Dare Me Read online

  Dare Me

  For A Million Dollars

  River Laurent

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Taken By The Baller

  Appreciations

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Daddy’s Girl

  1. Quinn

  2. Quinn

  3. Madison

  4. Quinn

  5. Quinn

  6. Quinn

  7. Quinn

  8. Quinn

  9. Quinn

  10. Madison

  11. Quinn

  12. Quinn

  13. Quinn

  14. Madison

  15. Quinn

  16. Quinn

  17. Madison

  18. Madison

  Epilogue

  Cinderella.com

  1. Cass

  2. Cass

  3. Cass

  4. Cass

  5. Cass

  CONNECT WITH RIVER

  Author’s Note

  Let’s face it gals, one steamy book is never ever enough so…I’m giving you two more! Yup! Two!

  Now…

  Are you ready for Trent Walker? :-)

  DARE ME

  Published by River Laurent

  Copyright © 2017 by River Laurent

  The right of River Laurent to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means.

  ISBN: 978-1-911608-09-7

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  A kiss for…

  Leanore Elliott & Brittany Urbaniak

  Chapter 1

  DAKOTA

  “What now?” I wail, frustrated beyond belief.

  Traffic is crawling at such a snail’s pace, I swear, if I get out now and stroll to my interview, I’d probably get there faster. I crane my neck to try and see what the slow down for the last two miles is about.

  This whole journey has been a total nightmare. Every single light along City Avenue was red and I kept getting stuck behind buses. It is like there is a Traffic God up there looking down on me and saying, “More stop lights! More taxis. More people who have all the time in the world. More everything. Make Dakota late!”

  I glance at myself in the rearview mirror. Damn, my face is already glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. The hour I spent on my hair and makeup, carefully making my hazel eyes pop with pale pink shadow and eyeliner is on the verge of ruin. I tuck a lock of limp strawberry blonde hair behind my ear. Why did I even bother curling it? It looks so pathetic now, like it wants to be all beachy and shiny, but is too lazy to give it much effort. Not that any of this will matter if I don’t make it in time for the interview.

  I check my car’s clock anxiously. Oh God, less than fifteen minutes for my appointment. I have to make it to the studio before somebody decides I’m a no-show.

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and unclench my hands from the steering wheel. Calm down, Dakota. You don’t want to arrive there a hot mess. Miracles do happen. Everything is going to be fine. I open my eyes and see that traffic has started moving up ahead, but the slowpoke in front of me is happily chatting away on his cellphone.

  I see red. I lower the car window furiously. “What is this? Drive Like a Jerk Day?” I yell at him.

  He turns around and gives me a dirty look.

  Doesn’t matter, I don’t back down. “Come on. Move. Please,” I yell.

  It’s not like me to act this way, but this is a life and death situation, and I’m not being dramatic. This interview could change my mother’s life. Actually, her very life hinges on the outcome. The traffic speeds up again and I glance at the clock. Less than two minutes left, but I’m almost there. Almost.

  “Finally,” I breathe out as I show my ID to the guard and turn into the entrance of the parking lot. It’s still only ten minutes after nine, so I might be all right. Ten minutes at a high-traffic time has to be acceptable. Right? They have to expect people to be a little late when they’re coming in during rush hour.

  Seeing a vacant parking space, I immediately put my car into reverse and step on the gas pedal. Yay, I made it. I’m here. Quickly, I glance in the rearview mirror. To my relief, my makeup is holding up okay. A quick powder and I should be okay.

  Suddenly, something hits my car!

  Noooooo….

  Two

  Dakota

  Chapter 2

  DAKOTA

  Where did that shiny silver-blue Cadillac come from? This can’t be happening to me.

  A tall dark-haired man is out of the Cadillac before I can take another breath. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouts, striding around to the front of his car to check out the damage my old Impala has caused to his brand new Caddy. From the stiff angry set of his shoulders, it isn’t good news.

  I jump out too, ready to knock his head off. Who the hell does this guy think he is? I can do road rage too. I’m not having my head chewed off by any random idiot who can’t park. This is not my fault and I’m not going to be bullied into paying for any damages. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I shout hotly. “Maybe if you hadn’t come careening in behind me, this wouldn’t have happened! That was my parking space.”

  He straightens and glares at me.

  Bad driver but oh wow—drop dead handsome. Yeah, I’ve locked eyes with the most splendid man I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And that includes guys inside magazines pages. I stop short and catch my breath. My heart is jumping. Oh God, those eyes. They’re the most beautiful shade of glorious azure, like the sky on a clear, autumn day. I can’t tear my gaze away from them. I could easily stare into them and forget about my interview, my car, my life. Except those beautiful eyes are filling with irritation.

  “What are you talking about? I was halfway into the space when your piece of junk struck me,” he says curtly.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I drooling like a love-mad teenager over this rude brute? I shake myself free of the spell of his eyes, the chiseled perfection of his features and oh, yeah, the ridiculously fit body under his expensive suit and straighten my spine. This is a battle. “Didn’t you see me? There must have been only ten inches between me being all the way into that space when you hit me.”

  His eyes flash with disbelief. “Ten inches? Are you blind? Look at the position of my car and yours.”

  Ignoring his scowl, I lift my chin and walk around to
the back of my car to inspect the damage for myself. When I do, I let out a laugh of sheer relief.

  “You think this is funny?” he asks, following behind me.

  I look up.

  His face is turning dark with anger.

  “No, no, not funny at all.” I struggle to keep myself under control. “I’m just relieved.”

  “Relieved?” he bellows.

  Gee. I’m batting a thousand with this guy. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like a lot of damage. Does it? I only see two scratches and a slight dent. Your headlight isn’t even broken.”

  Those beautiful eyes narrow into slits. “Listen. Just because you drive a battered old piece of shit and think it’s real funny that you knocked some rust off it—”

  “Excuse me?” Hot or not, nobody talks to me that way.

  “—doesn’t mean I should dismiss the damage to my car,” he continues like I never spoke at all.

  I’m not taking crap from some asswipe on the road. “Oh, stop being such a drama queen. This is hardly damage. I’ve seen worse done to a car with an out-of-control shopping cart. Consider yourself lucky you got off this easy and maybe, think it through the next time you decide to steal another driver’s parking space.”

  “I didn’t steal your space. You tried to steal mine,” he growls.

  “Really? What’s your definition of stealing, then? Because I was nearly parked when you hit me, jackass.”

  “Oh, very classy.”

  God, why couldn’t he be some ugly smooch, so I can really get mad? “Just because you drive a fancy car doesn’t mean you own the world.”

  “I’m surprised they even allow that piece of junk you’re driving, on the road,” he says straightening the collar of his snowy white shirt.

  “I can’t believe you said that,” I gasp. What a rude asshole.

  “I’ve said worse,” he says dryly.

  “We can’t all drive around in a Cadillac,” I fire back, hands on my hips. It’s not easy to get me worked up, but once I am? Forget about it. My Philly comes out, as Mom likes to tease. “Maybe if you’d get your nose out of the air, you’d be a much better driver.” I turn around to take a look at my car since I was too busy getting yelled at to examine my own damage. My tail light is busted. Terrific.

  He snorts behind me. “How can you tell what damage happened today and what was already wrong with it?”

  This guy is unbelievable. I whirl around. “You have to be the biggest douche I’ve ever met,” I snarl, totally losing control of myself. Maybe because I’m already having a crappy day or maybe because he’s right. I know my car is a piece of junk. Every time it starts, I consider myself lucky. And worse still, knowing he’s way out of my league. He would never give a poor girl like me a second look. People like him think they’re above everything and everybody.

  “I don’t have time for this. It’s obvious you won’t be able to afford to pay for the damages to my car, so we’ll just agree to repair our own cars.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” I say proudly. “I’ll take some photographs and let the insurance company decide whose fault it is.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, but he takes his mobile phone out of his jacket and quickly takes some shots.

  I run around to the driver’s seat and do the same.

  “Are you finished?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say snapping the last photo from an angle that clearly shows that my car is more in the space than his.

  “All right. Let’s get it over with. Show me your license and I’ll show you mine”

  “Show me yours first?” I say not liking his tone as I try to ignore his incredibly blue eyes.

  “Wow, what a bimbo,” he says reaching into the back pocket of his expensive Italian slacks.

  “What did you just call me?” I ask, getting a whole lot madder.

  “Here’s my license,” he says ignoring my question.

  I snatch it from his fingers and glance down at it. “Oh, it says Trent. I expected it to say Rich Jerk,” I note as I glance up smiling sweetly.

  I expect him to say something about my license not having Bimbo on it, but he doesn’t.

  “Here, Dakota,” he says dismissively as he hands my license back.

  “You’re not going to write down my information?” I ask.

  “I’ve already memorized it, but I’m sure you’ll need a pen and paper.” He pulls a Montblanc pen from his shirt pocket and holds it out for me.

  I want to slap the expensive pen out of his hand and go get my Bic pen out of the glove compartment, but I don’t. Hell, between lusting after him and establishing that it was his fault… I’d forgotten about my appointment.

  “Would you please hurry? I’m late!” he says as I scribble his name and license number on the scrap of paper I found in my pocket.

  “Yes, can’t let you be late, can we?” I mock, as I hand back his license, and whirl around to leave. I take two steps.

  “My pen, please.”

  Shit. I am such a fool. My whole body goes up in flames of embarrassment. I plaster a fixed smile on my face and turn back. “Oh, yes. Heaven forbid. I’m sure it cost more than I make in a month!”

  He takes a sharp breath, like he’s ready to let loose with something really good—or, rather bad, but his eyes widen as he remembers something. “Shit. I was already running late and you’ve just made things worse.”

  I check my phone. It’s now nine-twenty.

  He gives me a dark look. “If I lose this opportunity because of you…”

  My hands ball into fists. “Me? You lose it because of me?” I splutter. “This is all your fault.”

  “Why do bimbos always look so damn hot when they’re annoyed?”

  My eyes widen with shock. Is he flirting with me? I suddenly don’t know if I should be ecstatic, he called me damn hot or angry because he called me a bimbo again. I hold up my hand with my middle finger extended.

  Trent laughs and shakes his head. “Have a nice day too, Dakota,” he says. He locks his car and starts walking away.

  I watch him slack-jawed. He’s just going to leave his car halfway in MY parking space.

  Oh, if he is not the most arrogant, self-satisfied, selfish, uncivilized jerk I have ever met in my life. But I can’t stand here cursing him. I’m already twenty-two minutes late for my appointment. I rush back to my Impala. I pull out and look for another parking space. Luckily, only a few yards away, a woman comes out of her space and I quickly dart in. I lock my car and race to the building.

  Chapter 3

  TRENT

  Oh! Fuck! Not her again. No way.

  “Hold the elevator,” she yells as she comes running towards me.

  I don’t do any such thing. She’s already made me late enough. Let her wait for the next one. I’m in a rush, besides I don’t want to be trapped in a confined space with this woman. This loud-mouthed, pushy, terrible driver from hell. She slammed into me and had the nerve to tell me it was my damn fault.

  I lean back against the wall of the elevator and watch her through half-closed lids. She is incredibly delicious, though. Curves for days. Ahhhh…and all of them bouncing for all their worth.

  When she realizes I’m not going to hold the door for her, her expression changes to one of fury. I’ve never met a girl who looks so hot when she’s mad. If we’d met in different circumstances. Maybe if she was gagged or something, I’d love to show her what ten inches really looks like. My fantasy is interrupted when she suddenly throws her purse towards me. The damn thing flies through the open doors and lands next to my feet.

  I have no choice.

  I kick it out of the elevator.

  First her jaw drops, then she starts shouting abuse at me. She really is a very, very sexy spitfire. Instead of giving up like any other normal woman would. She starts running like her life depends on it.

  I realize with a sinking heart that she’s gonna make it and I’ll have to fucking share the elevator with her. I hit t
he button to close the doors again and to my relief, the doors start to close.

  I smile at her.

  She responds with another unladylike string of curses.

  She’s getting close, but I’m not too worried. There are only three inches left before the door completely closes on her. But just as the doors are about to meet, her fingers slide in and slam on the edge of one door.

  Oh, for God’s sake. Can’t I catch a break today? The doors swish open. I can’t believe my luck. Like I needed something else to go wrong this morning. It’s like watching a horror movie.

  She picks up her purse from where I kicked it to and walks in, giving me a murderous glance. Her face is red and her eyes are glittering.

  God, she’s fucking gorgeous.

  “Are you always such a jerk?” she fumes as she moves towards the button panel. Resentment radiates from her in waves.