Dare to Love (Maxwell #3) Read online

  The way Kelton drilled those blue eyes of his into me—the same blue eyes that had hooked me from the moment we’d met back in the fifth grade—gave me a cold chill instead of the warm feeling I’d always gotten when he’d looked at me before. Maybe because I could never go back to the past. We’d been kids with a pipe dream—a dream of love, family, and happily ever after. But given what I’d been through, I knew nothing was forever.

  “Is the person you’re searching for in college?” Dillon asked.

  “Yes.” It was better to keep some information private until I could totally trust Dillon.

  Terrance Malden, the trustee of my father’s estate, always bragged about his son Zach and how skilled and creative he was with a paintbrush. He’d shown me drawings Zach had painted, which hung in Terrance’s office. He’d also mentioned how Zach had been trying to get into Mr. Brewer’s art class at BU. So I’d enrolled, trying to get close to Zach to discover the whereabouts of his dad. But I hadn’t seen Zach in class.

  “And this dude isn’t the one we left standing on the sidewalk?” He flicked his gaze from me to the road.

  I huffed. “For the last time, no.” Surely, Dillon wasn’t afraid of Kelton.

  “What are you going to do when you find him? Shoot him?” he said in a mocking tone.

  I lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

  3

  Lizzie

  The kitchen was a good size for an art gallery. It housed two side-by-side wine refrigerators, as well as two full-sized refrigerators. The room was also equipped with a stove, two ovens, two sinks, several cabinets, and a large dishwasher. If I wasn’t mistaken, the gallery had been a restaurant at one time.

  I inhaled the light aroma of what smelled like chicken warming in the oven as I checked myself in a compact mirror. Since Dillon had figured out I was wearing a wig, I decided to put on dark-green eyeliner to highlight the light-green contacts followed by two coats of mascara, giving my eyes that smoky look. That way people would be drawn to my eyes and not my hair. I couldn’t risk being noticed by Terrance, who might be able to recognize me since he’d hung out with my dad at our house quite often. Until I could find him or chummy up to his son, I wanted to stay incognito. Then when the time was right, I would unveil the real me. Hopefully by then I would know where my money was and how to get it back. Satisfied, I dumped the mirror in my purse and rummaged around for my lipstick.

  “What are you looking for?” my friend Peyton asked as she tied back her pinkish-blond hair into a ponytail.

  “Lipstick,” I said as I continued to search my bag.

  “You don’t need any. Your lips have a natural pink color to them, and I told you to go natural tonight. You’re prettier without the wig and contacts.”

  “I like the color. Besides, it’s fun. Remember when we used to wear different color wigs and contacts every weekend?” We loved keeping the frat boys guessing our freshman year at the University of Miami, even going as far as changing our names.

  “What do you mean when? My sorority sisters still do it for the BU frat parties.”

  I laughed. “Unless I look hideous or ugly, what’s the harm?” I was wearing a white blouse and black pants. My red wig was short enough to frame my face, and my makeup was artfully done—not too much, not too little.

  “I’m sorry. You look great. I guess I like your long, dark hair better.”

  I did too. But until I got my money back, I was Emma with red hair and green eyes, and not Elizabeth or Lizzie with dark hair and blue-gray eyes, although Peyton had always called me Emma. Before our first frat party we came up with names. I’d always liked the name Emma, and since she’d said I reminded her of an Emma, the name stuck with her.

  She donned an apron she’d removed from a cabinet. “Anyway, you okay with this art gig? I know it was last minute, but I promised my mom I would help out, and you said you need the money.”

  I mainly took this gig when I learned that Mr. Brewer was showcasing his students’ artwork. It was my chance to get closer to Zach. And without my monthly deposits from Terrance, money was tight. “Yeah, it’s fine.” Since I hadn’t seen Zach in class, I wasn’t sure if he was or had been a student of Mr. Brewer’s or if he would even make an appearance that night. Either way, I had to find out. I spotted my lipstick.

  “Did he have Kelton posing today?” Peyton asked excitedly.

  My hands stilled around the lipstick.

  Her face paled to a shade matching her white blouse. “Oh my God. Was he naked? Did you sketch him? I bet Kelton will be here tonight.”

  The lipstick fell from my hand, clanging to the floor. I’d been so wrapped up with Dillon and figuring out the train system in Boston to get here that I didn’t think of Kelton attending an art gala. After all, he wasn’t a student. Thoughts of fleeing danced in my head. But I wasn’t one to let someone down, especially if I gave my word. So, I collected my lipstick, dropped it into my purse, then moved to the cabinet and plucked out an apron.

  “You know him?” I hadn’t shared much of my childhood with her, and when she moved back to Boston to help her mom with the catering business, we’d only spoken a handful of times.

  “What girl at BU doesn’t? He’s a god. Every girl wants a piece of him. Every girl wants to marry him.”

  After seeing Kelton in nothing but a cowboy hat covering his manly parts, I wanted a piece of him, too. But I wasn’t in the class to swoon over Kelton. I was there on the off chance that I would find Zach. Peyton thought I was in Boston for family reasons, and while I sort of was, I couldn’t tell her the truth yet. I didn’t know what I was up against, and I didn’t want to involve her if things got ugly.

  She walked over to the sink. “You’re one lucky bitch. That’s all I got to say. I wished I had the option this semester for an elective.”

  I wouldn’t call myself lucky. In my mind, running into Kelton was a distraction. He was all I kept thinking about since art class, when I should’ve been thinking about my next move to find Terrance or Zach Malden.

  She washed her hands. “What position did Brew have Kelton in? And you never answered if he was naked.” She rubbed her hands together slowly.

  Yep, my work was cut out for me. If she continued talking about Kelton, I was burnt toast. I tied the apron around me and joined her at the sink.

  “Tell me before I wet my panties.”

  Mine were already moist. I busted out laughing. “I’m definitely not telling you. You’ll have your soapy hands down your pants.”

  She moaned. “Damn straight I will.”

  A phone rang to the tune of “Better as a Memory” by Kenny Chesney.

  Peyton swiped a paper towel from the dispenser. “That’s your ringtone? Can you get any sadder?”

  I snagged the towel from Peyton, quickly wiped my hands, and retrieved my phone from my back pocket. “Hello?”

  “Emma, it’s Dillon. I have to be in Cambridge tonight. Meet me at a club called Rumors at 11:00 p.m. And if you want to do business, lose the wig. I want to see the real you.” Then the phone went dead.

  No way was he seeing the real me—not in public anyway.

  “Who was that?” Peyton asked. “Are you making friends already? His voice sounds yummy.”

  Dillon did have a soothing voice for a scary-looking guy. “You heard that?” I had barely heard him.

  “Only when he said your name. So, spill. Who is he?” She anchored her body against the counter.

  I tensed.

  “Okay, we need to get moving,” said a short, middle-aged lady with a bob as she glided in, carrying shopping bags. “You must be Emma. My daughter hasn’t stopped talking about you.” She set down the bags on the counter. “Thank you for helping out. I understand you’ve served before?”

  I thought Peyton would have at least told her mom my real name. But I wasn’t complaining. The less people knew of the real me, the better the chances of me staying incognito. “Yes, ma’am. Applebee’s and The Olive Garden.”

  “Go
od. Good. Oh, and call me Wendy.” She went over to the fridge and pulled out trays of shrimp cocktail and empty lettuce cups. “Let’s get started. The quiches and chicken are in the oven. Let’s start with the champagne and wine.”

  Peyton and I moved to the bar adjacent to the door that spilled into the gallery. The bottles of bubbly and red and white wine had already been opened. So we poured and prepped four silver trays of alcohol. Then we collected a wad of napkins before inserting half of them in our apron pockets and placing the other half on the trays.

  “We should have a packed house. Let’s start with alcohol,” Wendy said. “And be sure to smile. I’ll have the hors d’oeuvres ready shortly.”

  Carefully, Peyton and I each grabbed a tray of glasses and made our way out. The gallery had a warm atmosphere with just the right amount of lighting showcasing the art pieces displayed around the room either on stands or hanging on the walls. A soft hum of chatter filled the room. People dressed in elegant evening wear mingled around the geometric paintings, landscape portraits, and photographs of people of all shapes and sizes. If this was a showing for Mr. Brewer’s work and that of his students, I was impressed with the perfection of some of the pieces.

  I served, moving from one group or couple to another. I worked one side of the room while Peyton worked the other. My pulse jumped every time I offered someone a drink. I was nervous about the possibility of bumping into Kelton. I was also apprehensive about confronting Mr. Brewer. I’d told him I’d left class early because I had to pick up my cat from the vet before they closed. He’d arched an eyebrow but hadn’t questioned me. He’d asked for my sketchpad before I left, but I’d ripped up the drawing of Kelton so fast Mr. Brewer didn’t have time to stop me. It wasn’t a good way to start my first day, but I’d panicked. So I thought about a cat, her name, her breed, and what was wrong with her. Guilt rode me since I didn’t own a cat, although I imagined petting Kelton as he posed on that stage in art class. Though nothing about him resembled a cat or the silky coat of one. Heat shot through my belly as I pictured my fingers running along every hard angle and ridge along his abs, biceps, and thighs.

  A dainty voice severed my porn moment. “Miss.” A green-eyed brunette met me eye-to-eye. “Do you know where the ladies’ room is?” she asked, fingering the polar bear charm hanging around her neck.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t. But you can try the hallway.” I turned to point behind me, and my tray of glasses wobbled.

  “Thank you.” She dashed into the crowd.

  I watched her for a second before a lump formed in my throat. The brunette stopped to chat with none other than Kelton. The lump seemed to grow as I tried to swallow. At any second, I was afraid I was going to choke.

  Peyton came up beside me. “You should lower your finger. It’s rude to point.” She giggled. “I see Kelton has the same effect on you as he does on the rest of us women.”

  You don’t know the half of it.

  “He’s delicious in his tux, isn’t he?” She cooed as if she was about to have an orgasm. “I wonder where his girlfriend is?”

  As though cold water had been poured over my head, I snapped out of my trance. “Is that his girlfriend?” I asked.

  A guest came up to us to exchange an empty glass for a red wine.

  “No. That was Kelton’s potential sister-in-law. Lacey Robinson is dating his older brother, Kade. She’s a big deal in this part of the country. She’s been in all the newspapers for her outstanding pitching for Colby College. I have to say she’s good at the game. Girls around here revere her. But she’s also the cousin to Kelton’s girlfriend, Chloe Pitt.”

  Suddenly, my heart sank. Kelton was getting married, he still had a tight-knit family, and I had nothing. Two years ago, my parents had died in a boating accident, reducing the only family I could boast about to an aunt on my father’s side and an uncle on my mother’s. I didn’t consider either of them close family. I shook off the self-pity. I wasn’t in town to reminisce, get married or start a family, or even feel sorry for myself. I was there to get what was mine, no matter what I had to do to accomplish that.

  Lacey had her hands on her hips as she peered up at Kelton, who was shaking his head.

  “We should get back to work before my mom starts ranting,” Peyton said. “Come on. Let’s refill our trays. I’m sure it’s time for the finger foods.”

  I kept my head down as I passed Kelton and Lacey. With my hand on the door to the kitchen, his smooth, deep voice caused my limbs to lock.

  “Emma,” Kelton called.

  “You know him?” Peyton stopped short, almost losing her tray of empty glasses.

  Yes. “No.” I pushed in the door and deposited my tray on the counter.

  “What do you mean, no?” Peyton gently placed her tray beside mine. “He seems to know you.” She scurried back to the door to peek out.

  Please don’t let him recognize me or come in here. Otherwise I might throw myself at him before I run.

  “You’re sweating,” Wendy pulled out a tray of quiches. “Everything all right?”

  “Emma is being chased by one of Boston’s most eligible playboys,” Peyton teased. “You’re clear,” she said to me. “Kelton is talking to Trudy Davenport.”

  I remembered that name from art class. Mr. Brewer had to keep telling the redhead to quiet down. I’d wanted to stick a sock in her mouth.

  “Is Kelton’s girlfriend with him?” Wendy asked. “I need to talk to her. She called to ask if we could cater her graduation party.”

  “I haven’t seen Chloe,” Peyton said. “Emma, dish. I want to know how you know him.” She glided back to me at the chest-high table where more trays of alcohol were ready to go.

  I was tempted to gulp down a glass or two of champagne. “I don’t. The first time I saw him was in class today, and we didn’t talk.” I wiped my sweaty palms down my pant leg. I was probably going to hell for lying. I wasn’t ready to tell Peyton that I knew Kelton. She would have questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer, especially since Kelton was such a celebrity. My scalp itched like crazy underneath my wig. I scratched it, wondering if maybe I should get out of there before I dug myself into a bigger lie.

  “Let’s keep the food and drinks flowing,” Wendy said. “You two can gossip about the handsome man later.”

  Considering I did need the cash and was hoping to see Zach, I brushed off my escape plan.

  “Emma, keep serving drinks. Peyton, start serving the quiches and shrimp cocktail,” Wendy ordered, spooning a meat-and-rice mixture into the small lettuce cups.

  Peyton picked up a silver platter of finger food. “I’ll just ask him how he knows you.” She stuck me with a glare.

  “That’s a great idea.” I would like to know how he knew my name, and what else he knew about me. I grabbed a fresh tray of drinks.

  “Peyton, send Chloe in if you see her,” Wendy called as Peyton and I exited.

  Voices droned through the packed room. Peyton and I split up again. My pulse was still on overload as I served alcohol. Knowing Kelton, he wasn’t going to let up until he got my attention. I scoped out the exits just in case I needed to hide. One sign was lit up at the far end of the room. I’d remembered an exit located in the kitchen, and the other one was the main entrance off to my left.

  “Are you about to make a mad dash for the exit like you did earlier today?” a male voice asked.

  I peered up at the skinny man on my right. “No, Mr. Brewer. I’m trying to find the other server.” Another lie.

  “Uh huh. Why don’t you tell me something that’s true?”

  “Brew!” someone called.

  A blond guy with curly hair and dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, and satin purple tie waved at him. My hand shook, and the glasses dinged on my tray.

  “You sure are jumpy.” Mr. Brewer’s long fingers wrapped around the stem of a glass of red wine.

  The closer Zach Malden got to us, the more I broke out in a nervous sweat. I’d seen pictures of Zach in
his father’s office in Miami when I had been visiting my dad at work. I’d only met him once briefly three years ago when he was visiting his father for a weekend. Apparently, he’d lived with his mother in Chicago until he started at BU. I took in a quiet breath. It was time for me to shuck the nerves and get in the game. My hand steadied, as did the glasses. I scanned the room for a hefty, older version of Zach and came up empty. The ray of optimism that had gripped me vanished. At least Zach was here.

  “Sorry I couldn’t make it to class today.” Zach puffed out his scruffy jaw. Then he slowly released his breath as he snatched a flute of champagne from my tray.

  “Rough afternoon?” Mr. Brewer asked.

  Zach gulped down the champagne then replaced the empty glass with a fresh one. “It always is when my old man blows into town for the afternoon then leaves like the city is about to blow up.” He downed the entire contents of the glass.

  I felt my eyebrows come together, and I silently screamed fuck. “Your father is missing a great event,” I said coolly.

  “He’d never show his face at an art function, even if he was still in the city,” Zach said, sounding dejected or wanting of his father’s approval. “He couldn’t give a shit about my artwork or the fact my masterpiece is on display tonight.”

  I tipped my head to the side slightly. His dad had spoken proudly of his son, at least the one time he’d told me about Zach.

  “Zach, meet our newest student, Emma,” Mr. Brewer said as he sipped his wine.

  I smiled and batted my eyelashes as naturally as I could. Somehow I had to befriend Zach in the hopes I could learn the whereabouts of his father, although I never considered myself good at going out of my way to get a guy’s attention. My mom had always told me men were sometimes more attracted to the art of the chase. “You said you had a masterpiece. I’d love to see it.” God, I prayed I wasn’t coming across as fake.