Untamed (Untamed #1) (3 page)

I’d never had someone play hardball with me. Especially a guy who made my entire body tense with pent up need. My stomach felt like it had been invaded by an entire fleet of butterflies.

Butterflies. Who in the world gets butterflies? Little fuckers.

“Fine,” I said. “Then you can buy
me
a drink.”

“Are you twenty-one?” he asked.

I arched an eyebrow. “Depends, are we talking birth certificate age or fake ID age?”

“Underage.” He shook his head.

“
Nineteen
,” I said. “Which is
far
from underage unless you’re some narc.” My eyes widened. “Oh, god. You’re not a cop, are you?” Getting arrested a week before starting my second year of college. That would be one for the books. Lock-up would be NOTHING compared to the wrath I’d face at home once I got out.

“Do I look like a cop?”

“No,” I said. He didn’t strike me as a guy who’d be at home in a police precinct. No way. He practically had
Parental Disapproval
tattooed on his forehead. And god only knew where else. Which only made me like him more. “But maybe you’re one of those bad boy undercover narcs,” I teased.

His eyes darkened. “Definitely not.”

“Good. Then buy me a drink.”

He studied me for a moment, then sighed. “What would you like?”

And in that moment I realized that no drink sounded appetizing. Not a single one. Even the goodies in my purse weren’t going to cut it.

All I wanted was him.

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Dare.”

“Dare? Your name is Dare?” How…
odd
. And so incredibly fitting.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

Oh, I was going to take the Dare.
Hell yes.

“I’m Reagan.”

Then he did something that took me by surprise. His features softened and he broke into a smile as he extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Reagan.” God, the way my name sounded on his tongue turned me on so much. I wanted that tongue on me. Seriously. “So…what would you like?”

“You.”

four

“I
’m not on the menu.” The sharp edge was back in his voice.

“Maybe you should be,” I said. “Just for tonight.”

“I’m not what you’re looking for, Reagan. Trust me.”

“You have no idea what I’m looking for.”
I
had no idea what I was looking for. How could
he?

He shrugged. “You’re right, I don’t. But I can assure you that I’m not it.”

“What—”

“Look, I walked by your booth earlier. I saw the shit you were drinking, the blond, preppy guy whose lap you were on. I’m not your type,” he said. “And you’re not mine. Girls like you just aren’t my thing.”

“Girls like me?” This wasn’t turning out how I wanted. AT ALL.

“Unreal,” he said.

His words slammed into me. “What the hell do you mean by
unreal?
”

“Your smile,” Dare said. “It’s beautiful. Breathtaking, actually. But…it’s not real.”

I was so stunned that I didn’t know what to do. His words hurt, but even worse—he’d seen through me. He hadn’t been fooled like everyone else. And I didn’t know how to handle that, what to do after he so nonchalantly flung the truth in my face.

Part of me wanted to fight back. To hit him. The other part wanted to cry. But I didn’t cry. Ever. Not even—just NEVER. My nails dug into my palms as I tried to hold everything back. Tears pushed against the back of my eyes, threatening to spill out. I bit my lip. NO. I wasn’t going to let this stranger see me cry.

I tried to focus on something positive. Because hadn’t he just said—

“You…noticed me?” I whispered. “Earlier tonight?”

“You’re kind of a hard girl to miss.”

“But you didn’t like what you saw.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. Just a simple statement that caused my chest to ache with a dull, empty pain.

“That’s not what I meant when I said that you weren’t my type,” he said.

My gaze fell to the bar in front of me. “Then why did you…”

Dare placed his fingers under my chin and redirected my eyes back to him. “What?”

“You looked at me like…like you wanted to…”

“Draw you.”

“
What?
” My voice was a breathy whisper.

“I wanted to draw you, Reagan,” he said.

Why did those words sound so hot? They were the most chaste thing a guy had ever said to me in a club, but they shook me so hard. I felt them shoot right into my chest, float down into my abdomen, gliding lower and lower until they were sinking into the very core of my being. They warmed me from inside out, making me forget everything else.

Draw you, draw you, draw you.

“Here.” Dare pushed a napkin over to me.

“Are you an artist?”

He shrugged. “I’m a house painter.”

I looked down at the napkin. Gazing back at me was…well, ME. A portrait of my face. A breathtaking image unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Done in pen. On a freaking napkin.

“Dare…”

“It’s just a rough sketch,” he said.

It was…I had no words.
Amazing? Fabulous? Incredible?
No single word did the picture justice. I studied his work, getting lost in every tiny aspect of the portrait. It was perfect. Except…

“The smile’s wrong—too happy.”

“Artistic license,” he said.

I couldn’t stand looking at that beautiful, happy girl anymore. She wasn’t me. Not really, anyway. She was someone that I had no idea how to be.

But even if the smile wasn’t mine—holy shit. Dare wasn’t just talented. He was… “Rex Vogel.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What did you say?”

I shook my head. “There’s this slightly off-beat portrait artist from Queens named Rex Vogel. A mad genius slash hippie recluse painter specializing in nudes and portraits of unique-looking people. He’s crazy and absolutely amazing and has a big cult following here in the city. Anyway, your style…it kind of reminds me of his.”

Dare gaped at me. “You know about Rex Vogel?”

I nodded. “I’m a big fan. Plus, art is kind of the light of my life.” I stopped and looked up at him in surprise. I’d never told that to anyone before. Anyone who would listen, anyway. “Art galleries feel like…home.” A real home.

“Are you an artist?”

“I wish. No, I’ve got absolutely no talent, unless the ability to draw really horrible stick figures counts.” I shook my head. “It’s just one of those things…we always want what we can’t have, right?” I shrugged. “Or in this case, what I can’t
do
.”

Dare looked down at my face. The one he’d drawn. The one with the real smile. Then he lifted his head and our gazes locked. “Sometimes the one thing we crave most in the world is something we can never have.” The huskiness in his voice made me shiver. Or perhaps it was those damn words.

We sat in silence, staring into each other’s eyes until our slow, shallow breaths synchronized. Something between us shifted. I wanted so desperately to just reach over and touch him. Find out what that
something
was.

So I did.

Slowly, cautiously, I turned my body so we were facing each other, our knees lightly touching and slipped my hand over his. His jaw tightened at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he grasped the bottom of my stool with his free hand and yanked me to him so my knees were snugly pressed in between his parted thighs.

“Reagan…” His fingers slid over my bare shoulders, winding around the back of my neck and threading into my hair.

Oh, god. His lips were less than an inch away from mine. And he smelled so freaking good. Like leather and whiskey and something familiar that made my heart stir. What the hell was it? My lashes lowered and my eyes drifted to the paint-speckled denim on his thighs.
Color
. Could people smell like color? Because Dare actually did. The scent of paint and oil and turpentine lingered on his clothes and skin, making me dizzy with want.

He smelled like my most favorite thing in the entire world. ART.

I closed my eyes and inhaled him. All of him. Before I had a chance to open them again, I felt his mouth on mine. Hard, rough, wanting. I parted my lips to take him in, but he pulled away.

“Shit. I can’t do this.” He swiped a hand over his mouth. “And you should probably get back to your guy.” His brow furrowed and he looked like he was about to change his mind, but then he stood up. “Nice meeting you, Reagan.”

“What about your brother?”

Dare looked over at the stage where the band was performing. “He’ll be fine.” He tossed a handful of bills on the bar. “That will cover the drink I owe you.”

And then he disappeared through the side exit.

I couldn’t have cared less about a drink right now.

five

“D
ARE! Wait!”

I caught up with him in an alleyway behind the club. He was standing by a brick wall, a dusty, black motorcycle between his legs. His hands froze as he was about to put on his helmet, and his head snapped in my direction.

“Reagan?” His eyebrows shot up.

I tried desperately to slow my heart as he stared at me, his lips parted in surprise.

What the hell was I doing? I had never in my entire life run after a guy. EVER.

I slowed my steps and walked toward him as coolly as I could.

Calm. McKinleys were always calm.

I held out the napkin.

“Your sketch,” I said. “You forgot your sketch.”

He looked at his drawing in my hand, then back up at me.

“Keep it.”

“I don’t want the drawing, Dare.” My voice had lowered to almost a whisper. “I want you.”

Ever so slowly, he lowered the helmet so it came to rest between his legs. “I’m not what you’re looking for. I already told you that.”

“Yes, you did.” I took one final step, abolishing the distance between us. “Twice.”

Dare flinched as our bodies made contact. But he didn’t move away. “I’m not going to give you a third warning,” he said, his eyes darkening perilously.

My pulse hammered in my ears as I pressed my hips against him. “Then don’t.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened, and he drew in a sharp breath. “
Reagan
…”

“
Dare,
” I said, my own breaths now reduced to soft, erratic pants. My chest hurt, but I didn’t even care that I couldn’t breathe. Right now, I needed him more than I needed oxygen.

The humid August night brimmed with so much electricity I could almost hear the air around us crackle. Something powerful and unspoken transpired between us, and he wound his hand around my neck.

“Fuck it,” he growled, pulling me to him.

When he kissed me this time, his mouth didn’t hesitate. His tongue didn’t even ask for permission. Forcing my lips apart, he thrust into me and the contact resonated in every part of me. Bursts of heat shot through my body, shaking me to the core, sending waves of pleasure rushing to the places that needed it most.

Even bent over the bike, Dare towered over me, making me feel small and fragile as I stood tangled in his embrace. Imbalance of power was something I steered clear of with a man. It scared the shit out of me. This feeling with him—and all the other warning signs that this guy was so very wrong for me—should have sent me running. Yet they just seemed to make me want him more.

By the time his fingers wove through my hair and his other hand found its way to my hip, I’d surrendered all common sense and lost myself in him. Completely. Wholly. Desperately. I couldn’t get enough. My own fingers gripped his messy locks, tugging and pulling the strands as I returned his kiss with equal intensity, letting him know that I wanted more.

More of his lips. More of his touch. More of him.

“You…taste…so fucking…sweet,” Dare murmured between kisses.

His hand slid up my waist to caress my breast, and his husky groan vibrated through me when his thumb grazed my nipple. Moving in torturously slow circles, he teased it through the silky fabric of my dress, simultaneously drinking in every uncontainable moan spilling from my mouth. Never removing his lips from mine, his other hand slipped to my thigh.

“Come here.” I felt my body being pulled up and to the side as he gently guided one of my legs over the motorcycle and onto his lap so that I was straddling him face-to-face. “I want you closer.”