“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.