Some men know how to wear a suit.

He knows how to take it off…

Eric Reeves is the CEO of a real estate development firm that’s on the cusp of a huge breakthough. Soon, he’ll taste the first fruits of true success—or watch his dreams go up in smoke. But first he has to earn a living…by becoming Dalton Chase, the most sought-after stripper at Beaux Hommes, one of Seattle’s most exclusive adult clubs.

Cass Jameson hires Dalton for her best friend’s bachelorette, but from the moment he steps through the door, his eyes never leave her. Dalton is hot, ripped and exactly what Cass needs to let off a little steam. Nothing can stop the primal need between them—to touch, to taste, to take…and to want more. Nothing except their real identities.

“Go with it…”

Pulling his tie loose, Dalton 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.

Cass couldn’t look away from him. He owned the moment, so compelling and utterly sexual in a way she’d never experienced.

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.

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. Dropping the belt, he grabbed her hips and moved against her, and 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.

But she had earned this… And it would only be one night.

A night no one would, or could, ever know about…

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Pleasure Before Business and, more specifically, Beaux Hommes, the most exclusive all-male revue in the Pacific Northwest. The men are hot, both on the stage and between the sheets. Their lives are just the way they like them. As the most popular thing to happen in Seattle once the sun goes down, things just don’t get much better than this. But for all they love to please, they have hopes and dreams much bigger than Wednesday through Saturday night work schedules, screaming female fans and G-strings. The one thing they never banked on? Love itself.

The idea for the stripper series was born when this criminally sexy hero started whispering to me about what it was like to be trapped in one career that strictly pays the bills so he could pursue his real dream. He talked about paying his dues, fighting his way to the top, craving that elusive thing: respect. The one thing he was certain of? There was absolutely no time for romance or, heaven forbid, love. He had plans!

Poor guy should never, ever have thrown down that particular gauntlet.

I hope you’ll find a few laughs, a little heartache and a huge amount of redemption in this story. I know, as I wrote it, that I learned what it meant to really root for your own characters’ happy endings.

Fondly,

Kelli Ireland

Stripped Down

Kelli Ireland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From stable hand to a name on the door of a corporate American office, KELLI IRELAND has been many things. (Never a waitress, however. Thank-you cards for her sparing the unsuspecting public from this catastrophe can be sent in care of her agent.) Writing has always been her passion, though. And writing romance? An absolute dream come true. Her theory is that a kiss should be meaningful regardless of length, a hero can say as much with a well-written look as he can with a long-winded paragraph and heroines are meant to hold their own. She’s no Cinderella, and Shakespeare wrote the only Romeo and Juliet, so Kelli sticks to women who can save themselves and tortured heroes who are loath to let them.

Kelli and her husband live in the South, where all foods are considered fry-able and bugs die only to be reborn in bloodsucking triplicate. Visit her online at kelliireland.com anytime.

MILLS & BOON

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To the only man to ever hold my heart in his hands.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Extract

Copyright

1

FEET PROPPED ON the low windowsill and ankles crossed, Cass Jameson focused on her toes. Rather, the polish on her toenails. The electric blue polish, “Ogre the Top Blue” courtesy of OPI, was the only color in her otherwise staid corporate attire. She loved the color with an unholy passion, but it also served a purpose.

After her environmental engineering firm, Preservations, celebrated its first full year of operating in the black, Cass had treated herself to three indulgent days at a luxury spa. She’d purchased the nail polish before she left as a constant reminder she could, would, make Preservations a success. That trip had been the first time she’d allowed herself to breathe in more than three years. Now, eleven months later, she was holding her breath again.

So much hinged on the incoming email from the Environmental Protection Agency. Preservations had been awarded the contracts for establishing rainwater runoff and soil erosion at the proposed site of the elite Chok Resort on Lake Washington. She and her team had busted their asses for months to create long-term, environmentally sound solutions. They were due to present their plan to the resort’s builder, Sovereign Developments, in under a week. Sovereign’s board of directors, made up of old men with even older money, wanted a cheap fix to the runoff and erosion problems, but they also wanted the project endorsed as green construction for tax purposes and public support. She couldn’t deliver on the former. The latter? She had it covered in spades.

But only if the EPA signed off on Preservations’ plans. If it did, Sovereign would be hard-pressed to reject her proposal. She’d have the backing she needed to persuade the tight-assed CEO to move forward. Probably. Maybe. God, she hoped so.

A kernel of dread, her constant companion as this deal had been negotiated, threatened to erupt. Pressing her fist into her diaphragm, she forced her breathing to slow. Just once she’d be the emotionless Ice Princess her competitors accused her of being. Ironic that her father, David Jameson, was heralded for his cold-blooded business dealings while her peers and competing engineering firms lobbed it at her as an insult.

A seagull rode a thermal by the fourth-floor window, drawing her attention. Low-hanging clouds shrouded the Seattle skyline and blanketed pedestrians below in heavy mist. Behind her, her laptop chimed.

Such a soft, innocuous sound, that, the herald of her fate. Her fingers curled around the armrests of her chair, but she didn’t drop her feet or face the monitor. Not yet.

She’d known securing this location had been a good strategy. It hadn’t come cheap, but it positioned Preservations close to the downtown business district and near contractors. Signing the five-year lease had been a calculated risk.

“Greater the risk, greater the reward,” she murmured. Provided the risk pays out. Her father’s baritone echoed through her head, unwelcome. Particularly now.

Muffled voices hummed as the hive of employees gathered outside her door.

Her office door handle rattled as the door opened. She should really call maintenance, have them fix that.

“You didn’t read it, did you?” Gwen’s tone was neutral, guarded even.

Shoving her feet into her high heels, Cass swiveled toward her business partner and best friend. Everything they’d worked for—all the long nights studying, the family expectations, the sexist remarks of her peers, the casually exchanged conversation between competitors that she and Gwen were destined to fail as women in a man’s world—it all came down to this. “Tell me the EPA cleared us to move forward with the Sovereign project. Tell me Preservations is going to be solvent for years to come because our proposal was accepted. Tell me we can hold Sovereign’s board to their agreement to move forward with our solutions if we could get absolute EPA support. Say the words, Gwennie.”

The stunning petite blonde propped a hip on the corner of Cass’s desk. “You need to breathe.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. You know how I get.”

“You’re right. I do. Here’s a news flash, Cass. Your biggest character flaw? You’re always expecting the worst. Negative Nancies aren’t attractive.”

“Negative Nancies?” One corner of her mouth curled up. “This is business. Being an emotionally reserved pessimist has kept us afloat.”

Gwen’s brows drew together in a fierce scowl. “You sound like your father.”

A small hitch in Cass’s chest made her words raspy. “I’m not my father.”

“Then don’t be so afraid to express a little emotion. You’re not an automaton.”

But a lifetime as the oldest child of business magnate David Jameson, a man who valued control above all else, had taught her to smother her reactions. He’d hammered home one thing above all else: to reveal emotion was to reveal weakness, and any opponent worth his salt would use that weakness against her. He’d proved it by using her emotions against her again and again, until all that was left between them was undisguised resentment and, at least on her part, more than a little paranoia.

When she’d founded Preservations, she’d been so concerned about being singled out as Jameson’s daughter she’d gone into business under her mother’s maiden name—Wheeler. She’d also kept her name buried in the company directory, not touting her partial ownership. Distancing herself from both his name and his expectations had been a matter of self-preservation. She hated him for making it a necessity. She hated him more for continuing to steal moments like this from her.

“Cass?”

Running a hand around the back of her neck, she took a deep breath before looking at Gwen. “I’m working on it.”

“You need to have fun, let your hair down, dance on a few tabletops now and then. You’re not fooling me.”

“I know. Just...update my online dating profile after you tell me what the email says, okay?”

“Oh! Can I really update your profile?” Gwen grinned and did a little hip shimmy on the desk.

Cass sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a second. “Why do women who are about to get married always want to hook their friends up?”

“Because it makes us happy to think said friend, singular, is not destined to end up alone with subscriptions to multiple trashy tabloids that she reads aloud to the twenty-seven cats she lives with in an apartment that smells like tuna salad and vapor rub.” Gwen never stopped smiling. “Now, if you promise me I can update your profile, I’ll tell you what you want to know, since you’re not brave enough to read it yourself.”

“I promise,” Cass said between gritted teeth.

“Deal. The EPA cleared us straight across the board. We’re green-lighted to present the solutions to Sovereign Developments and its backers.”

“Straight across the board. They accepted everything.” Cass whispered the questions, but her intrepid spirit wound through the words so they came out with concrete assurance. Clearing her throat, she rose to her full height and squared her shoulders. The invisible fist that had been strangling her instinctive emotional response relaxed and, without warning, she erupted in a hip-shaking boogie dance, pumping her fists in the air with a scream. Yanking Gwen off the desk, she spun the woman in circles. Shouts and cheers rose outside the office door. Months of hard work and long hours had paid off. “Grab your partners and—”

“If she cries out ‘do-si-do,’ I’m outta here,” someone shouted.

“Funny guy,” Cass shouted back, laughing. “Grab your partners and meet us at Bathtub Gin tomorrow night. We can officially afford to say, ‘It’s on us!’”

Another cheer went up in the hallway, shouts and laughter weaving through the raucous group as everyone took a deep breath.

Cass realized she’d been clutching Gwen’s hand hard enough to mottle the woman’s skin. Releasing it, she stepped back. “Someday I’m going to get through this without you.”

Gwen shut the office door to a chorus of laughter as the group moved off. Turning, she leaned against the nearest bookshelf. “I hope you always need me, Cass.”

“I didn’t mean...” She ran fingers through her hair, disrupting the smooth chignon. Tucking the loosened pieces in place, she moved to stand over Gwen. In heels, it was easy to dwarf the petite blonde.

“You’re looming, love.”

“I know.” Cass leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek.

“Does this mean I get a rose and you ask me to stay on your island?” Gwen demanded, hands on her hips.

Cass laughed, that kernel of dread morphing into something effervescent and pervasive, something suspiciously akin to hope. It spread through her limbs and left her feeling light and impossibly encouraged. “We now officially have two things to celebrate,” she said, letting a slow, seductive smile spread over her face.

Gwen stepped back, smacking into the door. “I know that look. That look says you’re going to get me in trouble with Dave. I’m getting married next Saturday, Cass. I can’t exactly return the dress, and I want that damn cake. We got a layer of peanut butter and jelly.” She slid along the door as Cass stalked forward.

“You’re the one who said to live a little.”

Gwen shook her head. “You. Not me. You live a little. I’ve lived. I’m tired of living. That’s why I’m getting married.” Her brow furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cass, Dave has specifically forbidden me from getting in over my head, and the expression on your face says you’re throwing me in the deep end in a total sink-or-swim, survival-style move.”

“Yep.” A feral grin tugged at Cass’s lips. She adored Dave, but no one would ever truly be good enough for Gwen. It just wasn’t possible.

“Swimming?” Gwen tugged at her collar. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

“Naked swimming, Gwen.”

A sheen of sweat dotted her friend’s upper lip. “N-Naked?”

“As in, without clothes. Yes.” Cass reached out and grabbed her best friend’s wrist when she reached for the door. “Nope. No bailing. Dave will be fine with this. He’s no doubt getting the same treatment. You’re not leaving my side until the night’s over.”

“A bachelorette party?” Gwen gasped.

The sound of surprise struck Cass particularly hard. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you get married without a party, did you?”

“What happened to the emotionally suppressed pessimist? I want her back.”

“Too bad. You’re the one who told me to dance on a few tables. Besides, we still need to have my and Dave’s names tattooed on your ass. He gets left and I’ll always be right. It’s more poetic that way.”

“Tattoos?” Gwen squeaked, edging toward the door again.

Cass coughed to cover her laugh. “Truth?”

The smaller woman nodded, wide eyes never leaving Cass’s face.

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight that you don’t want to happen. Period. I’ve got your back, as always.” She arched a brow and slapped a cuff on Gwen’s wrist, fastening the other around her own before the other woman could react.

“You let me go right now, Ramona Cassidy Jameson, or I’m calling your father and informing him you’re a sexual deviant.”

“Stomp your foot and I swear I’ll dump your new Mac in the Sound.”

Gwen watched her for a minute and then smiled wide. “You would, too. That’s one of the reasons I like you so much. You don’t take shit from anyone, ever, and you always come out on top.”

“Because I fight to get there.” Cass grinned down at the vixen latched to her wrist. “Tonight? What you do, I do. That’ll keep things from getting too wild.”

“Too wild?” Gwen glanced up, biting her bottom lip. “How wild is too wild?”

Cass dragged a superficially reluctant Gwen out of the office to yet another round of cheers. As they waited for the elevator, Cass rattled their joined wrists. “How wild is too wild?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Fifty bucks says we find out tonight.”

* * *

ERIC REEVES WALKED through the office, navigating cubicles, stopping here and there to exchange a word of encouragement or thanks, sometimes a laugh, with his employees. Sovereign Developments, the real estate development firm he’d founded on dollar bills and a dream, was on the cusp of a huge deal. After securing the rights to develop the Chok Resort on Lake Washington in a battle with David Jameson, an established developer, that had, at times, been brutal, they were waiting for the EPA to approve the environmental engineer’s plan. More importantly, they were waiting for the board to agree to fund the plan. In the meantime, he’d had to forgo his salary to make sure Sovereign could pay its bills, and he was working a second job to pay his own bills.

When the contracts between the parties were signed and Sovereign was officially the development firm of record, Eric would breathe again. Until then, he had a metric crapload of work to do, not the least of which involved long hours at his second job.

“Hey.” Eric’s assistant, Gretchen, fell into step beside him. “You’re on your fifth lap around the office. What’s up?”

“I’m not making laps. I’m managing,” he answered, smiling absently as he watched an engineer manipulate a drawing on his computer.

“Managing, huh?” She held out a clipboard with several papers attached. “Well, I need you to manage this while you wear the soles off your shoes.”

He took the clipboard and scanned the forms. Payroll. Shit. “How deep are we in it this time?” Gretchen’s studiously blank face was answer enough, but Eric wanted to hear it before he saw the numbers. “Prepare me, Gretch.”

“Let’s just say we’re going to be pushing the limits of our line of credit this pay period.”

His stomach tightened as bile rose in his throat. Still, he nodded and let one corner of his mouth curl up in a half smile. “Once we’re officially cleared on the Chok Resort, you’ll be able to stop hovering over the line of credit like a financial mother hen over her little brood of dollar signs.”

“I don’t hover,” Gretchen huffed. Her lips twitched. “Much.”

“Right. And I’m actually a leprechaun.”

“You’re too tall.”

He glanced over and arched a brow as he crossed his arms over his chest. His suit pulled at his shoulders. “Are you disparaging my people because I’m a physical anomaly?”

Gretchen laughed out loud, drawing several glances from around the room. “Eric says he’s a leprechaun,” she announced.

“Where’s my pot of gold?” someone shouted.

A discussion ensued regarding leprechauns and what people would do with the gold if they had it. Eric signed forms, keeping one eye on the clipboard and one ear on the chatter. The underlying energy in the room hummed along his skin like a small electrical current. He fed on it. It kept him moving forward, kept him focused and encouraged. As the owner and CEO of Sovereign, he had to ensure the company’s financial security and longevity, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure that future was as secure as it could be.

Handing the signed forms to Gretchen with a word of thanks, he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the chief financial officer’s office.

Dan had been a financial whiz and good friend in college. Eric had recruited him fourteen months ago, spending a pretty penny to make sure Dan came on board. The guy could nearly project markets, could wring out the last cent from every investment and generally make a dollar go further than anyone else Eric knew. Beside himself.

Dan sat behind a beat-up desk, hammering away at his computer. He looked up as Eric came in and closed the door.

“Payroll. When will we be able to afford it?”

Dan swiveled back and forth, his old office chair groaning in protest as he rocked. “We’re pushing the financial envelope, Eric. The line of credit won’t support another payroll unless we supplement it with some kind of cash influx. The investors won’t come up with the cash until the deal is done, and we still don’t have a clear picture of how much Preservations’ plan is going to cost. If it’s too much, the board is going to balk. I have to have twenty grand just to make this week’s payroll, so if they postpone their decision, we’re screwed. Bottom line? We need your other source of income.” Dan spun a pencil between his fingers. “What is it that you do, anyway?”

Eric leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Whatever I have to.”

Or, to be more specific, whatever his alter ego, Dalton Chase, headline stripper for Beaux Hommes, had to do.

2

ANXIETY RODE THE hollow of Eric’s spine like a roller coaster, climbing to the top of his neck and crashing to his tailbone before climbing again. The club take had been dismal.

As he pulled up in front of the Harbormaster apartment building, he gave himself a mental shake. He still had the private party. Either get in the game and make this pay off, or come up with another strategy. The bachelorette party should be in full swing, and happy women were spenders. This was his chance to turn the night around. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his briefcase. The hostess had requested a businessman. Lucky him. It was the closest he ever came to mixing his day job with this one. In truth, it made him uncomfortable. He sold day and night. The only difference was the commodity on the table.

The valet looked over his age-scarred Honda with barely concealed disdain.

Eric’s free hand tightened into a fist. “Problem?”

“No.” Then the valet took in his tailored suit. “Sir.”

He tossed the guy his key and stalked away. One hour, Eric. Shut your shit down for one hour.

The apartment lobby was immaculate, with a combination of marble floors and patterned blue carpet. He headed straight for the elevator bank, catching a car as a couple of guys exited. The elevator began its smooth ascension. When the car stopped and the doors opened again, Eric pasted on a smile and adjusted his tie.

Time to find out if luck really is a lady.

* * *

THE KNOCK AT the door sent Cass’s heart into her throat. Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. It can’t be ten o’clock. But it was. And that meant the evening’s entertainment was here. There was normally something to be said for a man who valued punctuality, but at the moment? It was the last thing Cass wanted. No doubt there were going to be questions from the guests, and she hadn’t drunk enough to answer them without blushing. Hell, there might not be enough alcohol in the building to save her face from going up in flames.

Grabbing Gwen’s hand, Cass wove through the crowd to the front door.

Gwen tugged on Cass’s grip. “What’s going on?”

“Someone knocked.”

Steeling herself, Cass yanked the door open. And stopped breathing. Completely.

Tall, probably six-three or six-four, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the man wore a well-fitted business suit of dark gray with subtle pinstriping, complete with a solid, darker vest. A purple paisley tie and matching pocket square rounded out the look. His dark brown hair was damp and, cut in an executive’s cut, needed a trim. One broad hand smoothed his jacket. “Gwen Sivern?” he asked her. His voice was as fluid as hot caramel.

Cass pointed at Gwen. “Her.” She swallowed hard. “I’m Cass. Wheeler. Cass Wheeler.”

A dark, seductive grin revealed dimples.

She’d never had an opinion on dimples. Suddenly she loved them. Craved them. Thought every man should have them.

Shifting his pale green gaze to Gwen, he held out a hand. “Dalton Chase. I’m here to discuss your prenuptial agreement.”

Gwen glanced from him to Cass, who shrugged. “I don’t have a prenuptial agreement.”

“That’s...interesting.” Dalton flipped open the lower button on his jacket and slipped one hand in his pocket. He focused on Cass. “May I come in?”

Cass moved aside, inadvertently yanking Gwen with her.

Dalton’s eyes slipped to their cuffed wrists. His lips twitched. “I see I got here just in time for the fun.”

Dreaded heat flooded Cass’s cheeks. “I lost the key,” she said on a sigh at the same time Gwen squeaked, “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

He stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind him, grinning. “My lucky night. Considering you’re cuffed to her, I’m going to take it as a two-for-one special.”

Gwen turned in near slow motion and gaped first at Cass and then at Dalton. “You’re a stripper.”

Cass darted a glance at Dalton. His smile never faltered, but his face seemed to tighten.

“Cass,” Gwen all but shouted as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Tell me you hired me a stripper.”

Dalton chuckled. “Well, Gwen, I’m not here to sell you life insurance.” He started through the apartment. “Sounds like the fun’s centered in here.”

Temporary silence fell over the crowd of women when he walked into the large living room, Cass and Gwen right behind him.

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.

Lust flooded his groin.

He ran a hand up her spine and wound his fingers through her dark hair, pulling her head back. Game. On.

Her dark blue eyes flared for one brief second.

Eric pulled her toward him. Sliding his palm over her taut abdomen, he swiveled his hips and reveled at the catch of her breath.

Movement caught his attention. Gwen was staring over her shoulder curiously. Damn it. He’d gotten so wrapped up in Cass that he’d forgotten the bride. He let the tall, sultry brunette go and shifted his attention to the blonde.

The music bled from Pitbull to the Black Eyed Peas’ “Boom Boom Pow.”

After dancing with Cass, his cock was threatening to put on a real show, but the idea was enough to tone things down.

Stalking around Gwen, he unbuttoned his pants and teased his zipper down.

He made the removal of his pants a seduction, though it wasn’t for the benefit of the woman seated in front of him. Inch after inch of skin was revealed until he let them fall away, finally stepping free. Straddling Gwen again, he fought to keep his gaze on her and not the woman cuffed to her. Her free hand was fisted at her waist. Eric picked it up and dragged it down his chest, imagining how Cass’s fingers would feel on his heated skin.

Gwen looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “Do that thing with your abs.”

He rolled his torso, shoulders to hips.

She screamed and laughed again.

The women in the room went wild.

Eric beckoned the shy one who’d given him her chair. “C’mon, baby girl. Let me thank you appropriately.”

She shook her head.

“Go get her,” Cass murmured.

Surprised, he glanced at her.

“She’s my assistant. Her husband recently left her.” True concern colored Cass’s eyes. “It would make her feel good.”

With a quick nod, he worked his way to the quiet woman. She refused to look up as he danced. Fair. But it didn’t work for him. So he pulled her out of her chair and let her stumble into him, saving herself by planting her hands on his chest. He pressed her hands there and encouraged her to touch. That wasn’t part of his typical act, but at the moment, it didn’t matter.

Moving around the woman, he whispered soft encouragement. When her hand snaked out to put a five in his G-string, he rewarded her with a little extra attention and a second kiss to the cheek. Then he slipped to his briefcase and retrieved a pair of handcuffs and a tiny key. He held both up to the ladies. “Who thinks we should make Gwen work for the key?”

The bride shook her head. “Cass needs to earn it. She’s the one who lost the key to start with.”

“Is that fair?” he asked the room in general. It was certainly the arrangement he preferred.

The response was unanimous.

“Cass,” he murmured. “I’m going to let Gwen go. You’ll stay here and earn the key for both of you.”

Her eyes sparked and color flooded her cheeks, but she nodded.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, ladies. I’m going to switch the music to something a little more...appropriate. While my back is turned—” shouts and comments “—you’re going to hide money all over Cass. I’m going to find it. I only get to keep what I find.” He paused and looked at Cass. “Please, be creative. Very, very creative.”

He went to the stereo, smiling at the excited teasing going on behind him. Pushing through the custom mix, he stopped on his favorite song. An electric guitar struck a chord. The bass line fell in behind, and the vocalist slipped into the mix. Highly suggestive lyrics made his blood run hot. Not as hot as the woman who had moved to sit in the center of the room, though. She was spectacular.

She also seemed a little uncomfortable.

Moving around her with slow deliberation, he trailed his fingertips over her bare skin.

She shivered.

He started by plucking bills from the easy-to-reach places and tucked them into his G-string. And bless those women. They’d taken his instructions to heart, tucking bills all over her. He was pretty sure he could now give a good approximation of Cass’s measurements. Damn if he wasn’t enjoying himself

He dragged the back of his fingers up her arm and under her long hair, wrapping his hand around her neck. Bending close, he locked his gaze with hers. “Did they hide anything in here?”

“You expect me to help you cheat?”

The way she stared at him with undiluted curiosity and open desire made his fingers curl into her neck muscles. His groin tightened.

Gwen and her cheering section were shouting, encouraging him to move on. Dragging his fingers down, over her collarbone and stopping at the glimpse of cleavage his position afforded, he sent her a searching look.

She shrugged, the movement jerky. “You’ve got to make a living.”

Guilt speared through him, shame hot on its heels. This wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a user, a seducer for personal purpose or private payout. His fingers hovered over her chest.

“Have mercy on me,” she said, blinking up at him with exaggeratedly wide eyes. “Finish your search-and-recover mission so I can go stick my head in the freezer.”

“Hot?”

She rolled her shoulders. “I keep telling myself this is your job, but there’s still the matter of your fingers on my skin, you know?”

He squashed the urge to stroke her hair. She was right. This, all of this, was about making a living—so why did it feel different? “True enough.” Finger-walking his way into her cleavage, he pulled out a twenty. He doubted she’d gotten into the act and tucked the money away herself, particularly between her breasts. “Whom do I thank for their generosity?”

As if she’d read his mind, she winced. “Gwen’s payback for me losing the key.”

He laughed. “I like Gwen.”

She scowled up at him, her heart clearly not in it. “I wasn’t supposed to be part of the show.”

“Roll with it, baby. It’s all in good fun.” He gently chucked her under the chin before facing the room, needing a little distance. “Unless you ladies are more dirty-minded than I am, and I seriously doubt that, I’ve found all the prizes. I’d trade a kiss for a bottle of water.”

Several women scrambled for the wet bar.

“Just one,” he called after them. On a deep breath, he faced Cass and held up the key. “You were a great sport.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

Heat burned his cheeks, and he was both embarrassed and charmed by his reaction. The shy woman from the group was the first to make it back to him with a bottle of water, and he accepted it, this time brushing a soft kiss over her lips. “Thanks, beautiful.”

A strange expression passed over Cass’s face, one that said Eric had just done something profound. Hell if he knew what it was beyond kindness. Then Cass was gone, making excuses about checking on food and drinks, ensuring guest comfort and anything else she could toss out in a rush.

He watched her move through the crowd, absently rubbing her cuff-free wrist. Gwen bounded over to her and the two exchanged a few words and a quick hug before the bride became the center of attention once again. Gwen shot him bright-eyed looks when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, and those looks unnerved him. Clearly, Gwen was up to something. For all that the woman feigned innocence, he’d bet the entire evening’s take she had a devious streak.

Grabbing a pair of Elmo sleep pants from his briefcase, he slipped into them and padded around the room, flirting, picking up empty glasses and refilling others.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He glanced over his shoulder to find Cass closing in on him. “What? Pick up?”

“That, and serve.”

“Habit.” He shrugged. “I’ve got another half an hour before my time’s up. I can dance if you’d prefer.” And didn’t that offer have to claw its way out of his chest? He wanted her to see him as more than a stripper, wanted to tell her he was busting his ass to be more than this, but the words wouldn’t come.

She shrugged. “It’s cool. Just realize I don’t expect you to do anything like that.”

“You hired me.”

The discomfort on her face made him want to apologize. In fact, he started to, but she interrupted. “You’re right. I just feel a little awkward treating you like...” She stared at her feet as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“Like a side of delectable beef?”

She huffed out a breath. “I suppose.”

The familiar white lie slipped out before he could stop himself. “I’m okay with this, Cass. If I wasn’t, I couldn’t do what I do.”

Gwen bounded up, beer in hand. “I want to go to Cinderblock and dance.” She glanced between them and smiled. “They’re open until two, so we’ve got a couple of hours to get our groove on.”

“Sure,” Cass answered absently, shifting her attention to Gwen. “We can wrap up here and be at the club in under thirty.”

The bride shifted innocent eyes on him. “Want to come, Dalton?”

He opened his mouth to politely decline.

Gwen interrupted. “Don’t say no. Please?”

“Cass?” Asking her seemed right, because if he went, he’d be off the clock and on his own, and this time he was going to dance with her, not for her. He would touch her body. And chances were good he’d stop thinking altogether and simply let things go where they would. “Would you be comfortable with me tagging along?”

She looked at him, those blue eyes nearly bottomless. “I’d love to have you...” Her breath caught and her eyes widened. “Join us! I’d love to have you join us.”

The strange connection he’d felt earlier sparked, an electric live wire running between them. He didn’t, couldn’t, drag his eyes away when he answered. “Give me an extra half hour to run home and grab some decent clubbing clothes. They’re not a tie-required kind of place, but I’m pretty sure pants aren’t optional.”

Cass’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, yet nothing came out.

Gwen slipped an arm around her waist and addressed Eric. “See you there.”

And that, as the saying went, was that.

* * *

CASS MOVED ON AUTOPILOT as she rounded up the large party, gave them the address for the club and made sure everyone with keys was sober. As the last of the women left the apartment, Cass raced to her closet, grabbed her favorite little black dress and slipped it on. She swiped on some extra mascara and dabbed on perfume. Then she pulled out the man-killing red lipstick. It was her favorite accessory when she wanted to feel powerful, but she rarely wore it. More often than not it suited her just fine to be part of the scenery rather than the focal point. Not that she was a wallflower. Far from it. She just got so tired of men passing judgment based on her appearance and totally discounting her brain. Lipstick poised at her lips, she hesitated.

“What are you doing?” she asked her reflection. “Nothing can happen between you. You know it. What he is could ruin you.”

“You coming, Cass?” Gwen stepped into the master bathroom. “Oh, hey. The red lipstick. My Spidey Sense told me you were into Dalton.”

“I just...” She shook her head. “It’s so stupid.”

“Why?” Gwen moved to stand beside her, slipping an arm around Cass’s waist. “How long has it been since you had a little fun? Serious fun—the kind that’s slightly reckless and totally irresponsible.”

Cass studied her best friend’s reflection in the mirror as she thought, really thought, about the question. “I don’t remember.” The answer depressed her. She closed her eyes and sagged against the counter.

“That’s what I figured,” Gwen said on barely a whisper. “You’ve turned into the person we swore we’d never become, the one who loses her life to the job, becomes the job, is only the job.” Reaching up, she gently unpinned Cass’s hair and ran her fingers through the unruly waves as the mass tumbled free. “Live a little. Dance with Dalton tonight.”

“He’s a stripper.”

“You could’ve been a stripper.”

Cass’s eyes flashed open. “What?” she choked.

“You’re gorgeous. It’s one of the things you hide behind, using your looks like a shield to keep people at bay.” Gwen rubbed her arm briskly. “It’s one of the reasons you have your nickname.”

“I’m not an Ice Princess.” The words were hard, but damn it, she hated being called frigid.

“Prove it.” Gwen squeezed Cass’s hand then let go, staring at their side-by-side reflections. “Bring the lipstick or don’t, but we’re going.”

“He’s not going to show up.”

Gwen snorted and shook her head. “We talked about this, Negative Nancy.”

“Let me change—”

“No.”

The single word was hard and uncompromising. Cass looked up, surprise pushing her eyebrows up her forehead. “No?”

“You put on what made you feel pretty, seductive and desirable. It stays. Let’s go.” Gwen spun and started out of the bathroom.

Cass pushed off the vanity and raced past Gwen. “I’ll hurry!” She grabbed skinny jeans and a short white top. Stripping quickly, she pulled the shirt on and hopped on first one leg and then the other as she worked herself into the jeans. She shoved her feet into the first pair of stilettos she could reach. “Ready,” she shouted.

“Lipstick?”

Cass paused and gazed at the tube she’d tossed on her bed. “What the hell,” she muttered before calling out to Gwen, “I’ll put it on in the car.”

Grabbing the lipstick, she stalked from the room, a little extra sway to her hips.

* * *

THE CLUB WASN’T QUITE as crowded as normal, probably due to the weather. That was fine with Cass. It meant she had more room to move. Gwen had been right. Dancing was exactly what Cass had needed.

Five or six songs into the evening, she finally stopped watching the door for Dalton. Disappointment that he hadn’t shown proved a bitter pill.

Gwen had hit her where it hurt when she’d pointed out Cass was turning into the person they’d sworn to each other they’d never become. Becoming that woman, the one who was so focused on her career she forgot how to live, terrified her. It made her that much more of her father’s daughter, and that was a connection she wanted to sever regardless of the cost. She’d admittedly swung the emotional pendulum toward the opposite extreme when she’d decided to hit on Dalton, but it would have been fun.

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?”

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