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  Dare Me

  ( Steele Brothers - 3 )

  Jennifer Probst

  As a military leader back from the war, and the youngest of his two dominant older brothers, Rafe Steele struggles with a secret. He craves surrender in the bedroom under the controlled hands of a Dominatrix. When his brothers offer him a one-night stand through Madame Eve’s dating service, he jumps at the chance to enact his fantasy. After one experiment, he’s sure he’ll be able to move on. But he never counted on Summer Preston to strip down his walls and make him want more than one night...

  An elementary school teacher with a girl next door, fresh face, Summer is constantly barraged by men who want to take care of her, but she longs to meet a strong man who can handle her dominant ways in the bedroom. Trapped in her own storybook life, she books a one-night stand with Madame Eve to finally experience her fantasy. But she never counted on Rafe Steele to push her boundaries in both the bedroom...and her heart.

  Dare Me

  Steele Brothers - 3

  By

  Jennifer Probst

  To my fellow 1Night Stand authors, who inspire and continuously amaze me with your talent. I love being in your company. And to editors, Valerie Mann and Kate Richards, for bringing a vision to life. This series rocks.

  Chapter One

  Rafe Steele gazed at his two older brothers and bit back his instinct to bolt. Of course, he held his ground like he protected his unit. Another lesson he learned from the cradle. When his brothers scented weakness, they attacked accordingly.

  “You want me to what?” he asked again.

  Odd how all of them seemed to belong to three different families. As the oldest, Rick always dominated both the conversation and the scene, and his resemblance to Thor, as his sister-in-law phrased it, didn’t hurt his image. Golden locks, tawny eyes, and a brutish build caused a person to look for his hammer. Of course, Rafe held that comment back. The last time he’d teased Rick about Thor-like powers, he almost caught a black eye. Definitely no sense of humor there.

  Rome acted just as bad. He belonged in the George Clooney camp, as his second sister-in-law confided, with his buzzed prematurely gray hair, blue eyes, and a confidence and charm that made females drop their panties. As one of the best dealers in Vegas, Rome consistently threatened Rick’s command. Of course, since he’d also recently fallen into the marriage entrapment, his domestic bliss softened him a bit. He seemed to completely agree with his brother, and that left Rafe as the focus of this intervention.

  The other men exchanged knowing glances.

  “We want you to book a date through Madame Eve’s service, 1Night Stand,” Rick said.

  Rafe struggled to make sense of his words over the familiar casino noises of ringing slots, heavy drinking, and loud rivalry.

  “The place you both ended up meeting your wives?”

  Rome nodded.

  Rafe gave them a snort of laughter and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. “You’re fucking nuts. Both of you. I have no intention or desire to get married.”

  Rick huffed. “We’re not saying the date is going to get you married, bro. Yeah, we got lucky, but there’s no way even Madame Eve has those types of odds. Both of us agree you’ve been a bit out of it since you moved to Vegas. You keep to yourself, don’t date much anymore. Something’s up.”

  He waved his brothers’ concern away and tossed back his shot in one stinging swallow. Surprised by their insight, he admitted he’d been restless and agitated since moving across the US to join them in their legacy of dealing cards. He’d tried living in Atlantic City when he returned back from Iraq, but the local newshounds battered him on a daily basis. When the women started camping out to make up ruses to bed a real-time hero, he packed up his belongings and moved on. He craved a clean slate and a place where he could get back to what he loved. Dealing cards. Alone. By choice.

  His brothers thought he suffered from war stress—specifically post-traumatic stress disorder. Sure, he’d experienced some wicked nightmares, but his uneasiness and secrecy had nothing to do with his military past.

  If only they knew the truth.

  An intriguing idea skipped through his mind with various scenarios. “So, let me get this straight. I can request a one-night stand through Madame Eve, and she’ll find a woman to meet all my requirements?”

  Rick grinned. “You got it. One perfect night to release your tension. No worries about tomorrow. Any secret fantasy ready to come true.”

  Rome elbowed him in the ribs. “Why do I think you have something wicked planned? Probably involving a pretty sub tied to the bed.”

  “Like Sloane?” Rafe asked.

  Immediately, Rome’s face darkened at the mention of his wife’s sex life. “Back off, bro.”

  Rafe released a shout of laughter. “Priceless, man. I’m just joking around—you know I adore Sloane.” But Rome’s assumption that he practiced as a Dom punched his gut.

  “Umm, is my list kept a secret? How reputable is Madame Eve?”

  Rick and Rome shared a glance at the mention of the esteemed woman. “We trust her completely. Everything you ask for is confidential. Even from us.”

  He held back a chuckle and wondered why the utterance of her name caused them both to bow their heads in respect. Damn, this got more interesting by the moment. He’d get his brothers off his back, have a great night of sex, and be able to act out one of his secret sexual fantasies. And no one ever had to know.

  “You paying for it?” he asked.

  Rick shook his head and took another swig of beer. “Bastard.”

  “Well, are you?”

  “Yeah, we’re paying for it. Consider this our housewarming present a few months late.”

  Rafe grinned. “Get me the papers to sign, boys. I’m ready.”

  * * *

  Summer Preston ordered a second shot of tequila and watched the show on stage at Strip It. The sexy lyrics of Prince’s Gett Off pounded through the air while the stripper gyrated her hips and ripped off her leather vest. Her naked breasts spilled out and the crowd screamed. Her skin glittered with silver sparkles, and she flung her whip toward her audience with a teasing flick that made them go wild. Summer narrowed her eyes thoughtfully on the instrument that provided both pleasure and pain. Hmm, would it be too much for the first night?

  Yeah. She’d skip the whips and flogger. At least for tonight.

  She scanned the entrance. Excitement jumped in her belly. They’d both agreed meeting in the suite would be postponed until they decided if they were compatible. She’d heard wonderful things about Madame Eve and her 1Night Stand company. Over the years, her luck with finding the correct match on her own proved…difficult. Most men switched from arousal to horror when they caught a glance of her leather catsuit and domineering growl. Pete had lunged for the door so fast he’d literally tripped on the rug and fell face first.

  Awkward.

  She shook her head at the memory. Nope, she’d suggested meeting at the strip club first to make sure they clicked. She’d been specific in her requirements, and thought of this as her first real learning experience in the BDSM world. Hell, maybe the reality wouldn’t even come close to her fantasies and she could go back to normal vanilla sex. After all, her reputation and her image fed the girl next door persona. Her few visits to a BDSM club scared the crap out of her, and her forays into toys and certain internet sites never snagged a willing partner. At least she learned the importance of safety and equipment, but never experienced her own personal sub for the night. She needed to face the truth: strong, dominant males attracted her in the real world, but she craved a man’s surrender in the bedroom. That combination rarely existed. The possibility of experiencing such a scene for one night tempted her. Pricey, but worth it.


  If he showed.

  She tapped a scarlet red fingernail on the bar.

  And waited.

  Rafe pushed his way into the club and took stock of the surroundings. Only a few months in Vegas proved the city boasted the best strip clubs in the country. The unique mix of class, club scene, and nakedness pulled in record crowds. The three main bars were strategically placed around the room. One snaked around the perimeter of the stage, and the others huddled in dark corners, which lent to the aura of sensuality and privacy. The catwalk glittered with vivid neon colors and sparkles, and flashed in time to whatever music currently played. Skimpily dressed waiters and waitresses balanced trays of cocktails, as they shifted around onlookers watching the trio of half-clothed women doing a mock up of the Flashdance skit. When water splashed the front rows, cheers rang through the air. Two dance floors on the second level looked over the stage, and catered to the club crowd.

  Damn, he loved Vegas. He headed toward the bar in the far back, where they’d agreed to meet. He’d been impressed with her rendezvous choice, agreeing the suite was too personal for an introduction. A sensual feast of visual and physical stimuli, Strip It urged sexual explorations to the fullest. He hoped the scene proved a good precursor to his evening.

  He only had a general description of his one-night stand, choosing to forego the photo as he wanted to be surprised. He relied on two factors only. She sat at the corner left barstool and had blonde hair. He expected a sexual vixen dressed in leather with a kick ass personality.

  Instead, his gaze cut straight to an angel.

  Crap.

  She was all wrong.

  The woman sat at the bar with a shot at her elbow, her jeans and simple white T-shirt fading into the crowd of peacocks mingling around her. His heart sank. A Dominatrix? Impossible. He’d eat her up in one bite and she’d be screaming for the door. Fighting his temper, he clenched his jaw. Attractive, yes. Her shimmering white-blonde hair gleamed like a halo in a ponytail. Big, china blue eyes dominated her softly curved face. A generous bow curved her lower lip and she had a killer body, evident in the perfect hour glass waist, small, high breasts with perky nipples, and a luscious ass sitting atop the red leather barstool. He studied her white Keds and almost groaned in defeat. Not even a spiked heel in sight. He was screwed.

  And not in a good way.

  Madame Eve had finally reached the end of her winning streak. With a deep, resigned breath, he closed the distance between them.

  “Summer?” His tongue stumbled over her name, the image of a sweet, sunny girl next door-type adding to his disgust.

  She stared up at him with frank appraisal. She didn’t answer for a while. Surprise coursed through him as the baby blues started at the top of his head, lowered to his chest, and scanned his arms. Then dropped.

  He hardened when her hot gaze caressed him between the legs, and he shifted uneasily. Who the hell is this woman?

  Completing her inspection, she nodded her approval. “Rafe, I assume?” Her voice was cool. “You’ll do fine.”

  His mouth snapped closed. “Uh, glad to hear it.” A short silence settled between them and she made no move to speak. Just lifted the shot glass and tipped it, then slid her tongue over her plump lower lip to grab the last drop of liquid. He imagined the sting of the tequila hot down her throat, chased by the tart lime she sucked on. His cock strained to full attention. God, how firm would her lips grasp it? Sexual attraction jumped between them like a live wire. He just needed to confirm she was strong enough to handle him. He motioned toward the two empty shot glasses. “Potent stuff. Wouldn’t want you drunk on our first date.”

  The wicked grin she shot him transformed her face from angel to Eve. “Don’t worry, I have a high tolerance.” His gaze roamed over her petite frame and he lifted a brow. She laughed. “Let’s share a drink and decide if we want to take this to the suite. Beer?”

  “Jack Daniels.”

  “Nice.” She lifted her arm for the bartender. He let her order the drinks, deciding to hold back further judgment until he got a better reading. So far, the woman fascinated the hell out of him. They clinked glasses. “To a memorable night,” she toasted. The shot disappeared down her throat without a flinch and she leaned forward. “What do you think?”

  His lips quirked in amusement. “About what?”

  “About me. About us. About tonight.”

  He studied her from over his shot glass. “You’re not what I expected when I signed on for this.”

  Instead of being offended, she nodded glumly. “You expected leather and heels, huh? I’m more like the wholesome girl next door. Is it the Keds?”

  He sputtered with laughter. “Yeah, the sneakers didn’t help. Look, this is new to me. I come from a background where I yell jump, and a bunch of men ask ‘how high.’ It won’t be easy for me to just snap to attention, and I don’t want to intimidate you.”

  She raised her chin. Pure challenge sparked in her eyes. “I understand, and this is all new to me, too. That’s why I didn’t want to meet you at a club dressed to the nines. I can’t help that I look like this. This is who I am day to day. I like a man to buy me dinner and open the door. I love knowing he’s stronger than me, can kick some major ass, and won’t back down from a good, old-fashioned bar room fight. But in the bedroom, I want to be in charge. At least, I think I do.”

  He sucked in a breath at her honesty. Hmmm, a bit of a spitfire in a nice, neat package. Isn’t that what he craved? A woman who wouldn’t be afraid to tell him what she wanted, and what she wanted him to do? He was sick to death of being a leader every waking moment. Domination came easily to him, always had. In school his classmates gravitated toward him for captain; he’d always been picked by his teachers to lead group discussions. When he joined the military, his natural confidence and quest for perfection pushed him to the head of the class. He’d risen quickly up the ranks, until he found himself in the scorching desert, leading a brigade of men in war. Every order equaled life or death, with no room for error.

  His decision not to re-up changed the game. He went back to Atlantic City with an open mind, and enjoyed getting back to his main love—dealing cards. But when a long line of women with endless needs began draining his energy instead of fueling it, he knew something was wrong. His mind tired of doing all the work, and his body began to suffer. When a gorgeous woman who wanted to be subservient begged for his command and his cock never hardened, he’d gone into hibernation mode.

  Maybe he needed Summer Preston.

  Maybe.

  He raked his gaze over her figure. Tipped back his glass and swallowed the burning liquid. “Let’s go.”

  She shot to her feet and pressed a room key in his hands. “Castillo Resorts, the penthouse. Give me a fifteen-minute head start.”

  He nodded and watched her disappear into the crowd.

  Chapter Two

  Summer paced the lushly carpeted suite and tried to ignore the flutter in her tummy. In a minute, she’d open her door to an overpowering, sexy male predator who she’d try to subjugate to her every sexual whim.

  Yeah, right.

  She pushed the doubt firmly out of her mind. Rafe Steele was unexpected. She’d always had a weakness for the tall, dark and handsome type, but the man put them all to shame. Sinfully inky eyes promised a quick trip to heaven, and dark curls begged a woman to thrust her fingers in deep and hang on. His face was all rough planes and angles—sharp cheekbones, a crooked nose, shaggy dark brows, an unshaven chin. His mouth held a sensual, almost cruel curve that stripped away any pretty boy looks and made a man look twice and a woman salivate.

  His body appeared rock hard and unforgiving. Even in his black shirt and matching pants, the muscles rippled beneath the fabric. She guessed he topped six feet, but it was the sheer dominance of his presence that pressed upon her. An aura of command when he spoke. He struck her as a man used to being in charge.

  She bet women lined up to do his bidding. Yet, he hadn’t backed off when she’d
adopted a forceful tone in their conversation. In fact, his dark eyes flashed with a gleam of interest. And lust.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Showtime.

  She took a deep breath and let him in.

  Her throat tightened. Dear God, the man practically exuded sex. Even his scent screamed animal mating, like smoke and musk and earth rolled together. He stalked into her room as though he owned it. He still wore his regulation uniform, pegging him as a dealer, but the silk surrendered to his carved chest and molded to his powerful thighs and ass.

  His shocked stare told her she’d done her job well. Satisfaction flared, along with a hint of feminine power. The girl next door had turned into a vixen, and she relished every moment of enveloping sexual authority. The skin tight leather cat suit with heels transformed her from sweet teacher to badass.

  She pursed her lips and studied him, making a circling motion with her finger.

  “Turn around.”

  One brow shot up. His face tightened with a mingling of emotions. Arrogance. Denial.

  Excitement.

  Yes, he loved taking orders from a woman, as much as she loved giving them. The problem centered on his acceptance and trust of her as a mistress. She ached to give him what he craved, but first he’d have to submit to his own dark desires. A man used to control and leadership in all other areas of his world would be hard pressed to easily accept such a switch of power even if he wanted to.

  “What?”

  He looked as if he didn’t recognize her from the strip club and had entered the Twilight Zone. Satisfaction coursed through her at his response. “Tonight you will address me as Summer. I have not earned your trust yet to be called Mistress. The rules are simple. You obey my every order without question. If you refuse, you will be punished. Your body belongs to me until dawn breaks. Are we clear?”

  He nodded.