by Johnson, Cat
It didn’t matter if they did find out he’d been on SEAL Team One. He was retired now. But it was the principal.
After two decades of serving his country, he deserved his privacy now. But Clay had a feeling he’d sacrificed all rights to a private life when he’d signed that contract.
It was a problem he’d deal with if and when it arose. Right now, he had to figure out why the buzzing coming from the bathroom had kicked up a notch, getting louder and faster.
The bathroom door was closed and as far as he knew Tasha was still inside, taking her sweet time, torturing him so he couldn’t shower off the day’s construction dust and dirt.
He crept closer and the buzzing had definitely grown louder and was no doubt coming from the bathroom.
Was it a problem with the water heater and not the electric? That was less frightening but still horrifying. Clay could do carpentry and other small repairs but he knew shit about plumbing.
What he did know was that plumbers cost an arm and a leg, when you could get them to come at all.
But he didn’t hear the water running. Not in the shower or the sink.
Was she shaving her legs with an electric razor maybe? Did women even do that?
Women were the last great mystery all his years in the SEALs hadn’t solved. Did lady razors have two settings—a low and then a high for extra difficult hair?
Exactly where was that extra thick hair on Tasha and why was she shaving it? The possibilities were as intriguing as they were horrifying.
Another sound joined the electronic buzz, but this one was decidedly human.
He might not know shit about lady razors, but he knew an orgasm when he heard one. And that meant the source of the formerly unidentified buzz was no longer in doubt.
Clay closed his mouth after he noticed it had dropped open.
The mystery noise wasn’t the water heater or the wires. It wasn’t a razor either.
Nope. There was no question in his mind—Tasha was getting herself off with a vibrator and holy shit the image of her in there doing that just feet from where he stood had him instantly hard.
He might not like the woman all that much, but apparently his body liked the idea of what she was doing.
Reaching down, he tried to adjust his length as it pressed painfully against the seam in his shorts.
Yup. His planned shower just got a little longer because besides the dust in his hair, he now had to also deal with the growing problem in his shorts.
Damn woman, torturing him even when he wasn’t in the same room with her. That figured. He’d come to expect nothing less from her.
The only question was how he was going to deal with this for four more weeks.
THIRTEEN
She’d actually slept. A deep, dreamless, rejuvenating sleep that had her waking refreshed when the sunlight streamed relentlessly through the mini-blinds on the curtain-less windows and hit her in the face. But she hadn’t even minded that. She’d sprung up, showered, dressed and made coffee all before most people were out of bed for the day.
It was amazing. A miracle actually. Definitely not what she had expected when she’d preemptively put a bottle of water and a bottle of sleeping pills on the floor next to her bed last night, just in case.
It also made no sense. The bed was foreign to her and not exactly comfortable. Her bedroom was on the wrong side of the house to hear the ocean—thanks to Clay choosing the good bedroom that faced the water for himself—and she’d forgotten to pack her sound machine.
Even so, she’d been out like a light for a solid eight hours.
Her gaze hit upon her suitcase. She’d buried B.O.B., her battery-operated boyfriend, deep beneath her clothes last night after a nice long session with him in the bathroom.
Could that be the reason for her great night’s sleep?
If it was, she was going to do it every night because it was better than any pill or sound machine. But she was going to have to get new batteries because he definitely was not performing up to capacity, one reason it had taken so long for her to finish.
Clay might have some. She remembered seeing him loading up a flashlight yesterday with fresh batteries. He was in the bathroom now. She’d heard him go in a few minutes ago.
The crew hadn’t arrived yet for the day. This was the perfect time to search.
Creeping through the doorway, she glanced left and then right. The hall was clear.
Like a ninja, she kicked off her sandals that would make far too much noise on the wood floor and ran barefoot to the living room.
His toolbox was in the corner of the room, right where she’d seen it yesterday. With any luck she’d find what she needed inside.
She bent over the metal box, refusing to kneel down on the dust covered floor since Clay hadn’t swept up very well when he’d finished yesterday.
There was a lot of stuff inside. Big heavy metal stuff that sounded like a freight train when she tried to move it to the side to see what was beneath.
His tools weren’t very organized. If she piled all of her makeup into one big box with no organization like this, she’d never find a thing.
“What the devil are you pawing around in there for?”
Guilty, she squeaked with surprise. She yanked her hands out of the box, straightened and spun to face him.
The bastard had snuck up on her. Again. For a big guy, he sure moved quietly. Must be those ratty old sneakers he insisted on wearing around the house.
“Uh. Nothing. I, uh, I just needed some batteries.”
“Oh, really?” Folding his arms over his broad chest, he smirked. “And what kind of batteries did you need?”
“Double A.”
Watching her too closely, he moved to a drawer in the kitchen. “I put some in here yesterday. Two enough?” he asked.
Her cheeks heated. “Um, actually four.”
“Four?” His brows shot high. “Must be a powerful little device. What did you say these were for?” he asked, holding the package of batteries hostage in his big hand.
“Um, a clock radio.” It was the only thing she could think of and it was ridiculous. She didn’t even own a clock radio, never mind one that ran on batteries. She used her cell phone as an alarm and to listen to music.
Maybe the Neanderthal was old school and wouldn’t question her.
“A battery-operated clock radio?” His lips twitched. “Is the electrical outlet in your bedroom not working? I’d better check it.” He started toward the hall leading toward the bedrooms.
She scurried to beat him to her door, not sure she’d hidden her battery-operated friend well enough under the clothes in her suitcase, which was on the floor right below the outlet.
“No! It works,” she said much too loudly. When he paused and that dark brow quirked up again, she scrambled to explain. “The outlet works, but I like to carry the clock radio around and, uh, take it places with me. You know, to use as a radio. So that’s why I need batteries.”
“Places like the bathroom, you mean?” he asked with more amusement than the question warranted.
“Um, yeah. Sometimes.”
“Okay. Here you go.” Still smirking, he finally handed her the batteries.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I bet you do.” With a snort, he headed out of the room, shaking his head as he left.
That man was a strange one. Too bad his odd behavior did nothing to diminish his hotness. She wished it did. Wished that she could be completely repulsed by him instead of turned on. Then she wouldn’t have needed his stupid batteries or her battery-operated boyfriend in the first place.
“So, when you’re done with your batteries for your, uh, radio, you want to come with me to Home Dep—um, the store?” he asked.
“Me?” Her eyes widened. Was he actually inviting her somewhere willingly?
“Yes, you.” He laughed.
“Why?”
“Why?” He frowned. “Because I’m going to pick out the new tile for
the bathroom and I thought you might want to be there. You know, since you spend so much time in there.”
His continued references to the bathroom had her eyes narrowing but she decided not to argue with his exaggeration and tell him that she did not spend a lot of time in the bathroom.
She’d enact her revenge on him later, at the store when she fought for her choice of tile.
There was no doubt in her mind that Clay was a four-inch square, plain white tile kind of guy, while she was more of a blue glass subway tile kind of girl.
The only question in her mind was why he was really inviting her, because he sure didn’t want or value her opinion. It was probably so he could make fun of her for being out of her element in the store.
She’d show him. Clay might not really want her opinion but he was going to get it. Since Maria liked when she and Clay disagreed she should really love this.
“I’d love to come. Thank you.”
If he was surprised by her answer, he didn’t show it. He nodded and turned toward the other room, before glancing back over his shoulder. “Can you be ready to go in half an hour? Or do you need more bathroom time?”
She scowled at his smug expression and his question.
What the hell did he think she needed all that time for? She was already dressed and ready for the day. He was just making fun of her, as usual.
Not dignifying his veiled insult by arguing, she said, “Half an hour is fine.”
Tasha followed that up with the sweetest smile she could muster, then turned on her heel and headed for her room, batteries in hand.
In her suitcase, besides her hidden vibrator, she had the notebook with style ideas she’d collected. And while Clay had been grunting and cursing at the ceiling he was scraping yesterday, she’d walked around and taken measurements of all the rooms in the house, including the bathroom. She’d bet he hadn’t done that.
Ha! She’d prove to Clay she wasn’t fucking useless like he thought she was, maybe even make him apologize for that comment, and it would be a sweet day when he did.
FOURTEEN
Clay sighed. “What is your problem? You’re looking at me like I’m speaking Mandarin.”
Asher shook his head and said, “You might as well be since I really don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“What exactly don’t you understand?”
“All of it.”
“It’s not that difficult. They let me buy the house if I let them record the renovations and have the TV chick stay in the house for the duration of the show.”
“And you had to sneak out to meet me tonight because otherwise they would have sent a cameraman to follow you.”
“Yup.” Clay nodded but that last part hadn’t been as simple as Asher had made it sound.
When Clay had made the mistake of mentioning he was going out tonight, Maria had jumped at the chance to be able to get his guys' night on tape. He’d been forced to lie and say his plans had changed, that his friend had had to cancel, and then use all his skills to slip out of the house undetected.
He’d gone out the damn bathroom window so the cameras mounted throughout the house wouldn’t see him leaving. But the extra effort had been necessary because as bad as Clay having to be on camera was, it would be far worse for Asher, still an active duty SEAL stationed at Coronado.
Clay couldn’t have Greg follow him to a well-known SEAL bar to meet his SEAL friend. There’d be no hiding what he was after that and he’d be damned if the producers profited off his service by using the fact he was a frogman to promote their stupid show.
“Yeah, see that right there. All of what you just said. It doesn’t make any sense. You hate reality shows. You’re allergic to cameras. And you hate those Hollywood-type TV stars—” Asher’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wait. She’s hot, isn’t she?”
“What?” Clay frowned. “No. That’s not it.”
“She’s not hot?” Asher lifted a brow. “So they hired her to star in their TV show because she’s hideous?”
“No.” Clay drew his brows lower and glared at his teammate. “Shut up. That’s not what I’m saying. Yeah, she’s pretty in a TV kind of way but that’s not why I’m doing this.”
“Mmm, hmm.” Asher smiled as he nodded.
“Fuck you.” Clay didn’t need this sarcasm from his supposed friend. “I’m doing this because if I didn’t, I was going to lose the property. They had God knows how big of a budget they could have used to bid the price up.”
“The location does look pretty sweet in the pictures.”
“It is. And I wasn’t going to lose it to some Hollywood production company who only wanted it for a month.”
“Still doesn’t hurt the deal comes with some live-in booty though.” Asher grinned.
Clay rolled his eyes. “Shut up. There’s no booty.”
His cell phone in his hand, Asher shook his head. “Nope. I’m not buying it. If you haven’t already tapped that, or at least tried to, you want to. Because, I mean look at her.”
Asher held up his phone to face Clay and a picture of Tasha filled his screen.
“How the fuck . . .”
“I looked her up.” Asher grinned with satisfaction.
“How?”
“You said she was a minor local celebrity named Tasha. I searched online and she came right up. Did you know she used to host Good Day, San Diego?”
“No.” He honestly hadn’t known because unlike his friend, Clay had never bothered to search Tasha online.
He knew enough about the woman from real life. He didn’t need the web to tell him about the fake stuff she put out there for the public.
“You know the day her show got cancelled she had a meltdown on air that went viral?” Asher asked.
No, he hadn’t known. Clay paused with his martini halfway to his mouth. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. It’s all over YouTube. Somebody even set it to music. It’s pretty funny.”
All right, now that he had to see. “Cue that shit up for me.” Clay smiled.
“Thought you might be interested in that.” He handed his cell to Clay and continued, “She’s still hot though.”
Hot enough to have Clay jerking off in the shower when he finally got into the bathroom last night. Hot enough to keep him tossing and turning for half the night to fantasies of her and the vibrator. But he’d endure torture before admitting that to his buddy.
“No comment,” he said, and hit play on the video and there she was.
And holy shit, she was wearing the outfit he’d met her in. He frowned and glanced at the date on the video.
The timing was about right. He’d met her the day she’d been fired and had a meltdown on air.
It had to be the same day. That was why she’d been so drunk in the middle of the day. He remembered well exactly how drunk. Drunk enough to pass out on him before he got to finish the job she’d invited him in to perform.
When the first video led to another one of her, this time not set to music, he leaned in close to listen to what she was saying. He could see the tears of hurt and anger shining in her eyes as she spoke.
Damn, this explained a lot.
When the video ended, he hit to replay it. Listening closer this time from the start.
He’d never been fired, but he’d been passed over for promotion once during his career and it had sucked.
It had made him work doubly hard to make sure he’d never be passed over again.
Was this home renovation show Tasha’s version of doubling down to make sure she didn’t get fired again? Was that why she had fought him at every turn today on camera while they were in the tile section of Home Depot?
He was having trouble mustering his usual level of annoyance toward her after seeing the video. That pissed him off. He didn’t want to like her.
Clay let out a huff and tossed Asher’s cell onto the table between them, pissed off at him too for mentioning the stupid video in the first place.
Nothing had changed.
He was going to get through this four weeks and that was that.
She could save her career on her own time, when it didn’t involve him or his house.
FIFTEEN
Clay might have snuck out of the house, but he’d be damned if he snuck back in. He swung open the front door and found Tasha sitting in one of the chairs set around the folding table in the living room.
She’d jumped in her seat when he opened the door.
Frowning, she asked, “I didn’t see you go out. When did you leave?”
“Before.” His focus moved to her laptop screen where he saw a disturbing image—a picture of himself. “What’s that? What are you watching?”
“The footage of us at the store.”
He rolled his eyes. “Great.”
“Apparently it is great. Maria emailed this clip to me and told me to watch it because she wants more just like it.” She scowled, looking as unhappy as Clay felt.
Good. At least he wasn’t alone in his misery.
Drawing in a breath he moved closer. She angled the screen so he could see from where he stood behind her, and then she pushed the button to raise the volume.
He watched himself on the screen as he shook his head and said, “No.”
“Why not?” she asked on the video. “It’s the hot new thing.”
“Which means it’s a fad,” he said.
“No. It means it will give the house a fresh new, up-to-date modern look.”
On screen, he audibly snorted. “Yeah, tell all the people who are stuck with bad choices from a few decades ago that.”
“It’s not like I’m telling you to buy those new black kitchen appliances that I’ve seen around.”
“Good, because I’m not going to and it’s my house.”
“That deed you keep flinging in my face obviously didn’t come with any taste.”
“Oh, nice.” He nodded. “Watch out, sweetheart, the real you is showing.”
She sighed. “I’m just saying that this tile is fresh but classic.”
He blew out a huff. “White is classic.”
“White is boring,” she countered. “And you are stubborn and set in your ways.”