Stripped Down

Weaving through the crowd, she reached the bar without much hassle.

The bartender, an attractive guy with obvious Nordic heritage, leaned toward her. “What can I get you, beautiful?”

“Michelob Light in the bottle.”

“A simple beer girl. You may have just stolen my heart.”

“Simple? Never. Stolen your heart?” Cass shrugged with easy nonchalance. “Like a thief in the night, baby.”

The bartender slid the beer across the deep bar. “On the house for the thief, then.”

Several bills landed beside the beer. “I’ve got her covered.”

Cass rolled her eyes and started to tell the stranger to shop somewhere else, but he leaned in and his breath whispered hot through her hair. “Sorry I’m late.”

Her heart stuttered before picking up a hard, tattooing rhythm. Lifting her beer and taking a long draw, she was half amused and half irritated to find that her hand was shaking.

The bartender watched them, clearly assessing the man at her back. “I’m under the impression the lady doesn’t need someone to buy her drinks.”

“It’s not a matter of need, buddy. Tonight’s all about want. But if she doesn’t want me to buy her a drink, I trust she’ll say so.”

The physical presence behind her retreated a step.

“I appreciate the generosity,” she interjected, moving into that hard, hot body and pressing against him.

The bartender shrugged and moved on to the next order with an easy smile.

Turning, she looked up into stormy green eyes. “Thanks.”

“You seem to have a champion.” Dalton’s tone was cool. “You know him?”

“Nope. I imagine he’s just being courteous.” She took another sip of her beer. “You want something to drink?”

Dalton wrapped his hand around hers and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long, slow draw.

She couldn’t help but stare at the way his throat worked as he swallowed. Images of his head thrown back, lips parted, shoulders bunched, the muscles and tendons in his neck straining flashed like Polaroid shots, each drifting to the floor of her mind to lie in a suggestive pile. Desire-fueled embarrassment burned up the back of her neck as she mentally undressed him where he stood.

“Dalton!” Gwen wiggled her way to his side and slid an arm around his waist.

He casually draped an arm over her shoulder and released Cass’s beer. “And how’s my favorite bride tonight?”

Said bride preened a little. “Better, now that you’re here. We’re under full-frontal attack from the natives.”

“Hmm. I’m more a rear-approach kind of guy.”

Cass choked on her beer. Ignoring Gwen’s waggling eyebrows, she wheezed and gasped, eyes watering.

Gwen absently waved a hand in her direction. “Don’t pay any attention to her. She likes sex but has to warm up before she gives good innuendo.”

Her mouth fell open. “Warm... I don’t... Up...”

Gwen tipped her chin to bat her eyes at Dalton. “Want to dance?”

Tapping the tip of her nose, he gave a single nod. “That’s what I came for.”

Sharp irritation cut through Cass as the two wordlessly abandoned her for the dance floor. What the hell was wrong with her? She was normally so smooth and in control of situations involving men, situations like this. She’d teased and flirted with the bartender without thinking about it. With Dalton? She was one short step from needing behavioral anti-seizure medication. Embarrassed, she stewed a bit and watched her best friend and...whatever he was get their groove on.

They moved together so easily, Dalton complementing Gwen’s every twist and turn. His hands slid over her in a casually suggestive manner. She followed his direction. They were good together, and Cass found herself scowling. An uncomfortable sensation she was entirely unwilling to consider burned behind her belly button. Wrapping her free arm around her waist, she fisted the hem of her shirt and continued to sip her drink as she fought to ignore what she feared was jealousy. She was not jealous.

“You’re looking a little fierce, beautiful.”

She glanced toward the owner of the voice.

The bartender stood behind her, a towel thrown over his shoulder.

Her attention drifted back to the dance floor, and she rolled her head from side to side. “The night isn’t going the way I planned.”

“It goes against every fiber of my being, but if you want to make him sit up and take notice, I’ll help out.”

This time she faced him. “Every fiber of your being, huh?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Hands on his hips, he dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and focused his light blue gaze on her. “Let’s go.” He tossed his towel on the bar, grabbed her hand and hauled her toward the dance floor. Waving at the DJ booth, he gave a signal and received a nod in return. “My name’s Todd, and you’re going to owe me a drink.”

“I’m Cass. And if dancing with me is that much of a hardship, why do it?”

“After seeing how you moved earlier? Dancing with you is no hardship at all. I just have a feeling that not taking you home is going to be one of my life’s greatest regrets.”

She arched a brow. “You seem certain I’d go home with you. I don’t know whether to admire your self-confidence or suggest you kiss my ass.”

His mouth feathered up at one corner. “I’d settle for your admiration.”

Cass laughed. “I believe I’m rather fond of you, Todd.”

The song wound down and the DJ’s voice, deep and suggestive, came across the sound system. “This one is designed to help you ladies get under his skin.”

Music poured out of speakers, the electric tempo fast. Every solitary bass note pounded through her core and settled between her thighs.

Todd lifted her arms over her head. Her shirt slipped up, and he traced his fingertips down her bare sides. Hands at her waist, he encouraged her to turn away from him. “Listen to the lyrics and do whatever feels right.”

She closed her eyes and began to move, following the soft suggestions of his hands, letting him mold his body to hers. The drumbeat fell into the song. At the same time, the lyrics registered—lyrics that promised uncomplicated, no-strings-attached sex. Her irritation morphed to sensual hunger as everything in her tuned in to the seduction of the music.

4

ERIC SUSPECTED HE’D irritated Cass when he led Gwen to the dance floor. Part of him reveled in the snap of energy between them while the other part warned him he was fueling a flame he had no hope of controlling. She wouldn’t dial it back because he told her to. Granted, he’d just met her, but a large part of his job was reading women, and he was good at it.

He also knew himself, knew he was skating the fine line between casual flirtation and dangerous intent, and, for the first time, he wasn’t sure which side of the line he should come down on.

“I get the impression your body’s here—” Gwen rested a hand between his pecs “—but your mind’s dancing with someone else.”

He automatically smiled charmingly. “I’m good.”

“Oh, you’re the best.”

“What’s with that look?” Spinning her, he settled her back to his chest so he didn’t have to see the almost sympathetic compassion in her eyes.

“You’re attracted to Cass but you’re pulling the same bullshit maneuvers she always has to deal with. I had higher hopes for you.”

Eric froze. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get all bent.” She kept dancing as she spoke. “You’re blindly poking a stick through cage bars, not sure whether you’ll tag a lion or a lamb.”

He started to move again, slower now. “Which is she?”

“That’s for you to figure out, handsome.” She faced him, her gaze fierce. “Just don’t be stupid about it. Now, go dance with Cass.”

He found himself smiling at the pissed-off pixie staring up at him. She had no problem putting him in his place. He respected that. Chances were good Cass would be the same way, and the thought made his blood run hotter. Leaning in, he placed a soft kiss against Gwen’s forehead.

“You’re a little scary for such a wisp of a woman.”

“I come from a long line of terrifying wisps.” She glanced around him and grinned at whatever she saw. “Wow. That’s hot.”

Eric didn’t want to know what had Gwen smiling manically, yet he couldn’t help but look. What he saw lit him up brighter than holiday fireworks.

Other dancers had given the pair a little extra space, watching as they moved against each other in a sensual feast of touching and caressing. Lips parted, Cass made love to the music. The bartender’s hands traced over her body, brushing the soft curves of her hips. A faint smile teased her lips when he bent low and whispered in her ear, but her eyes remained on Eric’s.

Eric didn’t recall starting toward the couple. All he knew was that he was halfway to them when Gwen grabbed his hand and stepped ahead of him so it appeared she was pulling him across the floor.

“I want to switch,” she called out to Cass over the music.

Cass moved her eyes away from him with slow deliberation. “You got first pick.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m the bride, and I want to switch.”

Cass frowned. “That excuse is getting old.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t make it any less true.” She slipped in between the bartender and Cass. “Hi. I don’t need your name. I’m just going to call you Captain Morgan, ’kay?”

He slid right into the music again, watching her with clear amusement. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Eric reached out and caught Cass’s hand as she started toward the ladies’ table. “Hey. Song’s not over.”

She stopped and glanced at Eric, her eyes neutral despite the high color riding her cheeks. “I got the impression your dance partner ditched you for the King of Rum over there.”

Yep, she was irritated. He shrugged. “I get thrown over at the end of every set for the next guy to hit the stage, so I’m used to it.”

“You’re not really going to use that line, are you?”

Narrowing his eyes, he reached for her hand. “C’mon, Cass. I want to dance with you.”

“Would it kill you to ask?”

“Might.” It was fast becoming clear he’d missed the lamb and hit the lion as he pulled her through the throng of gyrating bodies.

Without warning, he spun her and, chest to her back, ran a hand up her stomach, between her breasts and over her shoulder. He snugged her tight to his chest. Her breath hitched, the little gasp shivering through his arm. His heartbeat did this funny freeze-then-run-away thing. He drew a shallow breath to say something—who knew what?—and instead got a whiff of her perfume, subtle, lush, erotic. It delivered a punch of arousal straight to his groin.

Cass wiggled.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her hair aside with his free hand and laid his lips against the shell of her ear. “What are you wearing?”

“Clothes. Now let me go.”

The music wound down, but he didn’t move.

She struggled.

He tightened his hold.

“Let. Me. Go.” Every world was issued on the threat of implied retaliation.

“Dance with me, Cass.” Moving against her, he whispered, “Just dance.”

She stood still long enough he was sure she was going to turn him down.

His stomach tightened. Nerves? No way. No damn way.

Then she leaned into him and, hooking her arms around his neck, began to sway to the music. “One song.” Subdued at first, her hips gradually took up a more insistent, primal rhythm. Fingernails raked the skin of his neck and wove into his nape.

Goose bumps scattered across his arms.

Cass was a siren, moving beneath the colored lights and through the artificial smoke that wafted across the dance floor as if she belonged there. Men watched her. Women mimicked her. Eric wanted her. Craved her. Ached for her.

Intense hunger burned through him, a flash fire of desire that incinerated his reserve of common sense. He tightened his hold on her and let their bodies twist and turn and stroke and touch in an elemental way that fed his desire, intensified the building ache in his cock and transformed preliminary want into undeniable need.

He’d clearly come down on one side of the imaginary line he’d drawn—the side of seduction. Whether it was his or hers remained to be seen.

Regardless, it was only one night. Tomorrow he’d go back to the problems of Eric Reeves.

* * *

CASS’S PULSE THUNDERED as the song faded and a new one rolled across the crowd, this one more heavy metal than heavy petting.

Dalton’s hand settled on her lower back, hot as a brand. Slight pressure steered her across the room and toward the small hallway leading to the restrooms. The hallway was lit. The area outside it wasn’t.

Dalton curled his fingers over the low-slung waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed over the silk of her skin and the satin of her thong, paused, and then fisted the denim roughly enough to make her gasp.

Equal parts desire and sexual fervor rushed through her head in a whitewash of noise.

With a small tug, he spun her around and closed in, pressing her back against a wall in the darkest corner. The smell of his soap, earthy and masculine, washed over her. Her lips parted.

He dipped his head slowly, giving her ample time to protest his obvious intent. When she offered none, he claimed her mouth. No games. No pretense. No hesitation.

She gripped his shoulders and met his hunger touch for touch, taste for taste.

His tongue flicked over hers. The pad of one thumb traced her chin even as the rest of his hand cupped her neck. Long fingers of his free hand wrapped around the back of her head and cradled the shallow dip at the top of her spine. Encouraging her forward, he pulled her up and deeper into the kiss. He nibbled her bottom lip before gently suckling the same.

The faint taste of hops hovered on the tip of his tongue.

She yielded to him on an exhale.

He owned her mouth, directed her body and became her anchor in a brewing emotional storm. Long-forgotten desire curled through her pelvis, warm and wanting. One kiss barely begun, and already she wanted more.

His fingertips traced the hollow of her spine, lower and lower until they slipped over her ass and hauled her forward to straddle his thigh.

Cass gasped, the sound acting like a starting gun to the man who had held her so carefully. He was suddenly everywhere. The kiss that had been gentle, tentative even, morphed into something fierce, demanding, dominating. Dalton simply possessed her. He tilted her head a fraction to better accommodate the slant of his mouth. His lips moved with ruthless precision, driving her higher and wringing a sound of pure desperation from her, a sound he swallowed with a groan.

She fought to give as well as she got. Her arms went around his neck at the same time she wrapped a leg around his hips. He gripped her knee and encouraged her higher. The heavy ridge of his erection rode the seam of her sex and ripped from her throat an erotic whimper laced with need. She rocked against him, meeting his small thrusts.

Someone coughed as they walked by.

Cass whipped her chin away, turning her face into the corner. What the hell was she doing? There was a huge difference between letting her hair down and getting it on in public. Her father would declare this the ultimate weakness, right behind love, and would humiliate her for it endlessly. Time to scale things down and regroup. She’d reclaim her raging hormones and shove them back into their box.

That was the problem, though. Those hormones? They didn’t want to be put away. No, they wanted to stay out and play with Dalton.

“Cass?” His voice, deep and gravelly with undisguised want, scraped over her. Clearing his throat, he lowered her leg but didn’t move away from her.

“What is this?” she asked softly.

“This?”

“Whatever’s happening between us. One minute we’re dancing and the next—” she waggled a hand between them “—this.”

He leaned back a bit to watch her through hooded eyes, framing her upper body when he propped his arms against the wall on each side of her. His lower body pinned her. All around them, people danced and talked and drank and lived without paying them much attention. When he finally answered, his words stole her breath. “I hope this is more than a single dance but less than a heartache.”

She nodded. They were so on the same page. It could be one night, a night no one would, or could, know about. Anything else could ruin her reputation and get her fired from the Sovereign project. She lifted her chin, determined. “Tonight, then.”

The air between them became a charged milieu, electric and volatile, as they stared at each other.

He moved in so close his lips brushed hers when he asked, “Want to get out of here?”

“It’s Gwen’s bachelorette party. I can’t just leave.” But she wanted to. Badly.

“I understand.” Glancing at his watch, the slight tension around his eyes eased. “Bar closes in thirty minutes.” Full lips tipped up and green eyes glinted in the low light. “We could just occupy this corner until then.”

Caught between the desire to do just that and a potential panic attack at doing just that, she settled her hands on his hips and gently pushed. “Believe it or not, I’m not entirely comfortable with public displays.”

“You dance like a hedonist yet you’re worried about being caught kissing me?” There was an underlying edge to the words.

She tipped her chin up and met his cooling stare. “I’m a relatively private person. I dance, yes, but that’s entirely different from being caught in a dark corner with someone’s hands down my pants.”

He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath before nodding. “Okay. I respect that.” He stepped away, creating space between them she didn’t want. “You want to kill the time on the dance floor?”

“Why don’t we find Gwen? Once she leaves, we can, too,” she answered, scanning the club for her friend.

“Sure.” He took her hand and laced their fingers together.

She didn’t comment, but let him lead her through the crowd toward the table they’d held. Several of the women from the party were there. They looked over at her and Dalton, taking in their linked hands. A couple of suggestive glances were exchanged.

Cass stepped forward, but Dalton tightened his grip. “You ladies know where our lovely little bride has run off to?”

“Last we heard, she was going to dance with the bartender one more time before she headed home. Said she missed Dave.”

He smiled. “Ladies,” Dalton said abruptly. “Have a nice evening.”

Squashing the urge to squirm, she slipped her arm around Dalton’s waist.

He relaxed his grip on her only slightly.

The music cued up, and the mass of people on the dance floor began to move.

Dalton bent low. “Your car or mine?”

5

THE RIDE TO CASS’S apartment passed in silence, giving Eric time to think and, ultimately, feel guilty. He should have told Cass his real name before kissing her. Letting her go on believing he was “Dalton” was far too close to lying by omission. Still, there was simply too much to risk by sharing his real name with a near stranger. If things went south between them, it would be a simple thing for her to out him in conversations with her business associates and friends, women who came to the club who could tie CEO Eric Reeves to stripper Dalton Chase. And if the ultraconservative investors in his company found out, he could lose everything. He couldn’t move forward without their money. Period. And if he couldn’t move forward, he was sliding down progress’s steep slope. There was no standing still in this business. So, no. He wouldn’t tell Cass his real name.

At the same time, he wasn’t giving up this night with her. He wanted it, wanted her, too much, in a way he’d never felt before. The fire she’d ignited in him now threatened to incinerate him. He had to experience her. She’d made it clear they had tonight and tonight only. Eric wasn’t foolish enough to believe that would be enough, and the thought of living with only that limited taste of her already chaffed. But he agreed—one night was all they could risk.

Needing a distraction, he reached for the radio at the same moment Cass did. Their hands brushed over one another, the simple contact stopping Eric’s breath. It took a moment to realize she’d frozen, too.

“What do you want to listen to?” He couldn’t look at her when he asked the question.

“It’s preset to one-oh-seven-point-one.”

“You like hard rock?” Surprise infused his every word.

“What, you assumed I was a Top 40 girl?”

He laughed. “I guess.”

“Shame on you.” She took the Broadway exit.

A deep guitar riff ripped through the car.

Eric leaned back in his seat. Their shared music preference fueled Eric’s curiosity, made him want to know more about her. It was a bad idea, digging into what made her tick, and he was well aware of it. That kind of knowledge would add a very personal layer to tonight’s pleasure. It didn’t stop him, though.

He reached forward and turned the radio down. “Tell me something about yourself.”

Absently tucking her hair behind one ear, she stole a quick glance in his direction. “What do you want to know?”

Everything. “Anything.”

“I’m the oldest child.”

“How many siblings?”

“I have one younger brother.”

Shifting onto his hip to face her, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Me, too. Sucks being the oldest.”

Her shoulders hunched forward, and he ached to soothe her, to say he understood. Then she seemed to catch herself and sat up. Her death grip on the steering wheel belied her calm exterior. “Yeah.” She softly cleared her throat. “Yeah, it does.”

“What does your brother do?”

She glanced at him, meeting his eyes this time. “Everything right.”

Muscles along his spine tightened. “Which leaves you doing everything wrong.”

She snorted delicately. “Pretty much. Now your turn.”

His hesitation stalled the conversation for a moment before he finally gathered the nerve to reveal a piece of himself. “I’m the oldest, too. My parents were killed in an accident with a logging truck several years ago. I basically raised my little brother.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared ahead as she drove.

Her silence made him want to scream. Instead, he rambled on.

“Blake was just a kid, really. He struggled, got a little out of control—violent in school, destructive out of school. I was shoved into the role of parent and provider with no clue how to be either. Not really. I was trying to go to college, but corralling him took most of my energy.” He paused, not quite willing to explain how losing his parents had wrecked him yet raising Blake had left him no real time to grieve. Focusing on Blake’s struggles was easier, and he felt the need to justify the primary choice he’d made to provide for Blake. “Stripping was fast money I desperately needed.”

“What did you do with Blake at night?”

“At first I hired someone to stay with him, but that was a total fail. Eventually I made friends with some of the other dancers and they’d volunteer to stay with him while I worked. The strong male presence kept him in the house and off the streets.”

“But why do you continue to strip?”

“To put Blake through college and pay the bills.” No need to explain “the bills” weren’t just his but those of his company, as well. Anxiety rose as he remembered the financial predicament he was in. “It’s been a nightmare of epic proportions, keeping the bills paid and him in school.”

A hard blush stole over his cheeks and his breath caught. What the hell was that? Super sexy, telling your one-night stand you’re broke, Reeves. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t apologize for telling the truth,” she said, pulling into a parking lot behind a tall apartment building. “I’ve had plenty of SpaghettiOs nights myself.” She stared straight ahead as she shut off the engine.