Instructing an Heiress (8 page)

"Why would we want to subject ourselves to an intelligent woman all night?" Brad asked, his arms bulging as he curled a heavy dumbbell.
 

"One you've said we wouldn't like because she's different," Jackson said.

"Which means ugly," Brad added.

"A bizarre and twisted change for you." Todd punched buttons on the treadmill. "On both counts." He gave Ryan a speculative look through the reflection of his glasses.

The urge to defend CK to his friends pounced on Ryan's chest and sat down with a heavy thud. "She's cute," he insisted. "But shy. Sometimes a little stubborn."

Jackson grinned at him. "And the only woman who hasn't slept with you."
 

Anger itched across his shoulders. "It's not like that."

"Love's a beautiful thing, man." Ajax turned the page on his comic book.

"I'm not asking you losers to propose, just meet her. Have a few drinks. No big deal. Jeez, I have VIP at Crazy Tom's. You should be jumping at the chance."
 

Ryan wiped off his face with a towel and tried to get the flash of temper burning in his gut under control. Teasing was normal between them and he'd never taken it seriously before. For some reason, today it was getting to him. Probably from lack of sleep, he concluded. Or had he made a mistake bringing them into this?

 
Todd stepped off the treadmill and headed for the refrigerator. "You know guys, after the money Ryan made us with that last investment, we owe him. We should go."

"As long as he's buying, I guess we can get through anything," Brad conceded.

*
 
*
 
*

She'd slept late, made brownies, and eaten half the pan and she was still fuming about last night.
 

What, did she have a sign on her forehead or something? Did everyone she meet know she was inexperienced? Sheesh! It wasn't like she didn't
want
to find someone, someday, but she wasn't ashamed that she hadn't. Apparently, everyone else saw her as some kind of freakish anomaly—even her own grandfather.
 

Even Ryan.
 

CK stared at the contents of the Allsaints box that lay open on her bed and winced. No one would think her innocent in the dress Ryan had sent over, that was for sure. An uncomfortable knot tightened in her stomach.

Did sending this dress mean he was finally getting on board about helping her, or was this another attempt to scare her off? And why the extremes? The outfit looked like she should have a whip for an accessory. Wasn't there a fashion statement place in the middle that would work for her?

She narrowed her eyes at the box. Vestal virgin or goddess whore. Hmm. What to choose, what to choose? Good thing she'd called for backup.

The muffled sound of the doorbell echoed through her penthouse apartment and she heard her maid tromping to the front to answer it.
 
Farley's voice sang out a cheery greeting and a moment later, she sailed into the bedroom, loaded down with a small, purple tackle box and two garment bags. She stopped beside the bed and looked down at the dress.

"Wow. Is that leather?" she asked.

"You don't have to sound so happy about it."

"Can't help it. I've lived for this moment for years. Daydreaming. Plotting. I brought my makeup case." She dropped one garment bag onto the thick peach-colored comforter and hefted the tackle box up beside it.

CK eyed the case, suspiciously. "Light makeup only, Farley. This isn't the circus."

"Sure it is. I brought popcorn for later." Her friend quirked a brow at her and then her gaze swept over CK's gray sweat pants and baggy T-shirt. "If we're going to make it to Crazy Tom's by seven we better get started."

Crazy Tom's, one of the premier dancing, drinking, and hook up club in the area. At seven. Yikes.

The very short, strapless black leather Maisie dress taunted CK from the open box. What little there was of it was composed of a bustier-style bodice and form-fitting skirt with whip stitching in princess lines down the front and back. No need for a bra since support was already built in. Support no doubt designed to push one's assets up to full advantage. A probable sign that Ryan was going for scare-tactics, again.

Nestled in the tissue paper next to the dress lay an elegant pair of black pumps with four-inch spike heels and a tiny red purse.
Goal of frightening confirmed and successful.

She shuddered. "I can't."
 

"Of course you can't. You'd look like an idiot traipsing into a high-end club like Tom's dressed like Vampira's little sister. Good thing I brought this."

With a flourish, Farley unzipped the garment bag still in her hand, revealing a simple black dress with a reasonably modest square neckline, wide, scalloped shoulder straps and a short, flirty scalloped hem.
 

CK smiled and touched the soft, knit fabric. "It's adorable."

"It's Fendi and I charged it to the company. Here's the best part." Farley peeled the bag down and turned the dress around. There was no back, just the two-inch wide scalloped straps coming down from the shoulder, criss-crossing over what would be her bare back, and attaching to the skirt which looked like it would sit just below her waist.

"You'll kill them coming and going in this," her friend said, triumphantly.

CK's eyes widened. "I'll feel half dressed. And what about a bra?"

"I added self-adhesive bra cups to the order. If you don't jump around too much, you should be okay. Also...." Farley fished around the bottom of the garment bag and pulled out a pair of red Prada slingback sandals. "Three inch heels. A lot better for dancing."

"This is crazy," CK said, feeling a little ill.

"It's either the leather dominatrix number or this. Just think of how much fun it will be to see Ryan's face. If he even recognizes you."

CK reached out and tentatively touched the soft material of the dress, again. The memory of Anderson's mouth briefly pressing against hers rose up and a secret, quiet longing sprang to life deep inside her.

What would it be like to be the kind of woman who could wear an outfit like this? A woman with a classy kind of daring? One who was confident she could attract and hold any man she wanted? Even a man like Ryan Anderson.

An exciting, determined defiance welled up inside her. She'd show him just how innocent she was and rub his face in it.
 

CK drew in a deep breath and took the dress from Farley. "I'll do it."

*
 
*
 
*

The blue and red lighting of Crazy Tom's washed over the crowd of people, all of them so obviously trying to be something they weren't so they could get laid. Ryan lounged back in his chair, his glass of ale cold against the palm of his hand.
 

Idly, he watched the ebb and flow of the sophisticated club's beautiful predators. Despite the tasteful groupings of tables, the fish tank, the DJ, and the high-end beer, this place wasn't all that different from the bar last night. It just had prettier wrapping paper.
 

That was a good thing, he told himself. If the dress he'd sent CK didn't scare her off, the jungle-like atmosphere of Crazy Tom's would. And if that didn't work, he'd brought a table full of horny bachelors to finish the job.
 

Brad leaned toward him, his gray eyes sharp with annoyance. "How long are we waiting for your ugly Ball Blaster to show? I'm getting hungry."

Ryan shrugged. "So order something."

"Not that kind of hungry."

A blonde wearing a dress that left little to the imagination purred past their table, catching everyone's attention for a moment.

"Pink is making a come back," Ajax observed, solemnly, as her undulating hips passed by him.

"Good lines. Nice color. Drapes beautifully, is that what you're saying, A?" Jackson said with a perfectly straight face.

Ajax brightened. "You read the article, too?"

Jackson let out a sigh and shook his head. "I worry about you, man."

Brad's gaze followed the woman until she was lost in the crowd. "Why don't you have a friend like her that we can meet?"
 

"He used to have friends like her. Haven't seen any, lately." Todd commented.

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Jackson asked.

Ryan scanned the club for any sign of CK. "I've been busy."

The swirl of people parted for a moment, revealing a tall woman coming through the door, followed closely by Farley. A tug of recognition hit him in the gut. He paused, his beer halfway to his mouth, and tried to get another look, but the crowd had closed up around the stranger.

His friends noticed him staring and switched their attention to the front of the club.

"I know that look. He's got a bead on the prettiest girl here," Brad said, turning around in his chair.

Todd smiled. "The master is back."

"I thought I saw my assistant." Maybe CK had sent Farley to tell him the deal was off, Ryan wondered. He frowned. That didn't make sense. She would have just called or texted him.

"Farley the pretty brunette coming toward us?" Todd asked.

"Yeah."

"And the Ball Squasher?" Brad wondered. "I'm so bored I'm getting curious about her."

The crowd parted again, and all the air sucked out of Ryan in one, clean blow.

The world slowed and dimmed and all he could see was the woman coming toward him, her long, toned legs carrying her with confidence. A black sleeveless dress showcased her mouth-watering, hour-glass figure in a classy, subdued way and a burning punch of energy shot straight to his groin.
 

His gaze traveled up, taking in the clear smooth skin of her shoulders and neck, the soft lines of her face, her lush mouth, and then the large violet eyes framed by a wavy mass of soft auburn hair. His mouth went dry.

CK?

Ryan blinked. It couldn't be. He tried to pull in a breath, but something seemed to have a strangle hold on his throat.

Brad released a low, appreciative whistle. "Holy mother. What a rack."

"Ryan, you out of body, man?" Ajax asked. He leaned toward Todd. "He looks gone. Should I slap him?"
 

Farley stopped at their table, a sassy grin splitting her face. She waved her hand in front of Ryan. "You about to pass out on us, tiger?"

He couldn't take his eyes off CK as she crossed the last couple yards to their table. The crowd parted before her, people staring, his friends drooling—And he knew what every man in the club was thinking because it was the same thing searing his brain; what would she look like naked and how could he get her that way.
 

This was bad. Very bad.
 

Hearing 32D was one thing, but seeing it? On his best friend? That was something else entirely.

CK stopped next to Farley and the urge to jump across the table and bundle her out of the club sped through him like a tornado. He grabbed his beer with a shaking hand and took a quick gulp. It didn't help.
 

"He looks like he's about to have a heart attack, honey. I think you're a hit," Farley said. "My work here is done." She sauntered off toward the bar.

CK's smokey violet gaze appraised him for a moment, then a glitter of challenge flashed in their depths.

"Score," she mouthed at him.

*
 
*
 
*

As Farley left, CK kept a cool gaze on Ryan, even though her stomach had twisted into knots. Underneath the bravado, she didn't feel like a woman no man could resist. She felt exposed.
 

The air-conditioning kicked on and a draft brushed across the open skin of her chest and back. Despite the modest neckline of the dress, she still had plenty showing and struggled to resist the urge to look down.
And
kept her hands firmly at her sides.
 

No covering up, Farley had said. Walk proud. Women pay big money for what nature gave you. Flaunt it like you own it.

She'd moved through the crowded club behind Farley reciting that mantra in her head and marveling over the bizarre experience of being seen. She was the same person underneath, the same body, the same face; but where she'd always blended into the background, now all eyes were on her. Was the world really so shallow that a change of clothes and a little makeup made such a difference? Or was this merely some kind of bizarre social game and as she clued into the rules other players noticed?
 

As men gawked, their gazes hot, and women assessed with open hostility, she kept her focus on the point of this whole chess match—showing Ryan that he didn't have her figured out. In that, at least, she appeared to be successful. The closer she'd gotten to his table, the more appalled and then furious he'd looked. A self-righteous delight fluttered through her.

The appreciation on the faces of the other men with him had sent an additional light-headed sensation bubbling up under her ribs which was marvelous and curious all at the same time. She'd never pretended to be someone she wasn't before. It was...quite exhilarating.
 

Until everyone stared at her and no one said a word.
 

She had no idea what the protocol was under the circumstances and her satisfaction dimmed as the silence lengthened. The only man not gawking at her was the thin, moppy-haired guy sitting across from Ryan. At her approach, he'd given her a benign smile and then gone back to his beer. He was definitely the guy she wanted to sit next to.

CK turned to get a chair to place next to Moppy Hair. Ryan let out a hiss of breath behind her at the same time she found herself blocked by the tall, broad-shouldered guy with square, chiseled features and neatly trimmed black hair.

"Please," the man said, offering her his chair, which was next to Ryan. His striking gray eyes slid up and down her body in a cocky and disturbing way.
 

If she sat between this guy and Ryan, she might actually have a nervous breakdown before the night was over. "No, thank you. I'd rather—"