style="font-size:15px;"> He moved in so close his lips brushed hers when he asked, “Want to get out of here?”
“It’s Gwen’s bachelorette party. I can’t just leave.” But she wanted to. Badly.
“I understand.” Glancing at his watch, the slight tension around his eyes eased. “Bar closes in thirty minutes.” Full lips tipped up and green eyes glinted in the low light. “We could just occupy this corner until then.”
Caught between the desire to do just that and a potential panic attack at doing just that, she settled her hands on his hips and gently pushed. “Believe it or not, I’m not entirely comfortable with public displays.”
“You dance like a hedonist yet you’re worried about being caught kissing me?” There was an underlying edge to the words.
She tipped her chin up and met his cooling stare. “I’m a relatively private person. I dance, yes, but that’s entirely different from being caught in a dark corner with someone’s hands down my pants.”
He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath before nodding. “Okay. I respect that.” He stepped away, creating space between them she didn’t want. “You want to kill the time on the dance floor?”
“Why don’t we find Gwen? Once she leaves, we can, too,” she answered, scanning the club for her friend.
“Sure.” He took her hand and laced their fingers together.
She didn’t comment, but let him lead her through the crowd toward the table they’d held. Several of the women from the party were there. They looked over at her and Dalton, taking in their linked hands. A couple of suggestive glances were exchanged.
Cass stepped forward, but Dalton tightened his grip. “You ladies know where our lovely little bride has run off to?”
“Last we heard, she was going to dance with the bartender one more time before she headed home. Said she missed Dave.”
He smiled. “Ladies,” Dalton said abruptly. “Have a nice evening.”
Squashing the urge to squirm, she slipped her arm around Dalton’s waist.
He relaxed his grip on her only slightly.
The music cued up, and the mass of people on the dance floor began to move.
Dalton bent low. “Your car or mine?”
THE RIDE TO CASS’S apartment passed in silence, giving Eric time to think and, ultimately, feel guilty. He should have told Cass his real name before kissing her. Letting her go on believing he was “Dalton” was far too close to lying by omission. Still, there was simply too much to risk by sharing his real name with a near stranger. If things went south between them, it would be a simple thing for her to out him in conversations with her business associates and friends, women who came to the club who could tie CEO Eric Reeves to stripper Dalton Chase. And if the ultraconservative investors in his company found out, he could lose everything. He couldn’t move forward without their money. Period. And if he couldn’t move forward, he was sliding down progress’s steep slope. There was no standing still in this business. So, no. He wouldn’t tell Cass his real name.
At the same time, he wasn’t giving up this night with her. He wanted it, wanted her, too much, in a way he’d never felt before. The fire she’d ignited in him now threatened to incinerate him. He had to experience her. She’d made it clear they had tonight and tonight only. Eric wasn’t foolish enough to believe that would be enough, and the thought of living with only that limited taste of her already chaffed. But he agreed—one night was all they could risk.
Needing a distraction, he reached for the radio at the same moment Cass did. Their hands brushed over one another, the simple contact stopping Eric’s breath. It took a moment to realize she’d frozen, too.
“What do you want to listen to?” He couldn’t look at her when he asked the question.
“It’s preset to one-oh-seven-point-one.”
“You like hard rock?” Surprise infused his every word.
“What, you assumed I was a Top 40 girl?”
He laughed. “I guess.”
“Shame on you.” She took the Broadway exit.
A deep guitar riff ripped through the car.
Eric leaned back in his seat. Their shared music preference fueled Eric’s curiosity, made him want to know more about her. It was a bad idea, digging into what made her tick, and he was well aware of it. That kind of knowledge would add a very personal layer to tonight’s pleasure. It didn’t stop him, though.
He reached forward and turned the radio down. “Tell me something about yourself.”
Absently tucking her hair behind one ear, she stole a quick glance in his direction. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. “Anything.”
“I’m the oldest child.”
“How many siblings?”
“I have one younger brother.”
Shifting onto his hip to face her, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Me, too. Sucks being the oldest.”
Her shoulders hunched forward, and he ached to soothe her, to say he understood. Then she seemed to catch herself and sat up. Her death grip on the steering wheel belied her calm exterior. “Yeah.” She softly cleared her throat. “Yeah, it does.”
“What does your brother do?”
She glanced at him, meeting his eyes this time. “Everything right.”
Muscles along his spine tightened. “Which leaves you doing everything wrong.”
She snorted delicately. “Pretty much. Now your turn.”
His hesitation stalled the conversation for a moment before he finally gathered the nerve to reveal a piece of himself. “I’m the oldest, too. My parents were killed in an accident with a logging truck several years ago. I basically raised my little brother.”
She didn’t say anything, just stared ahead as she drove.
Her silence made him want to scream. Instead, he rambled on.
“Blake was just a kid, really. He struggled, got a little out of control—violent in school, destructive out of school. I was shoved into the role of parent and provider with no clue how to be either. Not really. I was trying to go to college, but corralling him took most of my energy.” He paused, not quite willing to explain how losing his parents had wrecked him yet raising Blake had left him no real time to grieve. Focusing on Blake’s struggles was easier, and he felt the need to justify the primary choice he’d made to provide for Blake. “Stripping was fast money I desperately needed.”
“What did you do with
