Stripped Down. Kelli Ireland
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him want to apologize. In fact, he started to, but she interrupted. “You’re right. I just feel a little awkward treating you like...” She stared at her feet as she chewed on her bottom lip.
“Like a side of delectable beef?”
She huffed out a breath. “I suppose.”
The familiar white lie slipped out before he could stop himself. “I’m okay with this, Cass. If I wasn’t, I couldn’t do what I do.”
Gwen bounded up, beer in hand. “I want to go to Cinderblock and dance.” She glanced between them and smiled. “They’re open until two, so we’ve got a couple of hours to get our groove on.”
“Sure,” Cass answered absently, shifting her attention to Gwen. “We can wrap up here and be at the club in under thirty.”
The bride shifted innocent eyes on him. “Want to come, Dalton?”
He opened his mouth to politely decline.
Gwen interrupted. “Don’t say no. Please?”
“Cass?” Asking her seemed right, because if he went, he’d be off the clock and on his own, and this time he was going to dance with her, not for her. He would touch her body. And chances were good he’d stop thinking altogether and simply let things go where they would. “Would you be comfortable with me tagging along?”
She looked at him, those blue eyes nearly bottomless. “I’d love to have you...” Her breath caught and her eyes widened. “Join us! I’d love to have you join us.”
The strange connection he’d felt earlier sparked, an electric live wire running between them. He didn’t, couldn’t, drag his eyes away when he answered. “Give me an extra half hour to run home and grab some decent clubbing clothes. They’re not a tie-required kind of place, but I’m pretty sure pants aren’t optional.”
Cass’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, yet nothing came out.
Gwen slipped an arm around her waist and addressed Eric. “See you there.”
And that, as the saying went, was that.
* * *
CASS 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