Down on Her Knees (Dare Me 3)

He tucked a loose strand of hair back into the knot on the top of her head in a way that made her insides go to mush. Even with all the innuendo and teasing, she’d never really considered that he wanted her for real. She’d thought it was nothing more than a game to him. A way to make her pay, albeit in a playful way, for her digs about his sex life.

This wasn’t that.

Her hands went from damp with sweat to icy cold in a flash at the realization. He was dead serious this time, and her already-overwrought nerves went haywire. This was Black Hawk Down emergency, worst-case-scenario-type serious. She could barely fight her attraction to him when he hadn’t been trying. If he turned his full, unadulterated attention on her? She was dead in the water.

“No. Uh-uh. Not gonna happen,” she said with a firm shake of her head that probably would’ve had a lot more oomph if her voice wasn’t trembling. “Maybe I haven’t been clear enough. I’m not in the market for a boyfriend, and—”

“Whoa.” He stepped back like she’d tossed a vial full of acid at him. If she hadn’t been such a wreck, she would have laughed. “Nobody said anything about a boyfriend. We’re on the same page there.”

“We are?” she asked, unable to stop herself from asking in spite of her ludicrously stinging pride.

“Yup.” His posture relaxed some and he leaned back on his heels. “That’s why we’d work perfectly together. I can show you how good giving up control in the bedroom can be, and you can help me get past this preoccupation I seem to have with you lately. When we’re through, you walk away enlightened, and I…”

…just walk away, she finished for him silently when he trailed off.

She silenced the devil on her shoulder insisting that he’d outlined the perfect solution to more than one problem and did what she did best.

Super-denial lockdown mode engaged.

She steeled herself and gave him a cool stare. “I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, Rafe. But I’m just”—she managed a nonchalant shrug even though she’d never felt more chalant—“not interested.”

She tossed her head back and shouldered past him, his laughter following her across the room. It wasn’t until she stood next to Cat and Lacey on the dance floor that she recognized the song pouring from the speakers around her.

“The Chicken Dance.”

Lovely.

…

It was official. This woman was driving him batshit crazy. He watched from his perch at the bar while she danced with her friends and tried her damnedest to ignore him. Too bad she was terrible at it. Not the dancing. The dancing was good. His dick twitched in agreement as she shimmied back and forth, her hips mesmerizing him for a second before he refocused.

Nope, the part she sucked at was ignoring him. The veiled glances from beneath her lashes. The way her pupils dilated when she looked at him. The pulse in her neck beating wildly.

Not interested, his ass. But the offer had been made and declined. Time to move along.

“All the single ladies, head on over to the center of the floor for me, would you?” the DJ called, snagging Rafe’s attention.

He took a sip from his glass of scotch and glanced at his watch. Another hour or so, a couple more corny traditions, and he could make a graceful exit. It probably wasn’t too late to find a woman willing to play tonight. It had been weeks since he’d done a scene, and he was feeling the drought now.

He ran through a mental list of possible partners until he found himself distracted again by the woman in peach chiffon being dragged into a line by a group of laughing women.

He didn’t look away until a shadow fell over the smooth lacquered bar. Galen Thomas stood over him, curiosity knitting his brows.

“What’s going on with you two?”

He considered playing dumb, but they’d been friends for too long. Galen would get it out of him one way or another. “Hell if I know.”

Galen snorted out a laugh. “That’s a first. The guy with all the answers doesn’t know. Are you actually digging her, or is this some tugging-braids-in-the-school-yard type of shit? Because I haven’t seen you look at a woman like that since—”

After having boxed together before Galen went pro, the serious look on his face warned Rafe that it was about to get real, and he cut in, deflecting the blow neatly. Because hearing her name still hurt, even now.

“Nope.” He took a long pull from his glass and set it down with a clink. “Courtney is sexy, and she’s a challenge, but that’s it. There’s no love match here, so get it out of your head.”

Galen had the audacity to look confused. “What do you mean? All I did was ask a simple question.”

“I know that you and your pretty new wife are plotting to end my days of debauchery so I can follow you down the rabbit hole to wedded bliss, but that’s not my bag, man. You done good, Lacey is a keeper, but that life’s not for me.”

Galen studied him like he was a creature under a microscope, and he braced himself for the second round. “Look, it’s been five years now, man. Maybe it’s time—”

Rafe cut him short again, anger making his voice tight. “I’m willing to bet you can still take me in the ring, but if you keep bringing Monica up, you and me are going to have a problem.”

The words lay between them like a live wire, and despite the guilt that followed right on their heels, he refused to take them back. Not much was sacred to him, but this one thing? Not open for discussion, end of story, period.

Galen’s gaze went flat, and for a second Rafe wondered if he was going to ignore his warning and push again. To his everlasting relief, his friend backed off with a curt nod instead.

“Got it.”

Twelve years of friendship was long enough for Rafe to know that they were cool. At least, they would be as soon as the head of steam he’d built between them had burned off. Right now, though, the silence felt heavy. He was just about to break it with some clumsy attempt at small talk when the space around them reverberated with shouts of encouragement.

“Get ready, Lacey!”

The DJ counted down. “Five, four, three, two…”

They both watched as the bride pitched the bouquet over her shoulder, directly toward her maid of honor, Cat. She lunged for it, but suddenly began to pinwheel, arms flapping as she slipped on a cloth napkin. She landed in a laughing heap on the floor even as the bouquet headed like a missile at its new, unwitting target.

“Shit!” Courtney squeaked, lifting a hand up and barely plucking it out of the air in time to avoid it smacking her dead in the face.

“Damn,” Cat grumbled, pushing herself to her feet to playfully glare at a stunned Courtney. “Looks like you’re the next one getting married.”

“Are you okay?” Lacey asked as the onlookers crowded around to make sure Cat was all right.

“I’m fine.” She blew a copper-colored curl from her eye. “But this guy’s in a load of trouble if he’s going to wait until after she gets married to make an honest woman of me.” She jerked a thumb at Shane, her live-in fiancé and another of Rafe’s longtime buddies.

“Not to worry, love. It’s an old wives’ tale,” he reassured her with a wink. “I’ll take you whenever you’ll have me.”

Rafe strode over, attention on Courtney, who stood stock-still, hazel eyes wide with shock. “Did you get hit?” he asked, leaning closer to scan her face for injury.

“N-no. I’m fine.” She stepped away, cheeks pink. “Let’s keep it moving,” she called to the crowd, her voice shrill. “Nothing to see here.”

“You heard the young lady,” the DJ crowed. “We’re ready to rock and roll, so come on, let’s get ready for the garter.”

Rafe gave her one last glance, to see that she was all right. In spite of her reassurance, she still looked panicked, which didn’t make sense. Surely she didn’t believe in that antiquated mumbo jumbo about being the next one down the aisle?

He was still deep in thought, trying to solve the mystery behind Courtney’s discomfort, as the festivities continued, with Galen making quick work of his bride’s garter.

With everyone focused on the dance floor, maybe he didn’t even need to stick it out the hour. Maybe he could sneak away—

“Where are you going?” Galen said, stopping him in his tracks.

“Jesus, you’re fast.”

“Right. Now answer the question.”

He glanced out the tent and up the pathway with a regretful sigh, knowing he’d missed his window. “I was going to head out.”

“No way.” Galen planted his body in front of Rafe and gave him a grim smile. “You’re in the wedding party, you can’t leave. Get out there before you hurt my wife’s feelings.”

That was a low blow, but coupled with his guilt over being shitty to his buddy earlier, it worked. “Roger that.” Rafe made his way to the line of men Galen was gesturing to, cursing under his breath all the while. Clearly another stupid tradition that he was glad he’d never have to go through again after today.

“Back up, assholes.” A young guy with a dirty-blond buzz cut cracked his knuckles and hunkered down into what Rafe instantly recognized as a fighting stance. “Someone is about to get their hand up that chick’s skirt, and it’s gonna be me.”

A couple of the other men laughed, most didn’t, and Rafe’s blood went hot.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he growled at the frat boy, running through all the reasons he shouldn’t knock that leering grin off his face with one clean uppercut.

“Where are you from, dude, Mars?” Blondie frowned. “Whoever catches the garter gets to put it on that girl.”

Rafe hesitated. He didn’t have any siblings and most of his friends were single, so he’d only been to one other wedding in his life and that one was in Texas, years ago with Monica. Still, surely he would’ve remembered that tradition? Before he could grill the guy further, Shane shouldered his way into the pack and confirmed the situation.

“Yeah. It’s pretty standard, man.”

Which explained Courtney’s panic, and why she was strangling the bouquet in her white-knuckled hands. She was probably dreading the possibility of him catching the garter.

“Get your game face on,” Shane urged in a low voice, clapping Rafe on the shoulder, hard. “I don’t want to be here if this asshole next to me gets the garter. No matter what happens, remember, you’re an officer of the law. Keep it legal.”

Rafe nodded, but his focus was solely on Galen’s hand as he turned his back to the group and prepared to throw the tiny blue scrap of silk. Courtney might not want him up her dress, but there was no way in hell he was letting Frat Boy take advantage of her in the way he so clearly intended to.

When the garter came his way, the anger had drained away, leaving behind laser-like focus. And when Frat Boy checked him hard in the side, he checked him even harder back, sending the kid stumbling as his own fingers closed over the prize.

Even over the cheers of the guests, he heard Courtney’s gasp and met her gaze, his tunnel vision expanding to include her. She sat on a chair in the middle of the dance floor, eyes wide as he walked toward her, unable to squash the rush of adrenaline pounding through him. He might make her nervous, but at least that other guy wasn’t going to put his hands on her. If she knew what the bastard’s intentions had been, she might actually be grateful right now.

And what about your intentions? his conscience whispered.

So maybe they hadn’t always been pure, he conceded, but this time, he had only done what he’d done to protect her. He stopped in front of her chair and tipped his head at her.

“Ready for me?”