Dare Me(14)

I shake my head no. I don’t want him to let me go.

Pulling away, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd and back to the VIP area. Our private table has been taken over by people, and Holt greets each of them knowingly. I recognize his friend Jack from the bar last night, who notices my hand locked in Holt’s and gives him a look. He leans in, whispering something to Holt, who brushes him off. Jack looks back to me before turning and walking away. Holt grabs my purse from the couch and nods goodbye to the small group in the lounge before all but dragging me to the front door.

A cool gust of air greets us as we push through the glass doors and onto the sidewalk. It’s refreshing, and I take a deep breath. “Why didn’t we talk to Jack?” I ask as Holt pushes past the crowd now waiting outside trying to get into the club.

“I talk to Jack all the time. I want to get you home.” He’s abrupt and intense.

My heart sinks when he says this. A black Town Car pulls up, and Holt opens the door, gesturing for me to get inside. He’s sending me home in a Town Car? My face flushes in embarrassment as I recall how close we’d been inside the club and how terribly wrong he must be feeling.

Hesitating, I want to apologize, hoping that tonight has not jeopardized my career. “I—I—”

“Get in the car, Saige,” Holt cuts me off.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and my heart races as I slide into the back seat of the car. I turn and look out the opposite window in the back so that if Holt looks into the car, he won’t see the tears that have formed in my eyes.

The car door slams and the driver asks for the address. I take a deep breath, but it’s Holt’s voice that snaps me out of my daze. “Corner of Astor and Burton Place, just off Lakeshore.”

And then my heart is racing for an entirely different reason. Holt is in the car with me, and we’re not going to my place.



We pull up outside a stunning home not far from Lakeshore Drive. The entire street is lined with homes that have been recently built, or homes that have been completely renovated, leaving some of their historical charm.

“Holy shit,” I mumble under my breath when I look at the brown brick house surrounded by a custom gate.

“Right here is fine,” Holt instructs the driver, who pulls up to the curb. He hands him a hundred-dollar bill, opens the back door, and slides out. Then Holt offers me his hand, and I step out onto the curb where he leads me to the large gate that opens to a lush courtyard.

“This is your house?” I ask dumbfounded.

“It is.” He looks up at the enormous house.

“And you live here alone?” I glance up and notice at least three levels to this grand home.

“I do.”

We take the steps that lead up to the front door, and he pulls a key from his pocket to unlock it. Just inside, he disables the house alarm and tosses the key into a large silver bowl on a small table.

“Thirsty?” he asks warmly.

“Yes, water would be great.” I suddenly realize how dry my mouth is.

He leads me to an enormous modern kitchen that’s every woman’s dream. It has dark cabinets accented by white marble counters and modern, stainless steel appliances. A kitchen island three times larger than any I’ve seen, sits in the center, and large, antique lighting fixtures blend what I imagine is the old house with the new.

Holt pulls two bottles of water from his fridge and hands me one. “Kitchen,” he says, glancing around.

“It’s gorgeous.” Understatement.

“I love to cook,” he says confidently.

“I would have never guessed that about you,” I tell him and take a drink from the bottle of water he gave me. He’s hot and he cooks? I try to hide the small smile tugging at my lips.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone thinks I’m too rich to cook, too rich to drive my own car, too rich to do anything for myself.” His tone is annoyed. “But I love to cook. I just don’t do it often because what is the sense for cooking for one person?”

I know what he means. Most of the time, I make EasyMac or a can of soup. I give him an understanding smile. “I didn’t mean that I thought you were too rich to cook,” I try to explain myself.

“It’s fine, Saige. I didn’t mean to take that out on you. It’s just that because of who I am, everyone assumes I won’t do things for myself.” He waves me off good-naturedly. I wonder how many people assume things about him because of his wealth.

“I never thought that about you,” I admit and smile at him.

“Well, good. Then I’d love to cook you dinner sometime.” His eyes brighten.

“Offer accepted.” I twist the cap back on the bottle of water and set it on the kitchen island.

“Want to see the rest of the place?”

“I’d love to.” I follow in step behind him as we take a different exit out of the kitchen. I am literally in awe as Holt shows me his home. Five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, two offices, a library, a home gym, a small wine cellar in the basement, and even a decent-sized backyard. Most homes in the city have very little space for a yard, but he said a neighbor and he bought the lot that sits between their houses and divided it so they’d each have a yard.

I should say it surprises me, but when you have the kind of money to buy a house like this . . . nothing surprises me. I will say that, even though the home is exquisite, it’s very comfortable. It doesn’t feel stuffy or awkward.