Stripped (3 page)

“I can't believe you finally accepted. Three months, Dahlia. I've asked you out seven times and you've said no every time.”

“Not that you're keeping track or anything.”

He laughed. “Nah. Just of the total amount of scars on my ego.”

“I'm sure your ego will survive.” Even as hers was given a boost by the way this man reacted to her. How could she resist?

* * *

Nash stifled the urge to pump his fist in the air victoriously. He'd vowed to himself not to ask her out again for at least another month but impulse had taken over. She'd looked so beautiful, her face clean of makeup, simply fresh and natural in jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. He hadn't been able to help it.

He wanted to pin her down before she changed her mind or backed out. “Okay, so when can we do this? I'm going to be in town for the next four days.”

“I'm off Friday night.”

He seized opportunity with both hands. “You got it. Friday night at eight. I'll bring the wine.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a pad and wrote out the directions to her house. “Are you allergic to anything? Have a food you hate?”

As if. He'd finally gotten her to agree to a date—even if she made something utterly inedible he'd gulp it down and ask for seconds just to spend time with her. “No green peppers. Everything else I'm good with.”

“Okay, I'll see you the day after tomorrow then.” She walked off with Roseanne and waved as they exited through the back doors.

* * *

He came to watch her set on Thursday. Just as she turned to walk offstage, she caught a glimpse of him. She liked him there, liked the feel of his gaze on her. Made her feel even sexier.

When she emerged from the back she caught sight of him waiting for her. She couldn't leave right away, not once he smiled at her.

“I can't stay very long. I have four classes tomorrow.” She had to stand close to be heard over the music. Not that she minded the excuse.

He motioned to the doors leading to the area just outside the club and she followed.

“That's better,” he said once they'd gotten out of the smoky, loud space.

“I don't even notice it anymore.” She shrugged, laughing.

“I didn't expect to see you tonight.” He didn't often come on Thursdays.

“I know. I have a meeting at nine in the morning, but I thought of you here and I wanted to be here, too.”

He looked so handsome, leaning casually against the wall. His hair sat in tousled disarray around his shoulders, but it looked artful and sexy instead of messy. She suddenly felt distinctly frumpy in her sweatshirt and jeans and fought the urge to smooth down her hair.

“You say the best stuff. I don't know how to react when you say things like that.”

Reaching out, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear and then drew a fingertip lightly down the line of her jaw. “What can I say? You inspire me. I suppose I'd be pushing it if I tried to get you to grab a drink with me in the piano bar? Just one?”

His perfect teeth flashed with that boyish grin and she shivered. Dahlia knew she couldn't spend just twenty minutes with him. She lost all sense of time when he was near.

“I'd like to, I really would, but it's already midnight and I have to be up early. You're still coming to dinner, right?”

“I wouldn't miss it. Should I bring dessert?”

“I'm making lasagna, salad, flash-fried spinach with red pepper and garlic bread. Hmm, ice cream maybe?”

“Oh, man. You're making all that?”

“Is that a problem?” He placed a finger over her lips.

“I'm impressed, not appalled. I can't tell you the last time someone made me dinner like this.”

Without meaning to, she opened her lips and took his finger inside. Sucking gently, she grazed his fingertip with her bottom teeth before releasing him.

He stood still for long moments, pupils wide, breath quick. “Um. Okay then. Shit. I'd walk you to your car, but I seem to be a bit indisposed.”

She looked down and saw the bulge at the front of his pants. “Oops. Well, it's okay, I don't need you to walk me. I'm just right out the door anyway.”

He grabbed her as she walked away and hauled her back to him. “Of course I'll walk you. It's not like I've made it a big secret that I'm attracted to you. Besides, you're the one who sucked my finger and made me this way to begin with.”

Liking the way he felt there against her, she didn't pull away and they walked out to her car, his arm around her waist.

He stopped her as she moved to get into the car, his body caging her against her door. The heat rolled off him in waves, making her slightly dizzy.

“Good night, Dahlia. I'll see you tomorrow.”

His lips brushed over hers gently once, twice, and he started to pull away only to return, crushing his mouth over hers. She could do little more than reach up and hold on as he plundered her mouth with his own. Lips, teeth and tongue worked in concert to completely devastate her defenses against him. If there'd been any at all to begin with.

Body to body, she pressed into him, wanting more contact, needing more from him. The ragged moan she swallowed from his lips excited her senses as much as the heat of his hand that lay on her hip, just beneath the sweatshirt against her bare skin. His thumb stroked back and forth over her hip bone, sending bursts of electric sensation through her.

It took all her will not to throw her leg up over his hip and grind into him. God, she wanted him desperately. Wanted to rub all over him like a cat.

His tongue stroked sinuously and seductively over her own, making her weak in the knees. He tasted like good gin and cigars. Like sex and sin and trouble.

When he pulled back and broke the kiss she put her hand to her lips, still tasting him there.

“Sweet dreams.” He looked deliciously tousled as he took a step back, one hand in his pocket, the other raised in a wave.

Mechanically, she got into the car and pulled away.

Whew! That was the hottest kiss she'd ever experienced. The man was a freaking genius with his lips. It made her wonder what his oral technique was. She snorted—it wasn't like she hadn't been wondering that since the first time she'd met him. Now that his tongue had been in her mouth, she could imagine far better how it would feel against her clit.

She was so totally going to jump him tomorrow night. She just hoped she could contain herself until after dinner.

* * *

Once home, Nash hit the shower. God knew he couldn't just go to bed after that damned kiss. Stripping off, he turned on the showerheads and let the water heat as he laid out towels and turned on the stereo. He'd been on a Tito Puente kick lately—he didn't have to guess why.

He scrubbed his scalp and soaped up his body, a shock of pleasure echoing through him as he ran a hand over his cock. He wasn't going to lie to himself; he'd known he'd have to get himself off when he got home. The same way he had just about every time he'd seen or even thought of her.

Leaning back against the marble wall of the enclosure, the four showerheads pelted him with water as he closed his eyes and thought of Dahlia. Imagining her wet there with him, rivulets of water sluicing down those magnificent breasts, drops beaded like diamonds on her eyelashes. He'd taken close enough notice of her body when she'd danced; he knew her legs were strong and muscled, knew her belly was flat just before the generous curves of her hips and thighs.

He'd slide his hands over her, slick with soap, as he kissed her.

Slowly, he pumped his fist around his cock, imagining it to be her hand holding him. Absently, his thumb flicked over a nipple. Would her tongue feel that way?

From their kiss, he knew she'd be responsive in bed. Dahlia was a woman who would embrace all the pleasure she could bear. They'd be well matched that way.

His breath caught as he felt his climax approach. His thumb rubbed circles over the head of his cock each time he pulled his fist nearly all the way off. Moving his other hand down, he alternated—one hand grabbing at the base, pulling all the way off, replaced by the other hand. Over and over. Faster and faster as he imagined her mouth around him, her tongue where his hands were, imagined plunging deep into her pussy as it fluttered around him, tight and hot.

First he'd take her hard and fast, her legs wrapped around his waist. He'd have access to her breasts and her luscious, carnal mouth. He'd watch as she came, watch her eyes go passion-blind. Would she beg him? Was she a moaner? Imagining the sound of her voice as she came sent a wave of pleasure straight from his brain to his cock.

Then he'd wait until they caught their breath before going down on her. Oh, he couldn't wait to taste her pussy. He'd take his time, drive her up slowly, feast on her body as well as the sounds she'd make and while her pussy still fluttered with climax. And then he'd roll over and have her ride his cock, going hard and deep and letting her set the pace.

A moan ripped from low in his gut as he came, hands still stroking over his cock until he was spent and began to soften.

And he was hard again ten minutes later, wanting her for real.

D
abbing a tiny bit of frangipani essential oil behind her knees, Dahlia took a last look in the mirror. It had taken four clothing changes to find the right mix of casual and sexy. She'd never felt so much anxiety about setting the right balance of pretty and alluring.

To that end she'd decided on a white haltered sundress with red roses silk-screened on it. The skirt was full and hit just below her knees. She'd grown up in a house with a mother who sewed, knitted, baked and canned. Dahlia couldn't knit, bake or can to save her life, but she could sew. Which was a good thing because she loved clothes but didn't have the money to buy much. And it was also a nice way to share that connection with her mother.

Her hair stayed loose around her shoulders, held back by a wide red band, and pretty silver hoops in her ears finished the simple look.

The scents of garlic bread and fresh basil painted her senses. If they both ate garlic it wouldn't matter. And she loved garlic.

Hearing the doorbell, she smoothed down her skirt and padded, barefoot, across the small living room to the door. When she opened it she nearly fell over. He stood there in sand-colored jeans and suede loafers. A deep green button-down shirt set off his eyes. Hot damn, he looked good enough to grab hold of and lick.

“Hi. You're right on time. Come in.” She stood back and waved him inside, watching his trim, high, hard ass as he went.

He handed her a bag and she peeked inside. “Café Gelato! How did you know?”

He grinned. “I didn't, but it seemed more appropriate to have gelato with what you were making than mere ice cream. I got pistachio and chocolate. I hope you like at least one of them.”

She smiled and leaned in quickly to kiss him. “Pistachio gelato is like the best thing on earth to eat. Thank you.”

* * *

Pride warmed Nash at her appreciation of his silly gift. He'd had to drop off some papers at the Bellagio for a client who was staying there, and so he'd seen the gelato on the way out and thought of her. Well, he'd thought of her when he'd seen the giant chocolate fountain at the entrance to the small shop. Stunned by the vision of her naked, drenched in warm chocolate, his heart had nearly burst from his chest. It was then he realized that gelato would be better than ice cream and stopped in for some.

It was a novel experience to be with a woman who got excited by fifteen dollars' worth of gelato instead of an expensive bracelet. Refreshing.

As she led him toward the kitchen, he took the place in. He liked her apartment. It wasn't the luxurious penthouse he lived in, but it was warm. He'd been right about that. Deep oranges and reds filled the place with hints of turquoise blues and white. An odd explosion of color, but it worked. It was vibrant and earthy like she was. She'd made it into a home.

She poked her head around the freezer, where she'd just put the gelato. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh!” He handed her the bottle of red wine he'd brought. He'd restrained himself from bringing the really expensive bottle he'd picked up first, not knowing if she'd be offended or not and settled on a nice mid-priced bottle instead.

“Perfect. Will you do the honors? I need to pull the lasagne out of the oven, get it on the table and toss the salad.” She pointed to the opener and the glasses on the counter and he obliged, taking them to the table.

“Sit,” she ordered absently as she brought the rest of the food to the table and finally sat down.

Taking a sip of the wine, she sighed happily. “This is quite lovely.”

“Just like you. This looks amazing, Dahlia.” The table was filled with beautiful food, and something in him warmed, knowing she'd made it for him. People didn't do that for him, and he realized how much he was missing now that it was there.

“Flatterer. My mom taught us all how to cook. My brother is better at it than me or my sister. But knowing how to cook helps make macaroni and cheese and ramen a bit more palatable night after night.” She laughed and waved at the food. “Help yourself.”

They filled their plates and ate for a few minutes, silent until they'd gotten a bit full.

“So how did you end up with a name like Dahlia? It's not one I hear often.”

“My great-grandmother was named Dahlia. My grandmother and great-aunts were named after flowers. My gran was Violet, her sisters were Rose and Daisy. You get the picture. But they didn't name their daughters that way, and my mom thought it was a nice tip of the hat to that older generation.”

“Ah. Interesting. Are you close? With your family, I mean.”

She sighed. “I love my family very much. They're good people and they work hard. They want what's best for me.”

“But?”

With a rueful smile she took another sip of wine. “They don't think being in Las Vegas is what's best for me. They
really
don't think my job at The Dollhouse is what's best for me. This was supposed to be four years and it's been nearly six. While getting my economics degree I discovered just how much I loved business so I decided to get my master's degree in business administration.” She shrugged.

“But my full-ride money was for undergrad and not for grad school. I've had to pay for pretty much all of it since I've been in the MBA program. I've gotten a few grants but mainly it's loans and lots of ramen noodles.” Pausing, she took a bite of her spinach before continuing.

“They wanted me to come back home and go to school there for my master's degree. But the MBA program here is exactly what I needed, and they admitted me, which isn't such an easy feat straight from undergrad. And now they're pretending like I'm coming back when I graduate.”

“And you aren't?” His esteem for her rose even higher, knowing that she worked hard to get ahead and finish school. He and William had been damned lucky to grow up with the affluence they had. Still, their parents expected them to work for a living instead of turning into the trust-fund trash he saw so often in the gossip sheets.

“I could never go back there. I'm not the same person anymore. I'm not cut out for Liberty. Don't get me wrong, it's a nice place to grow up, for the most part, but it's not for me. I may not stay in Vegas, depending on my job options, but I won't be going back.”

“What do you want to do with your degree?” The idea of Dahlia not being around after she graduated made him sort of nervous.

“Run or manage a business. I want to be a CFO someday. It's why I like Las Vegas so much. So many opportunities with all the hotel management groups and corporations based here. But…well, it hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be.”

“But what?”

“Nothing. Anyway, it's not like shaking my ass on a stage is helping, but I did an internship the last semester of last year and through the summer and that was really helpful.”

“Why do you shake your ass onstage? Not like I'm complaining. I like your ass. I especially like it when you shake it.”

“Money. Internships don't make you much money, if any at all, and I can't afford that. So I did the internship and then I did both when I started working at The Dollhouse. I have a job interview in two weeks with the corporation I interned at. They liked me and my ideas.”

They finished dinner as she told him about the internship she'd completed with the Tate Group and the job she hoped to get. He knew the CEO of the group that ran that particular hotel and several others in Las Vegas as well as New Orleans. He resolved to put in a good word on her behalf. He got the feeling there was more than she was saying about her reasons for working at The Dollhouse.

After dinner, they cleaned the kitchen as a team and retired to her couch, which, thankfully, was cozy enough to keep her close.

“I talked an awful lot about myself tonight. I want to know more about you and your family. Your brother. What you were like growing up. I know you grew up in Boston, but you also said you spent a lot of time here in Las Vegas. What was that like? You've told me some but I'd like to know more.”

He took her wineglass and put it on the end table and turned her chin so that she faced him. “That's for our next date. Right now, I need to kiss you. I've thought about little else since last night about five seconds after I kissed you last.”

* * *

Not for the first time, Dahlia wondered at his ability to render her speechless and giddy. It made her wary—she wasn't sure she liked anyone having that much of an effect on her. At the same time, it felt wonderful to drop her guard and let someone get close. The intensity and depth of the feelings he inspired brought everything to do with him into vivid focus. She'd locked herself away for years after the experience at Warner Industries. Since then she'd just stayed focused on school.

Her gaze locked with his for long moments as his thumb brushed along the space on her neck just below her ear.

Leaning in, he took her lips.

He started slowly, his mouth brushing lightly over hers, his lips warm and soft. The edge of his beard tickled her, but it wasn't scratchy. A shiver went through her as she imagined how it would feel against the soft skin of her inner thighs.

Without meaning to, a soft moan escaped her and he pulled her closer as his tongue slipped into her mouth. The kiss was sure without being overly aggressive. His taste marked her, filled her.

“God, more,” he gasped, bringing her astride him.

Her skirt rose up to her thighs and pleasure arced up her spine as her pussy settled over the hard line of his cock. He rolled his hips, grinding himself into her as his tongue lazily stroked into her mouth.

The cool silk of his hair tickled her hands as she held him. With a last tug of her bottom lip between his teeth, he moved to her chin and across her jawline to her ear. His palms slid down her back to her waist, holding her to him as he rolled himself into her.

Heat began to build as his movements brought him over her clit through her panties. She was so damned turned on she wondered if she'd come just from that contact. That brief concern melted as he moved his mouth down her neck and her head fell back.

Humming with aroused satisfaction, Nash moved his hands to her breasts, fingers playing softly around the nipples through her dress.

Hands gripping his shoulders, she held on as he bent her farther, and the heat of his mouth found the upper swell of her breast.

Then cool air hit her skin as he pulled the bodice back, exposing her to his hands and lips. All rational thought shut down when the tip of his tongue traced around her nipple and she gave in to the pleasure of the moment.

* * *

Triumph roared through him as Nash felt the last bit of her hesitation melt. She was fire in his arms. The heat of her pussy against his cock seared him, made him want her with desperate intensity.

Her nipple hard against his lips and tongue indicated she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And what a beautiful nipple it was. Her body was amazing! He'd seen a lot of it while she danced, but the dusky color of her nipples, the shape and size of them, had been a question he'd been pondering in detail for months.

The hand that had rested on her bare thigh slowly moved upward. Giving her time to refuse and getting no indications in that direction, he continued up under her dress until he reached the edge of her panties with his fingertips.

A pretty gasp came from her and then she moaned softly. Unable to resist any longer, he brought the edge of his teeth against her nipple and she arched, pressing herself into his mouth.

His fingertips traced the line of her pussy through the lacy material of her panties. She was wet and hot and the swollen bundle of her clit greeted him.

Groaning, he moved the panties to the side and slid his fingers into her, moving them along the slicked furls of her sex.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, indeed, Dahlia. You're almost there already, aren't you?” He spoke against the flesh of her nipple and she writhed against him, rocking herself over his fingers.

“More, baby? Like this?” He pressed one finger and then two into her gate and they both gasped. Tight and inferno-hot. Her inner muscles fluttered around him. Shifting his wrist, he pressed the heel of his hand over her clit and fucked into her pussy with his fingers.

Her breath came in pants as her honey rained hot onto his hand. Her nipples glistened from his mouth, still hard and darkening. The line of her body gleamed with a light sheen of sweat against the warm light from the lamp across the room.

“I want you to come for me, Dahlia. I need to hear it, feel it. Give it to me,” he murmured as he kissed from one breast to the other.

“Ohhh, yes,” she hissed. He felt the clench and flutter of her pussy around him as she thrust herself onto him, grinding into his hand.

He kept loving her with his mouth and hands as her orgasm engulfed her, the heat of it rolling off her in waves, catching him. Just watching and feeling her had been enough to drive him right to the edge, but he didn't want to come right then. He wanted the moment to be all about Dahlia.