathon. The darkness closes in around me, but this time, I can fight off my fears.
Breathe in, hold, breathe out.
Everything will be fine.
Dare will come home and I’ll threaten him into marriage.
He won’t kill me. I won’t have to marry Eric, and I?—
“I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you.” Dare’s voice rumbles through the room.
My heart skips. Terror is a shock of ice in my veins as a shriek tumbles out of me. Soft light floods the room, revealing Dare sitting in an oversized chair next to the bed, wearing all black, holding a gun with a silencer pointed in my direction. The tap of the cord against the bedside lamp as it sways back and forth is the only sound in the room as the two of us take one another’s measure. Dare’s lips are pressed into a cruel line while he leans forward to study me, his grip tightening on the gun. The soft glow of light casts shadows over his features, highlighting his perfect cheekbones and square jaw.
Monster isn’t the word that comes to mind.
“Princess,” he purrs. “Why are you in my house?”
My every muscle is rigid, pinned in place by those viciously beautiful eyes as they cut through me. We’re Millers, Rosalynn. People are afraid of us, not the other way around . You’ve been scared of the shadows long enough.
Dad’s words drag me out of the depths of my terror. He’s always given me the strength I need to push through my fears, and now is no exception. I straighten and roll my shoulders. “I want to talk.”
He arches the scarred eyebrow. “So, you broke into my house?”
“Naturally,” I say, tipping my head. “How did you know someone was coming?”
“The security system sends alerts when someone overrides the controls for motion and noise detectors.”
Of course, they do. Cassia won’t be happy to learn she’s not as savvy as she thinks when it comes to Rex Technologies software.
“Well, now that we’re both here.” I push off the wall and make it all of two steps before he leans back in the chair, resting one arm on the couch and pointing the gun at me with the other. My hands shoot up. “Relax, Dare, I’m not here to kill you.”
His gaze narrows. “Yet.”
“I already told you, I have morals.”
“Abiding by the law doesn’t seem to be on the list.”
“Are you still on about the breaking and entering?” I ask, cocking my hip to the side and dropping my hand onto it.
His gaze follows my movement and darkens. “Talk before I decide to paint my walls with your blood.”
A full body shudder runs through me. “You’re an animal.”
The wicked chuckle tumbling from his lips makes my stomach flip. “And, yet, here you are.” He pauses, searching my face, then says, “Five.”
“Are you really going to count down?”
“Four,” he continues.
“This is ridiculous. I’m not a child.”
He shifts in his seat, finger poised on the trigger. “Three.”
Stop fucking around, Rose.
“Fine,” I snap before he can get to two. “I’m here to offer you a deal.”
The gun doesn’t waver, but he trails his gaze down my body and back up. Heat swoops through my veins, despite the dire circumstances. “If you wanted to suck my cock, all you had to do was ask.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl.
“Two,” he says, shoulders tightening.
My stomach bottoms out. He just might kill me. “Marry me.”
Dare’s jaw tenses as he searches my face. Three beats pass before he tosses his head back and laughs. The sound is somehow deadly and carefree at the same time. Like I surprised him in the worst of ways, but he’s enjoying the show I’m putting on.
“It’s not that funny,” I grumble a second later.
Finally, he sets the gun on the bedside table, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his legs, staring straight through my soul. “The princess and the beast, huh?”
It sounds like a fairy tale when he says it like that, but there’s no magic here. No dancing teacups, and clearly no love to be had. This is all about survival.
“Marry me,” I say again, taking another step toward him. “And nothing bad will happen to Frank’s Bakery.” For two breaths, I swear he’s about to start laughing again, but then something like morbid curiosity flashes over his face.
Intriguing the beast might be worse than annoying him.
“Why?” he asks.
“Why what?”
“Why me?”
My forehead wrinkles. “Does it matter?”
“What about Eric?”
“I’m not marrying that asshole,” I snarl.
Dare stands.
I stiffen.
A wolfish grin stretches across his face, and he takes a measured step. Instinct has me moving away, pulse thundering and stomach flipping.
He steps again and so do I.
Heartbeat by heartbeat.
Steady breath by trembling breath.
One by one, until my back hits the wall and he’s a foot away from me. The palms of my hands press against the wall.
Dare is so tall, I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze. The air between us is electric, raising the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck, shooting adrenaline through my system. Run, Rose. Run. But I can’t. I need him to agree. Unless I flee the country, this deal is my only way out of the marriage to Eric.
Those brown eyes bore into me. It’s silly, but with that one look alone, I swear he can see the worst of my secrets, see the desperation. His nostrils flare ever so slightly, scenting the prey before him. He closes the distance between us.
My heart skips. I jump as one of his forearms slams above my head. His knee pushes between my legs. At first, I fight him, keeping them firmly clamped shut, but his answering glare has me relenting, and I open them, allowing his muscled thigh to slip between my legs and press against my core.
The vagina approves. The woman is annoyed that the vagina approves.
Fingers ghost down my cheek and grip my chin. Pulse racing, stomach fluttering somewhere between fright and excitement, I scowl at him.
“Marry you, huh?” he asks.
“Yes,” I rasp.
His gaze dips to my lips. “And what’s in it for me?”
My core clenches. I lick my lips, shoving aside those wanton thoughts. “Money. Power.”
“Already have that,” he says, inching closer, sliding his thigh over my cunt.
My clit throbs in response, and I clamp my jaw to keep from making a sound. Pressing the pads of my fingers against the wall, I try to ignore the desire flooding me.
“Say I take you as my wife,” Dare begins, moving the hand from my chin and running it down my side, stopping at my hip and gripping it firmly. “Would you let me fuck you?”
“Yes,” I lie.
He squints, as though he can scent my deception. “And you’d let me taste you?” His thumb slips beneath the band of my leggings, tracing over my lower stomach. A shiver rolls down my spine, but fear is nowhere in sight. My pussy clenches in response to his teasing.
“Yes,” I say, though this time, I’m not sure it’s a lie.
God, it’s been far too long since I’ve had sex if I’m desperate for Dare to touch me.
It doesn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I should be happy to marry someone like Eric, who is the picture of corporate America, but I’m not. The fucked-up truth is, I find Dare attractive.
He’s the enemy. The antithesis of who I should want. But he’s gorgeous. Strong. Deadly. Terrifying.
A cocky smile tips his lips. Watching my face, he slips his hands into my pants, shifting his leg to give himself room to cup my cunt. I’m embarrassingly aroused, but all he does is hum in approval.
“So wet for me already, princess?”
“I’m not your?—”
His hand around my throat cuts off the words. He squeezes hard enough to warn me, though not hard enough to hurt me, which is unexpected. “But you asked to be my wife,” he murmurs, stroking a finger through my slit, circling my pulsing clit.
I purse my lips to stifle the whimper begging to slip out.
Dare repeats the motion, his gaze darkening in response to my defiance. Caressing and rolling the pad of his finger over my clit faster and faster, he slips two of his fingers inside of me. I gasp, lips parting at the sudden but welcome intrusion.
My walls clamp around him, and he grunts, thrusting his fingers deep inside of my cunt and stroking my G-spot while his other finger teases my clit. The hand at my neck loosens enough to allow me to pant, chest heaving, as Dare pins me in place, determination written over his face.
“Ask,” he demands.
My forehead crinkles. “What?”
“Ask me again.” Dare stokes a fire deep in my belly, his touch making my skin burn in the best of ways.
I want to fight him. Want to refuse. To find my way back in control of the situation, but the way his eyebrows draw down, a silent command to do his bidding, steals the last of my sanity.
Legs weak, body thrumming with pleasure, and on the brink of an orgasm, I whisper, “Marry me, Dare.”
Working harder, Dare takes me higher and higher until the room is filled with my pants and whimpers, until I roll my hips to meet his strokes, until I melt into the wall and he’s the only thing holding me up. My lips tingle and my eyes widen, holding his gaze as stars dance across my vision and he makes me come.
My cry fills the space between us.
Dare smirks, watching me fall apart as he eases me through the orgasm. He stops when I pull in a deep breath. My walls tighten around his retreating fingers, and he chuckles, fixing my leggings before lifting his glistening digits to his mouth. His full lips close around his fingers as he sucks them clean.
Damn, that’s hotter than it should be.
Slowly drawing them out, he brushes them over my mouth, wetting my lips, a strange look on his face. But a moment later, it’s gone, and he pushes away from the wall, taking his warmth with him. “Run home to Daddy, Rose.”
His words slap me across the face.
“What? ”
He backs away, glaring at me. “Get out.”
Something I don’t understand changed in the seconds between him making me come and him telling me to get out.
“What about my proposal?”
Scrubbing a tattooed hand over his face, he gives me a stern look. “Rose.”
There’s a warning in his tone. And I’m smart enough to heed it, even if I am pissed he’s sending me away after giving me the best orgasm of my life.
“Fuck you, Dare,” I say, pushing away from the wall and scurrying out of his house, fleeing from the embarrassment of giving in to him and the sting of his harsh rejection. Dare was my only plan to avoid marrying Eric.
And now? Now I don’t know what to do.