Free DARE: A Bad Boy Romance by Carmen Faye

modest: a three bedroom detached house in the English Tudor style, with a slightly gothic black and white motif. Inside, it was fairly sparse. Pictures of extreme sports covered some of the walls, while an antique pistol and a harpoon gun hung over the mantel.
     
    He returned carrying Penny in his arms. She was a really cute black-and-tan Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, quite a bit bigger than others of that breed that she’d seen but equally as gorgeous. Her tail wagged like crazy, and she was straining to leap out of his arms and lick Holly’s face.
     
    “Oh my gosh! She’s beautiful.” Penny loved being rubbed behind her floppy ears. Mouth open, tongue hanging, those big eyes bright and staring, she was in ecstasy. “How old is she?”
     
    “Three,” he replied. “She used to belong to a buddy of mine, but when his wife split, he…ah, needed help looking after this little lady. So she’s staying here till he’s on his feet again. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” He flipped Penny over and gave her the sweetest tummy rub Holly had ever seen.
     
    “Aw, but you’ll be sorry to give her up.”
     
    “I know. I’m having second thoughts. Lesley thinks the world of her, too. She comes over to walk her and feed her while I’m away.”
     
    “She’s so not the dog I imagined for a Semper Fi Marine, never mind a hardcore cage fighter.”
     
    Dare laughed. “Tell me about it. The good news is she loves running. The bad news is…okay, there is no bad news. Screw what anyone else thinks, right? Let them have their pit bulls. I’ll take her anytime.”
     
    “Yep. Good for you.”
     
    “Okay, sweetheart, let’s put you back in your home for now. You can come in here later.” He carried her outside, where she had a pretty big kennel with what looked like under-floor heating. When he came back in, he’d removed his bowtie and unbuttoned his collar. “All right, where were we?” he asked.
     
    Holly shrugged coyly, then set her purse down on the sideboard. She glanced around the living room, looking for clues of his background, his tastes, what made him tick. “You don’t have any framed photos,” she observed, “except this one.” It was a group photo of his Marine combat unit in full desert gear out in the sticks, maybe Afghanistan. She picked him out right away, not the tallest or the heftiest, but easily the most handsome. He looked happy in that picture, younger, proud. He was high-fiving the guy next to him, a goofy-looking blond guy who was a little shorter than Dare and from his overall look and build had to be either a Viking or a surfer. Maybe a Viking surfer.
     
    “You keep in touch with any of these guys from your unit?”
     
    “Some,” he replied, pouring himself a Scotch. “Most of ‘em are still overseas. I try to catch up with ‘em when they’re on leave, but we’re spread all over the country. It’s not always doable.”
     
    “Any live around here? The ones who aren’t still overseas?”
     
    “Yeah.” He paused to take a long sip. “The guy next to me in the photo lives over in Glassell Park. That’s how I’ve got Penny…when his wife left him. She just split—no warning, no word, just…like that.”
     
    “Harsh. So he’s not much of a dog person, I take it?” It had sounded more amusing in her head, but now she remembered what Dare had said about his buddy “needing help” looking after the dog. It suddenly had graver connotations, for an ex-military guy.
     
    Dare hesitated. “Let’s just say he’s having some problems. Finn’s a good guy, but his wife leaving him like that…it wasn’t exactly unprovoked. An easy way out maybe. But everyone has his or her limits, right? I don’t have to tell you.”
     
    “He’s got PTSD.”
     
    Dare looked up at her, not judging, not giving away anything of himself either. It was a warm, wise look that reminded her that brains and brawn needn’t be mutually exclusive. He’d been through a lot in his life, but