Stripped Down. Kelli Ireland

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

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