The Double Dare

The shot should’ve killed me.

Screaming. Flashes. A crush of bodies.

Then I hit the ground.

Oh, wait, it was just a red carpet.

And a dare I should’ve never taken.

My breath caught because….

To my surprise, there he was.

Adrian Ralston.

He sure drew a crowd. The heir apparent. The crowned prince of a media-megalodon empire.

It was a dare. A double dare.

I was tipsy.

I flashed my boobs and the best sexy smile I had. Then, I flipped out a piece of ID and said I was his date for the night. Preplanned. Paid for.

That got me past two burly stud muffins, the size of pickup trucks, and very well-armed.

Then, the red carpet.

Geez, it felt good under my four-inch heels.

Plush. Royal. Pristine. Not a wrinkle on it.

And then the suit. No—tux. The tux was top-notch, but not nearly as beautiful as the man wearing it.

I grabbed Adrian’s arm and smiled up at him.

He smiled back. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

All cameras were on auto. I was shot at least a thousand times. Like I said, I should’ve been dead in an instant.

Then my heel caught. And there it was—the money shot.

Saved by the billionaire, just before my ass hit the ground.

He caught me with one hand. Strong, fast, effortless. My palm landed against his chest, eventually. Solid. Warm. As if on cue, our eyes locked.

And oh yeah. That was real muscle under that hundred grand tux.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and so damn manly like scotch on the rocks.

The cameras went wild. Shutters clicked like a swarm of angry bees. We looked every bit the couple they wanted us to be—me with my doe eyes and plunging neckline, him with his perfect bone structure and disapproving smirk.

Someone in the crowd gasped. Another person shouted, “Who is she?”

Good question.

“Act natural,” I whispered through a smile. “You’re saving me from humiliation. Heroic, really.”

“You’re not on the guest list,” he replied without moving his lips.

“No, but I’m in your arms. Isn’t that enough?”

For a second, I thought he’d have me dragged off by security. But instead, he chuckled. The sound was barely audible, but it was there. I was amusing him.

“Smile for the cameras,” I said.

Me and cosmos. I knew better.

And he did. Smile.

Hot as hades. That kinda smile.

By now, I’m back on my four-inch heels.

Posing, for what felt like a lifetime. The moment I stepped back, someone thrust a mic between us. “Adrian, care to introduce your date?”

He looked down at me, waiting.

“I’m Jo,” I said. “Jo Wilde.”

The truth.

He arched a brow. “Jo Wilde,” he echoed, like he was filing it away or figuring out how to get back at me.

Still, he said with that silky voice, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

There was a subtle nod to someone in the crowd, security maybe, and then his hand was at the small of my back, guiding me inside like this was all part of the plan.

The lobby was ridiculous. Marble floors, chandeliers big enough to crush a small car, and a velvet rope that parted the second Adrian looked at it.

I kept my head high and my heart in my throat.

He didn’t speak again until we were in the elevator, just the two of us.

“You’ve got nerve,” he said.

“You’ve got good reflexes.”

Silence. I could feel him checking me out. Measuring. Judging.

“What do you want, Miss Wilde?” he asked.

I could’ve told the truth—that I’d done it on a dare, that I was broke, that I hadn’t expected to get this far. But something was thrilling about keeping him guessing.

“I want a night I’ll never forget.”

He laughed, actually laughed, and shook his head like I was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him all year.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

*****

The whispers started as soon as we walked in.

“Who is she?”

“Did you see the dress?”

“She just appeared. Like magic.”

I sipped the champagne someone handed me and smiled politely, pretending I belonged. Adrian slipped into host mode. Shaking hands, nodding at people with just enough warmth to avoid being rude. Every so often, his hand would brush mine. Just enough contact to keep up the illusion. Just enough to keep my pulse in overdrive.

“What do you do, Jo?” asked a woman in a black silk gown that probably cost more than my annual rent.

“I’m a photographer,” I said, my buzz being slightly killed. Then I added to sound sophisticated. “Freelance.”

Her eyes gave me the whole look from head to toe and back again.

An unimpressed tone came next. “How… artistic.”

Adrian stepped in before I could retaliate. “Jo’s work is incredible,” he said, saving me again. “Urban landscapes. Sharp eye. Subversive perspective. I’ve followed her portfolio for a while.”

My heart stopped for a second or two. That was a lie—a good one.

I mean, I did take City shots. Urban landscapes sounded so much better.

The woman blinked, taken aback. “Well then. How avant-garde.”

Ass kisser.

We moved on.

“Thanks.” I appreciated being saved again.

He shrugged. “I owed you one.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

His smirk was maddening. Damn, he was gorgeous. Arrogant. Way out of my league. And yet, I couldn’t look away.

The evening blurred into polished floors, laughter, and glasses clinking.

Somewhere between a passed hors d’oeuvre and a strategic lean-in, Adrian whispered, “A car will take you home.”

My heart stopped again, but without the luste of before. He was sending me home.

I wanted to stay.

It was a dare. A stupid dare.

Stud muffin one appeared out of thin air. “Miss, please follow me.”

Adrian didn’t say a word and just gave a curt nod. A silent dismissal. It stung more than I expected.

I followed the Amazon man to a black padded door.

I laughed—the champagne bubbles. The padded door made me think of a nuthouse. And I was certainly nuts pulling off the shit I just did.

All the party noises disappeared when the doors closed behind us.

A long corridor took us to an exit.

A black sedan was waiting, the back seat passenger door wide open.

Just as I slipped into the car, my eyes widened.

It was the same woman in the dress. The unimpressed one. The ass kisser.

She said, “My Public Relations team is going to love you. I’m Mr. Ralston’s head of PR.”

*****

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