Bared by Him (2 page)

“Some of us are actually happy to be alive, Mr. West,” she said in outraged breathlessness,
her chest rising and falling with every shallow, furious breath.

And when he remained glaring at her like he loathed her with his entire being, Ivy
stood on stiff legs, spun around, and flipped him the finger as she walked away, not
caring how much he was hurting anymore, how many millions and billions he had, not
caring about anything except getting the hell out of there.

Away from his death wish—before it started sounding good to her, too.

*   *   *

Cade scowled after her, fuming so hard he almost felt steam coming out of his ears.
He glared at the door with such violence he almost expected to burn two holes through
the wood.

His fists trembling with the urge to hit something, he grabbed the receiver on his
desk and punched in an extension, snapping threateningly to his assistant, “Bring
back that woman you foolishly allowed in here—and be grateful you still have a job
after today, Mrs. Shears!”

He hung up before she could even offer an explanation. The woman had been with him
for too long and liked to think she knew better than him. Hadn’t he clearly stipulated
to never, ever give an appointment to anyone from a money-sucking charity?

Pacing behind his desk, he glared out the window to the view of the Windy City, shaking
inside.

He was a
dog.

He was not only a dog, but he acted like a dog aching to be put to death: rabid all
the time, verbally pissing on anything he felt like. He was especially pissy on every
twelfth day of the month, because on that day, Laura had died of cancer. Now the cancer
was in Cade’s soul.

He’d had millions at the time. And nothing could save her. Nothing.

He’d known she was sick when they married. They didn’t even consummate their vows.
She’d been his childhood sweetheart, and when she got diagnosed he’d married her,
even before he finished grad school. Their marriage hadn’t lasted two months.

Today was July twelfth. Ten years, four months since her death. So when the chirpy
woman who’d rapped efficiently on his door a couple of minutes ago had greeted him
with a wide smile and an outstretched hand as she came forward, he just damned well
hadn’t felt like taking it.

Who in the hell did she think she was?

“I’m so glad you reconsidered, Mr. West. I really won’t take much of your time,” he
heard her say.

He took his time turning to get a good look at her.

Ahh, so she was angry; he could see that now. The lines of her face were tight. Even
then, the woman was so blazing with life, it was like staring at a little sun up close.
The heat started to burn him up once more, from the soles of his feet to the top of
his head, and he felt himself go red with anger. Anger, and something he didn’t even
want to think of right now.

Because the instant he’d looked into this woman’s honey-colored eyes, he’d wanted
to lose himself, absolutely and completely, inside of her. He’d wanted her with such
blazing force it almost pummeled him to the ground. He felt that now. But it was stronger.
Pulling him out from the place where nothing mattered, the blessed place where he
didn’t give a shit.

Something in her gaze snared and trapped him. There was passion there, in those eyes.
Kindness. Compassion. And something deep and wounded. So deep and wounded, Cade could
almost feel it in his own soul. If he still had a soul. So deep and wounded, he wanted
to reach out and touch it, cup it, care for it, kiss it.

Wanting had never been as painful as it was now. He throbbed with the need to sink
himself inside her, but he also trembled with the same force to touch her soft skin
with his fingers, to tip her face back and look into her eyes, make her smile up at
him, as if her smile suddenly mattered to him.

His self-loathing increased tenfold.

He had no right to feel this. He didn’t want her compassion or her smiles. But there
was something so female about her that called to his male. He really hadn’t gotten
a lot of hard-ons since his wife died. He was, like his friends said, a living corpse.

But corpses couldn’t smell a woman’s soap or shampoo or something fruity in the air.
Corpses didn’t tense up and feel every muscle contract. Corpses didn’t get this hard,
this fucking fast.

He didn’t
want
to want anything. Much less her.

The fact that she had come here, making him think idiotic things about the softness
of her skin, made him want to break her. Didn’t she see what he so clearly saw?

How pointless it was? How a little bitty person like her could do nothing to stop
a monster so relentless and powerful?

“As I told you before, I’m from the Lincoln Heights Breast Cancer Foundation, seeking
donations for not only our members, but locals in our area who lack insurance to cover
their treatments…”

He watched her speak while a ton of sensations roiled inside of him.

Her sleek, winged eyebrows arched over clear amber-gold eyes and were framed by thick,
spiky lashes that tilted attractively up at the corners. Her nose was delicate and
slightly upturned, her face heart-shaped, and her mouth was small but pouty, and very,
very pink.

He didn’t understand why.

Why he wanted her more than anything he’d wanted in years. More than dying.

Suddenly, looking into those eyes that were brave and at the same time scared and
vulnerable, he wanted to strip her bare and lose himself inside of her, and help her,
protect her, and destroy her, all at the same time.

He hadn’t fucked in years.
Years.
He hadn’t wanted anything but not to feel. Now he wanted to bury all of himself,
every ounce of anguish, inside of that healthy, glowing, sweet body, until she stopped
saying that word: cancer.

Just hearing that word made him seize up like he’d been dragged to the depths of hell.
An image of Laura, young and dying, came to mind. And he was so angry to be reminded
of it, he still wanted to yell at this woman and fling his laptop to the wall.

“… hoping that with the knowledge that your donation could be tax deductible—”

“Who do you think you are?” His whisper was barely audible as he slowly started walking
toward her, watching her eyes go round. “Where in the
hell
do you get off?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t just come here and talk to me about cancer and make me feel like it’s my
fault!”

Her eyes tripled in size. There was no mistaking she was afraid of him as she stood
up on quavering legs and started backing away. “I never said it was your fault, Mr.
West. All we want is your help. We can’t find the cure yet, but we can definitely
boost survival rates. You could do
so
much for us!”

She laced her hands together as if in prayer and gave him a face that only made him
wonder how she looked when a man made love to her, a face which made him want to get
her naked and make her look up at him in just that way she was looking at him now.
Like he was everything she’d ever wanted and more than she’d ever need.

God.

Had she any idea of what beast she was awakening?

And he was not talking about cancer here!

She thought she was doing the world a good deed … well, she was in for a sorry reality
check. She wasn’t taking his millions. She wasn’t taking a damned penny; she’d unsettled
him
enough.

He caught her before she could retreat another step, and the touch of his bare hand
on her bare elbow zapped straight to his balls. It made him hold on to her tighter
as his cock twitched painfully inside his pants. “I work like a lunatic here,” he
said warningly. “I don’t give away my money, even for pity. But I’ll tell you what.
You want my money? I’ll gamble you for it. How about that for your charitable donation?”

Her spine shot up straighter as if the mere thought of him gambling his money away,
instead of donating it, affronted her. “I’d be very happy to take your money from
you, but I don’t have funds to play your little game.”

“I’ll make it goddamned simple for you. We’ll play for your clothes, lady. Let’s see
how saucy you are when you’re bare-butt naked at my place.”

“If you think I will back out of a perfectly good donation merely because you’re a
bully and a pervert, think again!”

“So you agree?” he dared.

She stared, wide-eyed for a moment, as though she only just realized what she’d agreed
to. Cade raked his gaze over her, and she glared and yanked her elbow free, but he
could see the determination in the lift of her chin, and, no, she wasn’t backing out
like he assumed she would. “Fine! But I draw the line at my panties and bra, I’m not
taking those off.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms, studying her with new eyes. Had she actually
agreed to play strip poker with him? Little Miss Pious Charity? “Then you’re only
getting half of what I’m willing to give.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How much are we talking about here?”

“How much do you want?” he dared.

She surveyed him, and he could almost see the numbers climbing in her head, as though
she thought she was worth a king’s ransom. “Two million,” she said.

He clenched his jaw. “For two, you take it all off.”

“Not if I win.” She yanked the doors open. “Where am I supposed to meet you?”

He squeezed his hands tight at his sides, emotions still roiling in his chest with
nowhere to go, sending him to hell with her easy concession. He’d wanted to fight
more. He’d wanted an outlet for the things she made him feel. Instead she’d agreed,
and Cade stood there, in the middle of his office, pulsing with rage and desire.

He lowered his voice, but it came out gruff and somehow revealed his arousal. “Give
me your damned card. I’ll have someone pick you up.”

“There.” She fished out her card from her bag and slapped it card into his hand, her
lips stiff as she spoke. “Thank you for your time.”

“My pleasure,” he said, biting his tongue, and then he watched her from his doorway
as she walked toward the elevators.

His gut twisted as he surveyed the sway of her hips, studied her shapely calves under
her simple skirt, and he started getting worked up as he imagined her without clothes.
Oh, fuck, he was going to see her in her panties if it killed him.

It was only when he watched her board the elevator that he realized a quiet had descended
across the floor. Everyone seemed to be staring at him like he’d just grown an extra
head, and it was uglier than the first.

Straightening, Cade turned and barked, “Get the hell back to work!”

Chapter Two

He wasn’t going to scare her.

Ivy Summers had faced much worse in her short thirty years of life, and she hadn’t
been scared so far. Oh, no, she wasn’t letting Mister Cade “Anger Issues” West scare
her in the least.

No matter how powerful he was.

How amazingly rich.

Or how pissed off.

Nope. She was not afraid of Cade West, and she repeated this thought like a mantra
all day with the hope of engraving it and framing it—proudly—inside her spinning head.
Still, her heart pounded like a live, mad trapped chicken in her chest as she rode
in the back of the Bentley he’d sent for her. Her palms were sweating and her nerves
had been gnawing at her all day.

Because she really
was
a chicken.

Agonizing over the thought of being bested by Cade West, Ivy stared unseeingly at
the book
How to Win at Poker
she’d rushed to buy right after her meeting with him. The other ladies at the foundation
would rather face a firing squad than approach him, and after today, Ivy considered
joining their little club.

Cade West was frightening. He was raw, angry, and as close to animal as she’d ever
seen a human being in her life. There seemed to be no line of respect with him, like
he did not give a damn about rules, unless you invaded his personal space. Which clearly,
Ivy had done. Not only by requesting his money, but by mentioning his wife.

And now she was on her way to his place to play a game she’d never played in her life,
and all she could do was pray that she got a good donation out of him.

The faces of all the people counting on her success tonight flickered in her mind.
She remembered her mother, how bravely she’d fought, and later, how gracefully she’d
succumbed with the satisfaction of having given life her
everything.

She thought of her friends at the Lincoln Heights Breast Cancer Foundation who had
it. They all wanted to fight, but some had no means to, even if they had the will.
Ivy wanted to help them. She
had
to help them. She’d promised herself that she would, and she’d made the promise to
them, too, even when Cade West had refused to see her.

Well, he’d seen her now.

And tonight, he might see her in her underwear.

Oh, God, how could she bear it? She’d seen his rage today. It had swirled in the depths
of his eyes the instant he’d looked up at her. Along with an unexpected hunger …

A rush of sensations slid under her skin as she remembered his smoldering gaze. He’d
snared her, with those eyes, eyes so pale they were almost colorless. She truly had
never seen eyes that color before. Or such a raw, unbridled expression as when he’d
looked at her.

Imagining those eyes seeing her in only her panties made her woman’s parts tickle
so uncomfortably she wanted to scream.

No!
She wouldn’t dare let him see her “bare-butt naked,” as he’d said, and she was certainly
not going to make it easy for him. Which was why she’d changed. Now she was dressed
in so many layers of clothing, she felt roasted in her own skin by the time she arrived
at his building.

Her attire seemed to be the first thing he noticed when Mr. I-Crap-on-Cancer West
opened the door to his top-floor apartment.

“Did it freeze tonight?”