Stripped Down (17 page)

“Don’t order me around, Dalton. I don’t like it.”

His laugh was part shock, part humor given what he’d just been considering. Still, he managed to sort out his thoughts. “I’ll work on it. I don’t want you threatening to run every time I slip, and I
will
slip, Cass. I’m human and I’m male, and those two things apparently mean I’m going to screw up on epic levels time and again.”

One corner of her mouth curled up, but her eyes remained still and deep. “I can handle you screwing up if you’re truly trying, but the demanding and commanding crap? It doesn’t work. It pushes every defensive button I have and it will send me through your front door so fast the only thing I’ll leave behind is the cartoonlike outline of me as I exit.”

Clearly she was still jumpy as hell. He’d need every minute of the next twenty-four hours if he had any hope of reassuring her he wasn’t playing her once he’d told her the whole truth.

“Spend the day with me, then stay tonight. Let’s get out of here and have a play date.”

This time her grin reached her eyes. “Play date?”

“It’ll be fun. Trust me.” He reached for her hand, and she reached back.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll stay today and spend the night. But I do have to get up at the butt crack of dawn and be at work around six. Are you cool with that?”

“Yep. I’ve got a metric shit-ton of stuff to do tomorrow, too, so that works out. We can meet for lunch, maybe grab a burger, sneak a few kisses and wrap up the day with me making you an amazing dinner.”

“Don’t make too many plans.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing good ever lasts for me, Dalton, and this feels way too good.”

The language was simple, the words direct. The hell of it, though?

She was right.

13

C
ASS WAS ALWAYS
on time. She liked schedules. She did well with agendas and plans and structure. Today, though, there were so many stops and starts, usually involving tender kisses and less-than-innocent touches, that it took them forever to get out of the house. She couldn’t have cared less. Every touch made it worth the hours it took them to get to her car and head toward the waterfront. He was so far away from her regular world, she didn’t even think about Preservations or the mole or the big meeting in just a few days.

He’d quickly passed with a gruff, “No thanks,” when she offered to take him back to Bathtub Gin to pick up his car. Pressing had seemed silly, but part of her was suddenly curious about what the kind of car he drove. It didn’t matter to her one bit, but it clearly mattered to him. The realization made her want to push the issue, to find out what bothered him about his car. It was obvious he was cautious with money. Was it because he had to be? Did he get the impression money mattered to her? Did he think she lived large? Was it her address? Was it that he was ashamed of some facet of how he lived or what he did?

Sort of like you struggling with his occupation, maybe?
her conscience whispered.

Frowning, she rubbed her forehead. It wasn’t that. It
wasn’t.

Warm fingers traced down the side of her cheek and reclaimed her attention. “What’s with the dark scowl?” he asked from the passenger side.

She shrugged, glancing at him before returning her attention to the road. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

Wrapping his hand around the far side of her headrest, he leaned toward her.

She started hard enough she actually jerked the wheel.

“Right. Clearly you’re not bothered at all.”

The teasing in his voice made her relax a little. “I have to concentrate. I didn’t grow up running around Seattle like some wild child.”

“I resent the implication that I was a wild child.”

“And why is that?” she absently asked, looking over her shoulder as she merged into traffic on I-5.

“I’m not so old I can’t still be a little wild,” he answered, running a hand up the inside of her near thigh.

“You’ve got that right.”

“Recognize the reality, woman.”

“What I ‘recognize’ is that you’re going to make me wreck the car if you don’t get your hands off me.”

“Decrepit, but I’ve still got it.”

His answer, and fingertips, surprised a laugh from her. “And modest with it, too.”

“Why pretend modesty when it’s clear I speak naught but the truth?” He affected the worst Shakespearian accent she’d ever heard.

Switching lanes, she arched a brow. “You might have moves, but your accent sucks.”

“Ouch. I might be wounded.”

She glanced at him and took the Olive Way exit. “Sweetie, if I make the effort to intentionally wound you, you should just go ahead and prepare to bleed out.”

“So noted.”

Skyscrapers closed in around them as they made their way toward the Market. Streets narrowed and motorists were suddenly competing with cyclists, pedestrians, scooters and even the occasional Segway. With her window down to the surprisingly warm noonday sun, she listened as gulls circled and cried against the backdrop of an impossibly blue sky. Squadrons of pelicans moved parallel to the shoreline, their occasional rubber-against-glass bark of sound transcending humanity’s noises. Mount Rainier loomed in the near distance, the recent snowfall leaving the north face brilliant above the cloud line. All in all, it was a perfect Seattle day. That meant Seattleites had come out en masse to enjoy the rare natural dose of vitamin D.

She pulled into a public parking garage and grabbed a ticket before winding her way up the levels until she found a decent spot on the third floor.

Dalton got out, met her at the rear of the car and took her hand, weaving their fingers together as he led her toward the bank of elevators where they caught a car to street level. When the car doors opened to the lobby, he pulled her through and into the sunshine like an anxious kid.

Even if she hadn’t known that days like today were rare, the crush of people would have given something away. Residents of the 206 area code nearly had to take a blood oath asserting they’d get outside on sunny days if they wanted to have their utilities hooked up. The sidewalks were so crowded she couldn’t comfortably walk beside Dalton. Instead, she let him clear the way, following in his wake. It made conversation impossible but afforded her time to think, and it was time she desperately needed.

They’d fallen into bed without realizing they were falling for each other, and she was sure it was happening for each of them. This wasn’t some one-sided event. No, he’d made it clear he wanted this thing between them to grow, that he was willing to nurture it toward an exclusive—God save her—
relationship.
Hell, he’d somehow gone straight to “exclusive” without pause, convincing her they were on the same page. She still wasn’t sure how it had happened. All she knew with certainty was that, according to Dalton and by her own admission, they were now in an exclusive relationship.

Butterflies cavorted behind her belly button, bouncing around all crazy and carefree as she continued along behind Dalton, her chin tucked in tight to her chest. Maybe the feeling wasn’t carefree at all but rather totally panicked. That seemed more plausible, what with the slightly metallic taste on her tongue and the short, inefficient way her breath labored in and out of her chest. Yep, definitely panic.

Head down, she hadn’t realized Dalton had stopped until she plowed into him, forcing him to take a step forward as he regained his balance.

He turned, grip on her hand still tight. “You okay?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t watching.” She tried to retrieve her hand, but he wasn’t letting go.

“It’s all good, but moves like that will get you a walk-on tryout for the Seahawks if they see you in action.” He bent his head close to hers. “Between us, you’ve earned a fierce nickname,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.

“I’m really sorry.” She glanced around him, taking in the narrow stairway ahead as she tried to retrieve her hand. “Wait. What? What nickname?”

“Ariel.”

Foot on the first step, she stopped and looked back, confused. “Ariel is hardly fierce.”

“It’s your affinity for barnacles.”

The ridiculousness of the conversation almost made it make sense. Still... “Barnacles.”

“You said it yourself—they’re tenacious. As for the name, surely you’ve watched
The Little Mermaid.
”

“Sure, but I have an excuse.”

“Which is?”

“Ovaries. What’s yours?”

“One of my best friends has two little sisters who’re in training to become special-ops interrogators. They practiced on me one weekend, playing the soundtrack on repeat until I ended up in the fetal position under the dining room table answering every question they posed and some I might have imagined.”

“I’m scared to ask,” she said, laughing.

“Note to self—the woman finds torture hysterical,” he muttered. Letting go of her hand, he wrapped an arm around her and encouraged her up the next step. “The appropriate response would be to offer to hold me until the flashbacks pass.”

Deftly turning in his embrace, she found herself a step above him gazing down into laughter-filled green eyes. Her heart lurched with such force she actually staggered a bit.

His eyes flared. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Taking her hand again, he traced a finger over the pad of her thumb. “So, you stumbling and gasping is a normal thing?”

“It’s not even close to a ‘thing.’ It’s not remotely a thing,” she insisted, well aware she was lying to him because she didn’t regularly stumble at the sight of a lovely pair of eyes. No, she definitely didn’t. This was, in fact, a very terrifying first. “I just realized I have no idea why you’re pushing me up a flight of stairs—”

“Two flights of stairs,” he interjected.

“Fine. Two flights. You’re pushing me up two flights of stairs. Why?”

“For the payoff.”

She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath before slowly refocusing on Dalton’s face. “I’ve been with you all morning and I fixed your coffee, so I’m pretty sure you haven’t been drinking. Humor me and explain why we’re here.”

“We’re here because my goal for the day is to ruin you for all other men.”

Taking in the old stairwell and little shops tucked in the nooks and crannies, she couldn’t help but smile. “We might need to talk about expectations. You know, yours versus mine.”

She yelped when he smacked her on the ass.

Settling his hands on her hips, he turned her and urged her up the stairs again. “You’ll rue the day you mocked me, woman.”

“Mock? I don’t mock.”

Her feigned indignation was such a poor effort that a guy coming down the stairs actually snorted and patted her on the shoulder. “You’d have better luck selling milk back to the cow, gorgeous.”

Her eyes nearly bugged out when Dalton burst out laughing as the stranger passed. “I’m using that one.”

“If she’s still fussy by the time she reaches the top of the stairs, she’s not worth it, man.”

Cass choked on her response.

Dalton’s broad hand shifted to the base of her spine. “Oh, she’s definitely worth it.”

The guy tipped his head in acknowledgment, skipped down the last few steps and pushed through the lobby door to disappear into the foot traffic.

Managing, barely, to stifle her snarky response, she started up the stairs, mentally dressing the stranger down with extraordinary skill she’d never manage if she actually opened her mouth.

“Take a deep breath, Cass. He was only playing.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.” He hooked a finger through her belt loop and pulled her to a stop. “Look at me.”

She glanced back, wary of his quiet surety.

“If he’d been disrespectful, I would have put a stop to it.”

“With what? Witty repartee?” Words that should have come out teasing were soft and almost flat.

“I would have started there, yes. If it had taken more...persuasive measures, I’d have done that, too.” He tucked a rogue wave of hair behind her ear. “No one disrespects you in front of me, baby.”

One corner of her mouth kicked up in a tremulous smile. “Is that your version of ‘nobody puts Baby in a corner’?”

He stepped up onto the next step so they were face-to-face before lowering his forehead to hers. “It’s my way of proving what I said earlier—I’m on your side, Cass.”

She shook her head gently and pulled away just far enough so she could meet his stare. “You paid that guy to say that to me, didn’t you? Just now. He’s an actor, and this is part of your plan to ruin me for all other men, using classic movie references to break down my defenses.”

“I wish I could claim I’d done that because it would have been brilliant.” He took her hands and lifted her fingers to his lips for a quick, hard kiss. “Unfortunately, it was all improv.”

Impulse drove her to lean in and take his mouth in a quick kiss. “You’re a devious man, Dalton Chase.”

“You have no idea.”

Side by side, they started up the stairs. Halfway up the second flight, the soft, sweet scent of cooking pastry hit her. By the time they reached the second-floor landing, the area was infused with the smells of baking and chocolate and strong coffee. A vintage door with an oval glass pane and oval brass doorknob with a skeleton key port beneath it stood between her and what was undoubtedly, given the tantalizing smells, nirvana.

She looked over at Dalton. “There’s no sign on the door.”

“When you’re as good as they are, you don’t need a sign.” With great relish, he pushed the door open and ushered Cass inside. “This, my lovely lady, is Le Crêpe Éprouver, home of the best crepes on the face of the planet.”

“Crepes?”

His gaze roamed over the chalkboard list of daily specials as he answered. “You mentioned crepes the other day and I haven’t been able to get them out of my mind since.”

“Crepes.”

“Yep. If I don’t get me some strawberry and Nutella heaven, Seattle will fall into the sea as I unleash my wrath.”

She widened her eyes with appropriate drama. “And here I thought I was safe with you.”

“Never come between a man and his Nutella, baby.”

“Duly noted.” She stepped farther inside, and he closed the door behind her. “If this place is half as amazing as it smells, you’re one step closer to achieving my ruination.”