Stripped Down (16 page)

“For the love of all that’s holy, Cass, save my pride. I can’t hold out again.”

Her breathy laugh was all the answer she could muster.

He rolled off her and hooked an arm behind his head, jerking his chin toward her shoes.

“I’ll let you boss me around right now because I’m one up in the orgasm count, but don’t think it’ll become a regular habit,” she teased, clutching her dress and standing.

“I wouldn’t mind it becoming a regular habit,” he said softly.

She faced him, brow furrowed. “Please don’t tell me you get off ordering me around. That could be a problem.”

“No, baby.”

Something in her bloomed at the pet name.

“I meant I could get used to this, us, being a regular thing.”

Yep. Definitely bloomed. The urge to run to him, to buy into the mystery and security and promise of a happily-ever-after nearly overwhelmed her. Instead of giving in to the urge, she moved toward her shoes. She wasn’t that girl.

Her father had changed her worldview as a young girl when he’d strolled through the media room while she’d been watching
Beauty and the Beast.
He’d paused and then burst out laughing when Beast transformed into a handsome prince. Once he’d regained his breath, he’d told her the concept of true love was as much a lie as Santa Claus, and that relationships were about economics, even to princes. She hadn’t known Santa was a lie, and the truth had left her in tears.

“Oh, grow up,” he’d barked before yelling for her nanny, Paulette, and slamming the door behind him.

Paulette had consoled her. She’d also confirmed that Santa wasn’t real, leaving Cass to draw the only conclusion a seven-year-old girl could draw: if Santa was a lie based on money, love must also be a lie based on money. Successive boyfriends hadn’t changed her opinion.

“Cass?” A warm hand caressed her calf and she jumped out of reach. “Hey.” Dalton rose and moved in behind her. “Where’d you go?”

“An unhappy stroll down memory lane,” she whispered.

“If memory lane is full of unhappy memories, let’s make some happy ones of our own.”

She glanced over her shoulder, unable to mask the surprise on her face. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t look so scared.” He stroked her hair off her forehead. “I’m not asking for a declaration of undying love. I’d just like to see where this goes, try and make it work.” He swallowed. “Maybe get to the point of exclusivity.”

“I don’t sleep around, Dalton.” Her words came out harsher than she intended. “Sorry. It’s just... I don’t date a lot and if I’m sleeping with someone, I don’t go out with anyone else. It feels wrong.”

He nodded. “Cheapens the experience of what you have with the person you’re sleeping with.”

She relaxed a little. “Exactly.”

“You know what this means?”

“No?”

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he winced and rearranged his erection so it wasn’t pinched in his jeans. “It means we’ve crossed the first bridge.”

Her stomach did a weird tumble through her and paused somewhere near her knees. “Which bridge?” His answer made her stomach finish the fall.

“We’ve just become exclusive.”

She rubbed a hand over her thundering heart and fought for air. “Exclusive” hadn’t been on the menu when she’d met Dalton
yesterday.
“Don’t you think it’s a little fast for that?”

“Not really.” He pierced her with a bold green stare. “We just established we’re not sleeping with other people. I’m not seeing anyone else while I’m with you because I really don’t want to. You said you don’t date much, so I’m going to assume you’re not seeing anyone else, either.” He frowned, his gaze becoming fierce. “Unless we’re talking about Marcus, and then I’ll have to kill the slimy son of a bitch.”

A nervous half gasp, half laugh escaped before she answered. “No, I’m not dating Marcus.”

He grinned at her. “Then you just saved his life.”

“You scare me a little,” she said, the words a whisper.

His brows winged down. “You realize I’m joking, right? I’m not some super-secret government agent spy guy here to bring down the dastardly Marcus for moving on my woman, right?”

“Your woman.” That was all that she’d heard. One part of her was ecstatic she could have this man completely to herself, but the other part of her was terrified.

His face relaxed and did that neutral thing he did when he was trying to hide how he felt. “You don’t look happy.”

Already she didn’t like watching him try to hide what was real. She took a deep breath and slipped on the heels, then she slowly turned and faced him. The urge to cover herself made her hands twitch, and she fought to stand there and let him stare as she spoke. “I don’t wear matching lingerie and stilettos for just anyone, Dalton.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re happy,” he replied, face still carefully blank.

But his eyes—oh, man, his eyes. They had darkened with a riot of emotion and watched her now with such base desire she shivered.

“I’m happy,” she assured him as she did her very best, very slow catwalk stalk toward him. “Very, very happy.”

“Then why did you hesitate?”

Clearly he wasn’t going to let this go so she stopped, closing her eyes before answering him. “Because I suck at relationships. I don’t believe in happily ever after. I’ve fought long and hard to carve out my place in the world, and it’s never included anyone with any type of longevity except Gwen. With her, it’s like I’m a ship and she’s a barnacle,” she said with a soft smile. “A tiny, tenacious, terrifying barnacle who didn’t give me the option to say no and loves me in spite of myself.”

The rustle of fabric and creak of floorboards made her open her eyes—she fully expected to find Dalton leaving the room. Instead, she found him closing the insignificant distance between them. “What kind of ship?”

“Huh?”

He smiled slowly. “What kind of ship are you? I’m thinking pirate ship.”

She laughed. “I’m a pirate ship?”

He pulled her into a fierce hug that completely enveloped her. He settled his mouth beside her ear, and his words were little more than an exhale. “Yep. Know how I can tell?”

“How?” she asked, just as softly.

He nibbled his way down her jaw and across to her mouth, his lips moving over hers when he answered. “I have a real thing for pirate ships. Must be the booty.” Swift and sure, his lips pressed to hers and demanded she answer in kind. It was a kiss that moved her and stilled her, freed her and branded her. And that’s when Cass knew. She was in trouble.
Big
trouble. The kind of trouble a heart didn’t want to be rid of. Ever.

He lowered her to the floor as he whispered into her ear what he was going to do to her body.

She went willingly and with the full understanding that what happened tonight was another step toward the impossible.

For once, she tuned it all out and let herself fall into Dalton.

* * *

T
HE SMELL OF COFFEE
drifted through Eric’s consciousness. He stretched, groaning. Memories of last night rolled through his mind as his synapses began to fire. Man, it had been wild.
Cass
had been wild. She’d been tentative, at first gun-shy of the idea they were actually going to try exclusivity. Then something in her had shifted. Every presumption he’d had vanished in that vixen’s wake. He’d never been owned in the bedroom, but she’d managed it in the very best ways possible. So efficiently, in fact, he was physically sore. He grinned. Each aching muscle was like a badge of freaking honor. He’d
earned
them and would damn straight do it all over again given the opportunity. Maybe even tonight.

He was a little uneasy that he still hadn’t broached the subject of his name, but she’d been so vulnerable last night, he hadn’t wanted to risk hurting her. Besides, they still had today, and he’d spend it making her so happy she wouldn’t care what his name was.

“What has you lying there, eyes closed, looking like the guy who knows he won the lottery the day after he signed the divorce papers?”

He opened his eyes, slow and lazy. “You.”

“Uh-uh.” She sipped her coffee. “I wasn’t even in here.”

“I was doing a little play-by-play recap. I’m pretty sure we both scored repeatedly, but I’m not sure who won the game.”

She patted his cheek. “Silly man, I did.”

“How can you be sure?” Skepticism wove through his words.

“Because you’re the player, baby, but I’m the coach.”

“Put your coffee down.”

“What?” Her gaze slid to him, and he was totally charmed at the way her lips twitched and her eyes shone.

“I said put your coffee down.”

“Why?” Now the skepticism was all hers.

“I don’t want you to spill it and burn yourself.”

She snorted. “I think I can manage to hold a conversation and sip a cup of coffee without burning myself.”

He arched a single brow. “You won’t be able to when I take you to the mat...Coach.” She was off the bed in a flash, her alarmed squeak making him laugh. “What kind of coach runs from her players?”

“The kind who knows the size of bat her player swings.” Scarlet stained her cheeks. “I’m a little sore.”

“No batting practice this morning,” he said gently and patted the bed. “Have a seat.”

“Okay, but hands under the covers and you keep them to yourself.” Her eyes flared and her mouth opened and closed as he roared with laughter. “I didn’t mean... That is... Well, shit.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“So no batting practice, huh?”

She grinned. “Shut up, Dalton, or you’ll be benched indefinitely.”

“Shutting up immediately, Coach.”

“Good,” she said demurely, settling on the bed and tucking her legs up under her. “What are your plans for the day?”

The question caught him off guard, and he blurted the truth out without an ounce of finesse. “I thought we’d spend it together.”

Her mouth quirked to one side as she considered him. “I really should go into the office. I’ve got a big meeting—”

Sitting up, he took her coffee cup from her, sipped and grimaced as he set the cup on the nightstand. “I know you said you like it with cream and sugar, but there’s enough crap in there to disqualify this as coffee.”

“Men who bitch rarely get their own cup,” she teased, hopping up and grabbing a second mug he hadn’t noticed off the chest of drawers. “The three
b
’s—basic, black and bitter. Just the way you like it.”

The only way she could have known how he took his coffee was if she’d taken note of how he’d made it yesterday at breakfast. And she would have only taken note if she’d wanted to bring it to him today, and maybe tomorrow and the next day and... His heart stuttered. This woman could be so much trouble for him. Trouble with a capital
L
for...

He choked on the hot brew and sat up, spitting coffee everywhere.

“Dalton?” She grabbed a pillow, ripped the case off and began dabbing at the coffee-stained comforter. “Either give me the international sign for choking or a thumbs-up that you’re ready to die.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” he wheezed. Wiping at his tearing eyes, he watched her with a kind of terrified curiosity.

She whipped her hands back, tucking the pillowcase behind her. “Sorry about the pillowcase, but I didn’t want you to ruin your comforter. It’s cheaper to replace sheets than a comforter set.”

Cold reality crept into the moment and flash-froze his lungs. It always came down to money with him.
She realizes I need the cash.
Nerves rattling along his spine like an inmate raking an empty tin cup against metal bars, Eric watched her silently until her brows winged down.

“What?”

“Why did you suggest that sheets were more reasonable to replace?” He hated that his voice reflected the frigid wasteland of resentment spreading through him. Had he been deceiving himself to think that she would accept him, poor stripper that she thought him to be? “Cass?” he pressed.

“A part of me can’t justify throwing out a comforter for a minor stain. Sheets are easier and cheaper to replace if the coffee stain doesn’t come out.” She glanced at him again, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “I might live in a nice apartment, but that doesn’t automatically make me irresponsible with my money.”

He fought to keep his jaw from dropping. She thought... “So that—what you just said—isn’t about me at all.” He couldn’t help but push her for clarification.

“If you believe I’m a spendthrift, you’ve got me wrong entirely. I—”

Relieved, he cut her off midsentence, his mouth crashing down onto hers. His tongue danced across hers, seductive and demanding, as he slid his hands up her arms to cup her neck. Lacing his fingers together so he held her immobile, he took the kiss deeper. She tasted of sugared coffee and toothpaste and of something inherently
her.
That half-crazy craving she fueled spun up inside him. His hands involuntarily tightened on her neck.

She whimpered.

Had he been a true gentleman, he would have let her go. Instead, he tightened his hands again, his fingertips curling to press firmly into her skin. His cock kicked and his testicles drew up close to his body. After last night, he was almost spent, but he wasn’t dead. Dry brush burned when it tried to embrace a live flame, and she was the fuel to his tinder.

Without warning, she pulled away, eyes wide and lips swollen. “What the hell was that, Dalton?”

Dalton. Never Eric. That’s going to change. Today.
“My way of asking you to stay.”

“And actual words wouldn’t have worked?”

“I was reminding you why you should stay, reminding you that what’s between us isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill, flash-and-burn attraction and you shouldn’t use your work to hide from it.”

Silent, she stared at him.

He stared back, watching as she worked through whatever it was she needed to in order to stay here with a clear conscience. Had he said too much? She was so unyielding, watching him without a word, that he feared he’d snap, throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed in an effort to convince her to not to leave. They always connected between the sheets. If that’s what it took to get her to realize they were great together then—