Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini

by Cat Johnson

  This photo was very likely meant to be a memorandum to the SEAL who had died . . . and Clay thought she’d taken the information he’d shared with her and no one else and that she’d passed it on to the producers to be used to promote the show.

  No wonder he was mad at her. He had every right to be angry. But it hadn’t been her and she needed him to know that.

  It might be over, whatever it had been between them, but she couldn’t stand having him think she’d do something like that.

  “Greg, would you tell Clay what you just told me? Let him know it wasn’t me who told Maria. Please?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, sure. I honestly didn’t think it would be a problem.”

  “I know. I think it’s more that he thinks I took something he told me in confidence and went behind his back to Maria with it to promote the show. It’s the betrayal, more than it getting out that he’d been a SEAL. You understand?”

  He nodded. “Gotcha. Wouldn’t want to get between the two love birds.”

  “What? Wait. We’re not lovebirds,” she sputtered.

  He smiled. “Whatever. Don’t worry, Tash. I’ll let him know it wasn’t you who told Maria.”

  “Thanks.” She blew out a breath, not happy with his smirk, but she could live with it as long as he straightened things out with Clay.

  “I’m gonna go get the rest of the equipment out of the van.” Greg tipped his head toward the front door.

  “Okay.” Happy he’d left again so she could be alone to absorb everything she’d learned in the past few minutes, Tasha moved to the cabinet and reached for her mug on the nearly empty shelf.

  Looking at the bare cupboard, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Clay. Except for his SEAL buddies, which she wasn’t sure he saw all that much anymore, he really was a loner. And he thought the one person he’d opened up to had betrayed him. She needed to fix this.

  Her phone rang and she glanced down, half hoping to see Clay’s name. Instead she saw Jane’s.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Tasha, sweetie. I can barely understand your message. I’m still half asleep and I haven’t had my coffee yet, so you’re going to have to calm down and tell me again what happened.”

  “Oh, Jane. Things are so messed up.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Cradling her cell against her shoulder, Tasha poured herself a mug of coffee and carried it back to her bedroom. She needed a good gab session and Jane was just the girl for it.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Clay wrapped his hands around the steaming hot mug of coffee as his cell phone vibrated for the fifth time in a row with an incoming text.

  The bartender glanced down at it and then back up at Clay. “You gonna check that?”

  “Nope.”

  “All right.” Raymond dumped ice into the bin and carried the empty bucket back to the kitchen, leaving Clay momentarily alone in the bar.

  He returned shortly with a rack full of glasses and Clay watched as he took each one out, wiped it with a white towel and put it on the shelf.

  “Thanks for letting me in early. And for the coffee.”

  “Sure.” Ray shrugged. “I don’t mind the company. And you looked like you needed a place to hide.”

  The cell on the bar vibrated one more time, proving Ray was correct. Clay was hiding and apparently they were looking for him.

  He should have been back at the house over an hour ago. He’d deliberately stayed away and obviously he’d been missed.

  Not that he knew for sure who was texting or what they were saying since his cell was facedown on the bar and he’d refused to let himself look. He didn’t need any more of Tasha’s lies.

  “So who are you avoiding?” Ray asked.

  Clay laughed. “Everyone. Except you, that is.”

  “I’m honored.” Ray rolled his eyes as the cell vibrated a sixth time. “Why don’t you just turn it off?”

  “I guess I like knowing they’re freaking out.”

  Ray’s raised eyebrows told Clay his opinion on the matter.

  With a sigh, Clay picked up the cell and looked at the many message alerts. His cameraman. Maria. Tasha.

  Yup. Pretty much who he expected to see. The whole cast of characters.

  He blew out a breath and started with the first one, Greg asking where he was. That was followed by Tasha saying she knew he was angry but she could explain. A second one from her asked him to please come back to the house because Maria was really pissed.

  Next was Maria, threatening to sue him if he didn’t get his ass to the house immediately. The next one was Greg saying he had something important to tell him, man to man, privately. That was followed by another one swearing it wasn’t a trick to get him to set and it had nothing to do with Maria.

  That last one was interesting.

  Clay supposed it didn’t hurt to find out more. It was probably time to head back, but only because he was curious what the cameraman had to say. That was all. His interest had nothing to do with the fact that Tasha had betrayed him and that something in him wanted someone to provide a reason, an excuse, why she’d done it.

  Usually fighting with Tasha made him want to grab her hair in his fist and bury his cock deep inside her. But this, this wasn’t like that. Somehow this—hurt.

  He didn’t like that she had the power to make him feel like this. The power to drive him from his own damn house.

  She didn’t. No one did. He’d left before he’d lost what little control he’d had left and done something destructive. That was all. And now he was choosing to go back.

  He pushed the coffee mug away from him and climbed off the barstool. Digging his wallet out of his pocket he said, “What do I owe you?”

  Raymond waved off the offer. “On the house.”

  Clay tossed a couple of dollars on the bar for a tip and nodded. “Thanks. And not just for coffee.”

  Someplace to lay low and think was what he’d really needed, more than the caffeine. Ray had provided that and he was grateful.

  “Anytime, Dirtman. But can I offer you some advice?”

  Clay paused half turned toward the exit and glanced back. “I guess that’s part of your job as bartender so sure. Why not?”

  “Whatever happened that had you waiting for me to get here this morning, whoever he or she is, deal with it. You gotta face it, man. Head on. Don’t wait too long. That shit just festers if you let it go on too long.”

  Clay knew Raymond was right, but he didn’t want to admit it and he really didn’t want to face Tasha again just yet.

  It was ridiculous. He’d run full steam ahead and faced some of the world’s worst men without hesitation, yet one woman half his body weight had driven him into hiding.

  Though not just Tasha. Maria and Joanne and New Millennia Media had done their part as well. He had enough anger to spread around.

  Clay tipped his head to acknowledge he’d heard Ray’s advice. Whether he’d heed it and let Tasha explain her actions or not was yet to be determined, but he was done avoiding his own home.

  He got to his truck and texted back Greg, telling him he was on his way to talk to him and him alone, no one else, and if they knew what was good for them everyone else would stay away.

  As an afterthought he sent a second text, smiling with an inner evil.

  Remember I’m a SEAL. We’re trained to kill with our bare hands.

  That should do it. If they wanted to use his years in the service to their advantage, then he could damn well use it to his own.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Clay pulled up to the curb. He’d calmed down during the drive but the sight of his driveway sent his heart thundering again.

  There was barely enough space in the driveway for Tasha’s car, Maria’s car, and one of the production vans parked there, forget about his truck. He was ready for this shit to be over.

  Best to not block anyone in. With any luck, one or all of them would leave—and leave him the fuck alone.

  Yeah, right.
No such luck.

  He noticed the HVAC van parked across the street. Today they were putting in a new heat and A/C unit. One more thing that could get checked off the to-do list—one step closer to his being able to close this nightmare chapter of his life.

  Speaking of nightmares . . . Tasha came out of the house and walked up to his truck.

  He cursed to himself, drew in a breath and opened the door. Before she had a chance to say anything to piss him off, he said, “I told Greg I’d talk to him alone and that everybody else needed to stay the fuck out of my way today.”

  She opened her mouth to speak and he held up his hand to stop her.

  “I know. I know there’s a fucking contract. I know I’m obligated to finish this fucking show or get sued, but not today. I’m too pissed off to play house with you for the cameras. Film something else. I’ll start back tomorrow.”

  “Maria already rearranged the schedule to do exactly that. That’s why Greg isn’t here. She sent him to get some shots of the town and the beach for B-roll.”

  “Then why didn’t he text me and tell me that?” Clay pulled out his cell and blew out a breath when he saw the unread text from Greg that must have come in while he was driving.

  He punched the screen to open it and just as Tasha had said, Greg said he’d gotten pulled away. But he also said something else. He said to hear Tasha out and believe what she said. That it wasn’t her. It had been him.

  There wasn’t enough information in the text. It forced him to do the one thing he didn’t want to do—talk to Tasha and trust her to tell him the truth.

  Clay glanced up, angry, tired—tired of being angry. “I don’t understand what he’s saying. What does he mean it wasn’t you, it was him?”

  “Greg recognized your frog tattoo. I heard he used to be embedded with a combat reporter so he knows military stuff. He’s the one who told Maria you were a SEAL, not me. She took him to McP’s to get some shots of all the SEAL memorabilia hanging on the walls. She remembered all that stuff was there from when we had our first meeting. Remember?”

  He’d never forget. That was the day this hell began. Scowling, he nodded.

  “Anyway, it was a complete coincidence that while they were taking close-ups of some of the things, they found that picture of you.” She hesitated. “I watched the video and saw the picture. You guys were there for Randy, weren’t you?”

  His nostrils flared, hating that Randy’s name was even on her lips. “Maria know that?” he asked.

  Tasha shook her head emphatically. “No. I think she thought it was just a picture of you getting drunk with some buddies.”

  He shook his head, torn between thinking it was bull, and that it sounded just crazy enough to be plausible. At this point he didn’t trust his own instincts.

  “When you came into my room this morning . . .” She apparently wasn’t done yet. “The only new video I knew about was from like four days ago. Maria had told me about it. I hadn’t even seen that last one myself. I knew nothing about this latest one, I swear. They never run these things by me. I have to find out by seeing them online or by asking Maria to send me a link, but I can only ask for that if I know they made a new one.”

  She was babbling, but the more she talked the more she deflated his case against her. It was even getting hard to be mad at Maria.

  It seemed this was just a series of coincidences and dumb luck. That his cameraman recognized his bone frog. That Maria happened to see that picture at McP’s. That she and Tasha had met there for their business that first day so she even knew the place existed. And that the one picture of him at McP’s happened to be from the first year anniversary of Randy’s death.

  His eyes cut to where Tasha touched his arm. She withdrew her fingers immediately.

  Smart girl. Just because he wasn’t still pissed enough to kill someone didn’t mean he was ready to make nice.

  “Do you believe me?” she asked, her voice soft and unsure.

  Did he? Yeah, he did. And that meant he’d been wrong to jump to conclusions and accuse her. Which also meant, technically, he owed her an apology.

  Fuck. He hated apologizing. But he’d been wrong and there was no way around it.

  “I’m sorry I—”

  “No. Don’t apologize. I understand.” She laid her hand on his arm again. “If I’d only told one person a bunch of private things and then two days later a video appeared that had all of those things in it, I would make the same assumption.”

  He pressed his lips together. “Thanks for understanding, but I was wrong and I need to apologize. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” She nodded, her eyes looking teary.

  Damn women and their tears. They knew exactly how to make a man feel worse than he already did.

  He let out a bitter laugh. “You know, in the beginning, I kind of enjoyed arguing with you.”

  She smiled while looking a bit sad. “I know. Me too.”

  “But this time.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like it.”

  “I didn’t like it either.” She raised her gaze to his. “What do you think that means?”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth, considering, stalling, not wanting to accept what he thought it meant.

  “What do you think it means?” he asked, turning the question back on her.

  She broke eye contact, kicking her flip-flop against the driveway. For the first time he noticed she was dressed more like he usually was, than like herself. Shorts and a T-shirt rather than a dress and impractical heels. He’d rubbed off on her.

  Finally, she said, “I think we might have become friends. Or more . . . maybe.” She forced her gaze up. “What do you think?”

  He thought that if he didn’t get this woman somewhere private soon, he’d embarrass them both.

  Whether it was the adrenaline from the anger and their fight or the relief she hadn’t done what he’d thought . . . or maybe it was just the fact he was finally ready to admit his feelings and embrace the possibilities of a relationship, it was clear to him. They weren’t fuck buddies. They weren’t friends with benefits. She’d said it first and he agreed, they were more.

  More. Yeah, that’s exactly how it felt. That was a perfect word for it.

  He took a step forward and raised both hands to her arms. “I think you’re right.”

  “You do?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  He laughed. “Yes. Is that such a surprise?”

  “You saying I’m right? Yes. Yes, it is a surprise.”

  “Well, this is different.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “This isn’t about my house, which is my domain. So, you know, I have to be right when it comes to that.”

  She laughed. “And now you’re making jokes? And jokes about having to be right all the time?” Tasha narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. “Where is the real Clay and what have you done with him? Is this some sort of alien abduction scenario?”

  He smiled. “Nope. It’s really me.”

  She took a step forward. Now they were standing so close they were nearly touching. “So what changed? What happened to you?”

  “You happened to me,” he admitted.

  “I did?” She bit her lip and her eyes got glassy.

  He cursed beneath his breath. “You know damn well, you did.”

  She bit her lip again and it was all he could do to not take the plump flesh between his own teeth.

  In fact, the moment they were alone, he was going to do just that, before he moved down her body and nibbled on some other plump and fleshy lips he had a craving for.

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  Ah, the future. That was a topic he’d always avoided with females. Run from it like it was a grenade about to go off.

  This time he wouldn’t run, but that didn’t mean he had an answer for her.

  “Well, the next couple of weeks are set. We finish the house. We do whatever promotional bullshit Maria forces me to do.”

  Sh
e laughed, probably at his obvious hatred of publicity.

  He lifted a shoulder. “After that . . . I honestly don’t know. When I retired and then found this house I thought I’d be happy just sitting around enjoying doing nothing for the rest of my life. Now, I’m not so sure.” He glanced down at her. “What about you?”

  She pressed her lips together and avoided eye contact. When she finally looked at him she said, “I don’t know. They said if the show gets picked up for another season they’re going to look for new hosts.”

  “Why? Why couldn’t you do it?”

  “They don’t want me without you.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because they said the reason the show works is the, um, sexual tension between you and me. And they wouldn’t want to keep me and replace you with another guy so they’d rather get a new couple for the next house project.”

  He frowned. “What if I stayed on? Would they agree to keeping you on, both of us, for the next project?”

  She drew her head back. “You’d do that? Do another season even though you hated this one so much?”

  “I didn’t hate it—”

  “Clay . . .”

  “Okay, at times I hated it. But there were some parts I grew to like.” He squeezed her arms. “More than liked.”

  Her expression softened. “I more than liked certain parts too.”

  He smiled. “So we tell Maria we’re a team and they take us both or not at all?”

  Tasha laughed. “I’m not sure that’s quite the threat you think it is, especially with how mad she was at you today. But yeah, we’re a team. A good team.”

  “Hell yeah. Because, you know, I make sure I only belong to the best teams.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She smiled, and then shot a quick glance back at the house. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? Go get a drink, maybe at McP’s?”

  He lifted a brow. “What about production?”

  “We’ll start early or go late or whatever to make up for it tomorrow. Besides, Greg confided in me that they build in extra days in the schedule just in case. We’re fine.”

  “Well, in that case, I think a drink sounds damn good.”

  Especially since they’d be getting it far away from here and the cameras and at a place where he could sit Tasha in his lap in a dark corner table and devour her mouth and no one would say shit about it.