Stripped Down. Kelli Ireland

can call me whatever you want.”

      Eric reached out and caught Cass’s hand as she started toward the ladies’ table. “Hey. Song’s not over.”

      She stopped and glanced at Eric, her eyes neutral despite the high color riding her cheeks. “I got the impression your dance partner ditched you for the King of Rum over there.”

      Yep, she was irritated. He shrugged. “I get thrown over at the end of every set for the next guy to hit the stage, so I’m used to it.”

      “You’re not really going to use that line, are you?”

      Narrowing his eyes, he reached for her hand. “C’mon, Cass. I want to dance with you.”

      “Would it kill you to ask?”

      “Might.” It was fast becoming clear he’d missed the lamb and hit the lion as he pulled her through the throng of gyrating bodies.

      Without warning, he spun her and, chest to her back, ran a hand up her stomach, between her breasts and over her shoulder. He snugged her tight to his chest. Her breath hitched, the little gasp shivering through his arm. His heartbeat did this funny freeze-then-run-away thing. He drew a shallow breath to say something—who knew what?—and instead got a whiff of her perfume, subtle, lush, erotic. It delivered a punch of arousal straight to his groin.

      Cass wiggled.

      He didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her hair aside with his free hand and laid his lips against the shell of her ear. “What are you wearing?”

      “Clothes. Now let me go.”

      The music wound down, but he didn’t move.

      She struggled.

      He tightened his hold.

      “Let. Me. Go.” Every world was issued on the threat of implied retaliation.

      “Dance with me, Cass.” Moving against her, he whispered, “Just dance.”

      She stood still long enough he was sure she was going to turn him down.

      His stomach tightened. Nerves? No way. No damn way.

      Then she leaned into him and, hooking her arms around his neck, began to sway to the music. “One song.” Subdued at first, her hips gradually took up a more insistent, primal rhythm. Fingernails raked the skin of his neck and wove into his nape.

      Goose bumps scattered across his arms.

      Cass was a siren, moving beneath the colored lights and through the artificial smoke that wafted across the dance floor as if she belonged there. Men watched her. Women mimicked her. Eric wanted her. Craved her. Ached for her.

      Intense hunger burned through him, a flash fire of desire that incinerated his reserve of common sense. He tightened his hold on her and let their bodies twist and turn and stroke and touch in an elemental way that fed his desire, intensified the building ache in his cock and transformed preliminary want into undeniable need.

      He’d clearly come down on one side of the imaginary line he’d drawn—the side of seduction. Whether it was his or hers remained to be seen.

      Regardless, it was only one night. Tomorrow he’d go back to the problems of Eric Reeves.

      * * *

      CASS’S PULSE THUNDERED as the song faded and a new one rolled across the crowd, this one more heavy metal than heavy petting.

      Dalton’s hand settled on her lower back, hot as a brand. Slight pressure steered her across the room and toward the small hallway leading to the restrooms. The hallway was lit. The area outside it wasn’t.

      Dalton curled his fingers over the low-slung waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed over the silk of her skin and the satin of her thong, paused, and then fisted the denim roughly enough to make her gasp.

      Equal parts desire and sexual fervor rushed through her head in a whitewash of noise.

      With a small tug, he spun her around and closed in, pressing her back against a wall in the darkest corner. The smell of his soap, earthy and masculine, washed over her. Her lips parted.

      He dipped his head slowly, giving her ample time to protest his obvious intent. When she offered none, he claimed her mouth. No games. No pretense. No hesitation.

      She gripped his shoulders and met his hunger touch for touch, taste for taste.

      His tongue flicked over hers. The pad of one thumb traced her chin even as the rest of his hand cupped her neck. Long fingers of his free hand wrapped around the back of her head and cradled the shallow dip at the top of her spine. Encouraging her forward, he pulled her up and deeper into the kiss. He nibbled her bottom lip before gently suckling the same.

      The faint taste of hops hovered on the tip of his tongue.

      She yielded to him on an exhale.

      He owned her mouth, directed her body and became her anchor in a brewing emotional storm. Long-forgotten desire curled through her pelvis, warm and wanting. One kiss barely begun, and already she wanted more.

      His fingertips traced the hollow of her spine, lower and lower until they slipped over her ass and hauled her forward to straddle his thigh.

      Cass gasped, the sound acting like a starting gun to the man who had held her so carefully. He was suddenly everywhere. The kiss that had been gentle, tentative even, morphed into something fierce, demanding, dominating. Dalton simply possessed her. He tilted her head a fraction to better accommodate the slant of his mouth. His lips moved with ruthless precision, driving her higher and wringing a sound of pure desperation from her, a sound he swallowed with a groan.

      She fought to give as well as she got. Her arms went around his neck at the same time she wrapped a leg around his hips. He gripped her knee and encouraged her higher. The heavy ridge of his erection rode the seam of her sex and ripped from her throat an erotic whimper laced with need. She rocked against him, meeting his small thrusts.

      Someone coughed as they walked by.

      Cass whipped her chin away, turning her face into the corner. What the hell was she doing? There was a huge difference between letting her hair down and getting it on in public. Her father would declare this the ultimate weakness, right behind love, and would humiliate her for it endlessly. Time to scale things down and regroup. She’d reclaim her raging hormones and shove them back into their box.

      That was the problem, though. Those hormones? They didn’t want to be put away. No, they wanted to stay out and play with Dalton.

      “Cass?” His voice, deep and gravelly with undisguised want, scraped over her. Clearing his throat, he lowered her leg but didn’t move away from her.

      “What is this?” she asked softly.

      “This?”

      “Whatever’s happening between us. One minute we’re dancing and the next—” she waggled a hand between them “—this.”

      He leaned back a bit to watch her through hooded eyes, framing her upper body when he propped his arms against the wall on each side of her. His lower body pinned her. All around them, people danced and talked and drank and lived without paying them much attention. When he finally answered, his words stole her breath. “I hope this is more than a single dance but less than a heartache.”

      She nodded. They were so on the same page. It could be one night, a night no one would, or could, know about. Anything else could ruin her reputation and get her fired from the Sovereign project. She lifted her chin, determined. “Tonight, then.”

      The air between them became a charged milieu, electric and volatile, as they stared at each other.

      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.”