probably six-three or six-four, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the man wore a well-fitted business suit of dark gray with subtle pinstriping, complete with a solid, darker vest. A purple paisley tie and matching pocket square rounded out the look. His dark brown hair was damp and, cut in an executive’s cut, needed a trim. One broad hand smoothed his jacket. “Gwen Sivern?” he asked her. His voice was as fluid as hot caramel.
Cass pointed at Gwen. “Her.” She swallowed hard. “I’m Cass. Wheeler. Cass Wheeler.”
A dark, seductive grin revealed dimples.
She’d never had an opinion on dimples. Suddenly she loved them. Craved them. Thought every man should have them.
Shifting his pale green gaze to Gwen, he held out a hand. “Dalton Chase. I’m here to discuss your prenuptial agreement.”
Gwen glanced from him to Cass, who shrugged. “I don’t have a prenuptial agreement.”
“That’s...interesting.” Dalton flipped open the lower button on his jacket and slipped one hand in his pocket. He focused on Cass. “May I come in?”
Cass moved aside, inadvertently yanking Gwen with her.
Dalton’s eyes slipped to their cuffed wrists. His lips twitched. “I see I got here just in time for the fun.”
Dreaded heat flooded Cass’s cheeks. “I lost the key,” she said on a sigh at the same time Gwen squeaked, “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”
He stepped into the foyer, closing the door behind him, grinning. “My lucky night. Considering you’re cuffed to her, I’m going to take it as a two-for-one special.”
Gwen turned in near slow motion and gaped first at Cass and then at Dalton. “You’re a stripper.”
Cass darted a glance at Dalton. His smile never faltered, but his face seemed to tighten.
“Cass,” Gwen all but shouted as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Tell me you hired me a stripper.”
Dalton chuckled. “Well, Gwen, I’m not here to sell you life insurance.” He started through the apartment. “Sounds like the fun’s centered in here.”
Temporary silence fell over the crowd of women when he walked into the large living room, Cass and Gwen right behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I was told you’d have a stereo.”
“I, uh, do.” What is wrong with me? She’d seen attractive men and had even dated a couple of exceptionally gorgeous specimens, but there was something about this man that was different. She tipped her head toward the entertainment center. “It’s on the shelf below the TV.”
“Excellent.” He nodded toward the women who were watching him with open fascination. “Ladies.”
“You’re Dalton Chase,” breathed one of Gwen’s distant cousins whose name Cass couldn’t remember.
He smiled at her. “I am.”
“Please, Lord, tell me that man is going to take his clothes off. Someone please tell me he’s going to take his clothes off,” Tyra, Cass’s assistant, said in a stage whisper.
“Oh, he’s going to,” the bridesmaid-cousin said, reaching for her purse and digging out her wallet with shaking hands.
Cass tried not to smile and failed as the women scrambled to retrieve their handbags.
She’d gone to extremes to keep the evening’s entertainment private, asking the club to go so far as to keep her name off the invoice. Hiring a stripper wasn’t really a big deal, but the double standards of behavior for men versus women were alive and well in the business world. And she had to face Sovereign’s board of directors next week, a board that was notoriously conservative. Plus, she didn’t doubt there would be competitors who would try to use the information to paint her as a young, irresponsible wild child and snag the contract out from under her. Too much work had gone into this project to lose it to some small-minded, misogynistic asshat.
Despite all that, she watched Dalton dig through his briefcase and couldn’t help but admire the chiseled line of his jaw and broad sweep of his shoulders. She’d asked the club to send the best. They’d certainly honored her request.
Dalton crouched before the stereo and plugged in his phone, scrolling through his music to find the song he wanted. He cranked the volume before facing the room. “I need a chair.”
Three women scrambled to offer theirs.
He winked at the shyest of the group and took the chair she offered before tracing the pad of one of his fingers down the woman’s jaw. “Thanks.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
To a woman, the room sucked in its breath and several squirmed in their seats.
The song’s bass line started low and built as Dalton slowly slid the chair across the room with exaggerated steps. He stopped and crooked his finger at Gwen, but his eyes were on Cass.
She couldn’t look away.
“Both of you. C’mere.”
The music began to throb, the base thumping in a sexual cadence. Gwen dragged Cass across the floor.
Dalton settled Gwen in the chair and stood Cass behind her, their cuffed wrists resting on Gwen’s shoulder.
Pitbull’s voice came across the speakers, followed by Christina Aguilera’s. Dalton shrugged out of his jacket. Stepping in close enough to Cass that she could feel the heat radiating off his torso, he held the jacket out by one finger. The lyrics paused. He let the jacket fall.
The room went wild.
His hips worked behind Cass in time to the music, his groin randomly brushing her ass.
She curled her fingers into Gwen’s shoulder. This was not the way this was supposed to have gone. Gwen was supposed to get a lap dance, a little embarrassing sexual innuendo dropped around her, and the women were supposed to get a show. Cass was not supposed to be part of the performance.
“Go with it, Ms. Wheeler,” he whispered into her ear.
Her breath caught in her chest. He smelled expensive—rich, dark, spicy—and something in her ignited as he ran a finger down her spine. “Cass.”
The music built and broke into a techno dance beat.
He grabbed her hips and ground against her. “Cass it is.”
Dalton moved around the chair and straddled Gwen’s lap, rolling his torso in an impressive move that made him seem boneless. Pulling his tie loose, he left it around his neck as he flicked first his vest then his shirt open. They landed on the floor beside his jacket. He was tan, smooth-skinned and defined in a way that made Cass hunger to run her hands over his body.
Propping a foot lightly on Gwen’s thigh, one side of his mouth curled up in a brutally seductive smile. “Help me with my shoe?”
“I can’t,” Gwen squeaked.
