Dare to Love (Maxwell #3)

  Dare to Love

  The Maxwell Series

  S.B. Alexander

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. Kelton

  2. Lizzie

  3. Lizzie

  4. Kelton

  5. Lizzie

  6. Kelton

  7. Lizzie

  8. Lizzie

  9. Kelton

  10. Lizzie

  11. Kelton

  12. Lizzie

  13. Kelton

  14. Lizzie

  15. Kelton

  16. Lizzie

  17. Kelton

  18. Lizzie

  19. Kelton

  20. Lizzie

  21. Kelton

  22. Lizzie

  23. Kelton

  24. Lizzie

  25. Kelton

  26. Lizzie

  27. Kelton

  28. Lizzie

  29. Kelton

  30. Lizzie

  31. Kelton

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Dare to Love Playlist

  Also by S.B. Alexander

  Copyright

  Dare to Love

  Book Three: The Maxwell Series

  Copyright © 2016 by S. B. Alexander.

  All rights reserved

  First Edition: February 2016

  E-book ISBN-13: 978-0-9969351-1-1

  Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9969351-2-8

  Visit: www.sbalexander.com

  www.facebook.com/sbalexander.authorpage

  Editor: Red Adept Publishing, www.redadeptpublishing.com

  Cover Design by Streetlight Graphics, www.streetlightgraphics.com

  Prologue Poem by: Wendy Kupinewicz

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons-living or dead-is entirely coincidental.

  Adult Content Warning: The content contained is the book includes adult language and sexual content. This book is intended for adult audiences 18 years of age and older.

  Dedication

  To all my readers, fans, and bloggers, thank you for taking this journey with me.

  Prologue

  Kelton Maxwell

  I’m a knight in shining armor, I’m Prince Charming on a steed;

  I am Superman and Rocky; Hell, I’m all you’d ever need.

  I’m a lover AND a fighter, even angel from above

  But I won’t be your ever after, ‘cause I don’t do love.

  No matter how you spin it, I’m not willing to commit.

  There will be no soulful promise, only sarcasm and wit.

  My family is my focus and of course, there’s getting paid.

  I’m running all the bases; modeling and getting laid.

  Stand in line and wait your turn, there’s lots of me to share.

  Baby, you’re a booty call, I ain’t got time to care.

  This lifestyle was made for me; it fits like hand in glove.

  I told you when we started that I don’t do love.

  I have seen my older brother fall, a victim to romance.

  The girl he’s got is a keeper but I can’t take that chance.

  I know that I’ll be tempted. It’s hard to beat that rap.

  But every day I need a different lady on my lap.

  Short and curvy, long and lean, brunette, ginger or blonde;

  The women keep on coming, I’ve got the magic wand.

  Many chicks will try and fail, but when push comes to shove

  They’ll walk off broken-hearted, ‘cause I don’t do love.

  Consider this a warning, in time you all will see

  The only way that I’d do love, is if it’s doing me!

  1

  Kelton

  My nuts were about to freeze to my groin as I hurried across campus.

  “Kelton!” Chloe Pitt’s voice carried on the breeze. “Wait up.”

  I closed my eyes briefly, not wanting to deal with her. We’d broken up well over a month ago when the words I love you fell from her lips. Not only was that my cue to get the fuck out, but it sobered me up. She wanted the big house, the good-looking husband, kids, and someone to boss around. I certainly wasn’t that fucking guy.

  She walked up wrapped in a parka and a thick orange scarf. February in New England can be brutal with below-zero temperatures, and today was one of those days. I guarantee that if I’d taken a piss right then it would have frozen before it hit the ground.

  “I’ve been calling you. Why haven’t you picked up?” she asked, licking her lips.

  Because I didn’t want to get married. “What are you doing at BU?” I asked through lips so cold they were having a tough time moving. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class at Harvard?”

  “It’s Friday. I don’t have classes on Fridays.” She rolled her eyes like I was supposed to know her schedule. I could barely keep track of my own. “Are you on your way into Mr. Brewer’s art class?”

  She knew my schedule. I’d bet she even knew when I took a shit. “Chloe, we’re not getting back together.” She’d been trying every possible angle, including having her cousin, Lacey, talk to me anytime she was home from college.

  “You’re an ass. I need a date tonight for the art benefit my father is hosting, and you owe me.” She pulled her hood up over her blond hair as her nose started running.

  “Owe you?” The only thing I owed her was a big fat no. She was definitely a sweet girl, and we had loads of fun in the sack. But she wasn’t my future.

  Two people ran past us and into the warm building that was calling my name.

  “That’s right. I kept you from getting killed by my bodyguard,” she reminded me in a snarky voice.

  I vowed every day to stay away from women who wanted more than I could give—the women who wanted my heart in the palms of their hands, the women who wanted a life of forever. I didn’t do forever, and I wouldn’t open my heart to anyone. I’d seen how torn up my brother, Kody, was over the loss of his girlfriend and how my old man hurt when my mom fell apart after the death of my sister, Karen. The door to my heart was shut so tight that it would take someone with superpowers to pry open the lock. I bit my tongue. She wouldn’t leave me alone until she got what she wanted, and right now I didn’t have the patience to deal with her.

  I glanced around. “Where is the jerk, by the way?” Chloe always had a bodyguard on her ass, compliments of her father, Jeremy Pitt, head of the Russian mob in Boston.

  She shrugged. “I ditched him.”

  If anyone was good at fleeing the confines of her father’s hold, it was Chloe. I flipped up the collar of my leather jacket. “I didn’t ask you to fight my battles for me.”

  Chloe had shown up at a recent frat party. She’d scowled when she saw a girl sitting on my lap. Before the girl had had a chance to move, Chloe had her hands in the girl’s hair, pulling her off me. Needless to say, we got into an argument even though we weren’t dating, and her dense bodyguard had come in and tried to manhandle me. I was about to punch his lights out when Chloe maneuvered her curvy body in between Scar Face and me. My fists shook so hard with the need to hit the fucker. Not only for trying to rough me
up but because the jerk had held a gun to my head once, and in the three years since the incident, I hadn’t had a chance to show him my gratitude for him almost shooting me.

  “Regardless, you owe me.” Chloe touched her nose with the back of her gloved hand.

  She wasn’t going to let this go, and I was about to become an ice sculpture. “If I take you to this artsy crap, then we’re done. No more trying to trap me into your love web. I’m not that guy. I’ve told you that.”

  “Fine.” She smiled as though she didn’t believe me.

  She knew I didn’t pass up sex. I stalked closer to her, my breath steaming as I exhaled. “I’m dead serious. You will not come between me and any of my dates. We will not sneak off and have sex.” Like we had the day after we’d broken up. I was a moron for leading her to believe I wasn’t serious about our breakup. Since then I’ve kept my distance. “And we sure as hell aren’t getting married.” There, I said it. Not in this fucking lifetime and not with a mafia princess.

  Her smile vanished as snot slid out of her nose. “I said fine. Besides, Mr. Brewer will be there, and I’m sure he would want you to see some of his students’ artwork.”

  I sucked in my bottom lip, the ice beads melting on my tongue. “We’re through after tonight.” I hesitated for a moment, drilling my gaze into her, then headed toward the building.

  “Eight p.m. Malia’s Art Gallery on Newbury Street. It’s black tie. So wear your tux.”

  Fucking penguin suit. I hated it. I had one tailored for me last year when I attended a few of her father’s charity events. He was always donating money to some cause. For a mob guy, Pitt wasn’t a bad dude. He was fiercely protective of family, a good businessman, and in the three years I’d known him, I still didn’t know what he did for the mob. I wasn’t about to pry either. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in anything illegal. Not when I wanted to protect and defend the law as a future lawyer.

  I jogged into the classroom. A myriad of perfumes bombarded me. The scent of lilacs, lilies, clean rain, and jasmine seeped into my nostrils. The last one almost made me stumble. That scent was imbedded in my memory and took me to a place I wanted to forget, yet remember, but didn’t dare. I rubbed my nose lightly as I blew out some air, trying to rid my senses of a girl with dark hair, blue-gray eyes, and lips I could kiss all day long.

  Fuck.

  “You’re late,” Mr. Brewer said as he tried to quiet the whispers filling the room. “Undress and get on the platform.”

  The whispers all but died when he said to undress. Thankful for the undivided attention, I grinned as I scanned the room. Four men sat among the sea of women whose gazes were riveted on me. Some women shied away when I set my eyes on them. Others stuck out their chins, while others licked their lips. I’d bet my life half the women in the room weren’t even artists. They were horny twenty-year-olds attending a class to get a glimpse of Kelton Maxwell. It always amazed me how women reacted to the male species. Maybe that was the reason I took the job. Maybe I should have majored in psychology rather than math. But I dumped that thought. I wasn’t there to analyze anyone. I was there for the adrenaline rush. I was there because I loved the attention. My brothers thought I was way beyond crazy. But I was never the cautious brother. Fuck caution. “You’re hiding behind something,” my old man, the psychiatrist, had once told me.

  Maybe so, but posing and showing the world the physical side of Kelton Maxwell was a high like bungee jumping, and I needed that rush like a junkie needed his next fix. Because I sure as hell wasn’t about to reveal my fears or secrets.

  I sauntered over to the makeshift dressing area in the corner of the room. Once behind the wooden wardrobe panel, I toed off my boots then peeled off my clothing right down to nothing. The room was warm, and my body began to thaw. Mr. Brewer always kept the temperature high. He’d mentioned something about the warmth keeping the body at its natural state and coloring.

  As I wrapped a large terrycloth towel around my waist, Mr. Brewer doled out instructions to the class then added, “Since a couple of you are new in here, I also want to point out that we’re all adults. The human body is a beautiful specimen. I’m certain that most of you ladies have seen a naked man before. Therefore, refrain from giggling and talking and concentrate on the model.”

  “Oh, we will,” a girl with a high-pitched voice said.

  “Ms. Davenport, I warn you.”

  Ugh! Trudy Davenport was an uppity bitch who thought her daddy’s money could buy her anyone and anything. I had to give her props though. Once she’d heard Chloe and I were no longer an item, she’d tried to get in my pants on several occasions. She struck out each time. Sure, I could get off on screwing a beautiful redhead with legs that went on forever, but I knew my limitations. One night with her and she’d dig her claws in and not let go. Or maybe I was afraid I’d want more. Either way, I didn’t want to find out, especially since her father owned one of the biggest law firms in Boston. The same law firm I’d applied to for a summer job. The job I needed to add to my résumé for my Harvard Law application. Sure, several other law firms in the city would suffice, but none had the clout Mr. Davenport’s did.

  I walked around the partition and over to the platform in front of the room.

  “Drop the towel, Kelton,” Trudy shouted.

  “This is your last warning, Ms. Davenport,” Brewer said as he circled his desk. “One more and I’ll give you an F on this assignment.” His long stride ate up the space from the back of the room to the platform, and he tapped on Trudy’s desk twice as he passed.

  Trudy mumbled under her breath, and the crimson-faced girl next to her giggled.

  I winked at an auburn-haired girl who was sitting in the first row. When I did, I got a strong dose of jasmine, and my heart sped up. Suddenly, I had a strong sense that I knew her.

  “Mr. Maxwell, let’s try a different pose today. I also want you to leave the towel on for now.” He waved long, thin fingers at the velour chaise longue on the platform.

  “Sorry, ladies,” I said as I scanned the disappointed faces, finally settling my gaze on the auburn-haired girl.

  She peered up at me then looked away. She must have been one of the newbies since I didn’t recognize her, and most who took this class were shy on the onset.

  Mr. Brewer climbed up on the platform and spoke in a low voice. “Sit. And don’t make the new girl nervous. And keep your dick from making an appearance.” His voice dropped even more as he shifted his back to the class. “I don’t need you with an erection when I have twenty-five females with raging hormones ready to attack you. Even though you’re one lucky bastard.”

  “That would be difficult since I think it’ll be shrunken for a week after standing out in the cold.”

  He chuckled.

  I eased down onto the soft fabric. “Besides, that only happened once. Over a year ago.” Since then I’d learned how to control myself. Fuck. With beautiful women, flowery scents, porcelain skins, long hair, thick lips—the list went on—they made it difficult for me not to get a damn hard-on.

  “Kelton.” Mr. Brewer’s gaze dropped to my dick.

  “Sorry. You started me thinking about… Never mind.” I closed my eyes and thought about who was going to win the Super Bowl. The Patriots or the Panthers.

  Mr. Brewer went over to the far end of the platform, lifted the wooden screen, and brought it over to block us from the class. “Take the towel off. Then I want you to sit up against the back of the chaise and angle your body toward me.”

  I went through the motions. “I thought you said towel on.”

  “Extend both legs then raise your left knee. Drape your left arm casually over your leg.”

  After several more instructions about positions and angles, he moseyed over to a small round table next to the chaise longue and collected a cowboy hat.

  “I don’t do bright-blue cowboy hats,” I said. The accessory was downright ugly.

  “It will bring out your blue eyes against your b
lack hair. And it will also showcase the colorful lizard tattoo on your abs.” He set the hat so it covered my dick.

  The tat was inked in blues, reds, and greens with a hint of brown.

  He scanned my body. “This pose should be perfect.” He rubbed his unshaven jaw. “I think you’re ready.” Slowly, he slid the panel open. “Don’t move or sneeze. Or the hat will fall.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Not that I cared. Most of the people in here had seen me naked already. Still, sometimes the poses were hard to hold for the entire class, but sitting wasn’t as difficult as the standing ones.

  “Come on, Brew,” a female student piped up. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

  Mr. Brewer moved the panel. “I want you to put all your effort into making this piece your best,” he said to the class.

  Ooohs and aaahs and swear words were muttered by just about every person, except my little friend in the front row. She lowered her gaze, her long lashes fanning out into the shape of a perfect crescent moon.

  “Get to work,” Mr. Brewer said as he returned to his desk.

  Given the wide eyes and excitement on people’s faces, Mr. Brewer must’ve outdone himself.

  As the students went to work, I kept my face relaxed and concentrated on something in the room. Usually I stared at the windowless door, but today the shy girl drew me in. Her throat worked so much she seemed to be swallowing an elephant. Her cheeks flushed a bright red, but this time she didn’t shy away from my gaze. Her light-green eyes met mine, and I refrained from letting out a groan. Her bottom lip was slightly thicker than the top, and they had a pinkish color to them, reminding me of the girl I once knew.

  The more I studied her, the more I was taken back to that hot summer day in Texas seven years ago.

  The ground burned beneath my bare feet. I ran as though I was fleeing a serial killer. I pumped my legs and arms as fast as I could, my breath coming out in short gasps. I’d be surprised if I didn’t die of heatstroke. The hot Texas sun beat down, adding to the sweat pouring off my body. But I couldn’t stop. I had to see her one last time. I didn’t know if I would ever see her again, and that thought pierced my heart, sending waves of pain shooting through my body.