Stripped (14 page)

She has the audacity to smile at me. "Maybe. How could you get a guy like Peter strippers? He would have rather had a—"

I drop her. Cassie makes that little noise that used to drive me crazy as she claws at my shirt, trying to keep her tight little body upright. Her nails scrape down my chest, and even with the shirt in the way, it's too much, reminding me of the sexy things she did—things I need to forget. Seriously, she's killing me.

I grab her wrists and yank her upright. She gasps, not expecting it, and her eyes lock with mine. "You don't know a thing about it, so don't tell me what to do." I fling her hands away like she's a piece of junk, even though I want to pull her closer.

God, I hate her. How can she look me in the eye and act like everything is fine? I want to scream at her, and at the same time, I want to pull Cassie into my arms and ask her how she ended up here, now. This is so unlike her, at least I think it is.

Maybe I don't know her at all. Maybe she was pitching shit my way from day one, but Robyn—Cassie said the same things about waiting for the right guy to Robyn. It doesn't fit into this fucked up puzzle.

Cassie rubs her wrists and glares at me. "Gee, thanks for manhandling me. I really appreciate it, jackass."

"What'd you think would happen if you came nosing around a Ferro party?"

She stares at me with those dark eyes, and that mouth—it presses together tightly like she's biting back words that she wants to hurl at my head. "I didn't know. The name on the ticket was Granz, not Ferro." Her body is tense and every time she takes a breath it looks like her breasts are going to overflow the top of her lingerie. It has Cass cinched up so tight, making her waist too small and her breasts too big.

Trystan's voice booms from the stage and then he ducks behind the curtain. "Everything okay back here?"

I expect Cassie to have the same reaction every other woman has when Trystan Scott enters a room, but she doesn't even look at him. Her eyes are locked on me. All the things I wanted to say die in my mouth. Trystan doesn't know what she did to me, no one does.

"Fucking fabulous," I say and turn away from that stare. God, she's horrible, and beautiful.

Trystan walks over to Cassie and holds out his hand. He's lean, all taut muscle, and toned abs that are visible through his unbuttoned shirt. Traces of make-up are still on the guy's face, like he couldn't scrub it off. "Trystan Scott, Jon's best friend."

Cassie looks at his palm and grips it. "Cassie Hale, Jon's ex-friend." Trystan raises a dark eyebrow and looks over at me.

I see the questions on his face, but there's no way in hell I'm talking about it. Living through it once was enough. "She's at the top of my shitlist. She earned a permanent place of honor."

"Seriously?" Trystan looks between us and shakes his head, trying to hide a smile.

Before I know it, I'm yelling at him. Pointing to the curtain, I roar, "Get out!"

Trystan laughs, holding up his hands, palms toward me, saying, "Fine, but the guys are expecting a show. Should I tell them it's cancelled?"

Cassie shakes her head. "No, I'll work." She follows Trystan out to the stage, but I don't follow. I can't watch. Seeing her strip isn't what I want.

Sighing, I rub the heels of my hands over my face, and glance between the silvery curtains. Before I know he's there, Peter says, "So, that's Cassie Hale." I nod, staring blankly. Peter has this way of seeing the heart of the matter in a blink. I hate it, so I stand to leave but he stops me. "She's the one who was with you at the museum? The girl you protected?"

I stare into his face, wishing he wouldn't do this now. Walking away from him, I mutter, "Something like that."

Peter grabs my shoulder and steers me off the side of the stage. We head to the back of the room and for a second I think we're leaving, but then he grabs a table in the corner. "Sit."

I stand there, shoulders slumped like a slacker. I just want to get away from the thud of the bass and the blinding spotlights at the front of the room. It has nothing to do with Cassie or what's coming next—that her naked body will be displayed at the front of the room for everyone to see. The thought tries to form, but I shove it back and attempt to harden myself. I don't care. She can do whatever the fuck she wants, and it doesn't matter because I hate her. I can't stand Cassie Hale. She's a liar and she stabbed me in the back. I shouldn't give a shit what she does. My eyes flick back to the stage where she's dancing with a huge smile on her face and my fingers involuntarily turn into fists.

Yeah, I need to leave, but Peter doesn't let me. I can't be an ass to him, not after this. "Pete, I'm not in the mood."

"Neither am I, but someone went and filled my party with strippers." He smirks. "Sit."

I slip into the chair and lean back, arms folded tightly over my chest, and my head tilted to the side like I don't give a rat's ass. "Yeah, you should have seen what I had planned. It was awesome." My face lights up as I grin, which makes Peter roll his eyes.

"So, that scar on her neck—" Of course. He wants to know about Cassie.

"Was from the shrapnel." I try not to look at her, but I can't. Cassie's arms are over her head and watching her body move and sway in the light is hypnotic. I never had her. She never even kissed me, and she's stripping. It doesn't make any sense.

"Ah, so you guys match, then?" I glance up at him, not understanding his meaning. "You have matching scars. The debris hit your back. You're scar buddies?"

"She's nothing to me." My voice comes out so listless that even I don't believe me.

Peter turns his face toward the stage, watching Cassie untie the corset. Her arms are behind her back, tugging on the red strings. There's a wicked smile on her lips. My heart is pounding so fucking hard. I don't want these guys to see her. If she pulls that string and finishes unhooking the bodice... The thought grinds against everything I've ever planned to do if I saw Cassie Hale again, but I never thought it'd be under these circumstances.

A second later, Sean sits next to me. He's watching the stage with interest. "Her tits are too small, but there's something about her, isn't there Pete? With a tight little body like that, I bet her pussy is—"

My jaw locks when Sean sits down, but when he speaks—when he says those things about her—I lose it. Before I know what I'm thinking, I pull back and let my fist fly. The chairs behind us both fall to the ground. The noise and the potential for a fight make the room go quiet. All eyes are on us, looking to see what's going on. Peter watches us from his seat, but says nothing. Sean laughs and grabs my knuckles before they collide with his face. "If you want her, take her, or I will." His voice hisses in my ear as he tugs me forward and crushes my hand.

"Fine," I spit, ripping my hand out of his. "Have her."

CHAPTER 22

CASSIE

I hate this. Stop thinking. The music pounds harder and I try to stop wondering about Jon. I don't want him to see me like this. The thought makes me want to cry, but I don't leave and I don't stop. Gretchen is working the floor, staring at me with envy. I'll make more money than her tonight, just for this one little show, so it has to be hotter than hell. The club will get tons of new clients, and that means more job security for me.

The spotlights help and I'm glad they're shining in my eyes, blinding me to the crowd. I can only see the guys who are right at the edge of the stage. Swaying my hips, I move methodically, trailing my fingers over my thighs. The dance is different for each woman who does it, and since I didn't know what I was doing, I made something up. The thing is, what I made up was for Jonathan, and now he's out there somewhere, watching me.

I gasp, moving slowly, forcing my curves to work for me—bending and feeling—running my hands over my flesh until I feel hot. I used to picture Jon, sitting there watching, like it was just us. It made the routine hotter because I felt it and I was into what I was doing. My mind was far away, lost in the past. Jon was the guy I wanted, and the one I'd never have.

Any second now, I'll be standing on stage topless, wearing a G-string, and heels. And now that I have the chance to actually dance for him, I'm terrified. It's not pretend anymore, it's a horrible mistake and I want to stop. But I can't. I'm trapped. There are too many bills, too many people that I owe money to for me to stop. I can't.

Lowering myself, I squat and slowly open my knees. Tilting my head back, I trail my fingers to the V between my legs and up my corset to my neck, finally slipping them into my mouth. I feel the men's lust filled eyes on me, and their desire. The room has grown quiet as they watch and want me.

I stand and stretch my hands over my head and when I look out, I can't see Jon. This is it. Reaching behind my back for the corset strings, I pull. The fabric loosens and I can breathe again, but there's not enough air. Not here, not now. My lips part as I feel the bodice slip slightly, and my fingers start to work on the front closure, unhooking it and revealing the soft skin beneath. I stare into the crowd, barely breathing, wishing to God that I was somewhere else.

Another hook pops open and the corset is ready to fall to the floor. It's held in place by a couple of hooks and nothing more. That's when a loud boom comes from the back of the room. Two men are standing, and someone throws a punch. All the guys turn and I freeze in place when I see who it is. The house lights come up slightly, enough to see Sean and Jon.

I can't hear them, but Jon storms out without looking my way.

That's when things get really weird. It takes a few minutes for things to settle back down. The houselights dim and the music gets cranked up louder. I shove every thought out of my head and try to finish my striptease. My hand unhooks one loop, and then another, so my hand is the only thing holding up the bodice. The corset is ready to slip off. All I have to do is remove my hand, but I hesitate. My stomach is in knots and I feel like I'm going to puke. I'm taking too long, I know I am. Covering my fear with a fake smile, I force my hand away. That's when a man rushes me. I feel hard abs slap against my skin, as my corset hits the floor. I shriek before I see who it is.

Jonathan.

I'm nearly naked and his body is pressed against mine, his arms around me, hiding my body. He looks into my face, breathing hard, and says, "I can't let you do this."

Bruce is swearing up a storm, shoving his way through the room to get to me, but the guys are blocking his path. They're cheering for Jon, acting like he does crazy shit like this all the time.

My heart pounds violently as I look into his face. "Jon, I have to."

"No you don't." He scoops me up into his arms, angling my body towards his, and spots Bruce.

"Put her the fuck down!" The man is beyond scary. There's death in Bruce's eyes as he plows through the crowd like a rabid bull.

Jon laughs like he planned this, and then sprints off with me in his arms. I cling, afraid that he'll drop me. Jon bursts through the side door and runs down a hallway, and then down another. He shoulders his way into a room and slams the door. His chest fills with air rapidly as he tries to catch his breath with me still in his arms. After a second he looks at me, but his gaze won't meet mine. He presses his eyes closed tight, like he knows he's messed up.

Every inch of me is trembling, and no matter how hard I try to make it stop, I can't. My body shivers in his arms. When his eyes open, he looks at me. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I was stalling. I couldn't..." my voice catches in my throat. I couldn't strip in front of him, but he's holding me in his arms and the only reason he can't see my breasts is because I'm turned into his chest with my arms around his neck. Tears sting in my eyes, so I look down and hide my face.

We're in a room that smells like leather and old books. Everything is richly colored browns and reds. There are a few seating areas with scattered sofas and tables. Heavy velvet drapes hang floor to ceiling, making the room feel warm and lush.

"You're cold." He sets me down, careful not to look, and grabs a blanket off the couch behind us. Heart thumping fast, I cover my chest with my hands. As Jon steps toward me, his eyes wander over my body and make me flush. He wraps the blanket around my shoulders, pausing for a second to look into my eyes. I think he's going to say something when his lips part, but he doesn't. Instead, his hands drop and he steps away.

"Thank you."

Jon nods for a moment and then laughs, but there's no joy in it. "Sean played me. Holy fuck, I'm a moron." His laughter turns genuine as he circles the room and then stops in front of me.

Bruce screams my name from somewhere down the hall. I don't answer him. "It's okay, you got me off the stage. There was no other way for me to back out. Thank you." Glancing at the carpet, I clutch the front of the blanket tighter.

"Why'd you do it?" My eyes drift up and meet his. For a moment, I think he's asking about the reporters all those years ago, but he's not. He's asking about tonight. "Why'd you take this job?"

"I had to." I don't elaborate. The lump in my throat is strangling me. I can barely breathe.

"What about your ideals? How can you do this if you actually believed what you told me before..."
Before you turned on me. Before you sold me out...
Those are the words he doesn't say, but I hear them all the same. Jon runs his hand through his hair.

Bruce's voice is growing louder. He'll find us any second.

I smile sadly at Jon. "I did believe what I told you. I was waiting for the right guy."

"And you found him?"

The way he stares at me makes the center of my chest ache. I don't want to say it, but I have to. I try to force my lips into a smile, but it looks like I'm going to cry. I nod, still watching his eyes. "Yeah, I found him."

CHAPTER 23

JONATHAN