Kelli Ireland - Stripped Down

He glanced over his shoulder. “I was told you’d have a stereo.”

“I, uh, do.” What is wrong with me? She’d seen attractive men and had even dated a couple of exceptionally gorgeous specimens, but there was something about this man that was different. She tipped her head toward the entertainment center. “It’s on the shelf below the TV.”

“Excellent.” He nodded toward the women who were watching him with open fascination. “Ladies.”

“You’re Dalton Chase,” breathed one of Gwen’s distant cousins whose name Cass couldn’t remember.

He smiled at her. “I am.”

“Please, Lord, tell me that man is going to take his clothes off. Someone please tell me he’s going to take his clothes off,” Tyra, Cass’s assistant, said in a stage whisper.

“Oh, he’s going to,” the bridesmaid-cousin said, reaching for her purse and digging out her wallet with shaking hands.

Cass tried not to smile and failed as the women scrambled to retrieve their handbags.

She’d gone to extremes to keep the evening’s entertainment private, asking the club to go so far as to keep her name off the invoice. Hiring a stripper wasn’t really a big deal, but the double standards of behavior for men versus women were alive and well in the business world. And she had to face Sovereign’s board of directors next week, a board that was notoriously conservative. Plus, she didn’t doubt there would be competitors who would try to use the information to paint her as a young, irresponsible wild child and snag the contract out from under her. Too much work had gone into this project to lose it to some small-minded, misogynistic asshat.

Despite all that, she watched Dalton dig through his briefcase and couldn’t help but admire the chiseled line of his jaw and broad sweep of his shoulders. She’d asked the club to send the best. They’d certainly honored her request.

Dalton crouched before the stereo and plugged in his phone, scrolling through his music to find the song he wanted. He cranked the volume before facing the room. “I need a chair.”

Three women scrambled to offer theirs.

He winked at the shyest of the group and took the chair she offered before tracing the pad of one of his fingers down the woman’s jaw. “Thanks.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

To a woman, the room sucked in its breath and several squirmed in their seats.

The song’s bass line started low and built as Dalton slowly slid the chair across the room with exaggerated steps. He stopped and crooked his finger at Gwen, but his eyes were on Cass.

She couldn’t look away.

“Both of you. C’mere.”

The music began to throb, the base thumping in a sexual cadence. Gwen dragged Cass across the floor.

Dalton settled Gwen in the chair and stood Cass behind her, their cuffed wrists resting on Gwen’s shoulder.

Pitbull’s voice came across the speakers, followed by Christina Aguilera’s. Dalton shrugged out of his jacket. Stepping in close enough to Cass that she could feel the heat radiating off his torso, he held the jacket out by one finger. The lyrics paused. He let the jacket fall.

The room went wild.

His hips worked behind Cass in time to the music, his groin randomly brushing her ass.

She curled her fingers into Gwen’s shoulder. This was not the way this was supposed to have gone. Gwen was supposed to get a lap dance, a little embarrassing sexual innuendo dropped around her, and the women were supposed to get a show. Cass was not supposed to be part of the performance.

“Go with it, Ms. Wheeler,” he whispered into her ear.

Her breath caught in her chest. He smelled expensive—rich, dark, spicy—and something in her ignited as he ran a finger down her spine. “Cass.”

The music built and broke into a techno dance beat.

He grabbed her hips and ground against her. “Cass it is.”

Dalton moved around the chair and straddled Gwen’s lap, rolling his torso in an impressive move that made him seem boneless. Pulling his tie loose, he left it around his neck as he flicked first his vest then his shirt open. They landed on the floor beside his jacket. He was tan, smooth-skinned and defined in a way that made Cass hunger to run her hands over his body.

Propping a foot lightly on Gwen’s thigh, one side of his mouth curled up in a brutally seductive smile. “Help me with my shoe?”

“I can’t,” Gwen squeaked.

“Just the laces, baby. I’ll do the rest.”

Gwen reached a shaking hand toward his shoe.

Cass leaned forward and laid her hand over Gwen’s so they undid the laces together.

Dalton grinned, wide and shameless. “A threesome. My favorite.”

Cass couldn’t blink, could only stare at him. He owned the moment, so compelling and utterly sexual in a way she’d never experienced. Not like this. His absolute confidence fueled her bravery. Before she thought it through, she arched a brow and licked her lips. “Seems you’ve got another shoe.”

“So I do.” He moved his other foot up to Gwen’s thigh. “Be as thorough as you need to be, ladies.”

“It’s just a shoe,” Gwen said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “How can a shoe be so damn provocative?”

“You’re cuffed to another woman, sweetheart, and you’re asking me to explain to you what we could do with the laces?” He kicked the shoe off and knelt in front of Gwen, running his hands up the outside of her legs, ankles to hips. With an exaggerated sigh, he placed a hand over his heart. “I only have one night, darling, but for you? I’ll do my best to teach you everything I know.”

He surged to his feet, hips rolling and thrusting in time to the music. The way he moved had to be illegal in twenty-seven states. Maybe twenty-eight. Or forty. Then he ran his hands over his body.

Cass’s nipples pearled. Glancing up, she was stunned to find him watching her.

Eyes brimming with something primitive and dark, he never looked away from Cass as he grabbed Gwen’s hand and guided her through removing his belt. He stalked around them. One wide hand moved around Cass’s waist to feed the belt across her lower hips. Dalton gripped each end and leaned back, forcing Cass to arch her spine and present her ass. Dropping the belt, he grabbed her hips and moved against her in a smooth pantomime of sex.

Her mind went totally blank. The only thing she could manage was conjuring images of Dalton naked, in bed, pulling some of the same moves. Cass closed her eyes. Her first inclination was to regain control of the moment, to not let anyone—him—rule her in the moment.

You’ve earned a little fun. Screw the moment! her subconscious shouted.

Gwen’s earlier admonishment to let her hair down suddenly became the best advice ever.

3

ERIC HAD EXPERIENCED a moment of absolute, unanticipated desire when the hostess opened the front door. He’d seen lots of beautiful women, but Cass was something else. At somewhere near six feet in heels, she’d looked up at him with denim-blue eyes framed by long black lashes. Pale pink lips had parted as she’d sucked in a breath. Color had stolen across high cheekbones, and she’d dropped her gaze.

Something inside him had shifted then. Hard. His synapses fired and then spontaneously combusted. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said, only that he’d made it to the living room without giving in to the impulse to kiss her.

In a strange way, it had made the rest of the night’s decisions easier. He’d dance only for her. It wasn’t about the money; they were just two people responding to each other. And it had been a damn long time since he’d felt like his body was more than a commodity.

As he tightened the belt, she looked over her shoulder and gave him a slow, sexy smile, rolling her bottom lip under her front teeth and waggling her eyebrows.