
Untamed

by Jen Meyers & Victoria Green

Copyright © 2014 Jen Meyers & Victoria Green

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously. No character is based on or inspired by any known or unknown persons, and all incidents come from the author's imagination alone.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover photographs © kiuikson and chamillew

Authors' Note

Thanks for picking up _Untamed,_ the first episode in the UNTAMED Series. This is episode 1 of 5. Just like an episode of your favorite TV drama, each book in this series tells a _complete_ part of a _continuing saga_. The entire Untamed Series is not just one book, one story. It is a SEASON of stories, giving you a greater glimpse into the lives of Dare Wilde and Reagan McKinley than you could ever get in a stand-alone novel. You are getting so much more of these characters in this serial format, which is why we chose to write in this style.

And while one book leads into the next, each one has a definite beginning, middle, and end. There is conflict, climax, and resolution in every single book—they are not simply pieces of a longer book chopped into shorter sections. We work very hard to create a completely satisfying story in each episode, taking you on a wild, roller-coaster ride of emotions that culminates in a wonderful moment of _Ahh!_...before we leave you hanging at the end, lol. Yes, each one ends on a cliffhanger, just like TV shows often do, leaving viewers aching for the next episode.

We sincerely hope you enjoy it!

Warmly,

Jen and Victoria

one

"I need to get laid." I tipped my head back so the tequila shot could burn its way down my throat. It was my fifth or sixth of the night, and with the cocktail of pills I'd downed earlier, every cell in my body pulsed to the beat of the music pounding the walls of the club. I was ravenous for contact, humming with arousal, craving a release.

Bottom line, I needed to get off. If only to feel a tiny sliver of... _something_.

"Suck." Archer leaned across the leather couch of our private VIP section and pressed a lime wedge to my lips. When I parted them, he added, "You know I'm always happy to quench your thirst, Reagan." His bright blue eyes ignited and his deep voice dripped with innuendo, making the smirk on his chiseled face doubly wicked.

I grimaced at the sharp, sour sting of citrus. Or maybe because for a brief, crazy instant I actually considered his offer.

Archer Huntington Chase III wasn't an easy temptation to pass up. With his blond, wavy hair, angular features, and a style ripped straight from the pages of GQ, he was every woman's wet dream. Girls lost their way—and their panties—in the depths of his icy gaze. At the moment, it was glassy and unfocused as he stared back at me, but without a doubt, he was as close to a mythical creature as any twenty-year-old human being could be. Much too good to be true. _Perfect_ , in fact.

But perfect wasn't what I wanted. Not what the REAL me wanted, anyway.

Waving my hand, I said, "We've already been down that road before, Arch. One too many times." If my parents didn't worship him so damn much, I might've even been able to make myself feel something for him. But my sex life was the one thing in my life they couldn't control. The _only_ thing I had some semblance of autonomy over. And tonight, the last thing I wanted was to end up in bed with someone they'd approve of.

Archer wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. "Hey, from what I remember, you and I are always fun together."

As he brought his mouth to mine, I stiffened. "From what I remember, we are always wasted out of our minds." Well, actually, I _didn't_ remember that part, but knew it had to be true. Trapped deep inside an inebriated state, I could guarantee there would never be any room for messy emotions. I placed my palms on his chest and gently pushed.

"Well, lucky us, we happen to be wasted right now." Archer's smile widened as he raised two fingers at our waitress. "I can't believe it's been a full year since we hung out. Remember what happened that insane night we went out to celebrate your graduation last summer?"

I groaned. "You mean, _mourn_ my acceptance into Poli-freaking-Sci at Columbia?" My father had forced the major on me. Just like he'd picked every one of my high school electives and was already stuffing Harvard Law School brochures down my throat. "No, I don't remember anything that went on that entire week, Arch." Thankfully.

"You know I really miss you, right?" There was something about the tension in his voice that made my chest constrict. I couldn't handle any kind of deeper meaning behind those words.

"Oh, whatever. It's not like you're _ever_ hurting for company. You'll get over me as soon as you zero in on your latest plaything." His bed, like mine, was never empty. Our hearts and lives, on the other hand...well, we tried not to think about that. That was what the pills and alcohol were for. Colorful, blissful escape.

Speaking of which...

"I know how you can quench my thirst," I said, leaning in so close I could see the silver flecks in his eyes. My sparkly black-and-gold dress shimmered against his deep gray Armani shirt. "You wanna make me buzz all over?"

"Fuck, yes." A whoosh of air escaped his lungs. "You smell so damn delicious right now. Tell me what you want, babe." He licked his lips, nodding.

My eyes dropped to the little baggie of white powder on the table between us. His stash. "Just a tiny, little hit of something extra," I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. My long, thick, golden-brown locks drove him wild.

"Uh-uh. No way." He grabbed the coke and shoved it back into his pocket. "As much as I'd love nothing more than to take advantage of you, you're way too fucked up for blow right now."

I was too fucked up for a lot of things. When did that ever actually matter?

Sticking out my bottom lip, I poked him in the chest. "And you're no fun at all. No Reagan for you tonight."

He groaned. "Aww, come on. Don't you know how much I love you, baby girl?"

"Just as much as I love you," I said.

Then I laughed. Wildly. Madly. Deeply _. Hysterically_. Until my heart ached. Archer joined me, his shoulder and arm quaking against my body.

Liars. Both of us.

LOVE. What the fuck did either of us know about love?

I didn't trust love. It had never done anything for me but give false hope, mask manipulation, and break me. I had no delusions about love anymore—I'd lost my innocence four years ago.

And I would never be broken again.

Emptiness filled every part of my body and mind. But who fucking cared? I had other, less conventional, means of fulfillment.

Pop an upper. Shoot some tequila. Fuck a stranger.

Bury shame. Get a 4.0 GPA. Play perfect daughter.

Rinse and repeat.

I was living a pretend life, all artificial happiness and forged feelings. And no one even noticed. Well, except for Archer. But that was only because he was in the same boat.

"You know, you're gonna miss me when I go back to Harvard next week," he said. Gloom clouded his eyes, but this time it had nothing to do with me.

Even though he'd already served a two-year sentence of his four-year business program at the top of his class, there would always be a big piece of Archer that wished his father had allowed him take that football scholarship. But, of course, in our world, business and politics trumped sports—trumped every-freaking-thing. Art? _Suffocated_. Freedom and creativity? _Stifled._

"I won't miss you, Arch," I replied. "I'll be too busy with school." My second year officially started next week, and while I was dreading having to maintain a perfect GPA in courses I had no interest in, I was looking forward to being able to use midterms and study groups as excuses from family dinners. "Plus, I'll have no time for anyone else but New York City. She and I need to rekindle our affair. It's going to be dirty, rough, and absolutely amazing." An entire summer spent with my parents had me desperate to get away. I was ready to grasp onto any sliver of freedom I could get. However _pretend_ it might be.

" _REEEEAGAN?!_ " I nearly jumped out of my seat when the screech hit my ears. How someone so petite could be loud enough to cut through the drum solo boggled my mind.

"Reagan! Oh, my god! What are you still doing here, love?!" Mika Malone—yes, the famous music exec Mike Malone's daughter—bounded over from the dance floor, flinging herself onto the couch and conveniently falling into Archer's lap. Her tiny, black skirt rode up to expose her red lace panties, but she didn't seem to mind.

She looked up at me and smiled sickly sweet like only a long-time frenemy could. "Didn't you say you were looking for a hottie to ensure your last Friday night of freedom goes out with a bang? What happened to that plan?"

Translation: _Why are you still sitting here with Archer? I invited him to the most elite club in all of the Meatpacking District for an exclusive preview of a hot new rock band that's about to blow up. Alone. Because I wanted to impress him with Daddy's connections so he'd finally agree to screw my brains out. He insisted on bringing you and has refused to leave your side the entire night. I want you out of the picture so he can finally stop ignoring me. Like, yesterday._

"I'm working on it, Mika," I said, returning her fake smile.

"I actually proposed my services, but Reagan refuses to take me up on the offer." Archer grinned, his teeth immaculately white and perfectly straight. I cringed inwardly as Mika's dark brown eyes narrowed in my direction.

Before any of us could speak, our waitress returned. "Here you go! Enjoy!" She set two shot glasses in front of us. Damn it. For the umpteenth time tonight, Archer had forgotten to count Mika in.

"Oh." She swallowed hard, her gaze lingering on the alcohol that was clearly not meant for her. For a brief instant I didn't know if she was going to cry or throw something. But she didn't do either. She stayed terrifyingly silent.

"Mika, Arch wasn't sure what you liked to drink so he got you a shot of Patron." I picked up a glass in each hand and held them out to the duo. "Cheers, guys!"

Why in fuck's name had I agreed to come here again? Right. Archer was providing me with a goody bag of pharmaceuticals I'd need to get through the next semester, and would only agree to trade me for a night out.

Mika looked at me warily, but took the shot. "Thanks."

"Hey, M&M, why don't _you_ pick a guy for me?" I said. She couldn't do any worse than me with all the strikeouts this week. Plus, this would show I had no interest in doing anything with Archer and she could have him to herself. Win-win.

"Yes! Brilliant idea!" Mika sat straight up. "Why don't I introduce you to the lead singer of _No Man's Land_ after the band's set? His name's Dash and he's pure sex on a stick. I say you jump that ass before he's super famous and riddled with STDs."

"Whatever." Archer rolled his eyes. "He's probably all gonorrhea-d out already."

"When do they wrap? In another hour or two? My buzz is going to wear off by then." I wanted someone now. While I was still riding a high. While there was still a chance I could feel something—regardless of how little, how short, how fake.

"Well if you're not willing to wait for a sexy rock star, why not go for the drooler at five o'clock?" Mika giggled and nodded toward a short, scrawny guy wearing—no fucking way—a sweater vest and oversized black-rimmed glasses. He was trying to keep tempo with the music, but failing miserably. The moment my gaze landed on him, his eyes widened and he stumbled.

Archer winced. " _Ouch_."

"Oh. My. God. He's literally wagging his tongue!" Mika laughed. "What a little bitch. Clearly a rich bitch, but a bitch nonetheless."

"He looks like a nice guy," I said with a shrug. Nice and tame. Which was the furthest thing from what I wanted. "Just...not my type." No one in this club was my type. Too many black cards, designer suits, expensive haircuts, and rich douchebags.

"You want something higher-end?" Mika asked. "I have the __ PERFECT guy for you!" She jumped off the seat to scan the crowd. "You know Richard Emerson, right?" Her manicured fingers flew across her phone screen.

"Who?" I asked.

"He goes to Columbia, too," she said. "I think he's in one of the frats. Two years older and super hot. Not to mention, mommy and daddy are loaded beyond belief. He has a booth near the stage. I texted him to come over. You'll _love_ him."

Shit _._ I already knew I wouldn't. "I don't—"

"RICHAAAARD! Over here!" Mika called.

Double shit. I groaned inwardly when I saw a familiar head of light brown curls glide through the crowd. "No, Mika! _Not him_."

She waved her arms above her head. "Hey, come here for a second!"

No, no, no.

_"_ My friend Reagan is here all by herself and needs a little entertaining," Mika said when the guy came to a stop in front of us. His hazel eyes widened when he saw me.

Fuck. Of course he recognized me.

From. Last. Week.

"Reagan McKinley!" he grunted my name. Fucking Neanderthal. "Hey, babe!" He slid onto the couch and wrapped his meaty arms around me. "Back for more Dick-meister so soon?"

Archer stiffened. I could've sworn I heard his jaw snap.

"My buddies and I have a penthouse suite in the hotel a block over," Richard said, leaning way too close. "Wanna get out of here? I'll pick us up a bottle or two of Dom from the bar, and we can—"

"I'll pass," I said.

"But...what about last week?"

Jesus Christ. What about it?

It had been bad. Awkwardly bad. Richard had been much too eager and way too full of himself. My mind had checked out almost as soon as he'd started and my body followed closely behind. They'd reluctantly returned only when enough time had passed to believably fake it—though I didn't even bother calling out his name.

I never called out anyone's name.

All I'd done when Richard FINALLY sputtered to the finish line was gather my clothes and hightail it out of whosever mansion-sized bathroom we'd ended up in. It was my parents' fault. If I hadn't been forced to spend the summer at their Hamptons estate then I wouldn't have been at that fundraiser with them, wanting to blow my brains out, but instead ending up fucking my brains out with a random...well, _Dick_.

"Excuse me." I wiggled my shoulders, trying to get out of his embrace, but he must have thought I was rubbing up against him so he tightened his grasp.

"Oh, yeah. I remember this sexy little bod."

Oh, god.

"Richard...let...go." I couldn't breathe. My skin crawled and my pulse quickened while a scream built up in my chest.

"Get the fuck off of her!" Archer pried Richard's hands off and shoved him onto the floor.

Oxygen flooded my lungs as I stood up.

"I need...air," I said, my breaths coming in gasps.

"Reagan!" Archer reached for me, but it was too late.

I fled.
two

I didn't stop running until I was safely through the doors of the women's restroom. I bent over the sink, grasping the marble counter tightly as I tried to regain control of my breathing. Why did this always happen?

_McKinleys are ALWAYS in control, Reagan._

I could hear my father's voice. Loud and clear. And disapproving.

The way he always sounded.

I fought the urge to grab the hand cream bottles on the counter and smash them against the mirror in front of me. Instead, I took a deep, shaky breath and splashed some water on my face. Control. Yes, always.

Gazing at my reflection, I counted to ten, blinking away the fogginess in my dark blue eyes. My mascara and eyeliner weren't smudged—I hated the feel of heavy make-up, so I never wore much—but I ran my fingers under my eyes anyway, swiping away the imaginary streaks. Smoothing out my hair, I ensured every single strand was back in place.

_McKinleys NEVER lose their composure, Reagan._

A toilet flushed and two giggling girls stumbled out of a shared stall and sidled up next to me. They wiped the white power from their nostrils and touched up their make-up as they gossiped about _No Man's Land_.

Brunette: "Can I just say that I'm head-over-heels in love with Dash?"

Blonde: "Oh, my god. His deep, raspy voice totes speaks to my heart."

Brunette: "Your heart? _Please_. His voice speaks to my girly bits."

Blonde: "Well, see, it's his abs that do that fo—"

The brunette cut her off as she gave me the once-over in the mirror. " _Looove_ your dress," she said, as she applied red lipstick to her already vibrant lips. "What is it? Versace? Valentino?"

"Uh-huh," I said absentmindedly.

Her friend leaned over and took my skirt between her fingers. "Ohh, next season's Valentino! Nice!"

I nodded. Sure. Whatever. I'd had to wear it. I would have preferred my own clothes.

"Are you here for Fashion Week?" she asked.

"No. School."

I got that question a lot around this time of year. People assumed. Mistakenly. I suppose it had to do with being five-eight and having a naturally lean frame.

"You could totally lie and tell people you're in one of the shows," the brunette said. "I'm with an agency downtown and there are _way_ less-fortunate looking girls on our roster."

"That's very sweet, but I'm good." The last thing I needed was some agent telling me how to dress, where to go, and what to eat. I already had my mother for that. I scrunched up the paper towel I'd used to dry off my face and chucked it in the garbage on my way out.

Threading through sweaty, gyrating bodies, I ended up at the back of the club, far from the stage and VIP section. Leaning against a smooth marble wall, I shut my eyes and inhaled. The air was stuffy, humid. My lungs protested, my head spun. I didn't want to go back to Archer, Mika, and Dick, but I really didn't want to end up alone.

My fingers slipped into my clutch and wrapped around a familiar cylinder. Just feeling the bottle of pills soothed my nerves.

I stood there for I don't know how long, debating between swallowing something, taking another shot, or doing both, ensuring my mind chilled the fuck out. How can a person have so much noise inside their head and at the same time feel like they're drowning in silence?

But what I really wanted was someone who could ground me. Sex still counted as mind-numbing, right?

I opened my eyes and scanned the men in my vicinity. Not like it really mattered where tonight's dart landed. None of them could ever truly give me what I needed. But one of them should be good enough for a temporary release.

I didn't need Mr. Right.

I just needed Mr. Right Now.

As I turned toward the bar, my eyes connected with a pair of dark ones, and all of the air left my lungs in a rush. My heart stopped. Yes. Actually stopped and skipped a beat. The guy's intense gaze slammed into me. From halfway across the room, the color of his irises was impossible to see, but I was sure of one thing. They were dark. Dark and wild and powerful. He stared at me with bold, unabashed interest that made my entire body buzz and my head spin.

The temperature inside the room spiked to an all-time high. The beat of the music became a dull throb only to be replaced by the sound of my hammering pulse. And my vision? The rest of the world blurred until there was only him.

Just him.

Chiseled face, broad shoulders, short, messy hair as dark as sin. And those eyes. Those goddamn eyes. Smoldering, liquid darkness. I was spellbound, losing myself in their depths.

I searched his stare for the hungry submission I'd grown to expect from men, but it wasn't there. His look was unlike any other. The way he studied me was carnal, though different in a way I was unable to fully comprehend. It was as if he was searching for something more. Like I was a piece of artwork he was appraising. Dizzy with desire, I silently hoped that he'd decide he needed to own me, so badly he'd be willing to bid anything.

His gaze glided over my face so slowly it reminded me of a paintbrush sliding across a canvas. When it moved down my body, I felt myself grow hot. Unbearably hot. I didn't even know him, but I already ached for him. My skin tingled, pleading to be touched. Not just by his eyes, but more. His hands. His mouth.

My body wanted him. My mind needed him.

Hello, Mr. Right Now.
three

Dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, he was so unlike the designer-suit-and-dress-shirt-wearing men polluting this place. How did he even manage to get past the velvet rope and the douchey front-door staff? Then again, the club's strict dress code must've been trumped by his extremely sexy body and striking features. The women here tonight probably happily surrendered their panties to him as he walked by.

Hell, I was hoping he'd want mine.

My skin ignited under his gaze and I shot him my most dazzling smile as I willed my feet to move. Every part of me yearned to annihilate the distance, until there was nothing between us. Until we were breathing the same air, sharing a single breath.

But in that brief moment, something changed. His eyes left my face, slid over my short dress, and dropped to my spiked, black Louboutin pumps. The intensity in them faded. It was replaced with disinterest. Or maybe distaste. Whatever it was, he turned away.

Well, that was different. Usually men couldn't keep their eyes off of me.

But now that I'd found the one I wanted, I was not going to be put off so easily. I made my way to the bar and pulled myself up onto an empty stool beside him.

"Seat's taken." His voice was deep, low. There was a rough edge to it that dug into me, vibrating through my body, spreading excited shivers over my skin. Holy shit.

"Girlfriend?" I said. First things first. Taken guys were so not my kink. Ever.

"Brother," he replied curtly, without glancing up from the napkin he was scribbling on.

What the hell? How could anyone look at someone the way he'd just looked at me and then do... _this_. As in, do abso- _fucking_ -lutely nothing.

But McKinleys weren't quitters. We were conquerors. And I liked a challenge. So, I stayed put.

From this close up, I had a much better view of his profile. A dangerously good view, actually. _Painfully_ _gorgeous_. There was no other way to describe him. He was like a mixture of sculpture and painting—all carved and cut, with a rugged manliness that should've been preserved in marble, while at the same time wielding an untouchable beauty that could've only been dreamt up by an artist. And I was just wasted enough to imagine displaying him in a museum or hanging him up on a wall of a gallery. Preferably in the nude.

Fuck, yeah. I wanted to nail him to the wall. Over and over and over again.

"Let me buy you a drink," I said. "I'll surrender my seat when your brother comes."

His eyes narrowed. _Chocolate._ They were the color of deep, rich chocolate. And just like chocolate, they were wickedly delicious.

"You're gonna buy me a drink?" The laugher in his voice warmed my insides. Progress!

"That's right." I gave him my most dazzling grin. "My treat. Just tell me what you want."

His gaze fell to my mouth and lingered there. I could actually feel it physically sliding along my lips, so rough and ravenous, it tortured my skin.

Clenching his jaw, he turned his head and lifted his half-filled glass of whiskey. "Nothing, thanks. I'm all set. I gotta ride home soon."

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

"DARE! 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."

And I wanted to be closer, but before I could tell Dare that, my words were consumed by his mouth. He wrapped his arms around my waist and crushed my ribs into the firm muscles of his chest and abdomen, keeping me tightly pinned to him as he stole the air from my lungs and eclipsed every thought in my head. Writhing in his lap, I sank my teeth into his bottom lip and spread my legs wider in response to the throbbing between my thighs.

"Dare..." I gasped as the rock-hard evidence of his excitement dug into me. "I need..."

"What?" he spoke into my mouth.

"More," I panted, kneading my hips against him. " _You_."

Groaning, he broke the kiss and narrowed his eyes into wild, hazy slits. Just when I thought I'd fucked up and shattered the spell, he entwined his hands in my hair and pulled back my head, exposing my bare neck. Licking his way up the tender skin, he nipped at my earlobe before pressing his hot mouth to my ear and whispering, "Time to go for a ride, Reagan."

My entire body hummed in anticipation as we stumbled into Dare's Brooklyn loft. The moment the door slammed shut, he spun me around and pinned my body against the solid metal, taking our kiss to a whole new level. His mouth was rough and wanting, his tongue greedily feeding off my own. Excited tremors soared through me as he trailed his lips over my jawline to my neck and down my throat. When he grazed my collarbone with his teeth, I came completely undone. He was the only thought that filled my mind, his touch the single sensation that existed in this moment.

Arching my back, I gripped his hair and pushed my hips harder into him, moaning as I pressed against his hardness. Dare hooked his fingers under my knees to part my thighs and lift my legs so I could wrap them around his waist. A whimper escaped my lips when the rough denim of his jeans scraped against my core, my nails instinctively digging into his back.

His stubble grazed my hyper-sensitive skin as he continued to kiss his way down my body. One hand cupped my ass, while the other slid beneath my dress, inching closer and closer to the ache between my thighs. My panties were soaked, my desire for him spiraling out of control. No. Not desire. _Necessity_. I needed him. Or I was going to spontaneously combust.

"I want you out of this dress," he said as if he could read my mind. " _Now_."

"You first." One hand tugged at the collar of his jacket, forcing the material over his shoulders while the other pulled up the hem of his black t-shirt. I could barely budge them.

Crap.

We were too entwined to strip with ease, so my fingers slid under his shirt, too impatient to get to his bare body. The smoothness of his warm skin was a striking contrast to the hard ridges of his abs, and the contact caused a thrill of tingles to shoot through me. He felt so, so GOOD. When I grazed the waistband of his jeans with the tips of my fingers, his muscles contracted beneath my touch. He cursed under his breath, claiming my lips with such intensity I saw bursts of light behind my eyes.

The world around us became a blur. Nothing else existed except the two of us. Dare and me. Our heavy breathing and the synchronized thump of our hearts over the soundtrack of carnal groans, moans, and growls. Fueled by pure lust, we shuffled our way deeper into his apartment, my legs still clinging to his hips as he led the way toward what I hoped was his bed.

And nakedness.

Our bodies slammed into the exposed brick wall and random pieces of furniture as our hands worked diligently to tear off every piece of fabric they came in contact with. Dare's jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud. His shirt followed, flying over his head. I lost one heel god knows where. The other shoe managed to cling on until we collided with a console table.

By the time we stumbled into the kitchen, Dare was down to just jeans. Without breaking our kiss, he set me on top of the dining room table and spread my thighs wide open so he could push himself between my legs. His fingers hooked into my thong, and in one skillful tug, the lace ripped free.

He parted my knees wider, then slid his palms up my inner thighs, igniting a firestorm of tingles everywhere he touched. The higher his hands climbed, the louder and more frenzied my moans grew. As his thumb grazed my clit, I bit back a startled gasp and pressed my hips into him, sliding closer to the edge of the table so the rest of his hand could have full access to me.

"More. Please, more." My words swam in a realm between pleas and demands.

He thrust two fingers inside me and groaned. "You're so fucking wet."

My head tipped back and he slid his tongue into my mouth, muffling my cries as his fingers began to move in and out. First slowly and torturously, then picking up speed and intensity until his hand pulsed to the precise rhythm of the throb between my thighs.

Kissing his way down my chest, his free hand tugged on the bodice of my dress, partially exposing my right breast. My breath caught in my throat when his mouth connected with the tender skin. His tongue flicked along my cleavage, diving deeper under the silky fabric until his lips found my nipple. When his teeth began to nip and tease the sensitive nerves, his mouth and tongue both working me to the cadence of his fingers, my head started to spin.

Right and wrong, life and death—nothing fucking mattered.

My back bowed as he delved deeper into me with each thrust, beckoning me closer and closer toward the edge I was so desperate to reach. I bit into his shoulder and he increased his tempo until my thighs were quivering. My toes curled in delightful agony as every nerve in my body coiled in preparation for the relief I so severely craved.

Dare continued to wind me tighter and tighter, his fingers pumping in and out while his tongue skillfully flicked my nipple. He was everywhere, moving faster and harder with each stroke and every lick until I could no longer tell where he ended and I began.

Waves of pleasure crashed into me as I came undone with a guttural scream. My body rocked off the table, crumpling against him. And there was something... _sweet_...about collapsing into Dare's arms.

Jesus _._ Had I really just thought that? This guy was not only driving me physically insane, he was clearly also messing with my head. Both my body and mind were so full of him I didn't have room for anything else. I just wanted to exist in the present.

I wasn't sure I'd ever felt that way in my entire life.

Wanting to hang on to the high, I slipped my hands into the back pocket of his jeans and dug my fingers into the firm flesh of his ass to draw him closer. The heat of his erection pressed against my naked core, driving me wild as I reached for the top button of his jeans.

"Condom?" I whispered, urgently ripping the button open. I always carried some in my purse, but my clutch was somewhere on the floor buried amidst the trail of clothes. There was no way in hell was I going to disengage from THIS to go search for it.

Dare nodded his chin across the room. "Nightstand." Then he picked me up and carried me to his bed.

And everything slowed down.

His hands released me, and I slid down the front of him inch by inch until my feet touched the floor, my legs shaking, my body aching with need.

"I want you naked." His voice was low and husky, sending shivers over my skin.

I reached for the zipper on my back, but he grabbed my wrist to stop me. Placing one hand on my hip, he slowly turned me around so that I was facing away from him. His fingers found the zipper and he dragged it down, taking his sweet time to get all the way to the bottom. My dress opening and our ragged breaths were the only sounds in the quiet room. Leisurely, he guided the dress down my body, letting the fabric caress my skin. It fell to the floor, pooling at my feet in a silky heap, and I stepped out of it.

I was about to turn and face him when he whispered, "Wait." He moved my hair over my shoulder, exposing my bare back. "I want to see you." His fingers glided over my neck and upper back, then trailed down my spine and skimmed over the curve of my ass. "All of you."

He kissed one shoulder, then the other, making his way up my neck to my ear.

"You're beautiful, Reagan."

The heat from his lips shot through my naked body, burrowing deep inside me as his fingers trailed down the back of my thighs. He slid them toward the ache between my legs, brushing me gently, drawing out a moan from my lips. With his mouth firmly pressed to my neck, he glided his hands over my waist and down my stomach to the front of my thighs.

"So beautiful." He turned me around and explored my front with hungry eyes and even hungrier hands. His gaze lingered on my mouth and his thumb followed its path, caressing the swollen skin. Back and forth, up and down. When I parted my lips and skimmed the pad with my tongue, he groaned and allowed me a taste. As I sucked, his breath quickened and his eyes filled with desire.

He brushed my lips once more as I released him, and then slowly slid his hand all the way down to the curve of my breast. My nipples were hard, but as his fingers trailed over them, they tensed and tightened. His hand traveled farther south, skating over my ribs, his fingers gently dragging across them as if he was memorizing every bone.

Dare's pupils were dilated so wide his eyes reminded me of dark, stormy pools of tar. Tar and lust. Everything about his movements was carefully calculated and painfully slow. I wanted to scream. My pulse quickened until I felt like I was going to lose it. Again. Just from simple touching.

When his hand finally dipped lower into my pulsing heat, I couldn't bear it any longer. I reached for the open button of his jeans and tugged. Or, rather, ripped. The button-fly burst apart, exposing more of him than I'd anticipated.

Dare was not wearing ANYTHING under his jeans.

That may have been my favorite thing about him at that moment.

I slid the pants over his hips and down his legs, trying not to gape at him. But he was built unlike any other man I'd ever been with—all length and muscle and power.

He guided me to the edge of the bed, lowering me on top of the covers as he reached over to retrieve a tiny foil packet from the nightstand. He ripped the package with his teeth and rolled the condom on with one hand as the fingers of his other hand trailed up my thigh.

And, just like that, the slow motion gave way to insatiable hunger again. I pulled him down, crushing my mouth to his, no longer able to hold back. I wanted him—no, _needed_ him. NOW.

I gasped when he entered me, his length burying deep inside, his thickness stretching me so wide I had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. He claimed my hips with his hands, his fingers digging into my flesh as he began to thrust. Gently, then faster and harder until I couldn't think anymore. All I could feel was him and the way his muscles rippled with every unrestrained move.

I completely lost myself in him, allowed him to fully possess me. His name was the only thought in my head, the single word at the tip of my tongue as the orgasm began to rock through me. But I bit the "Dare!" back—my one last shred of control still intact.

Still, for the first time in my life, I felt something as I exploded.

Dare pulled my arms over my head as I quivered beneath him, his fingers linking with mine as he pressed my hands into the mattress. He kissed me like he couldn't get enough of me—like every kiss only made him want a hundred more. My climax triggered his, causing him to groan and deepen the kiss, refusing to let go of my hands or my lips.

He didn't stop kissing me even after we began the slow descent from the high. In fact, his lips only grew hungrier as his thrusts subsided. His mouth made me feel like I'd never been kissed before this, like his touch would last an entire lifetime. His lips were untamed, unabashed, and unapologetic.

After what felt like an eternity under his warmth, he broke the kiss and pulled back to look at me. Just look at me. No strings. No complications.

"Reagan?" he whispered, stilling his movement, but still refusing to leave me.

"Mmm?"

"You're smiling."
six

The wail of sirens startled me awake. My eyes snapped open. Where the hell was I? Flashing red lights shining through an open window on my right were accompanied by honking horns and unintelligible yelling. Not my apartment, obviously. So where exactly? And why?

A few seconds ticked by as my hazy brain tried to make sense of my surroundings. The exposed wooden beams on the ceiling weren't familiar. Neither was the gray sheet covering my naked body. And—oh, god—there was a warm figure lying next to me. On top of __ me, actually. The weight of his muscular arm felt so _right_ as it rested across my stomach that I had the urge to close my eyes and stay cuddled under it for the rest of the night.

WHAT?

The fog inside my mind cleared and it all suddenly came flooding back. The club. The tequila. The pills. And...Dare. Dare's kisses. His hands, touch, voice. His gift for making me forget about everything else in my fucked-up world. At least for a few hours.

But... _fuck_. I fell asleep in his bed.

My body shot up as my heart kicked into overdrive. I didn't do this. EVER. I wasn't the type to linger after a one-night stand. And I sure as hell never SLEPT with the guys I hooked up with. The rule was to get out as soon as they...well, got out.

My head throbbed—a familiar hangover, amplified tenfold by the panic pulsing in my chest. I glanced over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Four forty-five a.m. Thank god. There was still an hour to sunrise. Still time to escape unnoticed and pretend I was never here. And, most importantly, to forget that Dare was the first guy in four years to make me feel something.

Carefully, so as not to rouse him, I lifted his arm off my stomach and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I had to get out and not look back. But before I could will my feet to move, I risked another glance at him. Even in deep sleep with his jaw set and his brow furrowed slightly, he looked so sure of himself. Like his life had direction and purpose.

It was... _beautiful_. He was beautiful.

Moonlight caressed his smooth skin, shining down on a tattoo of a phoenix on his shoulder. As he inhaled and exhaled, his muscles expanded and contracted, causing the bird to look like it was about to take flight. Mesmerized by the art and its lifelike motion, I reached out, wanting nothing more than to trace it with my fingertips. My hand hovered over Dare's body, his warmth beckoning me. I couldn't help it, and the instant I touched him, heat shot through my body.

I jumped off the bed like a girl possessed.

Time to go.

I speed-dialed my car service and sprinted through the apartment, gathering my things. Never had I been so desperate to flee the scene. Dress. Check! Clutch? Uhh...shit. Where the hell was it? YES! Good. First shoe. Second. Got it. Underwear? UNDERWEAR?! Damn it! The unfamiliar layout didn't help. Finally, I just had to give up and go commando.

The idea that I hadn't made a clean exit should've scared the shit out of me. Strangely, though, knowing that I'd left behind a piece of myself for Dare to keep had the opposite effect. It filled me with an unfamiliar, inexplicable warmth.

As I stepped into my car and set off for Fifth Avenue, I realized that my lips were turned up in a small, secret smile. For the second time tonight, it was a truly genuine one.

"Reagan, are you even listening to the words coming out of my mouth?" I was an expert at tuning out my mother's voice, but it had a way of grating on my nerves enough to break through. "How many times have I told you to dress appropriately for breakfast?"

You'd think we were at the freaking White House, sharing the table with the President, Pope, and Queen of England. Or that maybe I was in my nighty with unbrushed teeth, knots in my hair, and elbows on the table. No. I'd snuck back to my parents' penthouse apartment just in time to shower, dress, and rush down to the dining room without being missed.

My hair was up in a tight bun, I had on black leggings and a loose, blue cardigan, and—despite my hangover—I was even managing to sit up straight. Anywhere else, I'd be perfectly presentable. In Nathaniel and Olivia McKinley's house, however, I was breaking countless etiquette rules. And all this before eight a.m.

"I truly wish you would go back upstairs and put on some make-up." My mother, a lawyer-turned-dutiful-homemaker-slash-photo-op-philanthropist, was on one of her usual tirades. "You look sickly pale, Reagan."

So glad we were starting off with the easy stuff this morning.

"I feel fine. Maybe it's the lighting." I motioned to the row of crystal chandeliers above the oversized table. "When was the last time you got new ones?" She was on a permanent redecorating mission. Every month, another room. When she made it through the entire house, she started all over again.

At the moment, the entire two top floors were glaringly white—walls, furniture, floors. There was so little color in their world—I was grateful I'd be moving back into my Riverside apartment that afternoon. I craved color like I needed air.

"Do not patronize your mother, Reagan." As Chairman and president of McKinley Enterprises, my father was much too busy to care how many times my mother redid the place. Nor how much money she spent. After all, a quarter of all real estate development across the country relied on his company's business. And he was about to go global.

"I did not hear you come in last night." My mother narrowed her ice blue eyes at me. "What time did you return from your date with Archer Chase?"

"Late," I said. Thanks to Dare.

"Well, at least it is nice to see you smile without me having to remind you, for a change," she said. "You must have had a lovely time with Archer. We are so delighted you agreed to see him. His mother called to tell me she sent you an exclusive Valentino dress for the occasion. I hope you remembered to wear it."

"Uh-huh." I wore it. And then I took it off. Or well, Dare took it off, his hands sliding over my bare skin as the dress slipped to the floor...

"Reagan Allison McKinley. How many times have I told you that your father and I will not tolerate one-word answers? We have not spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on private education to be grunted at."

"Sorry," I said. Realizing that was also just one word, I added, "I apologize." There. TWO words.

It was hard to believe that once upon a time I used to stay up at night hoping one of them would come home from whatever corporate meeting or charity function they were attending to tuck me in and check for monsters under my bed. When I still thought hugs, kisses, and warm smiles were something my parents would figure out how to do—like those families in the movies.

They never did. Hell, they never even tried.

"Write Mallory Chase a proper thank you note today," my mother said. "It is imperative. We will need the Huntington-Chases' support on your father's new venture soon. A very important one."

I glanced at my father. "What new venture? Your company going international? What would the Chase family have to do with that?"

My father set down his fork. "You will hear about it Friday night when your brother and sister come over for a family meeting."

"You mean a family dinner?" I muttered. Why did I even bother correcting him? McKinley dinners _were_ business transactions.

He pointed a finger at me. "Do not be late." Then he cleared his throat. "Over the next few months— _years_ , hopefully—our family will be setting out on a life-changing path. Your mother and I expect full cooperation from all of you." There was an emphasis on _you_ like he really meant to say _I know we don't have to worry about Pierce and Quincy, but YOU, Reagan, better behave. Or else._ There was always the threat of _or else_ with my father.

Before he could say anything else, his cell phone buzzed. Wiping his mouth with the napkin from his lap, he glanced down at the screen. "I must take this," he said to my mother, then motioned to the housekeeper. "Isla, I will need to finish breakfast in my study."

My mother's lips thinned, but she didn't say anything. She never did. Instead, she nodded to Isla—which was Mother for _come back with a double dry martini_ —and turned her attention back on me.

"What are your plans for today?"

"I thought I'd get Louis to take me over to Riverside so I can move some of my things back in and get ready for school," I said. The faster I could get out from under my parents' thumb, the sooner I would be able to breathe again.

She shook her head. "You will have to hire a car or drive yourself. Louis is driving me to the salon." With a deep sigh, she gazed at my hair. "I really do wish you would agree to join me. If we only trimmed and lightened your hair a bit, it would look so much better."

"No, Mother. You have Quincy for that." She and my older sister shared the same bright shade of blonde, and I wanted no part of that madness. Plus, I had plans to spend part of the day at La Période Bleue, my favorite gallery in SoHo. I didn't bother telling her that, though. She didn't give a shit about my "little hobbies."

"After you hear your father's announcement on Friday, I think you will agree that a makeover is critical. You are such a smart, beautiful girl, but..."

I tuned out her voice and turned my attention to the grapefruit on my plate.

Freedom was so close I could almost taste it.

I lifted a spoonful of bright pink pulp to my lips.

What the hell did freedom taste like?

My mind immediately thought _Dare_.

I almost laughed out loud. That wasn't going to happen. I never went back for seconds.

Never.
seven

"Why do both of these have to be tonight?" I groaned, more to myself than the two girls sitting at my table in Learner Hall lounge. I had an art show brochure in one hand and a political seminar flyer in the other. The first week of classes hadn't even concluded, and I already had to choose between passion and duty.

When I wasn't hitting the books, I interned at La Période Bleue Gallery. Being around art gave me hope. It filled my mundane, black-and-white dreams with bright bursts of color. Sabine Rochard, the gallery owner, allowed me to scout for her because I had an eye for talent.

She'd asked me to hit up a show in Queens this evening and find some potential artists for an up-and-coming talent showcase happening at the end of October. And my Intro to International Politics professor had made attendance at a seminar on world trade tactics mandatory for passing his course.

"Summer's over, Reagan." My friend Carrie snatched the art show announcement from my hand, crumpled it up, and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. "Time to get back to reality."

Penelope took a sip of her latte and sighed. "Why does reality have to be so painful?"

I scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about? You're studying Art History!"

"Exactly," she said. "It's hard. And boring. And dry. Have you ever tried writing a paper on the influence of impressionism on Northern Europe?"

"What I wouldn't give to trade places with you right now," I said. "I would happily do every single one of those assignments you always complain about. Of course, my parents would have multiple strokes if I told them that I even _entertained_ the idea of switching into 'such a frivolous major.' Their words, not mine."

Carrie's bright green gaze locked onto mine. She searched my eyes like she was trying to determine if I was joking or if I'd actually gone insane. "Say what you want, but your parents are right to push you toward law, business, and politics. You're wicked smart, Reagan. Studying anything else would be a waste of your time and talent."

I groaned. "Studying anything else would be heaven." One look at my Ethics of Political Theory textbook made my head hurt.

"Well, if you need something to help you get through the next few weeks, let me know," Carrie said. "I have a whole stash of my brother's Ritalin. I've been pill-switching for years—the stupid little shit has been gulping Aspirin tablets without even knowing it. That's how I passed all my Financial Economics midterms last year."

"Oh, great. How much are my parents paying you to attend school here and make sure I don't steer from the straight and narrow path to corporate hell?" I was joking. I hoped.

Carrie shrugged. "Your parents are right about this. And they want to make sure you don't end up like this one." She nodded at Penelope. "Let's not kid ourselves. Penny, with her major, has _trophy wife_ written all over her."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Penelope pouted. She opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it and burst into a fit of giggles. "Well, actually, you're totally right. But as long as my husband is rich and good looking, I'll happily play the role. We're all smarter than the men we marry, anyway. Look at my mom. Being Daddy's trophy wife got her millions in divorce settlements after he was caught screwing his assistant."

"His _male_ assistant, this time!" Carrie laughed as the two launched into a detailed recount of Penelope's father's many affairs.

And _that_ was my cue to tune out.

My phone vibrated for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

Mother. Of course. Speak of the devil and she shall call.

Reluctantly, I answered _._ "Yes?"

"Reagan, your sister just reported that she saw you dressed in _used_ clothing." I could actually hear her shudder. "What is the matter with you? Are you trying to embarrass us?"

I looked down at my ripped jeans and smirked. "It's called vintage, Mother. And hello to you too. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"I have a splitting migraine, Reagan." Which was codeword for _hangover_. "I do not have time for your childish games right now." She gave an exasperated sigh. "I am calling because I wanted to discuss your outfit and jewelry for tomorrow's dinner. Now listen to me..."

Funny. I wanted to discuss the best combination of drugs and alcohol to get me through the night so I wouldn't be inclined to stab myself in the eye with one her precious silver forks.

Listening to her prattle on hammered home that tomorrow's dinner was going to suck major ass. Even more than usual, it appeared.

The fact that my family home was a full ten degrees colder than any other place in the entire world was a sure sign that something had to be wrong with us. It was even more frigid when Pierce and Quincy were there.

Four perfect McKinleys. One me.

"I told you to be on time, Reagan," my mother was saying. "And dressed appropriately, for god's sake. This is some of your 'vintage' clothing, I assume. You are going to have to change and there is hardly any time." Her breath was coming out in little huffs and her grip on her martini glass was so tight her knuckles had turned white.

"I don't understand." My sister's frown was identical to our mother's. At twenty-four she was a carbon copy of our mother, down to their flawlessly coiffed hair. "What possessed you to go to Harlem of all places?" The way she said it—her perfectly glossed lips curling—Harlem sounded like it was a disease of some sort. From the look on her fiancé's face, Eric appeared to agree. "And how did you end up getting covered in paint?"

"I told you," I said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to keep my composure. "I just started volunteering at a women's shelter on a hundred-and-thirty-second. My friend Sabine donates a lot of art supplies to the center and she asked me if I would be interested in supervising an art class for the kids there."

Pierce snorted. My sister and mother exchanged a look. It landed somewhere on the spectrum between concern and bewilderment.

"Troubled youth of some sort?" Quinn asked.

I rolled my eyes. "No, Quinn. Nice, friendly kids who have an interest in art, but can't afford to pursue it." Hell, despite their rough lives, most of the kids at the shelter were probably more stable than I had been at their age.

"Our family donates more than enough money to charitable foundations, Reagan," my father said, entering the parlor with his usual three fingers of neat scotch. "Every year, my company is recognized for its efforts. It is quite unnecessary for you to traverse gang-ridden neighborhoods in search of dangerous philanthropical deeds."

" _Dangerous?_ Do you think my seven-year-old students are making shivs out of paintbrushes?" I couldn't believe them. "Plus, I'm not doing this for recognition. I'm doing it because I want to. Those kids need me. They _appreciate_ me." Unlike everyone else in my life.

"They probably appreciate that they're better artists than their teacher," Pierce said.

"I'm not teaching art, Pierce. I'm just giving them the opportunity to _do_ it."

Quinn shook her head and laughed. Actually laughed at me. "This is the most ridiculous thing you've done yet, Reagan."

"Come on, Quinn." Pierce cut in. "Cut her some slack. She's still 'discovering herself.' Soon enough, she'll grow up." He turned to me with a smug grin. "You'll understand how silly and idealistic you are and finally realize that the world belongs to people like us. The sooner you accept that, the faster you can start using it to your advantage and actually live a real life."

Wow. That was a kick to the gut. Pierce of all people should have been on my side. At least he used to be. He'd been so different ever since law school. I knew for a fact he didn't enjoy life. He snorted more blow than anyone I knew. What a fucking hypocrite.

"My interest in art isn't just some fleeting thing," I said.

My father's dark gray gaze landed on me as he shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Reagan. From now on, I do not want you stepping foot in that place without an escort."

"An escort? Are you serious? This isn't the eighteen-freaking-hundreds. I'm not a princess."

My brother smirked. "In those filthy clothes, you certainly aren't." At twenty-seven, he was a big-shot lawyer being groomed to one day take over McKinley Enterprises, and he was laughing at me like I was one of his dim-witted bimbos. Whatever. Pierce and his designer suits and perfectly tied ties could kiss my ass.

"I'm nineteen. I can go where I want without anyone holding my hand," I said. They weren't taking this away from me. "And I will _definitely_ keep volunteering at the shelter."

"Not in my cars." My father put his drink down and stood to his full height.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. No one crossed my father. No one. But I had what I knew would be the winning argument.

"Then I'll walk," I said.

They gasped. Every one of them. Pierce and Quinn's mouths hung open. Eric looked askance.

" _Walk?_ " My mother clutched her drink even tighter.

I nodded. "I _love_ walking around the city."

"Nathaniel." She hissed, turned away, and took a big sip.

My father studied my face for several long seconds and my stomach knotted as I tried to think of what he might do to stop me. But then he gave a slight nod.

Had I actually won?

"Fine," he said. "You may go. Louis will drive you every week." He walked over to the bar for a refill. I released the breath I'd been holding and tried to keep my face expressionless. Inside, I was dancing because I'd fucking WON.

He turned, then, a calculating smile on his face, and added, "This is just the kind of thing Harvard Law will love. Good thinking, Reagan. It will set you apart from the herd."

And just like that he deflated me. How the hell did he always manage to do that—turn my victory into one of his own?

_Fuck._

Quinn cocked her head. "Did you just mutter something under your breath?"

"Nope."

"Reagan, the proper word is _no_."

"Reagan," my mother said quietly as my jaw clenched. If one more person in this family Reagan-ed me I was going to strangle them. "Go clean up for dinner." She said it like she was speaking to a child. "I shall send Isla up to help, and Quincy will fix your hair."

My sister smiled sweetly. "Of course, Mama."

At the same time, I said, "My hair is fine."

Ignoring me, my mother called for the maid, then whispered something to her that I couldn't hear. All I caught was the tail end—"...and a Valium, please."

I wondered if it was intended for her or me.

And just like that, I was wishing for one of those damn forks.
eight

"Reagan, meet Marcus Finch and Eleanor Bradley," my father said once I was back in the parlor, dressed in a black, knee-length pencil skirt and a pale blue silk blouse.

Looking the part. Playing the part. As expected.

A handsome middle age man with dark hair and warm, hazel eyes extended his hand. "A pleasure, Miss McKinley."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Finch." I'd had years of training as a McKinley.

The curvy blonde beside him shook my hand next. "Lovely to meet you, Miss McKinley."

"Likewise, Ms. Bradley."

My mother beamed. Maybe it was the vodka-Valium kick that was making the corners of her lips turn up. Or maybe she was relieved that I was pretending to be her _perfect_ daughter in the _perfect_ clothes she'd picked out, my _perfect_ hair falling down my back in _perfect_ soft waves.

Whatever. It wasn't me. Not that anyone here cared.

"Nathaniel, Olivia, before we go into the dining room, I think it would be best to share the news with your children," Marcus said.

My father gave a curt nod. "Certainly. Have a seat, Reagan." He motioned to the couch. I lowered myself between Quinn and Pierce. "Marcus," he said. "The floor is all yours."

They were most definitely of my father's world. The earpieces, briefcases, and electronic tablets. The head-to-toe expensive business attire. And the way they smiled. It felt...slick.

I did not have a good feeling about this at all.

"Pierce, Quincy, Reagan," Marcus said, "I'm sure you are going to be thrilled to know that your father will be announcing his candidacy for mayor this November."

"Mayor?" Pierce whistled. "Wow, Dad."

"You want to be mayor?" I looked at my father, dread creeping over my skin.

"No." My mother shook her head. "He is _going_ to be mayor. Have you ever known your father to fail?"

" _Fail_ is not in my vocabulary." My father's fake laugh echoed around the room and everyone joined in. Everyone but me.

Good god. He was already campaigning.

"McKinleys never fail," Quinn sounded like a fucking Stepford Daughter.

"To be perfectly honest," Marcus said, a genuine smile on his face, "that is exactly why I'm more than delighted to be representing your father. We are going to build a winning platform rooted in integrity, familial stability, and good, old American values."

This couldn't be happening.

"Eleanor is in charge of the ethics committee, responsible for ensuring we run a clean campaign." Marcus continued. "So, Pierce, Quincy, Reagan—and I suppose Eric as well since you will be joining this family soon—shall we have a little chat?"

I could feel what little freedom I had already start slipping away.

"You want to know if we've been behaving, don't you, Ms. Bradley?" My brother aimed his predatory, smoldering gaze on Eleanor. "In your professional opinion, have I been a good boy or...?" He arched an eyebrow and flashed his brilliant smile. It was an innocent enough question, but I knew Pierce. If my parents weren't here, he would've finished that sentence off with _or a naughty one so you need to spank me._

Eleanor coughed. "Yes...uhh, yes." A bright crimson blush spread across her cheeks and down her chest. "I'm here to make you behave. Uhh...I mean...my job..." She took a deep breath and tried again. "My job is to ensure an ethical campaign is carried out by all members of the family. Your father has been vetted, of course. Your mother is also in the clear. The three of you are fine on the surface, but in the next few weeks, my investigators will be running extensive background checks that delve into every little part of your lives. You too, Eric."

My heart jumped into my throat. "Every part?" Panic began to claw its way up my entire body.

It had happened years ago—they couldn't find out about it because no one knew. No one except my parents, and they'd buried that dirty little secret themselves.

My eyes sought out my father's. Nothing. He didn't even bother to look my way. Mother? Nope. It's like they hadn't even thought about it. And why would they? We'd spent four years pretending it had never happened.

McKinleys were skilled at keeping skeletons locked inside our walk-in closets.

"Yes, we will find out everything." Eleanor assured me as if it were a comforting thought.

"Pierce has a DUI that needs to go away," my father said. A DUI? A freaking DUI. My father had dealt with what happened to me in the exact same way—like it was some infraction that could easily be erased. "I will call up someone in the state attorney's office and have—"

"No." Eleanor held up her hand. "As the future mayor of New York City, you can't be seen pulling favors in the legal system. We'll get someone not involved with the campaign to take care of it. And quickly." She typed something into her phone. "Are there any more transgressions I should know about, Pierce?"

Pierce smirked and opened his mouth to speak, but I kicked his shin and shot him a dirty look.

He rolled his eyes, then said, "That's all."

"Quincy?"

My sister pursed her lips. "Of course not! And Eric is in the clear, too. His father is the CEO of Truman Inc. They can't risk a scandal."

"Since we are addressing you and Eric, Quincy, I think we should talk wedding dates." My mother wanted to talk weddings? NOW?

Quinn frowned. "Wedding dates? We're getting married next June. We already sent out the save-the-date cards."

My mother looked over to my father. "Your wedding needs to be this November, not long after your father's announcement. It would be best for the campaign if the family was publicly seen as being connected with the Trumans. Not just a fleeting engagement. A full commitment."

"But...but..." Quinn sputtered. "But...that's only two months away! I can't plan a wedding in only two months...and my dress, the venue, the caterers..." She was on the verge of tears. I almost felt bad for her. Almost.

"Your father needs this, Quincy," my mother said. "It is not up for discussion. We'll hire several wedding coordinators to ensure everything gets done. And done well."

Looking shell-shocked, my sister nodded. "Right. I know. Of course."

"That settles it. Wonderful." Eleanor moved on to me. "So, Reagan? Anything we should know about? Speak now or have the investigators drudge it up." She smiled and winked.

My father answered before I could open my mouth. "Reagan is fine."

"Yeah, peachy," I said. Since you say so.

" _Yes_ , Reagan. The word is _yes_." My mother sighed dramatically, which only made me want to say it again. "Mayor's daughters do not talk like uneducated degenerates."

" _Yes_ , Eleanor. I'm _fine_ ," I said. "No arranged marriages in the works for me this year."

Red splotches colored Quinn's cheeks. "At least someone loves me, Reagan. At least I behave like a respectable person, unlike you—"

Marcus cleared his throat. "Why don't we take a moment to let the news sink in, enjoy the lovely dinner Olivia has prepared, and go over some rules of conduct for the family?" He phrased all his requests like we actually had a choice in the matter.

Quinn sat back and smiled smugly at Eric.

"Stop scowling, Reagan." My mother leaned over and clasped my hand in hers, clenching my fingers. " _Smile_."

My head pounded and my heart hurt, but I forced my lips into a smile and pretended everything was okay.

As always.
nine

The moment the dinner was over, I jumped into my car and drove. I didn't even stay for dessert. I needed to be as far away from my family as I could. My parents had tried to convince me to spend the night, but I couldn't stomach the thought of staying. Every second I spent inside the walls of that apartment, being told that my future would be filled with even more rigid rules and control, a little piece of me cracked.

"From now on, you all need to be extremely vigilant," Marcus had said. "Today's political campaigns rely heavily on video trackers—college students with cell phones who try to further their own political careers by catching the candidates and their family members in compromising positions or provoking them to say damaging things. You will be especially vulnerable at Columbia, Reagan. It's vital that you stay alert and not get filmed doing or saying anything that could hurt your father's reputation."

"That includes openly lobbying your idealistic, liberal philosophies," my father said. "We must present a united front, and my views are the ones that count." There had never been any democracy in our house, but at least I could think for myself when I walked out the door. Now they wanted me to curb that, too?

Um, no.

My foot pressed down on the gas pedal with so much force I was certain my Mercedes was literally going to take flight as I turned onto the parkway headed north. I wove in and out of traffic, trying to get out of the city. I didn't know where I was going, I just knew I needed out.

And speed. I needed speed.

Of course, a speeding ticket was definitely against Marcus and Eleanor's rules, but I didn't care.

By the time I turned onto 95, the throbbing in my head had grown in intensity. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? How hypocritical was it for a future mayor to limit those very rights for his own daughter?

At dinner they'd discussed hiring permanent bodyguards for me, for god's sake. Which meant they would know where I was every single second of the day. More so than they did now. No more escaping to La Période Bleue. No more partying wherever I pleased. No more guys who didn't pass their scrutiny. No more semblance of a real life. Of _any_ life.

My fingers white-knuckled the steering wheel. It was the only thing that kept me grounded. Every so often, my eyes would dart to the passenger seat where my black purse rested. I needed something to take the edge off. A pill, two...maybe even three. Driving under the influence was also against the rules, but that was the fucking point. The anger burning in my veins made me want to break as many rules as I could. All I wanted was to shit all over my parents' control and flush it down the toilet.

Keeping my eyes on the road, I reached over to unzip my bag. I fumbled with the contents for several seconds but came up empty-handed. Damn it. Where the hell was that orange bottle? My gaze flicked to the glove compartment. Yes! I'd stuffed it in there before going to dinner since Quinn liked to snoop through my stuff.

I pushed my foot down on the pedal and swerved around a car. Someone blasted their horn as I reached for the glove box. Another loud honk. My eyes flew back to the road. Tail lights were coming up way too fast, I swerved into the right lane.

A horn went off to my right and I turned in time to see the car I was cutting off.

Shit. Make that running off the road.

By some miracle, our cars didn't touch, but that was only because the other one jerked out of the way, onto the shoulder, and slammed into the guard rail before coming to a halt.

I stomped on the brakes and pulled off the road.

Oh god, oh god, OH GOD.

What had I done?

I needed to lose control. I wanted to be free. But not like this. Not at the price of someone else's safety. Fucking hell. I was the world's biggest cliché. I started shaking as I wrestled with my seatbelt. I had to get out. I had to make sure no one was hurt.

As I jumped out of the car, the other driver descended on me, delivering a string of curses in a deep voice that would have scared the shit out of me if I hadn't recognized it.

"Are you fucking insane?" he said, drawing closer. "You were driving like a fucking lunatic. Did you even bother to look before changing lanes? You could've ki— _Reagan?_ "

" _Dare?_ " He was stalking toward me. _Dare_. The guy I was still thinking about a week later. The guy whose touch I was unable to erase from my body and mind. I couldn't believe my eyes, my ears.

"Reagan. Holy fuck." He searched my face, my body, then looked over at my car. "Are you okay?"

"Am _I_ okay? Your head is bleeding!"

His fingers grazed the blood on his eyebrow. "It's fine," he said. "No airbag, so my forehead met the steering wheel, but it's just a superficial cut."

"You could have a concussion!"

"I'm okay." Taking another step forward, he took hold of my shoulders and peered down at me. "Are _you_ hurt?"

"No, not hurt. Just...fucked up." I looked down at my feet. The severity of the situation slammed into me. I could've killed someone. I could've killed Dare. "I'm sorry, Dare. I'm so, so sorry."

"What the hell were you doing?"

It was a simple question. One that I had no answer for.

Still refusing to meet his eyes, I whispered, "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." I chanced a hesitant peek up at him. "Are you going to call the police?" The thought of all the trouble I could be in scared the shit out of me. What the hell had I been thinking?

Dare shook his head. "If neither of us is hurt let's leave the cops out of it."

"Are you going to sue me?"

A small smile touched his lips. "Should I sue you, Reagan? Take you for everything you've got?" He leaned toward me, pinned me with his captivating gaze. "That's not my style."

"It was my fault. And your car..." I looked over at it. "Shit."

"It looks like it's just a blown tire and a couple of new dents. Not a big deal." He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "But I don't have a spare, so I need to call a tow truck."

"I'll pay for it," I said immediately. "And the repairs, of course." I stared at his car. "This could've been so much worse."

"But it wasn't. No point in dwelling on what-ifs." He shook his head. "Ever. Shit happens. You get over it."

The air around us was thick with tension and the threat of an oncoming storm. His eyes heated, and I looked at his lips, instinctively licking my own. I wanted to touch him again. So very badly.

This was insane. No one had ever affected me like this. I was suddenly so glad that I'd run him—of all people—off the road. How fucked up was that?

"I'll wait for the tow truck with you and give you a ride home," I said, trying to shake off my crazy thoughts.

Dare shook his head. "Actually, I'm not on my way home right now. There's somewhere I need to go first."

"Oh, okay." Right. He'd been driving away from Brooklyn. Which meant I couldn't go back and crawl into bed with him. Which, actually, was a good thing. Because the last thing I needed was round two of _that_. Even if it was the thing I wanted most at that moment. I cleared my throat and shut out my thoughts. "Well, can I drive you to wherever you're going? I owe you that much."

He hesitated, and I realized what an idiot I was being right now.

_A girl._ Dare was going to see some girl.

My stomach knotted at the thought of his mouth on hers, his hands gliding over her skin, his muscular body hovering above hers as he ravished her in the same, overwhelming way he'd consumed every inch of me. Never before had I given a thought to what any guy did after our hookup. In fact, I did everything in my power to avoid all of them. Yet here I was, offering to drive him around, so freaking happy to see him. NO WAY. I wasn't the kind of girl who made a big deal out of a one-night stand. It meant nothing. Dare meant nothing.

Forcing my mind to chill the fuck out, I said, "Or I can pay for a cab."

"No," he said. "I'll take the ride."

"Really?" His answer made me much happier than it should have. Than was safe.

Dare smirked. "As long as you slow the fuck down."
ten

Forty minutes of excessively cautious driving later, I pulled the car up in front of a rundown bungalow in Harrison, and shut off the engine. As if on cue, it began to pour.

This was it. Dare was going to leave me for the girl inside.

Heart, meet jealous pang.

"Are you...uhh...sleeping over?" I asked quietly. None of your business, Reagan.

"Here?" His eyebrows shot up. "I hadn't planned on it. Not tonight."

"Will she give you a ride back?" God, could I be any more obvious?

"Who?"

"The girl you're going to see," I said, looking at the raindrops gathering on the windshield. My tone was even and nonchalant. As if I couldn't care less. Inside, it was a whole other story.

"She's not a girl." The leather seat groaned as Dare shifted his weight. "She's a woman."

Of course she is. My eyes snapped up to find him smirking.

"I won't be too long," he said, his voice lifting in amusement. "Do you mind hanging around for a bit?"

"You want me to WAIT for you?"

"You can wait for me or work for me." He motioned to the backseat where he'd transferred what looked like a month's supply of groceries from his car. "I could use some help carrying those in. Plus, that way I can make sure you get back to the city without—"

"Yeah, yeah! I get it. My driving sucks." I smacked his arm and laughed, for a brief moment forgetting that I was jealous of the woman inside. Dare had that effect on me. Even sitting in front of his girlfriend's house _._ For every second of the forty minutes we'd spent driving here, he'd kept my mind so full of him that I hadn't once thought about this evening's events.

We darted up the driveway, trying to shield the paper bags from the rain. Not very successfully. By the time we'd made it up to the porch, Dare's four oversized bags and my two smaller ones were completely soaked through. He didn't bother ringing the bell. Instead, he kicked the front door. "Hey! Open up!"

A few beats later, the door swung open, revealing a teen girl in cut-off jean shorts and a loose, long sleeveless t-shirt with the words _C'est la vie_ across the front. She was tall and extremely thin, with big hazel eyes that lit up at the sight of the bags in Dare's arms.

"Dare!" She threw her arms around his neck, nearly toppling the groceries out of his arms. "What took you so long?"

"Someone tried to kill me." His eyes met mine over her head and he winked.

The girl pulled back, horror overtaking her pretty face. "For real? Is that why you have that cut above your eyebrow?"

"Nah." He shook his head and laughed. "You shouldn't be so gullible, squirt."

"DARE!" She groaned, smacking his chest. Hard. "You shouldn't say things like that! Especially considering—" Her eyes met mine and she bit down on her bottom lip. "Hey!" Her head tilted to the side, causing her dark, asymmetrical bob to look even more askew. "Who are you?"

"Why don't you help take some of these bags in and then we'll do the whole introduction thing," Dare said, moving past her into the hallway. "Is Dax here?"

The girl nodded. " _DAAAAX!_ Dare needs you to put away groceries!"

"To HELP put away groceries." He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen where he proceeded to set down the bags on the counter. "I'm going to get the rest of the stuff from the car." He shot the girl a warning look. "Don't be a pain in the ass while I'm gone, Dalia."

Dalia. Interesting. And pretty.

As soon as Dare left, she narrowed her eyes at me and grinned slyly, but before she could say anything, a dark-haired guy stomped into the room. Yes, stomped. All muscle and teen attitude.

"Dare is here?" he asked, heading straight for the bags. "Did he get my protein shake?"

"Dare and a _girl_ ," Dalia said.

"What girl?" He spun around. " _Damn_ , girl!" And he was in front of me before I could even blink, trying to look cool. It was all I could do to not laugh. "What's your name, baby?"

"Not interested, Dax," Dalia answered for me. "But seriously, who are you?"

"I'm..." A friend? Not really. I had no label. __ "...just Reagan."

"Well, Just Reagan, I'm Dalia," she said with a tiny wave of her hand.

Dax took my hand and kissed it. Freaking _kissed_ it. "And I'm Dax." His voice dropped into a familiar, charming territory that reminded me so much of Dare. "Dalia's less evil and much sexier twin brother."

"Don't let that smile fool you, Reagan. They're both equally evil," Dare said as he came up behind me. "Where's Mom?"

"Sleeping," Dalia said. "She had a double shift yesterday that turned into a triple. She's barely been home in two days since she has to take the train to work now."

"What's wrong with her car?"

Dax scoffed. "You mean, _this_ time? It needs a new alternator or something equally expensive."

"Why didn't she tell me?"

"You know Mom," Dalia said with a shrug. "She knew you'd insist on giving her your ride even though you need it for work. She didn't want to burden you."

Dax pulled out an apple and a banana and ate them both at the same time, trading off with each bite. "Do you mind lending it to her?" he asked through a mouthful of fruit. "It would really help. Plus, you still have that piece of crap bike, right?"

"He can't transport his work stuff on a bike," Dalia said.

Dare inhaled sharply. "My car is in the shop."

And it would be for another week. The mechanic had said it was more than just the tire and he was going to need some parts.

"Don't worry. I'll work something out," he said.

"I can just—" I started, but he shook his head at me.

"I'll work something out," he repeated, his eyes on me. Turning back to the twins, he said, "Has Mom been okay otherwise?"

"Yeah, I guess..." Dalia's gaze shifted to me. "She's still attending regular meetings."

Dare nodded. "Good. Is she eating?" Deep concern colored his voice, and I quietly cleared my throat to get rid of the bittersweet sting of emotion that had made its way through me.

Dalia shrugged. "Yeah, when there's food."

His eyebrows shot up. "What the hell does that mean? I stock the fridge weekly."

"Yeah, and have you _seen_ Dax? His stupid football two-a-days have him eating for six!"

As if on cue, Dax picked up another banana and asked, "Yo, did you get the protein shake I wanted?"

"I did, Hulk," Dare said. "Go easy on that crap, okay?"

"Sure thing, big bro."

"And the Nutella?" Dalia rummaged through the bags.

"It wasn't on sale." Seeing her shoulders sag, Dare said, "Next time. I promise."

"That's what you said last week."

Dare rubbed his hand over his face. "Work has been slow lately. It's always slow this time of year, but it's going to pick up soon and then I'll get you two jars, okay?"

"Three!" she said.

"And you say _I_ eat a lot?" Dax laughed.

"Daren?" A woman's soft voice called down the hall. "Is that you?"

Dare cursed. "We woke her. I'll be right back."

"Daren?" I said. Somehow, it didn't suit him.

"Only Mom calls him that," Dalia said. "He's always been Dare to everyone else. And especially ever since our dad—"

" _Dalia_." Dax shook his head. He narrowed his eyes at me, their golden color identical to his sister's, shades lighter than Dare's. "How well do you actually know our brother?"

"Not well." Not well at all.

"Are you dating?" he asked.

"No." Definitely not. I didn't date.

"Hmm..." His demeanor instantly changed. Turned more predatory. "Single, huh?"

Dalia jumped up on the counter and crossed her arms. "Are you screwing?"

Her blunt question caught me off guard. "Who?"

"My brother!" She laughed. "Who else?"

The right side of Dax's mouth quirked up. "Nope, but hopefully soon enough."

"God, not you, Dax!" She rolled her eyes at him, then turned back to me. "Are you and Dare doing it? He's never brought a girl home before, so I'm trying to understand exactly who you are."

"No, we're not doing it." I laughed. Holy crap. "Honestly...I'm no one important."

Dax towered over me as he brought his face even closer. "So if you're not dating or screwing my brother, I'll take it that you're single and looking for some fun, right?"

"How old are you?" I poked him in the chest and stepped back.

He swelled with pride. "Sixteen. Seventeen in a few months. I'm a junior."

"Well, I'm a sophomore. In _college_."

"So?" he said with an impish wink. "I happen to like older, more experienced women." He reached out to brush my cheek. "They're usually—"

"Hey!" Before I had a chance to push his hand away, Dare was between us. He grabbed Dax's wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and placed him in a chokehold. "Watch where you put those hands if you still wanna be able to throw a football tomorrow." Releasing him, he playfully smacked Dax on the back of his head.

"I'm only six years younger than you." Dax growled and jumped on Dare's back, trying to take him down, but his ass met the floor when Dare tossed him. "And why do you care about my relationship with Reagan? She said she's not with you."

Dare's gaze flitted over to me. "That doesn't mean you're allowed to have her." His dark look and tone made my skin tingle and my cheeks heat. I kind of liked the idea of him staking claim to me, even if it was only to ward off his horndog brother.

I had to look away before spontaneously combusting. "Dalia, do you need help putting these groceries away?"

Dalia narrowed her eyes at me, then Dare. "Sure thing, _Just_ Reagan. My spidey sense tells me there's a little more to that 'just' than either of you are admitting."

Dare grabbed her elbow as she passed by. "Listen, I gave Mom some money. Make sure she uses it on train tickets and to get the car fixed. Not on anything else, okay? She looks...tired."

"She's going to meetings, Dare. I swear."

"I know." His lips tightened and he seemed to shut down after that. We managed to put away most of the groceries before he finally spoke again. "School okay, guys?"

"Yeah," Dalia said as Dax nodded. "Fine."

"Any forms you need me to sign?"

They both shook their heads.

"But you better come to our homecoming game," Dax said. "I'm starting QB this year. No junior in the history of our entire school has ever started at homecoming."

"I guess all that food you're inhaling is going to good use." Dare laughed and mussed Dax's hair.

Dax punched his shoulder. "So are you gonna come or what?"

"I'll be there if I don't have to work." Dare crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his gaze on them. "Anything else you want to confess while I'm here?"

Dax turned to Dalia with a knowing smirk. "Dalia has a _booooyfriend_."

Dalia gasped. "I do not!"

"Stephanie Matthews saw you making out with Tyler Rodn—"

"Oh, my god! DAX!" She smacked his arm hard. "That's such a lie! Dare, he's just making shit up, because I threatened to tell—"

"Shut it, Dalia! You promised you wouldn't say anything to Dare."

"Well, that was before you started on Tyler!"

"That's because Tyler has fucked around with every single girl in our school. He's Harrison High's biggest player."

"No, I'm pretty sure that sleazy title belongs to you!" Dalia yelled as she hurled a dishcloth at his chest.

I found myself grinning like a fool. There was something so warm and mesmerizing about their bickering. However chaotic, the exchange was bursting with affection and comfortable familiarity. When Pierce, Quinn, and I had fought, it was cold and calculated with pure intent to harm.

Dare's whistle made me jump. "Alright, enough!"

"In all seriousness," Dalia said, ignoring her brother's warning looks, "I think Dare needs to know that—"

"NO!" Dax practically roared. "He doesn't need to know shit about that asshole."

"What asshole?" Dare straightened, his eyes darkening to shade I'd never seen in nature. "Dalia...is someone bothering you? Did someone hurt you?"

"It's not that." She shook her head, focused on a broken tile by her foot. "Some guy's been hanging around...watching the house."

"Dad," Dare said, his face turning to stone.

Dax groaned. "God, why did you have to open your big, fat mouth?"

No. I was wrong. Dare's eyes could get darker. "Someone you recognized?"

She didn't look up. "No, but I'm scared, Dare. What if he—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Dare stood eerily still as silence filled the room. "Does Mom know?" he finally said.

"No." Dalia shook her head. I noticed that her thin, bony shoulders were shaking.

"Good." Dare nodded. "Don't say anything to her. I mean it."

"Are we going to have to move again?" Dax asked, looking defeated at the thought.

"I don't know. Don't worry about it. I'll deal with it." Dare ran a hand through his hair, his fingers yanking and tugging at the roots. "What else?"

Dax's brow furrowed. "What else?"

"What else needs dealing with?" Dare's tone was curt. "I have to get going, so what else?" His body hummed with tension. The playfulness from before was gone.

"Can you fix the sink in the bathroom?" Dalia said quietly. "It's leaking again and Dax's half-assed solution has been to keep putting more and more duct tape over the crack."

Dare turned to me. "Do you mind waiting a few more minutes, Reagan? If you—"

"No." I said a little too quickly. "Not at all. Go ahead."

Truthfully, even given the turn in conversation, I wouldn't have minded staying inside this house forever.
eleven

We drove back to Dare's place in silence. Forty minutes of nothing but the radio and raindrops pounding the roof. Although he was trying not to show it, I could tell that he was worried. About what, I didn't know, but I knew it had something to do with his father.

When I stopped in front of his place—a small, rundown warehouse-turned-studio-lofts—Dare said, "Thanks for today."

I shook my head. "Trust me, you don't owe me any thanks for anything. You have no car because of me."

"Yeah, well..." He shrugged. "We're even now."

"We're not. You need a car. The mechanic—"

"I don't need your charity, Reagan," he said, eyes blazing. "I can figure out my own shit. Get home safe and try not to kill anyone else, okay?" He opened the door and swung his legs out.

"Wait!" I grabbed his arm, not wanting him to leave, but not knowing how to ask for him to stay.

I didn't _do_ this.

"Reagan." My name was a goodbye. "You just witnessed firsthand how fucked up my life is." He held a hand out toward my red Mercedes, then up at his dilapidated building. "Go home."

"Go home to my parents' penthouse where I belong?" I shot back. "Is that what you mean?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." He didn't HAVE to speak the literal words. His tone made it perfectly clear.

"Thank you for the ride," he repeated before turning to leave. "I really appreciate the gesture of goodwill. We're square, Reagan. Really."

I sat in the car and watched him walk away, then put it into gear. I started to inch it forward, but couldn't do it. I couldn't just drive away. So I pulled into a parking spot, got out, and stared at his building.

I stalked toward it. Then back to my car. Building again.

Shit.

There was nothing like standing in the pouring rain in front of a guy's place. A guy your brain knew was wrong for you in every way even if, deep inside, he felt more right than anyone you'd ever met.

I wasn't THAT girl. I didn't do this. I never got attached, never stayed interested in someone. It was always just a drug-induced, mind-numbing tryst.

Except Dare didn't numb my mind—he soothed it.

I stood there in the pouring rain on the sidewalk staring at his door.

Fuck. Why did he have to mess with my tried-and-true rules?

My blouse was soaked, my hair plastered to my face. I had to make a decision. Now. And preferably without thinking about it. I put my hand on the handle. The lock was broken.

Decision made.

3B. If I remembered correctly, he was in 3B.

I hardly breathed as I climbed the dingy stairs. In front of his door it took me a minute to work up the guts to press the buzzer. Just before my finger could connect with it, the door swung open, and Dare stood staring at me almost like he was relieved to see me.

"You might have a concussion," I said. "I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

He took in my drenched clothes and wet hair, reaching out to run his thumb over the moisture on my bottom lip.

I shivered at the contact. "Dare..."

"You're shaking. Come in and dry off." He slid his fingers between the buttons of my shirt and pulled me inside, crashing his mouth to mine, the kiss knocking the breath out of my lungs.

We made our way through the kitchen to the living room, our lips and tongues insatiable, the heat making me shiver with desire. What was it about this guy? How was it possible to want someone this much?

We came to a stop when we collided with the back of the couch. Dare was fisting my shirt, holding me tightly against his rock-hard body as his other hand pulled on my waist. He drew me even closer, intensifying the kiss until all I could feel was him. The pulsing, swirling licks of his tongue, the firmness of his muscles, the scent of fresh rain on his skin. I lost myself in him. Wanted to stay there forever. We needed each other.

He suddenly broke our kiss and pulled back. Entwining his fingers in my hair, he searched my face before saying, "My father is an asshole. He fucked up any chance my family had at normalcy."

His beautiful face was twisted in so much pain it made my heart hurt. "You don't have to say anything. You don't have to explain."

"No. You need to know what you're getting into by being around me. My mother has been a junkie longer than she's been clean, and my dad is a drug-dealing scumbag currently serving time at Rikers for manslaughter, though the bastard should have been charged with murder."

"They're not you," I whispered. "Your parents are not you. You're good."

He shook his head. "But I wasn't. For a long time, I was just as fucked up as my dad. I wasn't good at all."

"That was then. That's not who you are now. I hardly know you and even _I_ can see it."

He laughed bitterly. "The jury is still out on that."

"My father is an asshole, too," I said. "He's just rich and powerful enough to never have been convicted of any crime." I paused, wondering if I should share the one thing that had been pressing on my mind all evening. _Fuck it._ "He's killed before, too," I whispered.

Four years ago he killed a piece of me.

"What about your mom?"

"She drinks. She takes all these pills." She'd even started feeding them to me when I was fifteen because _no one can tolerate hysterics, Reagan._ "She's also addicted to power. And money. And control."

"So..." He kissed me. "We're both..." He traced his lips over my throat. "Equally..." He grazed my collarbone with his teeth. "Screwed."

I put both hands on his face and lifted, then kissed him on the lips. Hard.

"I doubt that," I said. "I'm way more fucked up than you. Trust me."

He ran his mouth down my jawbone to my pulse and sucked. First gently, then harder, forcing it to speed up as he tore open my shirt. Buttons clattered to the hardwood floor.

"That's because you don't know me," he said as he yanked the silky material off and flung it to the floor.

"Nor you me." My bra followed my shirt, freeing my breasts for his waiting hands. And mouth.

"Not true." He squeezed, then took a nipple into his mouth. "I know you like when I do this." Baring his teeth, he gave it a gentle bite.

Oh, god. The contact made me shiver and grind my hips into him.

"Yes." I exhaled, digging my fingers into his bare back, forcing him closer. "I like that." I was rewarded with another nip. Rougher and sharper this time. Instinctively, I raked my nails over his back.

Our breaths were coming in hard pants now. My blood heated and danced in my veins as a surge of liquid warmth rushed to the pulsing between my thighs.

"And you like when I do this, too." His hand slipped down my bare back to palm my ass. He squeezed and the ache between my legs responded.

"Oh yes. _"_

"But I don't know how you feel about this." He buried his face between my breasts, then slowly got to his knees and licked his way down the middle of my body, over my stomach. "So?" he prompted as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my skirt.

"Like." Oh, god. "So much like."

Placing both hands on my hips, he spun me around and tugged on the zipper at the back of my skirt. The thick material was so waterlogged it wouldn't budge. Fuck.

"Rip it," I said.

"It looks expensive."

"So was my blouse. They're not mine. Not me. Rip it off."

He growled, stood back up, and with one hand on each side of the zipper, pulled my skirt down, tearing it in half. Then he slid his hands up my hips, grabbed my panties and ripped them off.

"Like," I said as I stood there completely bare, my body throbbing in all the right places.

I leaned back into him, my ass rubbing against him. A husky, deep groan vibrated through his chest as I grazed the hard bulge in his jeans. He didn't even wait for me to face him again before he bent me over the couch and slid his hand down my ass, cupping and squeezing my flesh until his fingers were hovering directly above my warm, wet entrance.

"If I remember correctly, you _really_ like this," he said, tracing his fingers along my folds, bringing them up to my clit, then slowly sliding them so deep into me the motion made me want to fall apart right then and there.

All I could do was moan.

He leaned over me and kissed my bare shoulder. "I'll take that sweet little sound as a _yes_ ," he said with a husky growl as I shuddered against him.

Fuck YES.

"Say my name."

I shook my head, so overwhelmed with feeling I couldn't speak. I didn't do that. I didn't ever say anyone's name during sex.

He stopped moving and I whimpered.

"Say my name, Reagan. I want my name to be on your lips, on your mind, as you come."

His fingers moved in a deliberately torturous pulsing motion, as his other arm gripped me tightly from behind. Ever so slowly, the palm of his unengaged hand slid up my stomach to cup my breast, his thumb and forefinger teasing my nipple to the rhythm of his strokes. My head spun. My body was on fire. I could feel him everywhere, the heat of his body keeping me warm as I stood bent over the couch, naked and dripping wet.

"Faster." I crushed my hips into him, driving his fingers deeper. "More."

"Say my name."

He stilled again and I almost cried out. My body ached for him, was already singing his name in every cell. I needed the release only he could give me. It wasn't going to hurt anything if I broke my own rule.

I nodded and pushed my hips into him again.

"Dare..." I said. "Please."

He moved his hand again, increasing the tempo until I was gripping the back of the couch for support and seeing bright spots behind my eyes.

"Dare..." Suddenly it felt so right to be calling out his name.

"God, you're so wet, Reagan."

"It's raining." I turned my head to the side and wound my arms around the back of his neck, bringing his head down.

"It's fucking storming," he whispered in my ear right before colliding his mouth to mine.

His tongue and fingers took control of every inch of my body. He filled my mind, making his way through to my freaking soul. Moaning his name again, I bit down onto his bottom lip, sucking hard and fast as I let go completely. My heart hammered, my toes curled. I lost myself in the taste of him as I came undone, spilling my release all over him.

"Dare...oh, god, Dare!"

My legs buckled and my body folded as I collapsed against the back of the couch, lightheaded and filled with so much delight it was incomparable to even the hardest drug.

"Like," I said, grinning.

"I know." Ever so gently, Dare picked me up and swung me over the couch, lowering my still shaking body onto the cushions. Then he jumped over and lay down on top of me.

He completely enclosed my body, his knees on either side of my hips. I traced my hands over his pecs, raking my nails over the ridges of his abs. His skin was so smooth and tanned, glistening under the low light of a lone corner lamp.

"Do _you_ like this?" I said. Two could play at this.

His muscles rippled in response as my fingers hit the waistband of his jeans.

"And this?" I toyed with the top button.

He dug his hips into me and groaned, letting me feel all of him.

"I'll take that as a very _solid_ yes," I said. A very BIG and solid _yes_.

He buried his face in my neck to kiss and lick his way down to my chest, and I let him for a moment because oh. My. God. But then I stopped him.

"My turn." My hands slipped into his jeans, and all I touched was skin. No boxers. AGAIN. Just Dare. Hot, smooth, hard Dare. "I'm a big fan of your style," I said, wrapping my fingers around him. "And...this."

Definitely a fan.

"Jesus, Reagan," he said as I began moving my hand.

With every one of my strokes, I felt him heat even more, all of his muscles tightening as he groaned my name through gritted teeth.

"Like?"

I didn't have to ask. His tight grip on my hair and his rough kisses were answer enough. __ "We're way past like." He grunted, rocking into my hand. "Right now, we're in the I-have-to-have-you territory."

"I'd never left that territory," I said, increasing the speed of my hand.

"Not like this," he said, suddenly raising up on his knees. "I want all of you. Closer. Deeper."

"Me too." I tugged his jeans over his hips. The ache between my legs reignited, excitement tingling through me at the sight of him above me, completely bare and so very ready.

"Nightstand?" I looked over to his bed. It was only a few feet away, easily acceptable in the open concept loft, but right now it felt too far away. I needed him now.

He shook his head. "Wallet." He picked up his jeans and reached into his back pocket to hunt for the condom. Seeing my eyes narrow, he said, "I had a date. It didn't work out."

Why did hearing that flood me with relief? I grinned at him. "She wasn't rich enough for you?"

Dare laughed. "Not nearly rich enough." He retrieved the foil packet from his wallet and bent over to plant a kiss at the tip of my nose. "And definitely not stubborn enough." He kissed my lips. "When I told her I wasn't into her, she actually listened and went home."

"Really?" I was caring about this way too much for my own good. "Who does that?"

"Normal people," he murmured, trapping my bottom lip between his teeth.

"Good thing I'm not normal," I said.

"Good thing neither am I." The air around us filled with tension as he pinned me with his dark gaze. "Maybe that's why this feels so good."

"Maybe."

I took the condom from his fingers and rolled it onto him slowly, making him groan in sweet agony. Then he slipped between my legs and entered me, wasting no more time.

With each thrust, he drove deeper and deeper, filling me so completely I could no longer distinguish between his body and mine. His mouth latched onto my nipple, and he twirled his tongue around it, sucking on the peak and making me arch all the way off the couch.

Then he was back on his knees, hooking his hands under my thighs and bringing me almost completely off the cushions as he increased his pace. He was hitting such a deep, sacred place I was convinced he was literally screwing every single thought from my brain. And—oh, god—it was the most liberating feeling in the entire world. Liberating and wonderful and exciting.

"Don't. Stop. _Please_." I begged.

"Can't. Stop." Our words were reduced to primal grunts. Just when I thought there was no way to get closer, nowhere to go deeper, he slid his hands under my back and pulled us up into a seated position, so I was straddling him.

Oh. My. God.

His mouth descended on mine and his hands clamped around my waist as he guided me up and down, pulsing his hips to meet me halfway. Somewhere between heaven and nirvana, I gasped his name over and over again until I could no longer breathe.

My fingers clawed his chest, sliding up his biceps to dig into the phoenix on his back. My release came without warning. My whole body felt like it wasn't just flung over the edge, but rather catapulted into oblivion. My heart stopped beating; my eyes and ears stopped functioning.

I'd never felt more alive in my life.

Dare continued to pound into me until his own orgasm rocked through him. His grip grew even tighter as he wrapped his arms around me and crushed me to him.

And the "Ree..." that escaped his lips as he exploded inside me was the most beautiful sound in the world.
twelve

"I've never had a girl stay over to play doctor before," Dare said, placing a soft kiss on my temple. "Though, I'm not sure fucking your patient into a coma is recommended treatment for a concussion."

I shook my head and laughed. "No. I'm pretty sure what we just did warrants a malpractice lawsuit."

Freshly showered, we were lying in his bed, his hands tucked under his head, my chin resting on his chest.

"You really do have the most beautiful smile." He traced the corners of my mouth with his finger.

"Honestly, I'm surprised I even know how to do it without help."

Dare searched my face. "Help?"

"Booze." I looked up at the ceiling. "Pills. Powder."

I felt his arm muscles stiffen. "Damn, Ree."

"What? Don't tell me that you've never relied on some form of escape?" I asked. When he didn't respond, I poked his bare chest. "Well?"

He sighed. "Too many times. And I paid a steep price."

"Rehab?"

"Juvie," he said, his jaw tight. "A year and a half of my life. Gone. Just like that."

"Oh," I breathed. "Wow."

"That's what happens when you're forced to go into the family business. I practically grew up in the basement of my father's club. I didn't know another life."

"Club?"

"Strip club," he said. "But it was just a front for all the drugs." Dare covered his face with his hand and exhaled sharply. The black snake tattoo winding its way around his left bicep seemed to move as he flexed. "Jesus. Why am I telling you any of this?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," I said. "Next to you I come off as some clichéd poor, little rich recreational-drug-user girl. Pathetic. Embarrassing."

He pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin. "We all have our shit, right?" he murmured into my hair.

"Yeah." Dare's shit wasn't much different from mine. We both had fathers who screwed us over. Just in different ways. "What did you end up getting busted for?" I spoke into his chest. "Possession?"

I couldn't even imagine spending a day in detention, let alone a correctional facility. But in my world, that never happened.

I could feel him nod. "Possession," he said, "with intent to sell. My first offense. I was sixteen. Just got my license. The first solo ride of my life was delivering a shipment of blow for my dad. He used me as a diversion for an even bigger deal he had going on at the same time. I was the distraction. A minor who stood a good chance of getting off if caught. Except the district attorney was looking to make an example of 'troubled youths of the city.' Hence, the eighteen month prison sentence. I got out days before my eighteenth birthday."

"God, Dare." All I wanted was to wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze away the pain.

"I could have gotten off—they offered me a deal if I gave up my father. But I didn't. I pled guilty," Dare said. "Stupidest fucking thing I've ever done. But it motivated me to never make the same mistakes again. And to keep my family the fuck away from my father."

"That bad?"

"Harrison is the sixth town in four years. He kept finding us, beating the shit out of me and feeding my mom's heroin addiction. The last time he caught up with us, I woke up a few days later in the hospital."

I gasped and pressed a kiss into his ribs. I had no words.

"That's how they caught him, though, so at least some good came of it. He went to jail and we've been relatively safe since. My family has been in Harrison for a whole year now. But whoever found them must be working for him. I'm going to have to move them again. Far away this time." His hands tangled in my hair and he inhaled. "You know, if I was trying to impress you, I wouldn't be telling you any of this."

I tilted my head up so I could look in his eyes. "So you're not trying to impress me?"

"Hell no," he said. "I'm trying to scare the shit out of you. You don't need me fucking up your life."

"The harder you work at it, the more intrigued I am."

Yeah, there was something seriously wrong with me.

"Dare?" I shook him awake when my phone alarm buzzed at three a.m.

"Mmm?" His eyes snapped open almost instantly. In the dim, moonlit room, they shone like two dark gemstones.

"Just checking that you're still alive," I whispered. I'd been waking him up every hour. Just in case he did have a concussion. And also because every time he woke, we'd spend another ten minutes talking until we both drifted to sleep.

"Still alive, doc." He threw his leg over me, pulling me closer. "Alive and _very_ well."

And apparently horny. Jesus. The guy was insatiable. Which was freaking hot as hell.

I moaned when his hand slipped under the sheets, gliding all the way down my hip to my...oh, god. __ Those fingers should be insured.

"Dare," I said, trapping his hand between my thighs. "I'm just waking you to make sure you don't slip into a coma."

"Well, I haven't." He flashed me a wicked grin. "But I'd really like to slip into something else. Over and over and over again."

"You're bad." I bit my lip to keep from smiling. "So very bad."

His thumb started swirling and I started pulsing. "When's my next check-up, Ree?" he asked, pushing my thighs apart.

"Ree?"

His hand stilled. "It suits you. When you smile, I see a Ree, not a Reagan. Do you hate it? I'll stop."

"No, I like it. A lot." So, so much. No one had ever called me anything but Reagan. "I've always wanted a nickname." I buried my head in the pillow. I couldn't believe how much the Ree was affecting me. How much Dare was affecting me.

"Hey, _hey_...what's wrong?" he said, pulling me to him.

Everything. "Nothing." I was enjoying this sleepover more than I'd meant to. "What time do you need to go to work, tomorrow? I'll make sure I'm out of your hair by then."

"Early. I have to get a ride with a buddy, so I'll be out of the door by five," he said. "I'm not going to wake you. Sleep in. Okay?"

I hesitated, not sure that was a good idea.

"Sleep in, Ree. Patient's orders."

"Okay."

For the first time ever, I was going to not run.

And it was all because of Dare.
thirteen

When I woke the next morning, Dare was already gone. Instinctively, I reached over to his side of the bed and ran my hand over the rumpled sheets. Even though the spot was now cold, my chest filled with warmth. My first official sleepover hadn't been so bad. Maybe I could get used to this.

No, no, no. This had to stay as a one-time—well, now _two_ -time thing. Three, four... _five,_ if we were being specific about the events of last night.

The cool morning air hit my naked skin as I slipped out from under the covers and padded over to the bathroom to clean up. A single glance in the mirror confirmed that I looked nothing at all like the girl that had sat at my parents' table last night. My hair was wild and messy— _free_ was the word that came to mind. My skin was brighter and more luminous.

I'd always gagged when girls bragged about post-coital bliss. It was such a stupid myth. Of course, when you're sneaking down a fire escape at two o'clock in the morning, blitzed out of your damn mind, there is no bliss. And a lot of things had seemed like myth. Like multiple orgasms. Yet I seemed to have no trouble in that department when it came to Dare. All he had to do was look at me and I was instantly wet. With a single touch, he could make my heart rate soar and send my mind into blissful oblivion. Other parts of him could make me forget my own name as I screamed out his.

Christ _._

I was grinning like a fool.

Rolling my eyes at my stupid _sparkling_ reflection, I decided I had better things to do than admire my glow...like find my clothes. Second time at Dare's and a second scavenger hunt, but this one resulted in nothing wearable. Damn that man and his hands. Also, damn my inability to keep my clothes on around him.

Just as I was about to raid his drawers, I noticed a small pile of clothes on the breakfast bar, right next to a note with my name on it. I picked up a pair of women's cut-off jean shorts and a dark gray men's t-shirt with small drops of colorful paint speckled across its front, then read the message.

_Ree,_

_Sorry about your skirt. Hope these help._

_Don't worry, the shorts are brand new._

_And Dalia's. (In case you're wondering.)_

_PS: You're on your own re: underwear._

_PPS: Might I suggest adopting my style?_

_(I dare you to.)_

_—D_

I slipped into the shorts, then pulled the shirt over my head. It smelled like laundry detergent and Dare. His scent filled the apartment. Art. Art and sex. A goddamn perfect combination. A small window above the sink was slightly ajar, but I closed it, wanting to hang on to him—to hold on to _us_ —for a little while longer.

Dare was unlike anyone I'd ever met. Different from the guys my parents pushed on me, but also nothing like the bad boys I'd sought out in seedy bars. He was just Dare. Plain and simple and so very complicated. The very fact that he had a name—one that I associated with more than just an orgasm—scared the shit out of me. I never allowed myself to get into this type of situation. Being vulnerable with anyone was not an option. I'd been down that path before and regretted it. It took me four years and a shitload of sex, drugs, and alcohol to try and forget.

Except I never could. The pain was always there, engraved in my heart, clawing at my soul, save for the two nights I spent with Dare.

Fuck. What the hell was I doing?

Out of habit, I reached inside my purse and pulled out the bottle of pills. I shook out a few onto my palm, but as I brought my cupped hand up to my lips, I caught my reflection in the window of the microwave. My hand froze.

I hated what I saw.

Slowly lowering my arm, I looked at my face. Alert. Filled with hope. For once I kind of liked the girl staring back at me. Or, at least, I didn't mind her as much.

Maybe I didn't need the pills. I tipped my hand and let them fall into the sink, rinsing them down the drain. I felt lighter, somehow. Like I'd won a battle.

_Don't kid yourself, Reagan._ My mother's voice echoed in my head. _This isn't some heroic breakthrough. You still have the rest of the bottle. You need them. You know you do._

I unscrewed the lid and tipped the bottle to spill its contents, but at the last minute I changed my mind and tucked it into the side pocket of my purse. Just in case.

_Told you so._

Fuck. I shook my head, trying to hurl her out of my mind and focus on something else.

I looked down and saw my keys next to my purse.

The car. Dalia had said that Dare needed a car for work. Even though I knew he didn't want my help, I couldn't stand by and let him struggle when there was something I could do. Easily. And when it was my fault he was in this situation to begin with.

But before I did that, however, I had to do one little thing. I searched three nearby grocery stores before I found it. Perfect. And yummy.

Back inside Dare's apartment, I left the car keys and jars of chocolaty goodness on the bar where my change of clothes had been. Then I wrote my own note using the back of his.

_Dare,_

_The Nutella is for Dalia._

_(As a thanks for the shorts.)_

_The car is for you. Use it until yours is fixed._

_(It's not charity. It's the right thing.)_

_PS: I'm going commando._

_—R_

I also included my phone number, knowing full well that he was going to be pissed about the car. I kind of hoped he would call to ream me out. I made the bed and did one final walkthrough of the apartment to make sure I didn't leave anything behind.

And that's when I noticed the art.

Honestly, I have no idea why it took me so long because the place was overflowing with it. Not hanging up on the walls where you'd expect, but rather the entire perimeter was lined with canvases leaning against the exposed brick. Kind of like Dare was running a mini-gallery. Or maybe had just finished robbing one.

I flipped through some of the work. If his collection was any indication, Dare REALLY loved New York. A lot of it contained typical touristy stuff found around Times Square—sketches of yellow cabs on rainy city streets, various angles of the Statue of Liberty, and colorful Central Park landscapes. The work was extremely well-done, even if the subject was overdone. However, there were a few pieces hidden amongst the mundane that really took my breath away.

Nudes.

Not erotic. Just...beautiful.

For a brief moment, I thought they were Rex Vogel's. The images were reminiscent of his technique. Plus, Dare had known about him, so it wasn't hard to deduce that Dare was a fan of his work. And also naked women.

But this particular artist had a uniquely different style. Slightly more contemporary. Definitely more raw and unbridled. Could art be untamed? Because that was the perfect word to describe it.

Excited shivers ran through me as I studied one in particular. It was of a young Japanese woman. Her body was turned away from the artist, her long, black hair strategically covering her so that most of her nudity was left to the viewer's imagination. Most, but not all. And she was gazing over her shoulder at me.

It was breathtaking. And I had to know more. More about who created her.

I snapped a few photos in hopes that Sabine would know where to find the artist. Maybe he or she had a collection that could be a good fit for the gallery's upcoming showcase. Not to mention I wanted to own one.

The thrill rushing through my body and igniting all my senses was similar to what I'd experienced at the club last week with Dare. Kind of like falling in lust at first sight. I needed more paintings. I wanted to own all of them. I searched the canvases for a signature, finally locating one in the bottom right corner.

WILDE.

Go figure. Wilde was untamed.

And I was in art lust.
fourteen

"When are you going to come work for me full time, _chérie_?" Sabine said, the lilt of French coloring her words.

I looked around the gallery and sighed. " _Un jour_." That was my response every time.

One day.

" _Bientôt?_ " And that was what she always said. _Soon?_

"Soon." I hoped. Though if my parents had their way it would be never.

"Did you have a chance to attend the exhibit on Thursday night?" Sabine asked.

Guilt wound through me. "No. I had to go to a seminar."

Dark eyebrows lifted gracefully. "Art seminar?"

"I wish," I said. " _Boring_ seminar."

"Oh, _chérie_. There isn't enough time in life for boring." She tsked her disappointment, but quickly followed up with a bright smile. "Next time, don't be the one who says 'I wish.' Be the one saying ' _Oui, bien sûr!_ ' Say yes to anything and everything that makes you smile. _Oui à la vie. Oui à l'amour. Oui à l'art_."

If anyone could get away with throwing her hands up in the air while reciting made-up mottos, it was Sabine Rochard. With her raven-black hair pulled into a bun and held in place with two green chopsticks, a bright kimono, and luminous skin the most beautiful shade of deep, dark brown, she often reminded me of a living, breathing piece of art. "Sing it with me, _chérie_!" she cried and repeated her chant.

_Yes to life. Yes to love. Yes to art._

I groaned. "That sounds like a very tall order, Sabine. How about just a 'hell yes to art' for now?" Pulling out my phone, I scrolled to the photos I'd taken earlier. "I may not have gone to the seminar, but this morning I did hunt down something I know you'll really like."

"Something I'll _really_ like?" She leaned over my shoulder to peek at my screen. "I've never seen you so sure of yourself, Reagan. There is hope, after all! We shall make an art buyer of you yet, no matter what your parents say."

" _Vive la résistance!_ " I pumped my fist in the air, and then flipped through the pictures I'd taken at Dare's apartment. "Have you heard of this artist by any chance? Wilde?"

"Wilde?" She frowned. " _Non_."

"But his work looks familiar, doesn't it?"

She squinted, proceeding to _hmm_ and _hah_ her way through all of the images. "Very good. Like Vogel's work, no?"

"That's what I thought at first, but it's quite different if you study it carefully." I zoomed in on the image of the Japanese woman. "Look at his style. The muted colors on these nudes are so unique. Vogel loves his vibrant skin tones and is known for the bright colors he uses on the eyes. In these images, there's always a feature that vividly stands out, but each time it's something else. Here, it's the dark hair. In this other one, the high cheekbones. Oh, and here—the nipples."

"It's like the artist is highlighting the women's most unique features."

"Their best features," I whispered, completely mesmerized by the paintings.

"Every one of those models is in love with him," Sabine said matter-of-factly. "Or her."

"How can you tell?"

"Look at the way they're gazing at us. Or, rather, at the artist. It's clearly unrequited love. Sad and bittersweet. So beautiful. You're looking for someone striking. And powerful. And talented. Man or woman, this person has something special."

"Oh, god! I could spend all day discussing their work, Sabine."

She nodded. "You shall find me the artist, yes? Then we'll discuss it together."

But how? __ Wait. Dare had to know who the artist was if he had multiple paintings in his apartment.

"I'll find them, Sabine," I promised.

Which meant I would have to see Dare again.

Thank you, mysterious painter!

Dare called a little before nine that night. I'd just returned from getting coffee down the street—it was going to be a long night of studying.

"Reagan," he said. No polite niceties, no sweet nickname. "I just got home from work and there is a red Mercedes parked in front of my apartment. Also a set of car keys on my counter. I'm not sure how else to word this, so... _what the fuck?_ "

"Let me guess, you hate the color?"

"Reagan." My name was a growl on his lips. "This isn't funny. I didn't ask for this. The last thing I want from anyone—especially you—is fucking charity."

"But your work. Dalia said you can't—"

"That's _my_ business." He was breathing so hard I could practically feel his anger vibrating through my phone. "I said we were even. I'm not going to get you in trouble with the law or your insurance, so—"

"It's not about that."

"You can't just give me a car!"

"I can. And I did," I said. "Dare, I broke yours. You need a car way more than I do. I like to walk whenever I can. And my parents have so many vehicles they can't even keep track of them all. Their driver is going to bring another one over for me tomorrow. I bet you any money they won't even know it's gone from the garage. And if they do, they won't care."

"I'm glad to hear you have cars to spare and money to bet, Princess, but I don't want any part of it," he shot back.

"That's not what I meant. You're not being fair." _Princess_ irked me. That's not who I was. "Look, I'm sorry. I fucked up. I felt bad and tried to redeem my stupid actions. Maybe I didn't go about it the best way, but I did the only thing I knew how. Leaving the car for you wasn't meant to be some malicious act or fucking charity. I didn't do it because I wanted to save my ass or even because I pitied you, Dare. I just thought it was the right thing to do. If that makes me a princess or a selfish bitch then I'll take it back."

Dare was quiet for a moment. "Shit, Ree."

"Forget it." I shut my eyes and tried to will away the tightness in my chest. Stop caring, Reagan.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I just can't use your Mercedes," he said, his voice softening. "Not just because it feels wrong, but have you seen my place? That car is worth more than the entire building."

"Just borrow it until yours is fixed," I said. "It's a week, Dare. Only a fucking week."

He was quiet again and then said, "I guess so." A few seconds later, he added. "Thank you. I'll make sure—"

"Now about that color," I jumped in before he could finish.

"Ha- _ha_. You're hilarious," His voice warmed. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Aside from rejoicing about escaping your wrath?"

He laughed. "Naturally."

"Homework." I groaned. "Oh, and trying to find the most creative way to get out of a meeting with my father's political advisors."

"Sounds serious."

"It is." Too serious. Already I was sick of it and they hadn't even gotten started. "What do you think about the tried and true I-got-abducted-by-aliens excuse?"

He thought for a moment. "Too cliché."

"A mugging in Central Park?"

"Too brutal. But believable," he said. "How about going for something simpler. Like telling them you're too busy having dinner with an incredibly talented cook?"

I laughed. "They'd never buy it. I don't know any of those."

"Well, you only currently know him as an incredibly talented something else." I could hear the mischievous smirk in Dare's voice.

"Oh, THAT guy." He was so incredibly talented I could feel my cheeks heat at the mere thought of the things we'd done last night.

"Yeah, that guy would like to thank you for lending him your car."

I frowned. "I can't. I'm sorry." It wasn't just the political meeting. It was Dare. I'd already spent more time with him than any other guy in years. What was worse, I liked it. I hadn't wanted to leave his apartment this morning.

Dinner. It just wasn't a smart move.

"Well, if you change your mind, I'm making my famous mac and cheese," he said. "It sounds simple, but it's a secret recipe that I promise will be worth your time."

"You're really cooking? By yourself? With your own hands?"

"Yeah, I gave my chef the week off." He laughed. "Don't worry, Princess. My gardener and maid are still here. So if your driver—"

"Once again, that's not what I meant!" Still, I couldn't help but laugh. "It's just that no one has ever offered to cook for me." I'd been on countless dates to fancy restaurants with world famous chefs, but cooking at home? _Never_. "Honestly, I've never even had mac and cheese."

"What?" he said. " _Never?_ "

"Nope." My parents had fed me foie gras when most kids got mac and cheese.

"Then it's decided. You're coming over. I'm going to change your life."

He already had. A thrill ran through me.

Fuck _._

"I'll try to make it," I said, even though I knew I shouldn't. I needed to run while I still could. "Dare, I have to—oh, wait! I have a quick question about some artwork in your apartment."

"Shoot," he said.

"There are a couple of nudes by someone named Wilde."

"Oh, those."

"I'd really like to find out more about the artist."

Dare was quiet for a moment. "Tell you what, if you find a way to make it to dinner, I'll ensure he comes by."

"You'd really do that?"

"Sure. It's a deal. I'll even push the dinner to nine o'clock, so you have some time to go to your important political meeting, Princess." He cleared his throat, then said, "See you tomorrow, Ree."

"Tomorrow," I said. Tomorrow I would be one step closer to Wilde.

And Dare.

Again.
fifteen

Sunday evening was abnormally hot for September—the kind of night that inspired bad decisions. I finished my homework, but as soon as I put on my Mother-Approved Oscar de la Renta pencil dress, I suddenly couldn't breathe. The wool was too itchy and hot against my skin, my Jimmy Choos made me feel like I wasn't standing on solid ground, and the red lipstick my mother had insisted I wear was too dark, too much.

I looked like I was going to a funeral.

I felt like it, too.

Without really thinking it through, I made the decision right then. I washed my face and ripped off the dress, then put on jean shorts, a cropped, sleeveless top, and flats. SO much better. I pulled out my phone, thanked the gods my mother's voicemail picked up, and begged off, claiming I'd pulled an all-nighter and had been up for thirty-six hours straight. I told her I'd be turning off my phone and just sleeping so I'd be in good shape for class tomorrow morning, and that I _knew_ she'd understand because of how important my classes were to my future.

By the time my cab pulled up in front of Dare's apartment complex, I felt more like myself than I had in a long time, and didn't feel even remotely bad for ducking out on my parents. Screw mayoral debates and codes of conduct and video trackers. Screw perfect, little Reagan.

Wait. I did want to get screwed.

Just not by Marcus and Eleanor.

Although, as I walked up the three flights of stairs, I realized that I wasn't coming here just for the sex. My heart pounded with excitement at seeing Dare. Yeah, just seeing him. I wanted to know everything about him. And I wanted to meet Wilde. The thought of getting my hands on some of his art made me giddy.

This was so much better than politics.

Dare didn't answer right away, and I realized that I was way early. I tried calling his number and could hear the phone ring unanswered inside. It had been stupid of me to show up unannounced. He might still be at work or at the store. Or maybe he'd gone out for drinks.

Just as I was about to turn around and go, the door swung open and my breath hitched as my gaze met his bare, wet torso.

_Helloooo_ , muscles. And tattoos.

Dark, damp hair clung to his forehead, going in a mess of directions that made me want to run my fingers through it. His skin glistened as water droplets trailed down his chest and over the peaks and valleys of his abs, disappearing into the waistband of his low-riding jeans. The top few buttons of his pants were undone as if he'd just stepped into them, revealing a sexy triangle of muscle and making it _very_ clear he was going commando.

Again.

It took every ounce of self-control to keep from licking my lips.

"You're early," he said, sounding pleased.

"I'm sorry. I know it's only seven, but I..." I wanted to see you.

"You were hungry?" His voice dropped to a teasing low.

"For the mac and cheese? _Totally_."

His chest vibrated with a deep, husky laugh. "Of course. Come on in." He turned to the side so I could slide past him.

"Thanks." I crossed my hands over my chest to keep myself from doing something stupid like reaching out and running my fingers across that sexy grin, then sliding them down his chest and stomach into—no. I stopped myself because if I thought about it much longer, I would lose all control.

Dare did up his jeans and pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar. "Have a seat. I'm just going to finish toweling off, then get started on dinner."

"Can I help?" I said.

His mouth quirked. "With the toweling off or the dinner?"

And I actually thought about it because now that I was here all I wanted to do was get my hands on him again. And my lips.

God. I was so fucked.

"Sit tight, Princess," he ordered. "I'll be right back."

The moment he disappeared into the bathroom, I walked over to Wilde's paintings to look through them again, and confirmed what I'd known right away—the artist would be a perfect fit at La Période Bleue.

"So you really like them?" I hadn't heard him come back and startled at his voice. He stood leaning against the wall, a black t-shirt stretched across his chest.

"Is the painter still coming? I'm dying to meet—" Something in his eyes stopped me. I looked down at the canvas. Up at Dare. Down to his long fingers and paint-speckled jeans. Back up to the spark in his eyes. "YOU? You told me you were a _house_ painter."

He shrugged. Just freaking shrugged like it was no big deal.

"You're Wilde?!" I was in serious peril of fangirling.

"Dare Wilde," he said, extending his hand. "Nice to _officially_ meet you."

"Dare, and never Daren, right?"

The light in his eyes dimmed as his jaw tightened. "My mom is the only person in the world who can get away with Daren. It's my father's name. And she still clings to it because she can't fully kick the habit."

"Well, Dare Wilde," I said, placing my hand in his, "nice to officially meet you, too. Reagan McKinley."

"You look so uncomfortable saying that."

I looked down at the painting next to my legs so he wouldn't see the blush on my face. "I don't know what makes me more uncomfortable...my first name or my last."

His fingers nudged mine. "Then how about I stick to Ree?"

"I'd like that." I waved my hand at the paintings. "You're really good. Why are you painting houses when you can do THIS? Why aren't you screaming it from the rooftops? If I was this talented, I'd want the entire world to know."

"Nobody cares," he said, shrugging. "Being an artist in this city doesn't put food on the table. Especially not when you have three other people relying on you."

"So what does?" I asked.

"Very little. Right now, making sure I put the right shade of _rich_ on my clients' walls gets us by. No one gives a shit about art."

"I do." I turned to face him. "I care."

"Do you want to stir the cheese sauce while I do the pasta?" Dare asked.

I was watching him work from across the counter—a safe distance from the food, but close enough I could enjoy the view. Him cooking for me was so freaking sexy.

"I don't know how to cook," I said. "I don't want to mess it up."

He laughed. "There's very little you can do to mess this up, Ree."

I shook my head and raised my arms in protest. "I really can't."

Turning from the stove, he grabbed my hands and pulled me from the stool. He brought me around to stand in front of him, my back to his chest.

"It's easy." He placed his hands over mine, interlocking our fingers. "And I'm a really good teacher," he whispered in my ear as he guided my fingers around the handle of the wooden spoon. "Hold on and move it in circles."

There was a tattoo of a paintbrush on the inside of his forearm, the bristles pointing toward his palm, and it pressed against my skin as he began to move.

"Nice and slow." His voice caressed my ear and sent shivers through me. "Just like that."

Oh, god _._ I bit down on my lip. Was cooking always this hot? Or was it just my teacher who made it so erotic?

"So you've really never cooked a single thing in your life?" He nipped my ear as he spoke and I couldn't keep from moaning.

I shook my head. "It's embarrassing, I know. You don't have to say anything."

His body vibrated against my back.

"Are you _laughing_ at me?"

"I'm laughing at the situation. I'm not only taking your mac and cheese virginity, but also your culinary one." His voice dropped to a husky low as he said, "I better make this a meal to remember."

I pressed my back into him. "I have no doubt it will be."

"If you keep talking and not stirring, that sauce is going to boil over prematurely." He smacked my butt playfully, then shifted to the side and turned his attention to the pasta.

The heat from the stove dampened my skin, beading sweat across my chest and plastering my cotton top to my back. Dare reached up to turn on the vent above my head, his shirt riding up in the process, exposing his hard abs.

Still keeping one hand on the spoon, I pointed at him. "Hang on. I want to see it."

One eyebrow lifted and his face broke out into a wicked grin. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"Not _that_ ," I said, laughing. "Your phoenix tattoo. I've been fascinated with the design since I first saw it. I want to know the story behind it." Then I glanced down at his pants. "Though we can play that game, too. Later." I reached over and pulled his shirt up. "Let me see."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You really need my shirt off for this?"

"I'd _really_ like to admire the artwork." And his entire freaking body.

"I forgot. You live for art." He smirked and pulled the shirt over his head, turning his back to me. "Like what you see?"

Hell yes _._ I ran my eyes up the taut muscles to his shoulder, and stared. The bird took my breath away. "It's remarkable. How does it look so...alive?"

"That was the point," Dare said. "I got it as a symbol of reincarnation. Starting over. Creating new life from the ashes of the old."

I reached out to touch it, my fingers grazing a scar. I hadn't even noticed it before.

"What's this from?"

He shrugged. "Dad fights dirty."

My eyes widened and I stared at him, not sure what to say. "Oh, Dare..."

"It's over," he said. "I don't dwell on the past."

He shuddered slightly as I traced the outline of the bird with my fingers. "It's beautiful."

"Rex did it."

"Rex?"

"Vogel. He drew it for me," he said like it was no big deal. I gaped at him. " _Rex Vogel?_ You _know_ Rex Vogel? Well enough for him to draw you a tattoo?"

He nodded. "I worked for him—well, _under_ him for a while. He taught me everything I know."

"Vogel doesn't take apprentices." That was a well-known fact in the industry.

"He made an exception for me," Dare said. "His studio was next door to our old place in Queens. I hung out there every day when I was a kid. We drifted apart when I became mixed up with my father's work. Once I got out of juvie, I begged him to take me back. He saved my life."

"Amazing." I shook my head. "I can't believe I didn't realize the paintings were yours." I guess I simply couldn't fathom that someone so young and—let's face it—dangerously good-looking could also be so incredibly talented. It wasn't fair.

Dare laughed. "I'm just a piece of meat to you, aren't I?" he said as if reading my mind.

"A _talented_ piece of meat," I said. "You're fascinating." My smile dropped and my stomach knotted. I wish I could say the same for myself. But the truth was, I really was just a piece of meat to Dare. And for the first time in my life I wished I could be more. The beautiful women in his paintings had probably been more.

"Did you love them?" I asked.

He turned to face me. "Who?"

I could feel heat creep into my cheeks. "The girls in the paintings," I said, focusing again on the cheese sauce. "My friend Sabine said you can clearly see they're in love with the artist. So I'm just wondering if..." Stop. Now. Just stop. What was I doing?

Dare surprised me by laughing. "It's just work, Ree."

"I know." I mumbled. "But it's a specific type of work. An incredibly intimate, erotic kind of work. And they're all so gorgeous." And Dare was...well, _Dare_.

"If I had to love every woman I painted I'd be an emotionally and physically exhausted guy," he said, still smiling.

"What about the girl with the long, black hair?" I stopped stirring and looked up at him. There had to be a story behind that one.

"Sia?" His lips tightened. "She was another one of Vogel's exceptions. A sculptor. She was my first subject." His eyes lost some of their focus. "She moved to Amsterdam about a year ago."

_Was she your exception, too?_ I wanted to ask, but decided the question was best left unanswered. We all had our pasts. God knows mine was much, much darker than anything Dare could imagine.

"It's just work," he said again. "You're not jealous of the girls on the canvases, are you? Because the only girl I care about right now is the one...letting the sauce boil over." He grabbed the spoon I'd accidently abandoned and turned down the heat on the stove.

"See? I told you I would be a bad cook." I slipped away from the stove and turned to the counter to hunt down my usual cocktail of pills from my purse.

Dare was starting to get into my head. HARD. And I couldn't let that happen.

"What are you doing?" His eyes were on the bottle in my hands.

"Just need to take the edge off." __ It was too much. All of it. "Do you want some?"

The muscles in his jaw tightened as he shook his head. "You really need that shit to feel good right now?"

I didn't. Which was not only incomprehensible, but so scary I was suddenly trembling. Usually I took the pills to feel better. Right now, I wanted to NOT feel.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm..." Afraid. Confused. Fucked up. With the pills, I didn't have to deal with these emotions.

In a heartbeat, Dare was in front of me, pinning my back against the counter, his mouth crushing mine so hard I wasn't able to breathe or think. When he broke the kiss, I was dizzy and breathless.

"Just for tonight, let me be enough, Ree." He grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. His fingers wove through my hair as he kissed his way down my chin and throat to my chest. "Say I'm enough."

I nodded. He was enough.

And that scared the shit out of me.

My head was spinning from the feel of his lips, but we were supposed to be cooking. "What about the mac and cheese?"

"Oh, we're going to finish it," he said, spinning me around so I was facing the stove. "In fact, you're going to finish it. No excuses."

Then he unbuttoned my shorts and slowly slid his hand down the front, his other locking around my wrist to guide my fingers back to the wooden spoon. "Now...you're going to be a good girl and keep stirring while I..."

OH. MY. GOD.
sixteen

The light of early morning sunshine woke me. Or maybe it was the heat of Dare's gaze. I felt it on me before I even opened my eyes. It was a weird sensation—both familiar and unnerving. Slowly lifting my eyelids, I found him sitting on an armchair off to the side of the bed, watching me sleep.

No, not watching. Drawing.

Eyebrows knitted together and lips pursed in deep concentration, his gaze flitted from me to the sketchpad propped on his bent knee. His hand moved across the surface and the only sound in the apartment was that of pencil on paper. Up and down and side to side, with long, sweeping strokes.

It sounded beautiful. And almost made me forget where I was.

In bed.

Naked.

After a night of mac and cheese and Dare.

My body was sprawled across the bed, the sheets partially kicked off, exposing one leg, full chest, stomach, and part of my hip bone. One arm was under my head, the other rested in front of my breasts.

My very, very _naked_ breasts.

I grabbed for the covers.

"Don't move." Dare's voice broke through the silence. "Leave it. You're too beautiful to hide," he said, turning his sketchpad so I could see his drawing.

"Is that really how you see me?" I looked like a sleeping goddess. The one thing that stood out the most was the tiny, content smile on my face. Was I really that peaceful in my sleep?

"It's how you are, Ree," he said before he turned back to his work. "Now, stay and let me finish you off."

He smirked. Bastard. That wasn't a Freudian slip. It was an intentional tease.

And it worked, damn it. It worked too well.

Tingles spread through my body, intensifying everywhere his deep, dark gaze fell. Right now, Dare owned every part of me. With a single freaking look, he made my body come alive with want. Pulsing. Aching. From head to toe and all the secret places on the way down.

I was suddenly hyperaware of everything. The way the sheets felt against my naked skin, the tightening of my nipples, the throb between my legs that begged to be satisfied. When his gaze caressed the peaks and valleys of my breasts, I had to bite back a moan. My nipples beaded into almost-painful peaks and I heard him groan.

He saw. He knew the effect this was having on me.

When I met his eyes, they were hot, dark pools of desire and I tried to do everything I possibly could to keep from writhing under the sheets. But I couldn't hold still any longer as I watched him lick his lips.

My eyes locked on his as the fingers of my right hand defiantly reached out to touch my breast.

A flash of pure want lit up Dare's face. "I told you not to move." His voice was a low, pleased growl as he shifted in his seat.

"You did, didn't you?" With a rebellious lift of my eyebrow, I trailed my hand over my nipple and down my stomach, getting closer and closer to the edge of the sheet.

Dare's jaw tightened.

No, his _entire body_ tightened.

"Fuck." The pencil came to a halt on the page when I slipped my fingers under the covers, reaching down to touch the wetness that had pooled between my thighs.

His eyes hooded as he leaned over to slide the sheet off my body. "I want to watch."

Oh, god.

I parted my legs, exposing myself to him as I slipped a finger between my folds. He groaned my name and when I moaned his in return, I heard the pencil between his fingers snap.

"Dare," I said, panting, "is this ruining your picture?"

"Hell no." He shifted in his seat again, the bulge in his sweats straining the material.

"Do you like what you see?" I breathed.

Sliding one hand into the waistband of his pants, he showed me just how much. "Spread your knees wider." He slowly began to stroke himself. "Pinch your nipple."

Never breaking eye contact, I let him guide me, rubbing faster and venturing deeper, my hips bucking in rhythm with my thrusts. When I cried out his name, I didn't care if the entire building heard me.

He shut his eyes and growled, practically launching on top of me. "Fuck watching. I want to participate. I'm much more of a hands-on kind of guy." He lowered his head between my legs. "Or, mouth-on in this case." I could feel him grin.

And then his tongue darted out to lick my swollen clit and I lost all control.
seventeen

By the beginning of October, Dare was a permanent fixture in my daily life. The more time I spent with him, the easier it was to breathe. I no longer had to force laughter or smiles—they were real. I didn't even have to fake happiness. The more liberated I felt, the more I thought about pursuing my own wants and lifting a middle finger to duties and my parents' plans.

School had taken a backburner to art. For the fifth time in three weeks, I was ditching a mandatory seminar for a show. This time at La Période Bleue. We'd booked a young artist from New Jersey that I'd discovered on a street corner.

"That was the last of the paintings!" Sabine came up to me and squeezed my shoulder. "All of Jessa Tyrell's pieces have officially been sold. Thanks to you, _chérie_!"

"Congratulations." Dare leaned over and kissed my temple. Even after four weeks, his lips still awoke the butterflies in my stomach. But I no longer minded the little fuckers. I'd gotten used to them. So much so I hoped they were there to stay.

"Any luck convincing this one to show with us?" Sabine nodded to Dare.

"I'm still working on it," I said.

She squeezed my shoulder. "Work harder. We have that new artist showcase in November that a Wilde would be perfect for, no?"

When Sabine disappeared to speak with Jessa, I turned to Dare. "What do you say about putting a couple of your pieces in?"

"You really think I'm good enough for mainstream?"

"I think you're amazing," I said. "Maybe you can even put that new one in that you've been working on."

"I don't know if I can finish it by November. Work's really busy right now." His mom had lost her job a few weeks ago, so Dare had been taking double shifts. "Yeah, the irony that I paint other people's dream houses instead of working on my dream hasn't escaped me."

Dare's situation couldn't have been more different from mine. The money he earned from his job never seemed to be enough, and he worried almost constantly about his family. The only time he was completely at peace was when he worked on the new painting.

_Real Ree_ , he called it.

A Wilde original.

"Will you at least consider the show?" I asked, pressing myself closer to breathe him in. I could not get enough of him. "The world needs your art. Come on, I dare you."

He winked and gave me one of his darkly delicious grins. "You just want to be the one who discovered it, right?"

I nodded. "Partly. It's such a high, Dare. Discovering Jessa was such a rush. I really wish this could be my life. My permanent, happy life."

"Why can't it?" The question wasn't a new one. "This is where you belong."

"I know, but..." I closed my eyes, shutting out the colorful walls.

" _But_ your parents. _But_ your duty as a McKinley." He'd heard the speech too many times. "And what else was there?" His voice turned sharp. "Oh, right, all those rich pricks you have to go on pretend dates with to keep Daddy from freezing your credit cards."

"Dare..."

"Why not live your own life? Why don't you just tell them about me? If you let me into it, maybe I can help."

They'd never let him in. I knew this from experience. My father would destroy Dare if he got even one whiff us dating.

I just shook my head because I had no good answers to his questions.

Dare turned away from me, his jaw set, the hurt in his eyes killing me.

Later that night, we lay in Dare's bed on top of the comforter, fully clothed, him doodling in his sketchbook with one hand, while his other was draped over my shoulder. The air between us pulsed with tension. Even though he absentmindedly ran his fingers over my skin, I didn't feel the warmth in his touch.

He was quiet. Eerily so. His body was here, but his mind was so far away it made me miss him. I knew he was pissed, but I didn't know how to broach it, what to say, how to bridge the gap.

The silence stretched between us until I couldn't stand another minute of it.

I spoke quietly. "You don't understand what my family is like."

"I understand that they're killing you with their demands, but you refuse to do anything about it. That is painfully obvious." His eyes hardened. "You're much happier as Ree—the smiling girl who wears jeans and vintage t-shirts, and organizes gallery shows all by herself. Reagan McKinley is the unhappy, poor little rich girl who gets high and fucks bad boys in clubs just so she can feel alive."

" _Wow_..." His words sliced through me.

"I just don't get why you can't break free. Live your own fucking life."

"It's not that simple," I said, heat rising to my cheeks. There was so much about my life that he didn't get, couldn't get. It wasn't so black and white.

"It could be."

"They won't let me, Dare. You don't know what they're like."

"How could I? You've never introduced me to them. Because you're ashamed of me." Raw anger shaped his features as he said, "I'm your dirty little secret."

"You know what? If that's what you really think of me, then you can go fuck yourself. You're sitting here telling me how well you know me, judging me, and yet you have the nerve to think I'm ashamed of YOU? REALLY?" I was shouting so loud he actually had the good sense to look shocked. "I'm ashamed of THEM, Dare. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the only person I've ever wanted to be with for more than one night—and every moment I am with you only makes me want you more. You are _not_ my dirty little secret. You're everything I want in my life. If I believed for even a nanosecond that they would welcome you into their fucked-up world, that they would even _tolerate_ you there, I would be dragging your fantastic ass to every stupid family event I have to go to. But they won't. They would do everything in their power to break us apart, to destroy you. THAT is why you've never met them. THAT is why I don't tell them about you. I'm not keeping YOU from them—I'm keeping THEM from you." I sighed. "From us."

He sat there in stunned silence for a moment. "So choose _us_ ," he finally said. "Why keep playing their games?"

I shook my head. "It's...not easy or simple. But I want to. And I'm working on it, okay? Can that be enough for now?"

He stared at me, then slowly nodded. "But only because you said I have a fantastic ass." His lips quirked upward, though tension still defined his jaw.

"I'm being serious, Dare." I punched him in the ribs, earning a full-fledged smile.

"I know," he said. "I know. And I'm sorry." He pulled me against him and pressed his lips to my hair. Then he whispered, "Okay, I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"The show," he said. Really quietly. Very carefully. "I'll do the damn show."

I couldn't speak, couldn't move for what felt like a full minute as I stared at him, stunned. Then I tackled him.

"Really?! You'll do it?" I was straddling him as I kissed my way across his lips, down his jaw, over his cheeks. Then I stopped and pulled back so I could look into his eyes. "You're not doing it just for me, are you? Because we fought?"

He shook his head. "I'm doing it _because_ of you. But I'm doing it for myself."

"Thank you! I'm seriously dying of happiness right now! Also, kinda hurting from this sharp pencil sticking in my butt." I pulled his sketchpad and pencil from under me, feeling slightly guilty that I'd scrunched up the latest page of Dare's work.

I was about to place both on the nightstand, when my eyes landed on his drawing. My breath caught.

"Oh, wow!" It was a phoenix. Kind of like the one he had on his shoulder, but different in every way Dare's work diverged from Vogel's. Dare's bird looked feminine and pretty. Almost like it was drawn to complement his, while at the same time being completely unique on its own.

"This would make a beautiful tattoo," I whispered.

Dare followed my gaze. "You think so?"

"It's magnificent." I met his eyes. "Will you paint it on me?" I pulled off my shirt and unzipped my shorts, shimmying them down my hips. Once I was only in my bra and panties, I stretched across the bed on my side, facing him.

Dare caressed my bare hip, slowly sliding his fingers up to right below where my ribs began. "Here." It wasn't a question. And it didn't need to be. Dare knew my body better than I did. And he was right. That was the perfect spot.

It didn't take long for him to set up. I loved watching him work—all pure passion and deep concentration. It was like he was transported into another dimension where only he, the canvas, and the paint existed. And tonight that canvas was me.

It was amazing to be a part of something he loved with all his heart. I could feel it in every stroke of his brush, every touch of his finger. I could feel Dare's love for the art all the way down to my bones.

Oh, god.

The things he was doing to my body and heart shook me to my core. It wasn't so much a sexual experience this time, as it was a deeply intimate one that made me feel things I never knew I could. And it filled me with the most amazing sense of calm.

I closed my eyes, soaking it in. Soaking him in.

"Ree?" he said. "Are you okay?"

I realized I'd never been more okay than I was in that moment.

"Yeah," I said with a smile. A REAL smile.

He stood up and brought over a mirror. When he held it over me, I could see both his shoulder and my hip.

His phoenix and mine.

I reached toward the image.

"They're like the two parts that come together to make a whole story," I said. "Two parts. One whole."

Two very different pasts. One present.

Like us.

My voice cracked. "I—" I stopped before something slipped out that I wouldn't be able to take back. But if I was capable of love, I would love this bird. With my whole heart. "Thank you," I said quietly. "It's perfect."

"Perfectly flawed." He grinned and pointed to a place where the paint had run a bit.

"Just like me," I said, reaching for him and pulling him down on top of me.

My lips sought out his hungrily. His tongue slipped into my mouth, tasting me so slow and deep it made my toes curl and fireworks go off behind my lids.

Something had happened while he was drawing on me that completely changed the intensity between us. Our kisses were always wild and untamed, but now there was something more to them. Something I was afraid to put a word to. So I bowed my back, raising up off the bed, trying to crush my mind, body, and soul into his until we were melded into one.

Two parts. One whole.

His hands drifted down to grip my hips and steady me. He groaned when his fingers grazed my faux tattoo. "Shit, it's going to smudge. We should let this dry."

"You really want to wait?" I slid my hand between us, and delved under the waistband of his jeans so I could wrap my fingers around him. He moaned, throbbing in my grip.

"Fuck it. I guess these sheets are bound to get filthy one way or another." He rose to his knees and hooked his fingers into my underwear. A moment later my panties hit the floor. My bra followed, then his shirt and jeans.

I reached for a condom from the nightstand, but when I turned back to Dare I realized he had other plans.

"I'm going to make you mine," he said, kissing his way to my breasts. "I'm going to claim you, body and soul." His lips trailed down my stomach to the place I needed him most. "Say my name." The order came as his tongue darted out to lap at my ache. "You are mine." He licked again, then paused right over my sweet spot. "Say it, Ree."

I lifted my hips. "Dare, _please_."

"You are mine. Say you are mine."

"I am yours. Only yours." I needed him. Right now. All of him. _Everywhere_.

His smile turned wicked and his eyes darkened with lust as he pressed his mouth to my hot, tender core. He tasted me with a single leisurely lick, letting my excitement melt on his tongue before taking my clit gently between his teeth and making me cry out in pleasure.

I forgot how to breathe. How to speak. The only language I had left consisted of a lot of moans and a few grunts. Dare's mouth was the only thing that existed in my world. The most perfect thing in the entire universe. Every sharp nip was followed by a warm, soothing lick that made my insides tense and tingle as my head spun out of control.

My hands fisted the sheets, clinging on for life as he worked me tighter and tighter into a feverish frenzy. Finally, with one last lick, he tipped me over the edge. My body convulsed as I came, the fierce pulses of pleasure rocking into the depths of my soul as I cried out his name.

Dare kissed his way up my body, leaving a little trail along my skin. I unwrapped the condom and put it on him, but when he entered me this time, there was something different about the way our bodies fit together. He filled me even more, quenching some kind of thirst I wasn't even aware I had. With each thrust, he plunged deeper into a zone that was teeming with both pain and pleasure. My heart beat faster, harder, louder than it ever had before as I clung to his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer until we melded completely.

In this moment, he was mine and I was his. All his.

"I'm yours, Ree," he said right before his body was overtaken with waves of pleasure.

It was hearing those words that pushed me over the edge again. Our bodies shook to a joint rhythm only our hearts could hear as we indulged in a high unlike any other I'd ever experienced.

Hovering directly above me, his smile was dazzling and warm. His eyes met mine and my heart skipped a beat. There was a quiet softness in them I didn't expect to see.

"Two parts," he said softly. "One whole."

And my heart filled with Dare. Bubbled up and overflowed, spilled out of my body, saturating the entire apartment, the building, the city.

Coloring my entire world.
eighteen

"Why won't you just let me make some space for you in my closet?" Dare said, from behind the canvas where he was putting finishing touches on _Real Ree_. "You're sleeping in my bed every night, you're studying on my couch, you're eating my mac and cheese, and you're indulging in very steamy showers in my bathroom. It just makes sense for you to bring over some clothes. No strings attached."

There was nothing I wanted more than to move my stuff in and never leave. But my fucked-up life had never been about getting what I wanted, and if I was going to extract myself from that world, I needed to do it one step at a time. Slowly. And start with something smaller, like changing my major to art history.

Though step-size was relative, and to my parents, switching out of Political Science was not going to seem small.

At all.

"Ree?" Dare had stopped painting and was looking at me.

I looked up from the open textbook in my lap. "I'll think about it. Maybe after midterms."

His eyes darkened. "You mean after the mayoral election, right?"

No. Maybe. Okay, yes. I had high hopes that things would ease up once my parents began campaigning. They'd be too focused on winning voters over to be able to deal with what they were going to see as my betrayal to the family. Too distracted.

I hoped.

I opened my mouth to explain, but Dare beat me to it.

"Forget I brought up the fucking closet," he said. "We've already declared this apartment an election-free zone, so I'm going to keep it that way. For as long as you need, alright?"

I nodded, wondering if _forever_ was an option.

As November and my father's announcement drew closer, his team started to shadow me under the pretense of being bodyguards. Every single day it was getting harder and harder to slip away to Dare's unnoticed. So I became the perfect daughter on the outside, going to all my classes, attending play dates with my parents' friends' perfect sons and daughters who were way less perfect than their parents actually realized. At the end of the day, I would run into Dare's arms. He was my salvation.

Never more so than tonight—two nights before my father's big day. Though I still had hope—stupidly—that I could keep this part of my life all to myself, my parents' demands would only increase once the campaign truly started. The clock was ticking. In a couple of days, I was going to be forced to choose between making a break for it and trying to have my own life or succumbing to my parents' wishes and being a team player.

I didn't want to play for the McKinley team anymore.

The problem was, I still hadn't figured out exactly how to get off the roster. And, in all honesty, I was terrified of the repercussions that were sure to follow when I tried.

"Want to go check out that exhibit in the Village Friday night?" Dare asked, threading his fingers through mine and lifting my hand to his lips. We lay entwined together, skin to skin—my favorite way to be with him.

I wish. "I can't."

He rained kisses along my knuckles. "Seminar?"

I shook my head, stayed silent.

Friday was the charity gala at the Met. My father had scheduled a press conference on the steps of the museum to announce his candidacy right before the big dinner. There was no getting out of that for _any_ reason.

Dare bit down on my collarbone, making me squeal with laughter. When he nibbled his way up my neck to my mouth, I began to ache with need.

I pushed my worries out of my head and tried to focus on him. And the many things I wanted to do to him right now. Trapping his bottom lip between my teeth, I slipped my hand under the covers to reach for him.

He grabbed my wrists, stopping me. "I really need to get back to work," he said against my mouth. "You promised me we'd get to finish _Real_ _Ree_ tonight, remember? The gallery show is in two weeks and I need your smile to shine just right. Exactly like this." He traced my lips with the pad of his thumb. His touch made my heart swell.

I kissed his finger. First lightly, then taking the tip in my mouth and running my tongue down its length. My mouth closed over it and I sucked him into my mouth. I shut off my mind and let my body take over.

Dare's eyes rolled in the back of his head as he groaned. "Fuck," he said through gritted teeth. "That's not fair."

"Sure you don't want to work on this Ree first?" I asked as I swirled my tongue over him. "And have this Ree work on you?"

"Not fair at all." His voice was raspy with want. He pulled his finger from between my lips, fisted my hair, and crashed his lips to mine. One hard kiss led to another, and I thought I had him exactly where I wanted him.

But then he rolled away, pulling the sheet with him. "Work," he said. "But you're so going to pay for this when I'm done."

"Oh, I better." I grinned really wide and chucked a pillow at his back.

He turned to face me, a sexy smile etched into his face. His sultry, dark eyes washed over my naked body as he bent over and grabbed my chin between his fingers. "I like you the best when you're like this. When you're wearing nothing but that beautiful, sexy smile."

"I like me best like this, too," I said. "With you."

It was the loud clap of thunder that jolted me awake in the middle of the night. But it was the nightmare I'd been trapped in that left me shaking. The dream didn't even make any sense. It was like some drug-induced hallucination.

_A basement. NO. A wine cellar. Cold and damp. No light. So deep underground I can't see or breathe. Hands everywhere. So many hands I can't keep track of them. Ripping and tearing me apart. Blinding pain engulfs my body and I'm screaming and crying, but no one can hear. No one WANTS to hear._

_Then lying in bed as my mother presses down on my face with a pillow until I can no longer scream. Or breathe. My lungs hurt. My father can't stand the noise so he locks me in a bright, white room I can't escape from. Beeping machines surround me. And hands. All those hands again. The blinding pain is back as I'm ripped apart. AGAIN._

_Over and over and over again._

"Ree?" Dare stirred next to me, his voice groggy with sleep. "You okay?"

My back was pressed flat against the headboard, my knees drawn up to my chest. I tried to inhale, but no air entered my lungs. My head spun. I was cold. So, so cold.

"Can't...breathe." My words were barely audible gasps.

Dare's eyes snapped open and he sat straight up. He reached out to wrap his arms around me. "You're having another panic attack?"

I smacked his hands away and scrambled out of bed.

_McKinleys don't have panic attacks, Reagan._ My mother's voice. _And if they do, they take care of them quickly and quietly._

It was the third one this week. And by far the worst.

Wheezing, I teetered toward the couch in search of my purse. I needed something to calm me down, and only hoped it would be in there. My bottle was back in my apartment, but maybe one or two pills had fallen ou—

"Ree." Dare's feet hit the ground. "Look at me." I could hear him walking over.

I grabbed my purse and started pulling stuff out. There was too much in here. Why was I carrying around so much crap? And why the fuck didn't I have what I needed when I fucking needed it?

I turned the bag upside-down and started shaking it. Just one. I only needed one fucking pill.

"Look at me, Ree!"

Strong hands grasped my shoulders and everything slowed down, came into painfully sharp focus.

"REE!"

Slowly, I turned. Even through the darkness, I could see the pain in his eyes. With a quick shake of his head, he said, "Don't _._ " It was half-warning, half-plea. "You don't need it."

No, he was wrong—I did need it. My heart was hammering. One quick swallow and I'd feel better.

"Everything you need is right here." He opened his arms. "Come here."

I bit down on my lip, still shaking, still panting. The pills were calling me.

"Let me be the one who makes it all okay. Let me be enough," he said. "I'll chase all of your demons away. I promise."

A promise. One that I wanted to believe in with all my heart.

Without a single word, I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting him lift me into his strong embrace and carry me back to bed. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead as he lowered me onto the mattress, and the air returned to my lungs with a _whoosh_.

He left for a moment, then was back, sitting on the bed next to me. He lifted my shirt and smoothed his hands over my skin. Then I felt the brush.

I turned to look at him, paintbrush in his hand, then down at my side where he'd started to paint.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"I thought this might help." He held up the drawing of the phoenix.

My phoenix.

Calm seeped into my skin with every stroke of his brush, every drop of paint. It spread slowly through my body, filling me up with a lightness I'd only ever known with Dare.

Did his phoenix make him feel like this? Like he was strong enough? Like anything was possible?

This paint would wash off tomorrow, but I hoped this feeling would last. Maybe one day the phoenix could have a permanent place on my skin, in my life.
nineteen

"Where the hell were you last night?" My father was waiting inside my apartment when I went to pick up my school stuff the next morning.

In. My. Apartment.

The last time he'd been here was NEVER.

"Out," I said, moving past him to retrieve my backpack. My heart thundered in my chest, panic rising in my throat. "I was out."

"I was here all night." His voice was dangerously low. "I waited up for you. You weren't answering your phone."

"I didn't know I was on call last night." Probably not the best thing to say, but I was very close to full-on panic. Him being here couldn't be good.

"You were supposed to be at home, Reagan. In the apartment I pay for."

"What do you need?"

He stared at me for a silent beat, then said, "You are going to break it off."

"What?" I shook my head, unsure if I'd heard him correctly with all the blood pounding in my ears.

He couldn't have found out. No way.

"You heard me. I was not going to do this until after the event, but it had to be addressed. You will break up with him."

I took a step back, still shaking my head. "You don't even know him. He's an amazing artist and an incredible person."

"I know more about him than you do." A deadly silence trailed his words.

Fuck. His investigators.

My pulse raced, fueled by anger. Dare was none of his business.

"You had me followed? I'm nineteen years old. I can date whoever I want."

He shook his head coolly. "What you will do is get as far away as possible from this Daren Wilde. Immediately. End of discussion."

I opened my mouth, fully prepared to tell him exactly why I would NOT do that, but his use of Dare's full name stopped me. "What did you say?"

"Are you aware that this Daren Rhett Wilde has a criminal record?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "He told me. From juvie when he was a kid. His father set him up. Aren't those records sealed?"

My father's smile was as cold and hard as ice. "Nothing is ever sealed when you're running for office, Reagan. Our family has to be very careful when it comes to the people we associate with. My daughter cannot be hanging around some tattooed degenerate. Son of a drug-dealing convicted killer at that. Did you know Daren's father is serving time in Rikers?"

"YES. I _know_. He's told me everything. And it's DARE. His fucking name is Dare, _not_ Daren!" My pulse pounded in my ears. I'd never sworn in front of him before. "And Dare can't help who his father is."

Neither could I.

"You're right, Reagan. Good thing _your_ father can make sure you're never placed in a situation where those types of people could bring harm to your name and reputation."

"It's not _me_ you're worried about." He'd proven that time and time again.

"Reagan." He leaned forward and lowered his voice into a menacing hiss. "You are not to see this man again. You are not to speak with him. You are not to go back to that apartment in Brooklyn in the middle of the night like some common whore. The daughter I brought up is better than that."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off.

"If you continue, he can say goodbye to his art career and hello to his father."

My heart plummeted to the floor. "His father's in jail."

"That can be remedied," he said.

"No." I shook my head, chills running down my spine. "You can't let his father know where he is. He almost killed Dare last time."

"And that family of his in Harrison? That jobless junkie mother living with two underage kids? How do you think Child Protective Services would feel about finding some used needles in her house?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. "You wouldn't."

But he would. He would. He _could_.

His eyes narrowed. "Try me." Christ. This was a game to him.

Check-fucking-mate.

"The choice is yours." My father stood and buttoned his suit jacket. "You can be a good girl and make this very easy for everyone involved. I'll even give you this—if you stop seeing him, I'll make sure his father never tastes freedom again." He smiled like he was actually doing me a favor. "Or you can play hardball. Regardless, the outcome will be the same. No more Daren Wilde." He gave me a hard look. "Have I made myself clear?"

He didn't even wait for me to respond. He went to walk past me, but then he stopped suddenly, staring down at me with wide eyes. I glanced down and could see Dare's phoenix showing through the armholes of my loose, cropped tank top.

"WHAT IS THAT?"

I could've sworn I felt the walls of the apartment shake. I quickly pulled the hem of my shirt down and wrapped my arms around me.

"Nothing."

"Reagan, what is that?" His nostrils flared and his hands fisted at his sides. My father had never once laid a hand on me. He'd never needed to. He inspired fear with just his voice. But right now, I was worried that was about to change. His eyes dilated in fury. "Have you lost your goddamn mind, child?"

"It's not—"

"I do not want to hear any excuses!" His face twisted. My own father was disgusted by me. Because of some paint on my body. "You should thank your lucky stars your mother is not here to see this. She would have a fit."

Anger built up inside my body, spilling over into my mouth. "And then you would give her some pills and her usual martini and all would be well in the McKinley world."

The slap hit my cheek without warning, the sound echoing off the cathedral ceilings. It stung so much—the hit itself and the fact that he'd done it—that my eyes watered. I cradled my cheek in my hand, barely breathing.

"I am your father. I gave you life. I give you money." His wide chest rose and fell with every livid pant. "I do not care what kind of phase you think you are going through right now, but you will not do anything to disrespect this family. Do you hear me? Do you hear these words coming out of my mouth, Reagan?"

I nodded.

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes."

"Get changed. Now." He barked out the order like he was addressing an animal. "I will arrange for someone to drive you to a clinic and have that taken care of."

Goosebumps claimed every piece of my skin. His words burned through me until the world blurred and I couldn't breathe. Hot tears fell from my eyes.

He groaned. "Don't be dramatic, Reagan."

"Just...paint," I said, my voice a strangled whisper.

"What are you saying? I can't hear you."

"It's...just...paint." Each word was a choked out gasp. "N-not a real tattoo." I hated him with every part of my being. Nothing had changed over the past four years. He still gave the orders. Still controlled what happened to my body, mind, and soul.

God, I was going to be sick. I stood up and tried to move toward the bathroom, but he blocked my way. "I am not done speaking with you."

My legs gave out and I sank to the floor. "What more could you possibly want?"

"I want you to be like Quincy and Pierce," he said, his voice filled with disappointment. I was not the child they'd wanted. I never had been. An accident from the very start.

Bile rose up in my throat. "If only you'd made me go away like you did every other inconvenience."

"Stop it, Reagan." His hand fisted again, but this time he shoved it into the pocket of his dress pants. "Get up. You are an embarrassment to yourself. And to this family. You better pull yourself together by tomorrow night." Then he brushed past me and walked out the door. I heard it click closed behind him.

I crawled to the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. When I could stand, I rinsed my mouth and braved a glimpse into the mirror.

I stared at myself for several seconds, not recognizing the girl at first. Her eyes were dead, her face emotionless—she looked nothing at all like Ree.

"Reagan," I said, nodding at my reflection.

Reagan nodded back.

I opened up the medicine cabinet. My little bottle of pills stood there on the shelf, neglected for months. Waiting for Reagan to return.

Well, she was back.

I poured several pills into my palm, swallowed them dry, and numbed myself to the rest of the day.
twenty

"Ladies and gentlemen, Nathaniel Forrest McKinley!"

My father approached the podium amidst cheers. It was clear that the press and public saw in him the perfect future mayor—tall and well-dressed, confident, successful, powerful—his perfect family surrounding him.

"Smile, Reagan." My mother hissed between her teeth as she waved.

When she'd shown up at my apartment earlier that afternoon I'd been lying on my bed in a drug-induced stupor. She hadn't even bothered to knock.

"Reagan Allison McKinley, how in god's name can you be sleeping when we need to get to the press conference?"

"I wasn't sleeping."

"We don't have time for dramatics right now, young lady." She pointed a red-tipped finger at me, then turned to my closet. "Where did all these... _clothes_ come from?" The word was laced with disgust. "Where are all _your_ clothes, Reagan? This looks like the closet of a hobo." Her chest heaved and I would not have been surprised to see flames come out her nostrils. "I knew I should have brought something for you."

I lay on my bed watching her, life draining out of me at the mere thought of having to suffer through the night ahead.

"Do I really have to be there?" I couldn't. I just didn't have anything left in me.

She made her voice high and whiny. " _Do I really have to be there?_ Are _you_ not a part of this family? Is _your_ father not announcing his candidacy this evening?" She paced back and forth in front of me, her bright red Chanel suit impeccable, her hair coiffed flawlessly, looking the perfect politician's wife.

"I'm not feeling well, Mother," I said. "I'm just not really up to it tonight."

"I don't care if you are _dying_ , Reagan. You will get yourself dressed and ready, and out to the car waiting downstairs. And you will do it in the next fifteen minutes. Your attendance at this press conference is not up for debate."

So now as I stood next to her on the steps of the Met, playing the part of the perfect daughter, I stretched my lips to show my perfect teeth.

And felt perfectly dead inside.

I hadn't slept since my father's visit. I was fueled purely by pharmaceuticals.

"Ree?" Dare had said last night, concern creasing his brow as soon as he'd seen me. I wasn't supposed to be there, but I had to say goodbye. I owed him that, no matter how much it was going to kill me.

And it did. It killed me.

I'd walked into his apartment and stood in the middle of the space, looking around at what would no longer be my life. I breathed in—the smell of art, of Dare, of _us_ overwhelming my senses.

"What's wrong?" he said, staring at me from the doorway, his hand still on the open door. "What happened?"

I looked at him then, and the pain of it took my breath away. Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them down as I continued to stare at him.

He closed the door and came to me. "What the fuck happened?"

How was I supposed to tell him that his life was in danger? That his entire family could get hurt? And all because of me.

"Ree." He took my face in his hands and kissed me so sweetly I couldn't hold back the barrier between my heart and body. A single tear slipped out and rolled down my face. His thumb brushed my cheek. "Just tell me, baby. You're scaring me. Are you okay? Is something wrong with you?"

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out.

The gravity of the situation was hitting me so hard—this was the last time I'd see him. This had to be the last time I saw him. I started hyperventilating because I couldn't imagine a life without him. We'd only just begun...there were so many things I wanted to experience with him, so many things I needed to say and do and conquer.

Yet here I stood, feeling our entire future slipping away.

"Come here." He scooped me up into his arms, carried me to the bed, and lay me down gently. Then he curled himself around me, holding me tight. "You're safe now," he said. "I won't let anything happen to you. Talk to me."

As my body relaxed against his, I told him everything. And that it had to be this way—that _I_ wouldn't let anything happen to _him_. Or Dax and Dalia. Or his mom.

"He can't do that." His voice was hard, and I could feel the anger coursing through his body. "He can't just free a murderer from jail."

"You don't know my father, Dare," I said. "If he says he can do it, he can. The man doesn't make idle threats."

He was silent for a few minutes, then said, "There was a call."

"What do you mean?"

"A call came to the house from Rikers. They didn't answer it, but Dalia called me this afternoon right after it happened."

I felt cold all over. A warning to me—my father had done this, I had no doubt.

Dare shook his head. "We'll figure it out. He's not untouchable, Ree. I get it—he's got money and connections—but that doesn't mean he can run your life."

"You can't risk yourself and your family for me," I whispered. "I won't let you. I'm not worth it."

He inhaled sharply and turned me toward him so we were face-to-face. "That's not true. You are worth it. You're worth a fight. You're worth... _everything_."

I shook my head over and over again. "I'm so fucked up, Dare. So flawed, so imperfect, so—"

"I don't want you perfect." His fingers stroked my cheek and brushed the hair from my face. "Ever." He cupped my cheek. "All the most beautiful pieces of art have flaws. Sometimes that's exactly what makes them priceless." He leaned down and kissed me, then whispered against my lips, " _You_ are priceless, Ree."

I lost myself in him then even though I knew it was wrong. But I couldn't help it. I needed him. Just one last time. One painful, heartbreaking last time.

All night I lay next to him as he slept, listening, watching, trying to memorize everything about him—his scent, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his skin on mine.

I left before he woke. It broke me, getting up out of his bed while tears rolled down my face. I hadn't cried last night. But I couldn't stop the pain that engulfed me this morning. It didn't matter that it was my decision—my heart didn't care. It shattered just as easily either way.

Walking slowly around the apartment, I touched all the little pieces of Dare that were scattered about everywhere. The paintings he had set out for the show were stacked neatly against the wall and I flipped through them one last time.

A choked sob escaped my lips when I got to _Real Ree_. She was so beautiful, the girl he'd painted. So happy.

I would never be that girl again.

Ree was gone.

My father had killed her.

Only this shell of a person named Reagan remained.

As I was just about to walk out for the last time, a note on the breakfast bar caught my eyes. I unfolded the paper to find the drawing of my phoenix and four words written below it in Dare's handwriting.

_Two parts. One whole._

I folded it back up, slid it into my pocket, and ran out of his apartment.

One part. One big fucking hole.

"There you are, Reagan!" Quinn found me sitting outside on the steps of the museum. "Mother and Daddy have been looking all over for you. You haven't even been to our table, yet."

"I'm not hungry," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest.

"You're getting your dress dirty. And being rude. Archer's been looking all over for you. He came all the way from Boston to be your date and you've been ignoring him. People are starting to notice your absence. You need to come back in and be social."

"I'm not in a social mood, Quinn."

"Are you ever?" She rolled her eyes. "I swear, it's like you weren't just an accident, but adopted instead."

I looked at her sharply.

"McKinleys don't have accidents," I said. Bitch.

"You're utterly impossible." Quinn started to walk away, but then stopped and slowly turned back around. Reaching into her clutch, she fixed a pitying gaze on me and withdrew a bottle of Oxy. "Here," she said, throwing it on my lap. "Pop a few and at least pretend you know how to smile. And don't say I never gave you anything." Then she turned and walked back inside.

It was freezing out, but I sat there for a few minutes more, my fingers tracing the lid of the bottle. Then I stuffed it into my jacket pocket and stood up.

Maybe there was another way.

If Dare had taught me anything it was that there could be another way for me.

Maybe...

Archer, my parent-approved date for the gala, was standing with a small group of people, one of whom was my mother. Fan- _fucking_ -tastic. He laughed loudly and clapped some guy on the back. When he spotted me, his eyes lit up and he waved me over. His bright grin blinded me, aggravating the pounding in my head, but I plastered a smile on my face and went.

The sooner I got this evening over with, the better.

The guy Archer and my mother were talking to had his back to me, but something about him seemed familiar. Too familiar. God, I hoped it wasn't someone I'd slept with. I just wasn't up for that tonight. His blond hair was a shade darker than Archer's and he stood a full head taller.

My mother nodded as I approached. "Reagan. Good." She reached out to grasp my arm. Tightly.

What the fuck was her problem? I was here. I was smiling. I was playing the part of the perfect daughter even if my maroon dress didn't match her and Quinn's bright red ones. Even if inside I was filled with nothing but the ashes of a once-living phoenix.

"Mother," I said, gritting my teeth, "you're hurting my arm."

"Reagan! Baby girl," Archer's voice was too loud, too cheerful. "Where've you been? Look who I found wandering around. You remember Jackson Fitzgerald, right? From Crestridge?" He looked over at Jack. "You must have been what? Three years ahead of Reagan?"

The name had been enough to send chills down my spine and make me lose feeling in my entire body. But when the guy turned and smiled at me—fucking _smiled_ —my heart stopped and all air fled my lungs.

I took a step back, blood draining from my face, bile rising in my throat. My skin crawled. I was going to be sick and I was going to do it in the middle of the gala if my mother didn't let go of my arm.

I tried to pry her fingers off as I took another step back.

"Reagan?" Archer said, concern clouding his face. "You okay?"

"She's fine." My mother laughed a fake, high-pitched tinkling laugh she always pulled out special for these occasions. "She's just...I don't think she's had anything to eat yet. I'm going to take her over to get some food. Carry on, everyone! We're fine!"

Her smile stretched so wide across her face I thought it might crack. As soon as we were out of earshot, she lowered her voice and hissed at me through clenched teeth.

"Jackson is the governor's son," she said. "And you will not get hysterical around him, Reagan Allison McKinley."

"He's—"

"I know very well who he is, and that's all in the past. We took care of it. It's over. This is no time for grudges."

Grudge? She was actually calling this a fucking _grudge_?

"We must all move on and start anew," she said. "We will be seeing a lot of Jackson and his family during the campaign season, and then after your father becomes mayor. And I expect you to behave yourself."

My pulse pounded in my head and my stomach churned. How could she possibly expect me to even be in the same room with him? Just the thought—

Oh, god. I was going to be sick.

"Here." She slapped something into my hand and closed my fist around it. "Go to the ladies room, calm yourself down, and then come back out to mingle. We still have a couple of hours to go and I expect you to act like a McKinley."

I stumbled into the bathroom, flew into the first stall, and threw up. I stood there, panting, my hands gripping the toilet seat as I desperately tried to figure out how I was going to survive this.

Jack. My family. No Dare.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and then stared at it. Slowly I turned it over and opened my fingers.

Valium.

Of course. Mother's cure-all.

I walked out of the stall and stared at myself in the mirror.

I was gone. There was nothing left.

Nothing but pills.

I smiled bitterly. My only friends. Without thinking, I placed the bottle against my lips, tipped my head back, and let it rain. Then I poured water into my hands and washed all the capsules down. At the sensation of swallowing them, calm washed over me.

Everything was okay.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bottle Quinn had given me.

More friends. Why not? The more the merrier, right?

I emptied that one too.

When they were all gone, I smiled at my reflection one last time.

And then I went outside.

The cold air accosted me as I pushed through the doors and stepped out into the night. It felt good, even as it made me shiver, and I took a deep breath.

And then my eyes connected with a familiar pair of warm, brown ones. Oh, god. He'd come. He was here.

My heart broke. Right in half.

He sat on his motorcycle at the bottom of the steps, helmet in his hands, sporting a black leather jacket and black jeans. Just like the night we met.

I wanted to cry.

But McKinleys didn't cry, right?

Fuck the McKinleys. Every single one of them.

I walked toward Dare, my head starting to swim and a lovely floating feeling taking over my limbs.

Maybe I'd fly to him instead.

"Ree?" he said.

I smiled. My name sounded like heaven on his lips. I could soak in that sound forever.

He got off his bike, put his helmet on the seat, and looked up at me. I'd made it partway down the steps and then stumbled. A frown creased his forehead and he ran up to catch me. The world was spinning so fast.

"Are you okay?" he said, placing his hands on my waist to steady me.

I nodded. I _was_ okay. He was here.

He was here? Shit!

"What are you doing?" I asked, my words slurring slightly. I waved my hand at the gala going on behind me as the sidewalk began to tilt. I smiled sadly at him. "You don't belong here, Dare."

"Neither do you, Ree," he said, and then pulled me into his arms. "You belong _here_." He enveloped me, his smell and warmth taking over my senses until he filled my entire world. He pressed my hands to his heart. "Right here. Two parts. One whole."

I wrapped my arms around his strong body and he pulled me closer, held on like he would never let me go.

"Come with me." He spoke into my hair. "You and me. My family. We'll all disappear and neither your father nor mine will be able to find us."

I leaned back to look at his beautiful face, cupped my hand to his cheek. I liked this plan.

"Choose me, not them. Choose us, Ree."

I tilted my head and smiled.

"Ree?"

I tried to say _yes. Yes, please. Let's hop on your bike and go right now_ , but it must not have come out right because he looked confused.

So I tried again.

But then the world was falling, Dare was yelling in alarm, and all the twinkling lights of the city went out.
twenty-one

The smell was the first thing that filtered into my awareness. Sterile, antiseptic, colorless. And then the beeping. Constant. Annoying.

I opened my eyes.

White walls and fluorescent lights surrounded me. Someone was slumped asleep in the chair next to me, his blond hair uncharacteristically askew.

"Archer?" My throat was dry, my lips cracked, and my voice sounded scratchy and hoarse. My body felt weak and foreign, like it didn't belong to me anymore. I'd felt this way one other time, but I pushed that memory away. As always.

Archer startled, his eyes flying open at the sound of my voice.

"Holy fuck," he said, reaching for my hand. "You're awake, baby girl. You scared the shit out of us."

I stared at him for a few minutes, trying to remember what had happened. Archer pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, then tucked it away.

The last thing I remembered was being at the gala...

Suddenly everything came flooding back, my jumbled thoughts putting together a terrifying picture.

"Reagan? You okay? You just got really pale. Are you going to be sick?" Archer reached for the nurse call button.

I shook my head. "How long was I out?"

"Three days," he said, his brow furrowed. "They had to pump your stomach and put you under because you had such a bad reaction. Your body basically had to restart."

The door opened and my family was ushered in by a nurse. My mother with her tear-filled eyes—eye drops, if I had to guess. I'd never seen her shed real tears. My father with his cold, stern silence. My brother and sister with their, "What in the world happened to you, Reagan?"

I looked to see if there was a photographer or reporter coming in too, because their performance as the epitome of a loving family was truly Oscar-worthy and screamed photo op.

As soon as the nurse left, my mother shook her head and sighed. "Now that she's obviously going to recover from the overdose, we need to focus on recovering from the media scandal."

Bingo.

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. It was so fucking wrong and so fucking McKinley that if I didn't laugh I'd definitely cry.

"What is so funny?" Quinn gaped at me. "Have you lost your mind?"

And that just made me laugh harder.

Archer smiled at me, shaking his head. He got it. He knew. "She's just happy, Quincy," he said. "What's the crime in being happy to be alive?"

"There's a crime in taking drugs," she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

I was laughing too hard to thank her for giving them to me. Though, that bit of withheld information could become leverage for future use. I'd get it out when I needed it. Always keep your blackmailing arsenal well stocked. It was a McKinley tradition.

"Is she awake?" The shout came from out in the hall.

My eyes flew to the door. Dare!

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't go in there! Family only! Please—"

"I have to see her!"

My heart sped up, kicking wildly in my chest as he burst through the door, a young nurse following close behind.

"Ree!" His eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept for three days, his clothes rumpled, and his hair a mess. And he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"I'm so sorry!" The nurse looked around the room, completely frazzled. "He just—he ran and then he was here, pushing inside. I couldn't stop him."

"It's okay," I said without thinking. "It's okay." I smiled at Dare. Not just with my lips. My whole freaking heart smiled at him. Seeing him was like coming home.

"Do you know him?" the nurse asked, looking from my smiling face to my family's perplexed ones. "Is it okay for him to stay?"

My father moved into my line of sight, and the hard look on his face stopped my heart. Our deal. I'd made a deal with him to stop seeing Dare. All of his very real threats came flooding back and I shuddered.

He pulled out his phone as his jaw hardened in warning. "Do you know this man, Reagan?" Each word was laced with menace.

Dare looked from my father to the fear on my face. He nodded as if to say _Tell them. We'll be okay._

I swallowed hard.

"Do you know him?" My father pressed.

"I...I..." My gaze ping-ponged between Dare and my father. The one who could make me smile and the monster who would destroy him if he tried.

"Reagan?" My father turned on his phone and began scrolling through his contacts.

"Reagan?" Archer looked over at me. "Who the hell is this guy?"

"Some degenerate off the street," my father said. "Probably looking for a morphine hit for his mother. Or maybe himself. We'll let the DA decide."

Dare's name was on my lips—the name I used to say to show that he owned me, body, mind, and soul. But now, with that name, my father owned me. Because I couldn't do it. I couldn't let him destroy Dare's life. He'd already been through too much for me to fuck it up.

_I'm sorry_ , I mouthed at Dare, shaking my head.

He took a step back. "Ree," he said, disbelief coloring his face. "Tell them."

"Dude, back off." Archer grabbed Dare's shoulder, but Dare shook him off. "You're upsetting my girl." When he reached for Dare the second time, Dare shoved him in the chest so hard Archer fell back into his chair.

"Reagan, I'm going to ask you one last time." My father's words sounded distant, like he was at the far end of a tunnel. "Do you know this man? Yes or no?"

Hot tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced them back. I shook my head and muttered the most painful words I'd ever said in my entire life.

"I don't know him. I've never seen him before."

Dare's shoulders sagged. "No...Ree... _no_." He staggered back as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"Call security," my mother said.

Dare raised his hands and took a step toward the door, his face void of all emotion, his eyes completely dead. "Don't bother. I'm leaving."

He took another step back. And another. Until he was in the doorway. Before he stepped through, disappearing from my life forever, he looked at me one last time and said, "You've clearly made your choice, _Reagan_."

Reagan.

Like that, I was Just Reagan again.
twenty-two

I was moved back into my parents' home as part of my "treatment." My father paid my way out of mandatory rehab by forcing me to see a counselor three times a week and keeping me under constant supervision.

I was never alone.

My "little fall that ended up with a trip to the hospital" was fed to the press as a bad bout of food poisoning.

For a full week there were serious discussions about how the next year would go. How my parents would control my schedule. How I would get rides to and from school and could only attend sanctioned events with approved chaperones.

And I was not included in any of them.

I was told where to go, what to do, how to dress, when to eat—everything that had been mine was taken away.

And that was when I cracked.

This was a mistake—the biggest mistake of my life.

I'd made the wrong choice at the hospital.

The more my family took away, the more I knew I needed to get to Dare and break free.

But he wasn't answering his phone.

He didn't respond to texts.

So I played the part of reformed daughter, plotting my escape, until I knew I could see him—at the art show.

He'd have to be there.

I'd explain everything. _Everything_ —including my plan to run. I wouldn't use my parents' money—I had savings from the commissions I'd earned on various art shows. I just had to get away. With Dare. I needed to save myself. Save Dare. Save us. And my father's wrath? We'd figure it out together.

Because this could not be my life anymore. Not after the freedom and happiness I'd known with Dare. Life could be so much more than I'd ever imagined. It could have meaning, color, and real smiles.

I wanted that. It was worth the risk.

On the day of the showing, every single minute of every one of my lectures felt like a slow, agonizing hour. After my final class, I convinced Victor—my bodyguard du jour—to take me to SoHo for a seminar. Thankfully, he was all brawn and very little brain. He didn't question why. As long as he could keep an eye on my ass—literally—he would tail me wherever I wanted to go.

The moment I stepped through the door of La Période Bleue, my eyes couldn't help but go straight to Dare's work. It stood out among all the rest. I listened to the chatter floating about—people loved his paintings. They were raving.

I was so fucking proud of him. And for him.

I glanced around the gallery, my heart bursting, dying to throw myself in his arms. But I didn't see him anywhere.

My eyes connected with a pair of hazel ones. "Sabine?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, _chérie_ ," she said, coming up to me. "Wilde did not show."

I glanced around the room. "Are they sold?"

She nodded and smiled. "All of them. Every single one." She pointed to the floor behind the counter. "But I saved one for you. Your favorite, no?"

_Sia._

No. My favorite was—

I looked up at the wall where his other paintings hung. It wasn't here.

_Real Ree_ wasn't here.

Dare wasn't here.

Oh no. No, no, no. He didn't. He couldn't have.

I tried to keep my composure even though I knew what this had to mean. As I handed her my credit card for Sia, I said quietly, "I need a favor, Sabine. See that tall, bulky guy right there?"

" _Oui_." She grinned. "Tell me what to do."

Five minutes later, I was in a cab to Brooklyn—hope, the only thing still keeping me breathing.

Dare's door was unlocked, the keys on the counter. But the place was empty, completely bare. As if no one had ever lived there. As if he hadn't even existed.

Gone. Everything gone.

My head spun. I couldn't breathe.

No more Dare. No more Ree. No more us.

His mother's number. I had it. I scrolled through my contacts and pressed her name. It rang and rang and rang.

My legs gave out and I fell to my knees. Hot tears flooded my eyes and my chest felt like it was being sliced open as I looked around this space so filled with memories and so empty of everything I wanted, of the only guy I'd ever loved.

Yes, _loved_.

Maybe.

Probably.

DEFINITELY.

Yes, that was what love felt like. I was sure of it. Like the other person was your second half. Like you were two parts of one whole.

Without Dare, I was just one shattered part.

One half of a broken heart.

Reagan and Dare's story continues in...

**OUT OF CONTROL (Untamed #2)**

Three years have passed since Dare Wilde walked out of Reagan McKinley's life. Three years of radio silence. Three years of regrets.

But she's not the same girl anymore. Now, at twenty-two, Reagan has big plans to change her life, and it all starts with a trip to Europe. Instead of heading into Harvard Law like her parents had planned, she's crossed the ocean to follow her dreams in the art world. _Her_ dreams. For once.

A chance meeting in Paris brings Reagan and Dare face-to-face again, but is it serendipity...or penance? A chasm of unspoken hurt stands between them, but they can't fight the passion they have for each other. And now that she's found Dare again—the one person in this world who makes her feel whole—she doesn't want to let go. Problem is, she may not have a choice.

Two parts. One whole.

Together...they're out of control.

**AVAILABLE NOW**
Reagan and Dare's complete epic story can be found in...

**Untamed: The Complete Series**

All five books of the Untamed Series available in one huge collection! Over 1,000 pages long and a $13 dollar value, savor Ree and Dare's story one book at a time or marathon the whole epic saga at once.

**AVAILABLE NOW**
Complete Victoria Green & Jen Meyers Booklist

**The Untamed Series**

_Untamed_

_Out of Control_

_Escaped Artist_

_Wild at Heart_

_Rebel Roused_

**Victoria Green single titles**

_Silver Heart_

_Jaded Dream_ (Coming 2016!)

**Jen Meyers single titles**

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

**The Happily Ever After Series**

_Happily Ever Now_ (FREE prequel novella to _Happily Ever After_ )

_Happily Ever After_ (HEA #1)

_Yours Truly_ (HEA #2)

_Total Bliss_ (HEA #3) Coming Summer 2016!

**The Love Changes Everything Series**

_Anywhere_

YOUNG ADULT

**The Intangible Series**

_Intuition_ (a FREE _Intangible_ short story)

_Intangible_

_Indomitable_ (an _Intangible_ novella)

_Imaginable_ (Intangible #2)
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One More Thing...

We truly hope you enjoyed this first episode. If you did please share it with a friend—it's lendable. And if you have a few minutes, we would really appreciate it if you'd write a review and post it online. Your review will help others figure out whether they'd like this series, too.

Thanks! You're the best. (And we really do mean that.)

Warmly,

Victoria and Jen
Acknowledgements

Our biggest thanks goes to editor extraordinaire, Stevan Knapp. This book is extra shiny because of you.

We'd also like to thank the indie writing community for being so warm and welcoming. We're so proud to be members of this group of writers who help each other out, share information, and give advice and encouragement freely. We are inspired by so many of you.

And many, many thanks to our early readers and reviewers for being so excited about this new series, taking Reagan and Dare into your hearts, and helping us spread the word. Your support and enthusiasm is incredible, and we cannot thank you enough. We love you guys!

And lastly, we thank _you_ for reading our books. You're the reason we write.

More Books By Victoria Green & Jen Meyers
**SILVER HEART**

**by Victoria Green**

Five years ago, Dylan Silver was forced to bid goodbye to the only boy she ever truly loved. Since then, she's done her best to forget the past, put her dreams on hold, and play the role of the perfect, dutiful daughter.

When her best friend coaxes her into a winter getaway to a mountain resort, she sees it as a chance to forget about her suffocating responsibilities and the future she doesn't want—med-school and a fake fiancé.

But then the past catches up to her.

Sexy Olympic snowboarder Sawyer Carter is the last person she expected to encounter on the slopes after all these years. Being around him again is intoxicating, and as bittersweet memories mix with dark desires, she starts to wonder if maybe they really are meant to be.

But Dylan doesn't believe in fate, and a future with Sawyer no longer factors into her risk-free plans. As he dares her to be the person she has always wanted to be, can she find it within herself to abandon her fears and seize this opportunity for a second chance?

One thing is certain: after a week in Whistler, Dylan's life will never be the same.

**AVAILABLE NOW**
**HAPPILY EVER NOW (prequel novella to Happily Ever After)**

**by Jen Meyers**

Wedding planner Everly Vaughn has three rules for a Happily Ever After:

1. Find a nice guy.

2. Make sure he passes the BFF test.

3. Never—no matter how much you like him—engage the Player (aka Austin, your best friend's brother).

What happens if you don't follow them? A Happily Ever Now. (Those don't last.)

Too bad Ever doesn't follow her own rules.

**AVAILABLE FOR FREE NOW**
About the Authors

Victoria Green has a soft spot for unspoken love and second chances. A travel junkie at heart, she believes in true love, good chocolate, great films, and swoon-worthy books. She lives in Canada with her high school sweetheart (who's graduated to fiancé) and their pack of slightly crazy, but extremely lovable puppies.

She co-writes new adult contemporary romance with Jen Meyers, and is the author of standalone novels _Silver Heart_ and the upcoming _Jaded Dream._ When she's not writing hot and steamy romances, she writes Young Adult adventures under a different name.

You can find her on:

Website: victoriagreenauthor.blogspot.ca

Twitter: www.twitter.com/VG_writes

Facebook: www.facebook.com/victoriagreenauthor

Jen Meyers grew up in Vermont, spent three years in Germany when she was a kid, and now lives in central New York. When she's not reading or writing, she's chasing after her four kids, playing outside, relishing the few quiet moments she gets with her husband, and forgetting to make dinner.

She is the author of the _Happily Ever After_ series, _Anywhere_ , the highly-rated _Intangible_ series, a young adult contemporary fantasy, and co-author of the _Untamed_ series.

You can visit Jen online at:

Website: www.jmeyersbooks.com

Twitter: www.twitter.com/jmeyersbooks

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jmeyersbooks
