Stripped (32 page)

A hand takes the empty wine glass and presses a round tumbler full of square sparkling ice cubes and amber liquid into my hand. I take the glass and stare at it, uncomprehending. Why would I drink this? I don’t drink liquor. I barely drink wine. I tilt my head up to look at the person who gave it to me. He’s very tall and thin, good-looking in a hipster kind of way. He’s wearing tight black jeans and an untucked white button-down beneath an argyle sweater vest. A loosely-knotted tie completes the look. His hair is long and unkempt, and his eyes are glazed but intent on me. I think he may be an agent, or maybe an effects tech. I’ve seen him before somewhere, but I don’t know where. It bothers me.
 

I hand the glass back to him. “I’d rather have wine, thanks.”

He pushes it back at me. “It’s Blue Label, baby. Some of the best whiskey there is. Just try it.”
 

Those two words—“Blue Label”—bring back a muddled memory, which I force away. “No, really. I don’t like that stuff.” But I’m sipping it anyway, for some reason. I cough, but the way it burns after I’ve swallowed isn’t unpleasant. I take another sip.

Hipster smiles happily. “See? Not so bad. I’m Pavel, by the way.”

I shake his hand, and he doesn’t let go right away. “Hi, Pavel. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are, Gracie.” He holds onto my hand, seemingly oblivious to my attempts to withdraw it. His smile shifts. Darkens, somehow.

My buzz dies. I need out of this conversation,
now
. But he’s still holding my hand. I pull, but he doesn’t let go. I look around me, but the group I was talking to has scattered, and Pavel and I are alone by the pool. There are people on the other side, near the house, but we’re on the far side, obscured from the view of the house by a huge stand of palm trees.
 

“I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, but my name is
Grey
. I’m Dawson’s fiancée.”

He lets go of my hand, but his palm wraps around my back and forces me against him. I struggle, and he just laughs. “Oh, come on. We both know what you really are. I saw you, you know. At Exotic Nights. I was a regular. I loved watching you dance. And then you vanished and the club closed…but now here you are. Dance for me, Gracie.”

I lift my knee and jam it as hard as I can into his groin, and he stumbles backward, coughing. He drops the glass he’s holding and it smashes on the ground, splashing whiskey on my sandaled feet.
 

He lurches, then stumbles, glances up at me with hate in his eyes. “You
bitch
! You’re a stripper. That’s all you are. Fancy fucking dresses can’t hide it.” He takes a step toward me.

I drop the glass as I back away from him, and it smashes, too, and then massive hands are around my shoulders, pulling me away. I struggle, and then go still when I realize the huge paws belong to Greg. There’s a flash of movement, and then Pavel is flying. He smashes into a tree, and then Dawson is there, holding him off the ground with a hand around his throat. Pavel kicks, makes a strangled gasping noise. His feet are three inches off the ground, and Dawson is keeping him aloft with one hand.
 

“Dawson.” Kaz says calmly as he’s striding up with his scotch and cigar held in the same hand. He puts his free hand on Dawson’s shoulder. “Don’t. Greg will escort him out, and I’ll blacklist him. He’s done.”

Pavel shakes his head, more horrified by this pronouncement than by the thought of being brutalized into bloody hamburger by Dawson. Dawson lets go and turns away. Pavel sinks to the ground, coughing, bent over double, gasping. I think it’s over, and so does Pavel, who opens his mouth, probably to plead for his career, but then Dawson whirls back around and his fist is a hammer, smashing into Pavel’s face. He pitches to the side, and Dawson is about to swing again before I capture his arm. I put my hands on Dawson’s face and his arms go around me.
 

“No. No more. I’m fine. It’s over.” I take his hand and rub his knuckles with my thumbs.
 

Dawson is on the brink, rage making him bigger and harder, a violent glint in his eyes as he stares down Pavel. “Grey, he—”

“He’s nothing. It’s your birthday. Just make him leave.” I meet Dawson’s eyes, and let him see that I’m okay.

And really, I am. In one respect, Pavel was right. The fancy dresses and expensive jewelry can’t hide who I was, what I used to do. But it’s the past. I’m not that person anymore, no more than I’m the innocent and naïve pastor’s daughter who first moved to L.A. But both are a part of who I am and who I used to be, but it’s not me anymore.
 

It also felt really good to knee the bastard in the balls.
 

I laugh at the uncharacteristic thought, and Dawson’s expression shifts from anger to confusion. “What’s funny?”

“Just…I was thinking how good it felt to nail that asshole in the balls.”
 

Dawson sputters and then cracks up, and so do Kaz and Greg. “Just don’t do it to me.”

I reach down and cup him between the legs. “I would never. I love them too much.” Kaz and Greg cough and turn away, and I realize I might be a little buzzed still, if I really just said and did that in front of them.
 

Dawson is shocked speechless for a moment. “Damn, Grey. You should drink more often if it makes you like this. You’re sexy when you’re tipsy.”

I let Dawson draw me inside, and we sit in the living room on the couch. I lose count of how many glasses of wine I drink as we talk to our friends. The room fades until there are only the seven or eight of us clustered on the couch and loveseat and leather recliners, talking the night away, and I get dizzier and dizzier until Dawson is a pillar holding me up, and he’s watching me, gauging me, and letting me do what I want. Kaz lights a cigar and hands it to Dawson, who puffs it, and then, with a quirky smile, puts it to my lips. I take a small puff and cough, choking. The men all laugh, so I take it from Dawson and try again, and maybe it’s just the wine, but I feel sexy holding it and smoking from it, like an actress from the ’40s sitting on a piano in a slinky dress.
 

Dawson shakes his head at me, but his eyes gleam.
 

I stand up unsteadily, and then have to sit back down. Dawson chuckles. “Need help, baby?”

I nod. “I’ve gotta pee.” I sound more Georgia than ever, and I realize I’ve been slowly taking the accent on all night, since the incident with Pavel, which was hours and hours ago by this point. The cable box says it’s 3:26 a.m. I can’t believe I’m still upright.

I feel something happening to my feet, and I look down to see Dawson unstrapping the heeled sandals I’m wearing, sliding one off, and then the other. I watch him, and let him do it, and then he’s half-carrying me to the bathroom. Well, not half-carrying. I’m leaning against him, my arm around his waist. I’d definitely fall over if he wasn’t here, but he is, so I’m fine. He follows me into the bathroom, but he doesn’t let go of me. He holds me by the shoulders as I clumsily focus on hiking my dress up, my underwear down, and sit to pee. There’s two of him, for some reason. More sexy to look at, so it’s okay. He has an amused grin on his face, both of them.
 

“What?” I ask.
 

“You’re hammered.”

I nod floppily. “Definitely kind of drunk. Is it funny?”

He laughs and helps me stay upright as I re-dress and wash my hands. “Yes, my love, it is. Very funny.”

A thought occurs to me, and I turn to frown at him, or whichever one of him is the real one. I close one eye, and there’s only one. I carefully enunciate my words. “I’m not embarrassing you in front of your friends, am I?” Well, that was very slurred.
 

Dawson’s expression is priceless, amused and tender at once. “No, babe. Not even a little bit. We’ve all been a bit sloppy before. You’re beautiful, and you’re perfect. Just have fun and relax. I’ll take care of you.”

“But…it’s your birthday. You should be having fun and getting drunk, not me.”

He brushes my hair away with his thumb. “This is the best birthday party I’ve ever had, douchebag Pavel notwithstanding. And I’m plenty drunk, baby. It’s almost four in the morning, and I’ve been drinking since seven.”

I stare at him, kind of awed. “But…you don’t seem drunk at all.”

He laughs outright at this. “I’ve had lots and lots of practice.”

I nod. This makes perfect sense. I think of something else I have to tell him. “I know…I know everyone else gave you presents today, and I didn’t. But I’ve got a present for you. I just can’t give it to you until tomorrow. Or today. Whatever. It’s a surprise.”

Dawson gives me that amused yet loving look again. “
You’re
the present, babe. You’re all I need from you.”

I grin. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you’ll like this. But it’s a surprise.” I think I already said that, but I can’t remember. Suddenly, I feel drunker than ever, and very tired.

Dawson sees, and scoops me up in that effortless way of his. “You’re ready for bed, aren’t you?” I nod, and he kisses me softly. “Rest, then.” I drowse, and I feel him set me in our bed, cover me up. He shakes my shoulder, and I wake up. He presses a glass of water into my hand, and a pair of pills into the other. “That’ll help you not be so hung over in the morning. Sleep, baby. I love you.”

After I wash the aspirin down, I peer at him with one eye. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Dawson Kellor.” It’s the last lucid thought I can express.

“You’ve got that backward, love.” He kisses me, and I want to kiss him back, but I’m going under. “I think we’re the best thing to happen to each other.”

That’s true, so true. But I’m totally numb, pleasantly loose. The room is spinning, the bed tipping and tilting underneath me. I open my eyes, but the room is still, and I realize it’s me, in my head. I let go, and slide under the waves of sleep. I feel a hand go around my middle, and he’s behind me. Time has passed, and birds are chirping in the gray sky, and then I’m back under with him.

Chapter 17

I have Luisa come over to do my hair and makeup and help me tighten the corset. She’s been my stylist for a while now, and she’s turning into a friend, and anyway she’s the only person who I’d feel comfortable asking to tighten a corset for me. She ties the knot and then moves around in front of me and gives me an appraising stare.
 

“Damn, Grey. That’s…you’re lookin’ pretty fine, girl.” She grins at me. “That must be a birthday surprise for Dawson, hmm?”

I nod, smiling nervously. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure what to get him, since he’s, you know, got everything you could think of. Does it look okay? I’ve never worn anything like this before.”

“I don’t think ‘okay’ is the right word, honey.” She lifts her eyebrows suggestively. “I think your man is gonna have a hard time deciding whether he wants you in that outfit or out of it. He’s gonna be a mess, know what I mean?”

I laugh with her, reassured, but still nervous. I put on a robe I bought for this occasion, a light, silky thing that barely covers my thighs. I tie it loosely around me so he’ll be able to get a good look at my cleavage without revealing what I’m wearing beneath it. Luisa leaves after hugging me, careful not to muss my hair. It’s carefully pinned up off my neck, but she put the pins in so that Dawson will be able to pull them out easily. He likes my hair down.

An older man who vaguely resembles Michael Caine meets me at the top of the stairs. “Everything is ready downstairs.”
 

I thank him, and the catering company leaves. I’d thought about trying to do the whole dinner thing myself, but I’ve not exactly had a lot of experience cooking fancy dinners. I go into the dining room, and I’m stunned. They didn’t just bring food, they turned the dining room into a romantic dinner for two, complete with candles and bouquets of roses. The effect is elegant yet not too feminine. It is
his
birthday, after all. He’s out golfing with Armando and a few other of his friends, which was my suggestion. I needed him out of the house so I could set this all up and get myself ready.
 

Right on time, I hear him come in from the garage. I arrange myself in the chair on the side of the table, leaving the place set at the head of the table for him. I’m waiting, my heart on my proverbial sleeve. I’ve never done anything like this, and I’m desperately hoping it makes him happy.

“Grey?” I hear him setting down his keys and the chirp as he plugs his phone in.

“In the dining room,” I call.

He stops in the doorway, and his eyes widen at the flowers and candles, low-lit chandelier, the spread of all of his favorite dishes, and me. Mostly, he looks at me. “Holy shit, baby. What is all this?”

I rise and stalk toward him, feeling sultry. “Happy birthday, my love.” I don’t use a lot of endearments, not like he does, so when I use one, he takes note.

“What’s under the robe?” He asks it with a smirk, reaching for the tie.

 
I stop his hands. “Your present. But you can’t see it until after we eat.”

His eyes darken with lust. “God, baby. You’re killing me. You look…you so good I’d rather eat you.”

“Soon enough,” I promise. “But first, sit down.”

He scoots the chair out and sits down. An expensive bottle of his favorite white wine is opened and breathing in a bucket of ice. I pour him a glass, set it in front of him. He watches me, curious. Usually, he does these things. For my birthday a few months ago, he rented out an entire restaurant, had the food made, but served me himself. Even in an everyday capacity, he does things for me. Makes me snacks, pours my wine, takes care of me. So now it’s my turn to take care of him.

He sips the wine, and I slide my body between his knees and the table. He holds the glass of wine in his hand and stares up at me. “What are you doing, babe?”

I’m not nervous, not really. I don’t do this super often, but it’s something I want to give him. I sink to my knees, rest my hands on his thighs, and smile up at him. “This.”

He’s wearing the stupid clothes men wear golfing, but he looks hot even in a pair of almost-white pants and a pastel-orange collared shirt. I undo his pants, and his eyes open wide in understanding. “Grey, honey—”