LILLIAN
SHIT! WHAT THE hell was Marissa doing at the Paradise Club?
It figured the little idiot would end up at the one place she shouldn't be—and all because of that damned list.
Anger and fear threaded through her—emotions she hadn't felt in a long time. She hadn't felt anything in a long time. She hated feeling empty, alone, and tired. So damned tired.
The surge of emotions drained away, fading into the familiar numbness she'd cultivated over the years.
She fiddled with the napkin under her drink and thought about the phone calls she'd gotten this afternoon. The first one annoyed her; the second one panicked her. She'd cleared out—again—and headed into the anonymity of the party scene. The Paradise Club was a decent bar in a not-so-decent part of town.
She searched the room and saw a big-chested waitress with flaming red hair exit a door behind the bar. Her gaze flicked from the waitress to the muscled bartender flirting with a blonde. There'd been another guy a few seconds ago. The one she'd seen talking to Marissa.
She sipped her Tequila Sunrise and acted like she wasn't anything but a vapid sexpot waiting for Mr. Wrong to take her home and rock her world.
Sometimes, she really hated her life.
Again, she searched the room, but Marissa had disappeared. She sighed. She would have to find her.
Then deal with her.
***|***|***
MARISSA VANDERSON
"WHERE ARE WE going?" asked Marissa as Dane led her out of the bar. "The wet T-shirt contest hasn't started yet."
The night was sultry, filled with sights and sounds that delighted Marissa. Cars passed by on the rain-slicked streets. Lights on the surrounding clubs blinked a welcome to passersby.
She'd never felt so free.
She'd spent eight years in a basement—a luxurious one filled with everything she demanded from her parents—but a basement, a prison, nonetheless.
She clutched her purse, the one she bought on a street corner just a few hours ago in honor of Gillie, and tried to keep up with the fast-moving man who'd apparently decided to take her somewhere else for a wet T-shirt contest.
He kept going. Her shoes clicked along the sidewalk as her newly hired bodyguard guided...well, dragged...her down the street. The scenery was hard to enjoy at this pace, so Marissa practiced glaring at Dane's backside.
She'd never glared at anyone before, never really having a cause to, and besides, she didn't like hurting people's feelings.
However, as she concentrated on narrowing her eyes, she noticed how well Dane's jeans outlined his rear end and thighs. Marissa watched in fascination as Dane walked. The jeans tightened around his buttocks. She liked jeans. She particularly liked jeans on Dane.
Maybe she should get a pair, but they looked rough. Did they rub the skin? Maybe they were soft and only looked rough. Marissa reach forward and slid her hand across Dane's rear end. He stopped abruptly and she plowed into him, her hand grasping his right cheek as she steadied herself.
"Nice," she said, touching the fabric. "Soft, but not too much. I like them."
Dane turned around. She noticed he was good at glaring. The slight wind blew his longish dark hair across his square jaw. His nose was slightly crooked and he had a dip in his chin. Marissa's heart stuttered. She wished he'd change his mind about the one-night stand. If she was going to have sex, she thought she might truly enjoy it with a man so rugged and handsome.
"Marissa."
"Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
"Walking."
His took a deep breath, and his nostrils flared. "I meant—why did you grab my butt?"
Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I wanted to feel the jeans. I didn't mean to grab you."
"I work for you, but I'm not your property."
Oh dear. She'd made him angry. Right now, paid or not, he was the only friend she had. As soon as her parents discovered she'd escaped, they'd search everywhere for her.
Of course, they were in Europe for the next week, and Geoffrey would only be incapacitated for a few days more. She had, at the most, six precious days to live a whole lifetime. "I'm sorry, Dane."
His gaze softened. "It's just that...you're very pretty. And I could get attracted to you. And we've agreed I'm not going to have sex with you. So we should keep physical stuff to a minimum." He nodded. "Yes. That's it. We shouldn't touch each other."
Marissa blinked. He thought she was pretty? He could get attracted to her? Staring at his face, the dip in his chin and the slant of his cheeks, and the strong column of his neck, she felt tingly and itchy and quite ready to accost him.
Maybe if she wrapped herself around him, he might change his mind. But he had rejected her. He had made a choice. Marissa respected a person's choices. Choices were precious indeed.
"No touching each other." She tilted her head. "Could you recommend someone who's good at having sex? I have a number of things I'd like to try."
"Yeah, I remember. The Snake Trap." Dane made strangled noises and clenched his fists. "Why don't you choose something else on the list? We'll deal with the sex issue later, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good. Great. Terrific." He sighed. "Let me see the list."
"You're very imposing. Can you teach me to do that?"
His brows furrowed. "Do what?"
"Glare. Why, you could frighten a girl right out of her wits by just frowning at her."
"I don't frighten you."
Surprised, Marissa stopped digging in her purse and looked at him. "No. You don't. Isn't that strange?"
"Compared to what? The last hour has been right out of The Twilight Zone."
She found the list and handed it to Dane. "Did you see the episode where the man wishes for money? One problem after the next. There's a lesson to be learned."
"Money doesn't bring happiness?"
"No, that's not it. The lesson is to be very specific when making a wish." She smiled when he stopped perusing the list to stare at her open-mouthed. "Money is only a tool. The person wielding it can choose to do harm or to do good."
"I've never thought about it that way."
While Dane continued to read, Marissa examined her surroundings. She'd ended up in an untidy part of town. Some of the buildings were boarded up and others were crumbling remnants; graffiti marred the walls, the sidewalks, and the street signs. She shivered at the ugly despair around her.
Dane pointed to the paper. "Your list doesn't say anything about wet T-shirt contests."