When You Dare - Lori Foster [72]
She trotted after all three of them as they started out of the room. “How long will you be gone?”
“An hour or so. Maybe longer.” He turned, and she almost ran into him. Dare caught her shoulders. “After that, I’ll be downstairs working out for a little while.”
Who crawled out of bed before dawn, ran and then worked out—without coffee? “You’re kidding.”
He bent and kissed her hard and fast. Sargie barked, reminding them both that she had need of a grassy spot outside.
“Take your time writing today. I don’t have any plans until the afternoon.” And with that, he turned and started down the hall.
Molly stared after him. Plans? What plans did he have? And what did that have to do with her?
Unless…he planned to take her home.
The idea was both tantalizing and frightening. She probably had a dozen important calls to return; she could only imagine what her editor and her agent thought about her disappearing in the middle of negotiations. But going home meant she was that much closer to ending her association with Dare.
Was he anxious to get rid of her? And if so, did it have anything to do with her botched seduction effort last night?
She dredged up every word she’d said, and even though she tried to reassure herself, one fact come slamming back into her brain: Dare had been generous, but not interested enough to take what she had so freely offered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LONG AFTER THE FRONT door had closed behind Dare, Molly stood there in the dim hall trying to understand him. Finally she decided that caffeine would help, so after snagging jeans and the all-purpose hoodie, she went into the kitchen and got the coffee started.
As it brewed, she went back to the room to clean her teeth and wash her face. Her hair was a mess, and she tried smoothing it with Dare’s comb, but she had no way of styling it. Blah. She looked terrible, and there was no way around it.
She found a rubber band in the library desk drawer where she’d seen the office supplies, and she pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. That at least kept it out of her face and gave the semblance of order.
It wasn’t until after her third cup of coffee that it really hit her: she looked like hell.
Yes, of course she’d known it; she wasn’t obtuse about her own appearance. But in light of more important issues, she hadn’t really thought about it. She had so much on her mind, and so many adjustments, including the bombardment of feelings toward Dare….
Oh, God, she’d come on to him all hot and heavy while looking her absolute worst. If he had been a more average guy, it might not have been so bad. But Dare was gorgeous, the most physically fit man she’d ever seen, and she looked like…well, a haggard victim.
Groaning, Molly sat back in the desk chair where she’d been trying to work. The scene that she’d been polishing blurred in front of her. Not only was her hair frazzled and unkempt, but she had zip for makeup, and the physical mistreatment she’d suffered still showed in the hollowness of her eyes and the marks on her skin.
She looked as wretched as a woman could look, so why had she thought that Dare would want her? Her come-on had probably been embarrassing and uncomfortable for him. Sure, he’d had an erection, but after all, he was a guy, so that didn’t really mean anything. Physical arousal did not equal personal interest—which Dare had proven last night.
He’d been kind, telling her that he wanted her and that he only wanted to wait until she was truly ready.
How much more ready could she have been? She’d all but begged him to have sex with her.
And instead he’d given her an orgasm, then taken her to bed and slept with her held tight against him all night.
What guy did that?
Every male she’d ever known had made sex the number-one priority. It hadn’t taken seduction or even encouragement—a look was more than enough to get things rolling along. She couldn’t imagine any other man she’d dated ever turning down an offer for sex, not if he was attracted to the woman—and sometimes even if he wasn’t.
Even though she