Stripped (7 page)

“You have plans for a new man while I'm away?”

She socked him in the arm playfully. “I mean you. I'm too busy when you're away to get caught up in an intense affair. I save it all for you.”

Knowing how she was, knowing her fears and weaknesses about her place in his life, this admission from her knocked him out.

“God, you're amazing, Dahlia.” He rained dozens of tiny kisses all over her face, needing to be sweet and gentle with her for the moment. He ached to spread her out and love every inch of her body, slowly and surely. But she had to be onstage in three hours and he wanted more time than that.

“I am?” Her voice was breathless. “Because I don't have a few other dudes stashed away when you leave town?”

He stood quickly and pulled her up with him. “Come on. Let's go for a drive. You've got three hours. Remember that comment about muscle cars and their hoods? Shall we take the 'Vette?”

She nodded eagerly and stood.

But when they got to the car, she gasped. “I want to fall to my knees in reverence,” she whispered, approaching the '54. Candy-apple red, whitewall tires, gleaming chrome. “This is just hot, Nash.”

His face lit up as he grinned at her response. “I feel like I'm in church every time I see it. You ready to take that ride, Dahlia?”

“Lots of room to get to your cock as you're driving.”

“God, the perfect woman.” He sighed happily and pulled keys from his pocket.

He pulled the top off and let her in, liking the way she looked there in the passenger seat a whole hell of a lot.

Once off the Strip they headed out of town toward the lake. The roads weren't too crowded and the evening air was nice and warm, even for early December.

“Now, I think I've got a debt to pay.”

Nash heard her seat belt unbuckle and groaned as her hands moved to his pants, opening the button and zipper, reaching in to grab his cock. The flutter of brightly colored silk caught in his peripheral vision as she took off her scarf, freeing her hair to the breeze. She turned sideways and leaned over, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock.

At once the shock of her mouth sent him into erotic overdrive. One of her hands slid into his boxers and grabbed his balls while the other gripped the base of his cock to hold him steady as she went down on him.

Speech left him as he took a side road and pulled into a near-deserted area. He loved the idea of a trucker seeing this gorgeous woman sucking his cock, but she wasn't wearing a seat belt and he didn't want to crash and hurt her, either. Precisely when she'd become so precious to him, he wasn't sure, but the bare fact was there, nonetheless.

The moon hung full and heavy overhead as he leaned back into the seat, watching down the line of his body as that ebony spill of hair rose and fell over him. Each flick and swirl of her tongue, every stroke told him how she felt in words he knew she couldn't part with just yet. Despite the fact that he was in a completely new place, too, he felt only tenderness for her. After a long time being the playboy bachelor, he was hanging up his old gig and grabbing this woman with both hands.

And as it had been with every single time she'd touched him, climax threatened very quickly. He sifted his hands through her hair, letting the wet heat of her mouth continue to bring him pleasure. She was so beautiful he ached knowing she had trouble accepting that beauty. Ached even more at the reasons why.

“Dahlia, baby, wait.”

When she looked up at him, there was nothing he could do but kiss her on those lips so delightfully swollen from sucking his cock.

“You and I have a date with the hood.”

“I don't want to scratch it. Your GTO is one thing, but this 'Vette is a work of art.”

He got out of the car and pulled her along with him. “Dahlia Baker, I want to fuck you on the hood of this shiny red car under the full moon. Would you deny me that? I'm just a hardworking man who loves the little pleasures life offers him.” He pouted and she snickered.

“How do you want me?”

“Well, now. Acquiescent is a nice start. Hands on the hood, baby. I want to take you from behind. But first, take the shirt and bra off.”

She moved to the front of the car and pulled off her shirt and bra, tossing them both into the passenger's seat. And with a look back over her shoulder at him, bent forward, her palms resting on the hood.

“Man you're beautiful with moonlight on your skin.” Leaning in, he licked the curve of her spine from the waistband of her pants to her neck before reaching down to pull off her pants and toss them with her shirt.

Thank goodness he'd remembered to tuck a condom into his pocket before he'd left the penthouse! He rolled it on quickly and tested her readiness. “So wet. Always ready for me. Do you know how that makes me feel? Knowing your body responds to me this way?”

She sighed softly and it touched him deeply. He caressed the bare skin of her back and thighs as he slowly pressed his cock into her pussy.

Over and over he thrust all the way into her, as deeply as possible and then slowly pulled out. The rhythm he built was hypnotic, the scent of her body mingled with the crisp smells of the warm earth and the bark of some nearby trees.

Something in him shifted at that moment and he wanted to just hold her in his arms for hours. Nothing mattered but the two of them and how they were joined, his hands on her, the way her body took him in, sheltered and received him.

* * *

Dahlia only barely held back the tears that threatened to fall on the hood. Never in her life had she been touched with such tenderness. Nash made her feel treasured and truly beautiful. With him she could imagine being a whole woman. He knew what she was and accepted it. There was no judgment; he appreciated her mind and spirit as well as her body. She knew a man of his reputation wasn't after marriage but there was something between them. Something important, and that was enough.

When he reached around to circle her clit with a fingertip it took only moments until she was coming. Her growing emotional attachment to him and the way he made her feel and see herself had ramped up her readiness. There in the moonlight—stripped naked, stripped of fear and her defenses—Dahlia gave herself to him utterly and completely.

W
hat a difference being a thousand miles north made. Bundled up in her heavy coat, Dahlia sat out on the porch sipping coffee and avoiding her father.

His words to her played around in her brain, edging at her heart. That he didn't see her for anything more than a pretty face hurt more than when strangers thought so.

“Hey.”

Dahlia's sister, Iris, joined her on the glider swing.

“You're different, Dahlia. In a good way,” Iris added quickly. “Confident. Tell me.”

Dahlia told her sister about the job with Tate and how excited she was at the possible opportunity.

“You're the only one who seems to have trouble believing you're worthy.”

“And Dad.”

Iris sighed. “Back to that in a minute. Tell me about the guy. There's got to be one. I can tell.”

Dahlia laughed. “His name is Nash and he's…God, Iris, he's amazing. Runs the family business with his brother. It's hard to explain what he does, but essentially he takes people who need things and introduces them to the people who can provide them and gets a commission for it. Only it's people like Robert De Niro and Sheryl Crow and stuff. He's cultured and rich. I don't know how to deal with it. I'm afraid that it means more to me than to him.”

Dahlia paused and her sister waited.

“I think I'm in love with him and it's not quite been two months. I'm worried I'm going to end up dumped with my heart in a thousand pieces. I'm in way over my head, but I can't help it. I feel so alive when I'm with him.”

“What are you worried about, then? Do you think he's just using you?”

“I want to trust what he says. He's the one who pushed for us to be exclusive. But he travels a lot and everywhere we go women fall over themselves for him. It's…I don't know how to handle that.”

“Dahlia, why can't you see how truly special you are? I know you see how gorgeous you are. And life hasn't always been easy because of that. But you have such a problem understanding that a man would want
all
of you. Why?” Iris shook her head. “Okay, so I do know part of why. But so some guy from the hill dumped you in your senior year because his parents thought you were trash. You aren't, Dahlia. You were always better than Chris Foster and his stuck-up family. It's time to rise above all that. Some people will judge you no matter what. You can't do anything about it other than be a person of worth. And you are.

“If this guy knows what's good for him, he's in love with you, too. Give him a chance. Don't judge him the way you hate to be judged. But if he hurts you, I'll come down there and kick his ass.”

Dahlia laughed. “I love you.”

“And as for Dad, Dahlia, you're just going to have to accept that he doesn't get why you'd want to leave Liberty, and he won't—ever. He's a good man, he loves his family, but he doesn't have big dreams, and part of him feels inadequate because you do. Like the life he worked so hard for wasn't enough.”

Damn, her sister was right. Dahlia felt ashamed she'd never thought of it that way.

Iris put her head on Dahlia's shoulder briefly.

“Let it go. Be happy.”

* * *

Relief poured through Nash as the plane took off for Heathrow. A week with his mother shoving women at him was more than he could take. Even after he'd told her he was seeing someone.

More than anything, this time apart confirmed that he was developing some seriously deep feelings for Dahlia. All he thought of was her scent, the way she laughed. That hip thing she did onstage and in bed. The way she felt first thing in the morning, sleep-warm and always willing to open her arms and legs to him.

With other women, he got bored at a few weeks. But it had been five months since they'd first met and his fascination with her had begun. Two since they'd been officially seeing each other. He'd tried to talk with William about it, but his brother had blown him off, assuring Nash it was just a phase. And Nash, wanting to avoid a scene, had let it go, promising to revisit the subject soon. William seemed to like Dahlia well enough, but Nash noted how suspicious he seemed of her motives.

His brother was where Nash had been six months before. Married to his job and enjoying the favors of every woman he could.

For Nash it was like he'd been living half a life. He hadn't noticed how much he'd been missing until Dahlia filled in all the corners, making him whole.

* * *

Rushing back to Vegas from London, Nash headed straight to Dahlia's place. He knocked on her door and it swung open. Concerned, he peeked inside and saw her there, sitting in a chair and staring off into space.

“Dahlia? Baby, are you all right?” She never left her door open, and her usually animated features were slack. Alarmed, he rushed into her apartment and she turned, jumping up and into his arms laughing.

Relief nearly stopped his heart when he realized she was all right.

“Joseph Tate just called. I got the job, Nash. And you're back. Oh, my God, you're back and I missed you so much. What are you doing back so early? I thought you weren't due back for three days.”

He put her down and kissed her quickly. “Congratulations! That's great news. I'm so proud of you. I finished up as fast as I could because I wanted to see you. I missed you, too. You look good.”

She looked down at her hoodie and jeans. “Yeah, the height of fashion.” He'd just said he was proud of her. More than any other compliment, that meant something to her.

“Come to my place. It's your night off so we can get dressed up, grab some dinner and hit a club to celebrate. Afterward, we can go back to my place, take a hot bath and I'll lick you dry.”

“I don't know. Where do you want to go?”

“Lupo? Chinois? Fleur de Lys?”

Good Lord, the man had expensive taste. Still, it'd be nice to celebrate.

“I see hesitation and I wager it's about how much things cost. Stop. You just got offered a great job. You're my girlfriend, let me do this. And you don't let me shower you with expensive presents the way I want to all the time. So this is for me, too.”

She blushed and smiled at his saying she was his girlfriend. “Oh, all right. The pains a girl has to endure when her boyfriend is rich.”

He grabbed her and pulled her close. “You just admitted I was your boyfriend.”

“Is it a secret?” she teased.

“Sometimes it feels like you think so.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She watched as he whipped out his cell phone and procured an impossible Friday-night, last-minute reservation at Le Cirque.

When he did stuff like that she was impressed and also felt like a hick. “Well, that was something. I've never been to Le Cirque.”

He laughed. “You're in for a treat, then. And we can get gelato afterward. I like to watch you lick the spoon.”

“I told my family about you,” she blurted out.

Looking ridiculously pleased, he took her hand and kissed it. “You did? Wow. Thank you, Dahlia. That means a lot to me.”

She shrugged and noticed he didn't say he had told his mother. A pang of doubt rode her again. Was he ashamed of her?

Back at his penthouse she nearly ran back out the door when she saw the literal heap of presents. She had something for him in her bag, but it paled in comparison.

“Go on. Open up!”

She sat, and he handed her a large, flat box. When she opened it, a beautiful red dress slid toward her. She picked it up and the material made her want to weep. “You bought me a dress from Chanel?” She couldn't even act outraged—the dress in her hands was a work of art.

“Yes. It's beautiful and I saw it and knew you had to have it. Please, Dahlia. I know you're uncomfortable with my spending money on you, but I have it and I wanted to buy it for you. Won't you let me? I promise to restrain myself but for birthdays and major holidays.”

How could she refuse the dress in her hands? The look on his face? “Thank you.”

There were other lavish gifts, things she'd never have been able to afford. Still, each one was clearly something he'd thought about carefully.

“I'm just overwhelmed. Thank you, Nash. You're so generous. I have something for you, too, but it's, well, it's not a Fendi bag.”

He touched her chin with a fingertip. “It's from you. That's what matters.”

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the package.

Gleefully, he tore it open and looked at the shirt inside. “Dahlia.” He picked it up and looked at it.

“Do you like it?” Suddenly she felt eight years old. God, what made her think making him a shirt was a good idea? A man like him? She wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Do I like it? Did you make this?”

She nodded. “My mom helped. This was over my head, but she rocks with a needle and thread. I stole one of your dress shirts for your measurements.”

He pulled off his shirt and put hers on and she had to admit it fit perfectly. “This is brilliant, Dahlia. I love it. Thank you.”

* * *

Good God, she'd made him a shirt. Made it with her own hands and creativity. Crap, his presents didn't even compare to her thought and effort. He was a fortunate man.

“I'm wearing this tonight.”

The smile he got in return made him want to toss her over his shoulder and stay in instead. He loved it when she was exposed like that. Not trying to hide herself from him.

But what he got was nearly as good as a sweaty romp. He got the intimacy of her standing next to him in his dressing area as she applied makeup and did her hair. It was a normal moment, but it meant so much. And the woman was made for expensive clothing. She looked so fucking gorgeous in the dress and shoes he wasn't sure he wanted to take her out in public.

Her hair cascaded down her back in fat curls. Red lips matched the dress. Her body, generous, voluptuous, was framed by the deep scarlet of the dress, her breasts hugged lovingly. All of this accentuated by the height of the strappy heels.

Yep. Sex bomb—and she was all his.

It was so deceptively simple then for him. This life with her. He wanted it, and he wanted it for good.