Stripped (2 page)

“Ah! He's usually here on Friday nights. But I haven't seen him up close until now. I saw your head whip around and your hands were on your hips so you must have been giving him what-for. What did he do wrong?”

Dahlia had Friday nights off because it was her heaviest class day, so she'd been spared the arrogant hotness of the younger Emery brother.

“He's certainly not hard to look at, even if he is an arrogant asshole.” Taking another drink for good measure, Dahlia related the story and they all looked surreptitiously toward Nash's table.

“Well, a man like that makes a girl
want
to be slutty,” Roseanne said matter-of-factly.

And while Dahlia could agree that Nash Emery and his honey-blond hair, two-day beard and piercing green eyes made her nipples hard and her pussy ache, she also knew that no man was worth being slutty over. She wasn't allergic to a good time in bed, but it wasn't going to be with a man who took one look at her and thought big boobs equaled Good-Time Sally.

When she was up on the stage with the lights so bright she couldn't see the audience, it was okay to be sexy and sensual. Dahlia Baker from Liberty, Washington, was a distant memory when she embraced the thing that had made her an outcast simply because she had a wicked body and a beautiful face.

She hadn't gotten the hell out of Liberty to come to Las Vegas and lose her head over a man. Especially a man like Nash Emery. He might be the most attractive man she'd ever laid eyes on, but her legs weren't going to fall open at the flash of perfect teeth and a Rolex, either.

Oops, open legs and that mouth…Heat flashed through her at the thought of looking down her body as his head bent over her pussy, licking and nibbling. She'd sift her fingers through his hair as she held him in place. Dahlia fanned herself with her napkin and pressed the icy glass to her forehead, trying to cool off.

Nash had sent over a round of drinks, which she wanted to refuse, but her friends grabbed the glasses off the tray and told her to shut up about it.

Throughout the rest of the evening, she snuck looks in his direction and found him looking back with unabashed interest. There was something exciting and discomfiting about it all at once. A man like Nash had powerful charisma and presence; as guarded as she was, it still appealed to her.

Of course, when she left after one o'clock, she didn't fail to notice Nash wasn't hurting over her rejection. Three women stuck to him, and each one of them looked as if she'd feel at home on a high-fashion runway. He'd get his champagne bath with someone tonight.

Even so, he sent her a courtly bow and raised his drink at her as she passed.

S
he thought she'd be able to put Nash out of her mind but he showed up a week later.

“Hey, Dahlia. Nice job tonight. You're really good at those high kicks.” He sat down at the table with her and her friends, and all conversation stopped as the women stared at him.

“Uh, thanks.”

He looked around the table. “Hello, ladies. I'm Nash.”

Grudgingly, Dahlia introduced him to her friends and wasn't surprised when he bantered and flirted with them. However, he kept the bulk of his attention on her.

Being the center of his interest was flattering and totally overwhelming. Yes, she'd seen his type a few hundred times, but there was something
more
about Nash Emery. He was charming, witty and really smart, yet there was something indefinable about him, too. More alluring than she wanted to admit to herself. He was dangerous to her peace of mind.

Still, the parade of beautiful women constantly inserting themselves into his face served as a powerful reminder of his reputation. It helped her turn him down when he asked her out again. Even so, when he gave her a sexy pout, it took a lot of willpower not to lean in and grab that bottom lip between her teeth.

The next week, he didn't come to the club, but he sent flowers—dahlias in vibrant colors.

“Why can't the man send roses like every other schmuck?” she mumbled, annoyed at herself for being touched he'd sent something unusual and special but not extravagant. If he'd thrown money at her on some typical thing like roses, he'd be easier to blow off.

* * *

Two weeks later, he'd caught up with her as she exited the side door after her set.

“Dahlia!”

She spun and smiled as she saw him approach. “Hi there. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight.”

They walked to her car. “I can't seem to stay away when I know you'll be here.”

She wished it sounded like a line, but the more she was with him, the less clichéd he sounded.

After tossing her things in the backseat she turned and they began to chitchat. Until politics came into the discussion. Dahlia's politics were decidedly more liberal than Nash's and once they got started, the heat built as they debated hammer and tongs for an hour.

“Damn it, you're sexy when you argue,” he said, a grin breaking over his features.

She groaned. “You'd be a lot easier to resist if you were a Neanderthal or an asshole. Not that your political and economic ideas aren't totally wrong, mind you.”

He leaned in so close she smelled his skin and saw the pulse beat at the base of his throat. “Why resist?”

Her heart stuttered a moment and she swallowed hard. “You and I are not in the same league, Nash. I have to go. Have a good night.” Quickly, before she lost her resolve, she got into her car and drove away.

* * *

Nash placed Dahlia's usual drink on the table in front of her and sat down. “I'm liking this new act. You look gorgeous in red.”

Dahlia had given up asking herself why a man as scorchingly hot as Nash Emery would hang out at the club on her nights. She'd also given up fighting her pleasure at seeing him as she walked out into the lounge from backstage.

He'd asked her out several more times and she'd turned him down, however reluctantly. What they had was the beginning of a great friendship.

Not that he didn't sneak looks at her tits when he thought she didn't notice. But he seemed to actually care about what she said. It was irresistible, and her resolve to resist his romantic and sexual charms weakened a bit more every time she saw him.

Part of that, she knew, was how she'd been treated in the past. All her life she'd been judged after one look and written off as a bimbo. Even when she'd been working her way through college the office jobs she got were nightmarish. Either the men hit on her mercilessly or the women hated her. She'd taken to wearing jeans and hoodies to keep people from focusing on her body, and even at work she often chose muted colors to try to blend.

It was odd, but dancing at The Dollhouse was the first job she'd felt comfortable going to every day. Strange but true—in a lot of ways, it had changed her life. Being seen as something more than her body and face meant something to Dahlia. It meant something that the friends she'd made had gotten past stereotypes and looked deeper, getting to know the real Dahlia.

She knew her looks were her Achilles' heel. Her lack of money and the way people had reacted to her outward appearance throughout her life made her jumpy and distrustful. It took a long time for people to earn her trust. It drove her nuts that she was so confident in other ways but she found it hard to believe in people's good faith.

She shook off her mental dialogue and smiled. “Thanks. I thought something with a Latin feel would be a good change of pace.” Her new routine was a sexy-hot number with hip rolls and some slinky moves on her hands and knees. The crowd especially loved the hair flipping as she artfully covered her bare breasts with the fan she used as a prop.

“You're a really good dancer. Have you had formal training?”

“Fifteen years' worth. My mother thought it was important for every girl to have dance lessons so I had tap, ballet and jazz.”

His eyes glazed over a bit. “Were you a cheerleader?”

Unable to resist, she leaned in a little closer to him. “Why? Do you have cheerleading fantasies, Nash?”

His eyes slid down to her breasts and then back up to her face. “Where you're concerned, Dahlia, I have a lot of fantasies.”

God, three months of this and she was past frustrated and well on her way to insane. She knew she shouldn't flirt but she couldn't help herself around him. She'd spent most of her life downplaying her sexy side except for those minutes onstage. But something in Nash called to her, made her feel playful.

That and she hadn't had sex in six months, and this man's regular presence in her life had caused her battery bill to go through the roof. There was only so much that handheld silicone and the showerhead could do.

“Nash, darling, how are you?” One of the usual random beauties pushed her way between them at the table and stuck her rack in his face.

Dahlia suddenly remembered why a showerhead was preferable to a swelled head. She hated that she couldn't get in a normal conversation with him! It was disappointing it happened so damned much, but she just wouldn't be able to live with herself if she turned into one of those women who threw herself at him. And Dahlia refused to get into the game-show-for-men business. She would never compete for a man's attention like that, and she wished these other women had some self-respect.

Tipping her head back, she drank the last of her club soda and stood. “Good night, Nash. See you around.”

Nash got up and unsuccessfully tried to extricate himself from the octopus in stilettos who had wrapped herself around him. Frustration on his face, he reached in Dahlia's direction.

“Wait, we barely even got to talk.”

“It's late and you're busy. I'll see you the next time you're in town.”

* * *

Helpless, Nash watched the tantalizing sway of her hips as she walked out of the place. Sitting back down, the woman who'd perched in his lap—
Darla? Kendra?
Whoever—made breathy sounds, and her hand found its way down his pants and around his cock.

A year ago, Nash would have been fucking her in a bathroom stall by now. Not only would he have thought it was great, he most likely wouldn't have given Dahlia a second look. If one woman wasn't interested, there were three more who were, sometimes at the same time.

But in the past few months, even before he'd met Dahlia, he'd begun to realize how empty his life really was.

He had his job. Essentially, he introduced people to make deals—songwriters to musicians, actors to directors, screenwriters to producers, CEOs to other CEOs—he had all sorts of connections and people hired him to facilitate whatever it was they were looking for. It was a career that took him all over the world.

But he came home to nothing at the end of the day. Sure, he had women in his bed all the time, but they weren't there when he came back to Vegas a week or a month later.

He had very few true friends because he couldn't always trust people's motives. People had agendas. He didn't even share all of himself with William. They were close, but after his older brother's engagement had broken off several years before, William had closed himself off from everyone with his work and a parade of women that boggled even Nash's mind. Nash's one true confidante was his personal assistant, whom he trusted with his fears and ambitions.

But Dahlia Baker was real. She was a genuine person who cared about everyday things and lived a normal life. Or as normal as you can get living in a city like Vegas.

When he was with her, he was more than the rich playboy. She saw beyond that, beneath that, and made him feel special. Conversations with her weren't skillful mind games where the only real goal was to get the most out of the other person. He wanted to know Dahlia and to be known beyond the surface.

Not that he didn't ache to touch her. There was no denying she was the hottest damn woman he'd ever met. God, he wanted her so much that he walked around hard every moment. The woman on his lap could easily be on the cover of a magazine, and he couldn't have been less interested in fucking her.

Making his excuses, he finally freed himself from his admirer and headed home. Once there, he stood at the windows and looked out over the Strip.

Living in a hotel had appealed to him because it was easy. He could order room service if he wanted. Housekeeping looked after the maintenance. If a button was missing on one of his shirts, the concierge took care of it. But it wasn't warm. Nash bet Dahlia's apartment was warm.

* * *

The Dollhouse was dark on Tuesdays, and that's when Dahlia did the majority of her schoolwork for the week. Sitting in the library, she was supposed to be working on a paper, but she could not get her mind off Nash. The man was a damned distraction.

The thing was, she was pretty sure she could have sex with him and it wouldn't be slutty. At least, she'd talked herself that far. She knew him well enough to understand he liked her. He saw her as a person, respected her, even if he was a terrible flirt.

She'd run the benefit cost analysis on sleeping with Nash, and so far, fucking him was outweighing masturbating herself into frustrated blindness.

But she'd be ten other kinds of frustrated if she didn't finish the paper in front of her! She was graduating in one more semester and did not have the luxury of fantasizing about getting on her knees and unzipping his pants.

She knew he'd have a nice cock; she'd seen it pressed against the front of his pants after she danced often enough over the past three months. When she licked around the crown, would he groan or hiss? What would his skin taste of? She could imagine the weight of his balls in her palm as she slowly wrapped her lips around his cock and slid him as far back as she could. She'd hum in satisfaction and his hands would tighten on her shoulders. Or would he grab her hair? A thrill at the thought slithered through her.

Her head fell back and whacked the wood of the chair, knocking sense back into her. Okay, paper first!
Come on, Dahlia, focus and then fantasize.

* * *

The next afternoon she and Roseanne worked on a new routine at the club during daylight hours when it was closed. It was a happy surprise to see Nash in William's office talking with his brother, when she and Roseanne were on their way out.

“Hey.” He smiled warmly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We were working on some new stuff. What are you doing here?” God, he made her feel like a giddy teenager. She only barely resisted the urge to twirl her hair around a finger.

“I just got back into town and came by to say hello to William, who is of course always working. I thought
I
was bad.” William barely looked up from his work and Roseanne found something fascinating to go look at across the room.

Man-oh-man, did she wonder just how bad he was.

“How was New York?”

“You remembered.” His smile widened. “It was good. I had dinner with Bob De Niro at his place in Tribeca.”

“Of course I remembered. You just told me a week ago.”

“Can you come to dinner at my place?”

Dahlia started at the sudden nature of his request. He was usually so much smoother when he asked her out. That crack in his suave veneer was utterly charming. She decided to take that as a sign.

“I don't think so.” She watched his face fall and felt bad for teasing him. Quickly, she added, “How about you come to my place? I'll make you dinner.”

The change in his expression made the girly giddiness she always felt around him even worse. He went from crestfallen to surprised, and once he realized she'd said yes, he put the smooth face back on. Lord help her, she thought it was cute.