Take My Dare (Stark International Trilogy 4)

Cass laughs. "Okay, we have to figure out a costume. Tomorrow morning. My place. Ten. We shop."

Since Cass is

an expert shopper, particularly in the kinds of used and vintage stores I'll probably have to prowl to find a suitable costume, I readily agree.

"I'm going to leave you to it," Nikki says. "I feel a sudden urge to go find my husband." She winks, then heads out onto the lawn, where Damien has joined Jackson at the swing set.

"I need to put this little guy in his crib. Wanna come up with me?"

"Nah, you go ahead. I'm going to catch up with Ethan. Grab me another wine on your way back?"

I promise I will, then head inside, cradling my son. I'm passing through the kitchen when my father calls my name. I turn, surprised to see him sitting at the small work station in an unlit corner.

"Daddy?"

"I've had a hard time getting close enough to talk to you tonight," he says with a wan smile.

I frown. "I've been here. Sitting mostly. Definitely not hiding."

"No, no." He sighs, then stands. "I just mean it's hard to navigate around the elephant in the room."

My chest tightens. "Oh." I open my mouth, but I'm not sure what to say. That I'm glad he's out of prison, but not sure that I can forgive him? That I tried, but it just doesn't feel right? That the scars of my childhood have faded, but they're still there, and always will be?

Since I can't figure out where to begin, I just stand there holding the baby, my mouth open like some gasping fish. I feel foolish. And, suddenly, I feel angry. Because he's the man who's made me feel that way.

As if he senses the storm in my head, he lifts his hand. "Wait. There's something I need to say, and I've had about two years to think about how I want to say it." He takes a deep breath. "I don't expect you to forgive me. For that matter, I don't think I want you to."

I open my mouth, not to respond, but in surprise.

He hurries on. "I--I screwed up, honey. I know it. And killing Reed didn't change that, although I'm not ashamed that it makes me feel damn good knowing I rid the world of that vermin. So I don't want to ask you for forgiveness. And I don't want to ask you to forget. But I just want to ask if we can start fresh. From right now. Not erasing the past, but moving on from it." He swallows, looking small and uncertain. "Do you think--do you think we could try that?"

Tears prick my eyes and I blink. In my arms, Jeffery squirms, and I realize I've been holding him tight. "Yeah," I say, as what feels like the weight of the world slips from my shoulders. "I think we can do that. At least, I know I want to try."

Chapter 6

++

When Edward rings the bell at eight o'clock the next night, all I can think is that Cass is a genius. Because as I stand and look in the full-length mirror in our bedroom, I can't help but think that I look freaking incredible.

I'd awakened that morning to find her in the kitchen, having let herself in with her spare key.

"I passed Jackson on his way out," she said. "He said to tell you he took the kids to Stella's bungalow. Apparently they're staying there all day and all night, so that--and I quote--you can concentrate on amazing him. And then he told me to tell you that he'd find you tonight. Within his allotted hour," she adds. She grins wickedly. "Part of me thinks we should do up the costume brilliantly. And another part of me thinks you should just make it easy on him." She waggles her brows. "After all, sounds to me like you're going to have a great time losing this particular competition."

She's right about that. After the party last night ended and Jackson and I were in bed, I'd curled up against him, making no secret of the fact that I wasn't too tired to enjoy our newly restored privacy. He asked me how I was doing after seeing my father, and he kept tight attention on my eyes as I told him about the detente with my dad and then assured him that I was doing okay.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because he told me that was good. And then he held me close and proceeded to tell me in explicit, delicious, panty dropping detail exactly what he was not going to do with me last night.

"Because I want you desperate tomorrow," he'd explained, when I'd protested. "I want you to spend every moment of Saturday thinking about the way I'm going to touch you. The way I'm going to find you and tear your costume off you when we get home. The way I'm going to steal you away to a dark corner at the party, press one hand over your mouth so you don't make a sound, and then make you shatter in my arms."

He brushed his lips over my ear, and I trembled, on the verge of exploding from nothing more than his tantalizing promise. "And no one in that house full of people will know that the glow on your skin isn't from the party but from passion. Not from the festivities, but from me. And sweetheart? That's only the beginning."

I whimpered. I begged. I slid my hand down his body until my fingers curled around his rock-hard cock. But all he did was push me away, a devious gleam in his eye. "And no touching yourself," he warned. "No cheating, or I might not come to the party at all."

"Bastard," I'd said, then rolled onto my side and pretended to pout.

"I am," he agreed as he spooned against me, but not before sliding his finger up the back of my thigh, then between my legs, to tease my core just enough to make me crazy--yet not enough to make me come. "Now sleep," he said. "Tomorrow will come faster that way."

Because I'd had no choice, I obeyed, and I'd woken up even more desperate for his touch, his kisses, his cock. But he was already gone, and I couldn't remember the specifics of my dreams.

All I knew was that eight o'clock couldn't come fast enough. And that sometime during the day, I had to put together a costume that was not only the perfect disguise, but would also bring him to his knees.

With Cass at the helm, I managed to do just that.

"The first thing we have to do is change your overall look," she'd said as she circled me, a pencil in her mouth like a cigarette. She carried a notepad and every few moments she'd scribble something, then nod her head and say something like, "Hell, yeah," or, "Oh, he is going to be blown away," while I stood like an idiot wondering what the devil she was plotting.

Turns out we didn't need to go shopping, because Cass brought the world to me. "Stuff I haven't gotten around to altering," she'd said. "Or that I grabbed for Halloween, or just because it was a bargain. And the make-up is from the shop for when we do cover work."

I realized with a start that she'd thought about something I hadn't. Unless I was going to show none of my back, I had to cover my tattoos or Jackson would recognize me right away. Fortunately, Cass also does make-up for actors who need to cover their ink before a shoot or a play. Which means she's an expert at hiding her work.

We tackled that first, and Cass covered every tattoo on my back and my legs, then proceeded to cover the tats on my breasts. "Because I think we want to go risque," she said. Turned out she had a specific gown in mind, and it was very revealing. The top was form fitting and backless. The skirt was made entirely of overlapping strips of material that shimmied and shimmered, revealing lots of leg as I walked.

The arms and front were made of a fine black lace, with the exception of two triangular shapes that covered my breasts. Or, rather, they covered my breasts and then some, because Cass stuffed the bodice with silicone inserts, taking me all the way up to a D-cup.

"Seriously?" I asked, but she just shrugged.

"The idea is for him not to recognize you. And the hair has got to go."

"My hair?"

"Just temporarily." She reached into the smallest of the three huge duffels she'd dragged to the house this morning, then pulled out a wig. The hair was long and black with a hint of red, and even though the idea of wearing a wig all night sounded less than fun, I couldn't deny that I wanted to see where this makeover took me.

She put it on with some sort of special tape, but promised it would come off easily with alcohol. She didn't let me look at myself, but I had to admit I liked the feel of the strands on my shoulders. I'd always loved my hair when I wore it long, and I'd only cut it because Reed had also liked it.

Maybe it was time to grow it out again and just mentally fli

p Reed the bird.

I pondered that as she did my make-up, narrating her work as she went through it. Adding a mole, making my lips bigger with liner and color. Adding more depth to my cheekbones. "I thought about getting you an insert for your mouth to make your jaw wider, but figured you'd balk."

"Yeah," I said. "You figured right." Honestly, there was enough going on here that I rather hoped there'd be an award for Best Costume. If so, I would undoubtedly win and the statue could live in Cass's living room.

"One more thing" she finally said, "and then we'll put on the eyelashes and the shoes."

The "one more thing" turned out to be colored contacts that she swore would make my brown eyes turn a vivid green. Then she had me try on three different pairs of shoes until she found four-inch platforms I could actually walk in.

"Damn, I'm good," she said as she dragged me to the mirror right at eight o'clock. And she was right. I looked freaking amazing. More important, I didn't look at all like me. Especially not when I put on the black lace mask that went so perfectly with the dress.

Now, the door chimes again, and I realize I've been so lost in my mental praise of my best friend's transfiguration abilities that I completely spaced out.

"It's time," I say, feeling almost as excited as a girl going on a first date.

We hurry to the front door and Cass opens it, revealing me to Edward, whose eyes go wide. "Amazing," he says. "You look exceptional."

"It's all Cass's handiwork," I say.

"But would you recognize her?" Cass demands.

"No," he says. "But I'm still betting on Jackson."

I laugh. Honestly, it's probably a good bet.

"You did a great job," he tells Cass.

"Hell, yeah, I did," Cass says, then buffs her nails on her chest before giving me a careful hug, so as not to mess up my make-up or my costume.

I leave her behind, then follow Edward to an unfamiliar white limo. I shoot him a quizzical look, and he lifts a shoulder. "Mr. Steele was very precise. Eight o'clock arrival. Nine at the party. An unfamiliar limo--I borrowed this one from a buddy with a car service--and I'm not to open the door for you. He's leaving that to the valet at the party."