If She Dares. Tanya Michaels

      She cleared her throat, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “Given your work with law enforcement, I assume this exhibitionism was on private property, where you weren’t breaking any public decency ordinances?”

      “It was at summer camp. I was fourteen and had spent the week flirting with a gorgeous and worldly fifteen-year-old. She suggested a midnight swim, minus our bathing suits. Which would have been the most romantic night of my young life if she and her giggling friends hadn’t run off with my clothes. My skinny-dipping was followed by streaking through camp, swearing a string of profanities the likes of which Camp Kinahoopee has probably never heard before or since.”

      She laughed. “Skinny-dipping, streaking and cursing? You rebel child.”

      “What about you? You hinted that you made plenty of trouble in your day.”

      “Contrary to what my poor mother probably believes, I rarely set out with specific intent to break any rules. I just loved anything that made me feel alive and exhilarated—like roller coasters and going off the highest diving board in the county.” And having sex her freshman year of college in her boyfriend’s convertible with the top down. Warmth spread through her again, but this time it wasn’t all embarrassment. A distant, disobedient part of her wondered what kind of car Jack drove. “I have always been a sucker for a double dare, which led to my involvement in a plot to steal our rival school’s mascot when I was sixteen. We returned it after homecoming.”

      He chuckled. “Honor among thieves?”

      “Honor, and the threat of expulsion. When I was eleven, a kid in our subdivision dared me to race my bike down Dead Man’s Hill with no helmet. I wiped out at the bottom, still have a faint scar midthigh, but what I remember most is the indescribable rush of freedom. The wind whipping against my face, the sense that I was flying.” When was the last time she’d felt so giddy and uninhibited? “I don’t remember the pain at all. Probably because I knocked myself unconscious when I flipped over the handlebars. Is it weird that I thought the concussion was worth it?”

      “A little bit, yeah. Although maybe I’m not qualified to answer that, since I’ve never had a concussion. I did, however, court expulsion in high school.”

      “Ooh, kindred spirit. Do tell.”

      “I organized a student protest against the school dress code.”

      “Did you protest it by streaking?” she teased.

      “No, but if I’d thought I could talk any of the cheerleaders into that...” A wicked smile tinged his voice when he added, “I may or may not have persuaded the captain of the cheerleading squad into a one-on-one game of strip poker the summer after graduation. How about you, troublemaker? Any strip poker games in your past?”

      “Yes, but...”

      “But?”

      “I’m not very good.” By nature, she was an expressive, forthright person. The ability to bluff eluded her.

      “Maybe you just need practice.” That wicked tone was far more potent this time because he wasn’t talking about hypothetical cheerleaders from his adolescence. He was talking about her.

      In that moment she might actually have worked up the nerve to ask if he was volunteering to coach, but an ominous groan sounded. The elevator creaked as if it could no longer hold their weight suspended. Then the lights blinked on, momentarily disorienting her, and back out again.

      “Seems like the power’s trying to come ba-aaah.” Her last word turned into more of a yelp as the elevator dropped. It only lasted a moment; they might not have cleared a full floor, but it was a far different experience than the normal, controlled descent. When this is over, I am strictly a staircase girl.

      Jack scooted closer to her, stopping when his hand encountered her calf. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. Not counting hugs from her dad, the last few times a man had touched her she’d reflexively flinched away. At the moment she didn’t mind the contact. Maybe because she was preoccupied by the prospect of plunging to her death.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      “Um. Sure.” And the award for least convincing goes to...

      “What about shoplifting?” he blurted, clearly trying to distract her from any elevator-plummeting anxiety. “Ever steal anything during your misspent youth?”

      “A friend dared me once. I went into a drugstore, wondering if I had it in me to palm a pack of gum, but I got distracted by the cute cashier and left with his number instead. My friend joked that I stole the guy’s heart and thus fulfilled my dare.” The elevator rattled again, and she had the juvenile urge to close her eyes—as if that would change anything. She was proud of herself for sounding calm when she asked, “Ever done a keg stand?”

      He laughed. “Do people actually do those in real life? I thought it was just the kind of thing you see in movies about fraternities. Have you ever—”

      The elevator lurched, and she instinctively reached for Jack’s hand. Sparks of awareness slipped past the wall of anxiety. It was starting to get really warm in the still air. Heat pulsed in parts of her body she hadn’t given much thought to lately. Rather than flinch away from the sensation, she found herself trying to cling to it.

      Her voice sounded raspier than usual when she prompted, “Your turn to ask a question.”

      “Ever kissed a stranger in the dark?”

       3

      THE QUESTION HADN’T been premeditated. Jack had set out to distract her, not make a move. But his once-noble intentions were muddled by the tantalizing mental image of her losing at strip poker—and by proximity to Riley and her lush curves. Her soft fingers were still wrapped around his, and their legs were practically entangled.

      “N-no.” The husky catch in her voice was sexy as hell. “I’ve never done that.”

      I dare you. The words shimmered in his mind like an incantation. If he said them, would she accept the challenge? Not that he would exploit the situation. And yet, had she just moved closer?

      He inhaled the faint scent of raspberry lotion on her skin and wondered irrationally if she tasted like raspberries, too. He could feel the heat from her body and, as he angled his head toward hers, her breath feathered over him. Releasing her hand, he skated his fingers up the satiny flesh of her inner arm, within grazing distance of her generous breasts.

      Which is when the lights buzzed back to life in what felt like a burst of accusation.

      Riley’s eyes were wide, and her gaze dropped to his mouth. There was desire in her expression—but it was accompanied by apprehension, which kept him from leaning forward and kissing her. She abruptly pulled away, and Jack called himself a litany of names, dumb ass being the kindest. What in the hell had he been thinking? Hadn’t he learned his lesson about getting involved with women who lived in the same building?

      Riley got to her feet and busied herself with the box she’d set down, but he couldn’t make himself look away from her yet. Jack also stood, keeping an appropriate distance while he surreptitiously studied her. She wore a charcoal sweater and black jeans. The outfit was flattering, outlining the curve of her hips and hugging perfectly rounded breasts, but drab. Thinking back to the night he’d met her, he recalled a beige jacket and dark slacks. After their unexpected conversation during the blackout, he realized now that there was another Riley beneath the surface, one too bold for neutral shades and plain cotton.

      Her words echoed in his mind. I want to feel like myself again. There’d been such a plaintive note in her tone. Jack had learned young, when he couldn’t convince his mother to leave an abusive boyfriend, that it wasn’t in his power to rescue everyone around him. Yet he couldn’t help wishing he knew how to help Riley.

      The