Dared: Scandalous Moves Series

by Staley, Deborah Grace

  Van breathed in her perfume; some blend of spice and floral that made him crazier. Everything about this woman made him lose his mind. “The cameras are off. It’s just you and me.”

  “How could you do this?” she whispered, but didn’t move away.

  His lips brushed the skin next to her ear as he spoke. “How could I not do it? The thought of you in this room, dancing for a stranger—”

  “I do that most nights.”

  “With your clothes on.”

  “My clothes are on now.”

  “That move you just made with the hip thrusts and squeezing your breast, you do that every night?” Since she still wasn’t moving away, he eased a hand into her hair and slid the other onto her stomach. He teased the line of her high-waist brief.

  Di turned into him, still not moving away. “Modified, but pretty close to something I did in Moulin Rouge.”

  Van rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. “Moulin Rouge. How could I have forgotten? I saw it so many times, I knew most of the lines.”

  “You saw it?”

  He tipped her chin up. “And all the others.”

  “No.”

  Her lips brushed his when she spoke, and one taste of her wasn’t nearly enough. He used his teeth to pull her lower lip into his mouth then swept his tongue inside to brush hers. He eased a hand over her hip to the lower curve of her ass and squeezed.

  “But you’ve kept your distance.” She stepped back then and raked her long dark hair off her face. She held up a hand, a rueful smile transforming her cherry-red lips, the color a startling contrast to her ivory skin. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  Van followed, not allowing her to retreat. “What’s that?”

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “And it was working.” He reached for her, but she put a hand on his chest.

  “Was this a set up?”

  “What?”

  “The bet, me coming here to dance in your club, did you goad me into this to get me alone?”

  He continued to follow her as she moved about the room. “It was your idea. I tried to get you to call it off. Remember?”

  Her gray eyes flashed. “But you allowed it to happen. You could have put a stop to it, but you didn’t.”

  He put an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, let her feel what she did to him before he spoke. “That’s what you think? Really, Di?” He moved his hand to her lower back and pressed her closer. “What about you? You didn’t have to come here and dance. But you did. Why did you, Di? Tell me.”

  “The bet—”

  “The hell with the bet. You’re not the kind of woman who does anything she doesn’t want to.” He squeezed her waist. “Say it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She had both hands against his chest, but she wasn’t exactly pushing him away, so he leaned in like he was going to kiss her, but stopped. She closed her eyes, lips slightly apart and wet, her breath coming out in short puffs, waiting. When he didn’t close the gap, she opened her eyes and frowned.

  “Say it.”

  “What?”

  “You did it because of me. Admit it.”

  She did push against him then, but he didn’t let her go—couldn’t let her go, not until she acknowledged this thing between them wasn’t finished.

  “I wanted to show you that a woman could entice a man by dancing with her clothes on.” She pressed her hips up against his erection. “I think I proved that point well enough.” She tipped her chin up and whispered against his ear. “Winning the bet is just an added bonus.”

  He held the back of her head so he could whisper into her ear. “But you weren’t looking to entice just any man. You wanted to get to me.”

  When she didn’t speak, he opened his mouth on her neck because he couldn’t resist tasting her again. “Another added bonus,” she said, motionless in his arms.

  “You were dancing for me, and it turned you on.” He looked into her eyes, her beautifully expressive eyes, and waited.

  “If I admit it, will you let me go?”

  He trailed a hand from her temple to her chin and back again. “You could have already gone if you’d wanted to.” He kissed her then, with long, deep strokes of his tongue, but he knew kissing her wouldn’t be nearly enough. When she softened against him, he lifted her and backed her up against the wall.

  Dear God. What was she doing? He was right. Di had come here for him. She’d wanted to make him want her, and now that she had, what was she going to do? He opened her blazer and she pulled on his tie until she had it off and then started unbuttoning his shirt. Physical attraction had never been the issue between them. It was who he was and what he did that stood in the way, but that didn’t matter. Not for this. Maybe having sex with him would help her get him out of her system once and for all.

  She eased his blazer off his shoulders and pulled his shirt from his waistband. “Say it,” he pressed while she unhooked his belt and pulled his zipper down. He had his thumbs in her brief and had pulled it down to her thighs when she heard him through the fog of wanting him. He stroked her. She arched her back and moaned. “God, you’re so wet.” He slid one finger into her, flicked her clit with his thumbnail, and she tightened around him. He slid another finger into her and rolled her clit, torturing her. “Say you want me, Di. Say it.”

  “I want you,” she breathed against his mouth.

  He slipped another finger into her, setting a slow, steady rhythm, and drove her right out of her mind. “Come. Now.”

  Her thighs cramped and she exploded. He growled against her throat and held her until the spasms subsided. After she came down, he rolled on a condom, pushed her briefs off, and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and sighed when he entered her. It felt so good, having him inside her—like coming home. His biceps strained as he supported her thighs and pushed her up higher on the wall. Having him take her like this was hot as hell, hotter than any fantasy she’d had. And he’d starred in more than a few of her dreams and fantasies. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind completely. She’d even compared other men she’d dated to him, and she’d hated it.

  He moved in and out of her, strong and deep, so deep. “Stop thinking. Just feel.” He peeled the stick-ons off her nipples, cupped one breast, and squeezed her nipple. She nearly came again, but he pulled out, stopped moving, and said, “Not yet.”

  “Van, please.” She tightened her legs around his hips, trying to pull him back.

  He kissed her and traced circles on her lower back. “Not yet,” he repeated, and kept kissing her so that her world refocused on what he was doing to her mouth. Then he began to move inside her again, and the feeling began to build, harder and more intense than before. He cradled her head, his forearm behind her, protecting her against the wall. Di sank her fingers into his thick, wavy hair. His brown eyes had melted into dark chocolate. She felt so exposed, letting him see what he did to her. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the cry as the tension inside her peaked and exploded.

  “Look at me,” Van said as she came apart. “I want you right here with me. With. Me.” He timed his strokes with the words then came as she exploded again before the first orgasm had completely abated.

  Di pressed her face into his neck several minutes later. Van carried her to the couch, sitting with her in his lap, still inside her. He rained soft kisses across her face, to her ear, and down her neck. “We’re incredible together,” he said against her ear.

  Di didn’t speak. Couldn’t. God. Why did it have to be so good with him? She traced a pattern on his pec and tried to pull herself back together enough to stand, get dressed, and walk out the door. Forgetting what had happened here would be another thing entirely.

  “I can practically hear you thinking.”

  “What do you hear?” she asked.

  “You’re trying to figure out how to get out of here and forget me. Again.”

  Add
clairvoyant to his list of exceptional abilities. Not really surprising that a man who could make her body do what it just had, could also read her so easily. “Very good. You should take the mindreading act on the road. It could be another successful business for you.”

  “Look at me, Di.”

  “Bad idea.”

  He tipped her chin up until her eyes met his anyway. “Nevertheless.” He touched his lips to hers. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. My only excuse is I have no self-control when it comes to you.”

  Di sat up and looked around. “You said the cameras were off.”

  “Yes.” He eased a hand down her arm as she let out a breath.

  “Why?” she asked. He frowned, but didn’t respond. “If you didn’t intend for anything to happen, why did you turn the cameras off before you came in?” Di felt anger replacing her orgasmic mellow. A good thing. She pushed against his shoulders and would have stood if he hadn’t stopped her.

  “I didn’t want anyone else seeing you dance. And,” he added, dodging to catch her eye, “I wanted you to myself.”

  “I need clothes for this conversation,” she said. He let her go this time. She put on her jacket and briefs then turned back to him. While she’d dressed, he’d pulled on his slacks and nothing else. He’d grabbed a couple of bottles of water from somewhere and was holding one out to her. She took it, unsuccessfully trying not to admire him. Still a little sweaty, he was all tanned, muscled arms, and ripped abs with the perfect amount of hair on his chest. He looked rumpled and sated. And dammit, she wanted him again. Di uncapped the water and downed half of it.

  “Sit,” Van said.

  Di looked at the door. “I should go.”

  “Please.”

  Well, hell. How could she refuse an alpha who said, “Please”?

  She sat on the couch, at the end, on the edge, so she could make a quick getaway when she needed to.

  He sat on the opposite end. “Thank you.”

  Men weren’t generally talkative after, so she wondered what he wanted to say to her. He looked nervous, too, like he was considering his words carefully. Fascinating.

  “Di, I know what you think of me—that I’m an unscrupulous businessman who makes a living off exploiting women.” She listened without speaking, curious to see where he was going with this. Restless, he stood and began pacing in front of the couch. “And I know it’s useless to say you’ve got me all wrong.”

  Since she couldn’t disagree, she didn’t contradict him.

  “But I’d like you to give me the opportunity to show you that you’re wrong about me.”

  She didn’t know what she’d been expecting him to say, but it hadn’t been that. She stood because looking up at him was making her neck hurt. “What would be the purpose of you showing me another side of yourself? Are you planning to sell this club?”

  “I don’t own it.”

  “So you say.”

  “I do. And the purpose of proving you’re wrong about me would be because I want you.” He stopped in front of her, took her hands, and dipped so that they were on the same eye level. His dark gaze was wide-open; his emotions exposed for her to see. “I want a chance at a relationship with you.” He paused as she reeled at his confession. Then he added, “We could make a good team, Di.”

  “Van, we’re from two completely different worlds.”

  “We’re not so far apart. If you’ll give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you.”

  Curious, she asked, “How?”

  “Work here—at the club.”

  5

  Di pulled her hands out of his. “You’re delusional if you think I would ever work here.” She walked away from him.

  “Just hear me out.” She stopped. He took that as a good sign.

  Finally, she turned. “I’m listening,” she said, arms crossed.

  “What you did tonight was incredible. It got me thinking. You could teach the other dancers how to do that—dance without stripping. I think it could work.” When she didn’t stop him, he continued. “It might seem like a novelty thing in the beginning, but I know, with your help and a strong marketing plan, it could be successful.”

  “I don’t know, Van.” She chewed on her thumbnail, frowning. “This is crazy.”

  “What? You working at the club or us in a relationship?”

  Di pulled in a deep breath. “Both,” she admitted on an exhale.

  He took her hand. She let him, so he pulled her into his arms. Since she wasn’t running for the door, he kissed her and the feelings between them churned into something that had them both breathing hard and wanting more. He broke the kiss, but kept her close. With his eyes closed, he said, “How can you question that I want you?”

  “I don’t question that.”

  “What then?”

  “I need to protect myself.” He opened his eyes, surprised. “If I agree to this, we don’t do this.” She stepped out of his arms. He wanted to keep her close, but didn’t.

  “What are you saying?”

  “If I agreed to this, and I’m not saying I am, there could be no repeat of tonight, or anything else.”

  Ignoring the no contact bit for the moment, he said, “So, you’ll work with the dancers?”

  “I don’t know if it’s even possible. I’d have to fit it in around an already demanding rehearsal and performance schedule. I’m not sure I can do it.”

  “The club would accommodate your schedule.”

  “How do you know the dancers would be willing to make changes?”

  Van laughed. “After what happened tonight, they’d be crazy not to.”

  “There were really takers on the $10,000 dances?”

  “More than twenty before we stopped accepting requests,” he said flatly as he raked a hand through his hair.

  A small, infuriating, but adorable smile played at the corners of her kiss-swollen mouth. “Did you really pay a quarter of a million dollars to buy a private dance with me?” she asked.

  “It was either that or sit behind a monitor the rest of the night watching you dance for other men,” he grumbled. “A long list of men.”

  She poked the bear and laughed. Van growled. He could only be pushed so far. He stepped into her and walked her back to the wall where he’d just taken her. He grasped her wrists and pinned them above her head as he pressed his body into hers. “No more of this? You’re sure?” He nudged her feet apart and wedged his thigh between hers.

  “Positive,” she said, breathless and unconvincing.

  “What do you need protection from, Di?” She stared, not answering. “Tell me,” he coaxed, kissing the corner of her mouth. The vulnerability he saw in her eyes slayed him.

  “Falling for you,” she admitted softly.

  He kissed her again, vowing to himself that he’d earn her trust, no matter what it took.

  * * *

  Di found Anne waiting for her in the dressing room downstairs.

  “There you are,” she said.

  “You didn’t have to wait on me.” Di closed the door, went to where her clothes hung, and began to change. Anne didn’t miss that Di’s nipple covers were gone.

  “Are you kidding? The need to know is strong,” she said. “What happened up there? You were gone for quite a while.”

  Di hooked her bra and put on a soft knit sweater, trying to ignore the sensitivity of her nipples against the lace cups. She pulled on dark leggings, stepped into high-heeled black boots, and zipped them. After she’d sat at the dressing table to brush her hair, she said, “It went fine.”

  “Fine? Is that all you’re going to say?” Anne stood behind Di, hands on her hips. “It went fine?”

  Di lifted a shoulder, hoping she could leave it at that.

  “If you think you’re getting off with saying three words, you don’t know me very well.”

  Di set down the brush and turned to her friend. “Okay. I went into the room. The man who bought my dances for the evening, for a quarter of a million dollars by the w
ay, sat in the shadows. I couldn’t see him. I danced. We talked. Yada yada. He offered me a business proposition. I’m considering it. And that’s it.” She stood, grabbed her coat, purse, and bag. “You ready?”

  “Oh, I’m ready. And you’d better be ready to give me details on the way home. A ‘business’ proposition? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  They walked out the back exit and into the alley. When they reached the street, Di hailed a cab. “It’s a choreography job. You want to get a drink at that bar near my loft?”

  “Sure,” Anne agreed. A cab stopped and they both got in. “Choreography, you say? Since the doctor told you to consider cutting back on your performance schedule, you’ve expressed an interest in trying to teach and do choreography. This could be your chance. You know we could use you at the studio.”

  “Thanks,” Di said.

  “But this job, are you seriously considering it?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I have a few more months on my contract with the show.” She drew her coat closer to ward off the chill of the rainy winter evening. “My knees feel twenty years older than me, especially when the weather is damp like it has been.”

  “Like it always is in New York during the winter, don’t you mean?”

  “Yeah. The arthritis in my knees and ankles is doing a number on my joints.”

  “Occupational hazard. It’s why most dancers give up the stage before they’re forty. But teaching and choreography aren’t so bad.”

  “I’m not ready to give it up. I’m still young.”

  “Yes, you’re young,” Anne agreed, “in human years. In dancer years, twilight is upon you, love.”

  “Thanks,” Di laughed, but knew her friend was right.

  “Talk to the production manager—take a couple of weeks. Let your understudy stand in for you. You could use the time to rest and explore this opportunity. Which, by the way, I need to hear more about.” The cab pulled up to the bar, and Di paid the driver. “First round’s on me,” Anne said.

  The tables were filled, but they found a couple of spots at the bar. Anne ordered wine, but Di needed something stronger. “Whiskey, neat.”