by Johnson, Cat
“My way works just fine for me.” On screen, Clay set his legs wide and folded his arms.
He glanced down at himself now.
Standing in the living room while frowning at what he saw on the video, he realized he was in the exact same pose as the version of him on the screen.
He uncrossed his arms but then didn’t know what to do with them as they hung at his sides. Fuck it. He crossed them over his chest again and gave up. No changing who he was now.
The camera moved to focus on the expression of the store employee unfortunate enough to get caught in their argument.
“Can’t we just buy a few of each and bring them home? Lay them out and see?” Tasha asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to be stuck with tile I don’t like and can’t return when I don’t use it.”
The kid in the orange vest raised his hand before he said, “Actually, you can return the unused tiles. No problem. Just save your receipt.”
Clay shot the boy a glare then looked back to Tasha. “Fine. Buy the damn tile.”
She smiled in victory as the camera caught his displeasure. That’s when the clip ended.
Tasha leaned back from the computer. “That’s what Maria wants more of.”
He let out a laugh. “Well the good news is she’s probably going to get it.”
To his surprise, Tasha let out a short laugh of her own. “I hate to agree with you, but I think you’re right.”
“See. We can agree,” he said.
She laughed again and looked up at him. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair was in a ponytail.
Her pink tank top was tight and there was definitely no bra beneath it. Her pink and white polka-dotted pajama pants were about a size too big and tied at the waist. Her bare feet stuck out from the bottom as she sat cross-legged in the chair.
It was the complete opposite of how he was used to seeing her. The change threw him.
He realized she’d said something that he’d completely missed. “Um, what?”
“I said, I laid out the tiles in the bathroom to see how they look.”
The bathroom. The one room he probably shouldn’t go into with her looking so tempting. Especially not after he’d seen that clip from Good Day, San Diego that had made her seem more like a human rather than the evil witch from hell he’d seen her as since day one.
And he especially shouldn’t follow her into the bathroom after what he’d heard her doing in there last night.
“You wanna see?” she asked, sounding soft and sweet and damn, her nipples were hard. Shit.
He yanked his gaze up from her chest and cleared his throat. “Ugh, all right.”
Shit. He’d planned on saying no. That they could look in the morning when the crew was there. Now they were going to be in the bathroom alone with no camera watching them.
He followed her as she led the way and his head spun.
Even if he was weak at the moment thanks to her obscenely tight and tiny top, he had nothing to worry about because she disliked him as much as he disliked her.
There was no way they’d accidentally have sex, because she’d never let him touch her again.
Good. Phew. Crisis averted.
He walked in behind her as she flipped on the light and turned, glancing up at him.
Her top teeth latched onto her bottom lip and it was all he could focus on as he imagined biting that lip for himself. Right before he envisioned her mouth closing over his cock.
Fuck.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?”
“What do you think of the glass tile?” she asked.
He forced his gaze to where she’d leaned a row of tile against the wall on the edge of the tub and—double fuck—he liked it.
Her stupid blue tile looked really good. Clean. Nautical. Even masculine.
“Shit.” He ran his hand over his chin and let out a breath.
“You don’t like it.” Her mood visibly deflated as her head tipped down and her shoulders slumped.
“No. I do like it.”
Her head whipped up and her eyes brightened. “You do?”
“Yes. And if you say I told you so, I’ll buy the other tile just to spite you.”
She pressed her lips tight together and shook her head. “I won’t say it. I promise.”
A small smile began to bow her lips and he shook his head. She might not say it, but no doubt she was thinking it and enjoying this moment way too much.
There was nothing he could do but let her—and get out of this damn room before the image of her in those damn tempting PJs haunted him all damn night.
“Good night, Tasha.” He turned for the door.
“Night, Clay.”
Stupid Asher. This was his fault for putting the idea of them being together in his head. He had to blame somebody and he’d be damned if that somebody was himself.
He shook his head all the way to his room and then slammed the door. It was going to be a long night.
SIXTEEN
Stupid man.
Now he liked the tile she chose? The same tile he’d fought against tooth and nail at the store. What the hell was that about?
It must be some sort of trick. She’d noticed he didn’t say he liked it on camera.
Oh no. Instead it had been mumbled in the bathroom where there were no cameras and when the crew wasn’t around to witness it.
That figured. Tomorrow he’d probably change his mind. Do a one-eighty on camera to make her look like a crazy person.
Tasha stomped out of the bathroom and into her bedroom down the hall. Her suitcase caught her eye and she paused, remembering the fresh batteries she’d installed in the device hidden inside.
She could go to bed, but she was so angry, chances were she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Or she could grab her battery-operated boyfriend, head back to the bathroom, relieve some stress, and then have a restful sleep like she had last night.
Ignoring the fact that it seemed the angrier Clay made her, the more awake her lady-parts got, she walked to the suitcase.
Blocking the camera’s view with her body she shoved B.O.B. under her shirt, grabbed her toiletry case as cover, and strode to the bathroom before Clay got in there before her.
She should have taken care of this before, when he’d been mysteriously absent.
There were two issues with that regret. One she hadn’t known he’d left the house—and still couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten out without her noticing. Two, she hadn’t been angry and horny then.
She needed a word to describe this new phenomenon. Hangry was used to describe someone who was hungry and angry. What could she call being horny and angry instead?
Horngry, perhaps? That might work—not that she’d ever admit to having these feelings the constant arguing with Clay roused inside her.
Coming up with her new word had amused her right out of her bad mood, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still primed and ready for a little toy-assisted release.
Thank God the bathroom was a camera-free zone. That thought had crossed her mind more often than she’d ever imagined it would as she peeled off her pajama bottoms and settled herself on the edge of the tub.
She’d barely turned on the device, and definitely hadn’t had enough time to really start to enjoy it, before pounding on the bathroom door had her jumping.
She dropped the vibrator and had to scramble to retrieve it as it made an even louder racket than usual while it shimmied across the floor.
While she struggled to hit the off button, the pounding sounded again, this time accompanied by Clay’s voice. “Tasha! Open the door.”
What the hell was going on? Was the house on fire? Was a tsunami on the way? Those were the only two reasons she could come up with as she spun in a circle, searching for a place to hide B.O.B..
“Hold on a sec,” she yelled back as she shoved the vibrator under the towel and then scooped up her pajama bottoms from the floor.
She nearly fell putting them on when her foot got caught in the fabric.
When she was finally dressed, but not happy, she unlocked the door and yanked it open.
“What’s wr—” She never finished her question.
Clay, wild-eyed and panting as if he’d run a marathon, leaned with both hands braced against the doorframe.
He looked crazed. Why?
“What’s wrong?” This time she got the question out, genuinely concerned for both of their safety—until she swept her gaze down his body and noticed the massive tent in his shorts.
Oh, my.
She swallowed and brought her focus back to his face. “Clay?”
“Why are you doing this when I’m right here?” His nostrils flared as he drew in quick breaths.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He pushed into the room, forcing her to take a step back. Clay closed the door to the hallway and when he turned back to her he was standing much closer than he had been before.
She was cornered as he leaned against the sink, bracketing her with his Popeye arms and putting his face just a breath away from hers.
“You know what I’m talking about.” He twisted his head to glance around the small space, before looking back at her with a sneer. “Where’d you hide the vibrator?”
Busted.
She opened her mouth to protest but it was no use. Offense seemed like her only defense so she switched gears and said, “What I do in the privacy of the bathroom is my own business.”
“It’s not when I have to lay in that bed on the other side of this wall and listen to it every fucking night.”
Her spatial awareness really did suck. She hadn’t realized that because of a jog in the hallway that put Clay’s door around the corner. And it was on a different side of the house than her room, but he was right. His bedroom would share a wall with the bathroom.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head at her apology, looking angrier than the circumstances warranted.
Finally he said, “I’m right here.”
The intensity of his words, bit out with a force only a man his size could accomplish, blew the hair that had fallen across her forehead.
He couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he might be suggesting.
“But you hate me.” She was baffled and confused.
His nostrils flared again. “Hate is a strong word.”
Were they really going to argue over semantics at a time like this? When his hard-on was ready to bust through his shorts and her body was screaming for attention.
“Fine. You dislike me then,” she said, breathing a bit heavier too. From his closeness. From the prospect of repeating that night between them that she couldn’t remember.
God, how she wished she could remember. It had to have been good. A man with emotions this intense—even if at the moment that emotion was anger—had to be good in bed.
“No more than you dislike me.” His eyes never left hers.
They were really nice eyes too. Why hadn’t she appreciated exactly how nice before? Probably because they were always slits as he scowled and glared at her.
“What are you saying, Clay?”
He dropped his gaze to her lips before bringing it back up. He leaned closer, hovering barely a breath from her lips. “I’ve had enough with this frigging conversation. Yes or no, Tasha? One word. That’s all I want. Yes or no?”
Her pulse racing, she managed to say between breaths, “Yes.”
His mouth was on hers in a second. Pressed close, he crushed her between the unyielding porcelain and his rock hard body.
He thrust one hand into her hair and yanked her head back, opening her to him. Their tongues tangled as he angled his head and kissed her hard and deep, but she was having trouble focusing on anything other than the hard length pressing against her stomach.
Clay was too tall. Their parts didn’t line up properly when they were standing, which was a shame because she desperately needed that one part about six inches lower.
His fingers on the elastic waistband of her bottoms nearly had her groaning in anticipation as he yanked her pajama pants to the floor.
She kicked them off her feet, leaving her naked from the waist down and desperate for relief from this ache inside her.
With his hands on her waist, he hoisted her up, perching her on the edge of the sink. The heat of his rough palms seared her bare skin.
The size of his hands, big enough to span halfway across her back as he held her, made her feel small. Vulnerable. Taken.
She liked the feeling even if it was contrary to everything she’d believed about herself as a take-charge, independent, strong woman.
Long thick fingers pressed inside her and her mouth opened on a gasp.
Clay sucked in a breath and stepped between her legs, forcing her thighs wider as he began working her hard with his fingers.
She was so needy, so ready, she felt the orgasm building. Her muscles tightened, primed for release.
With his right hand still working her, Clay reached down with his left hand and freed his erection from his shorts. Then he was leaning toward her once again.
Tasha closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss . . . the kiss that never came.
She heard the snap of the latch on the medicine cabinet next to her head and opened her eyes to see Clay reaching inside to get—a box of Iron Man XXL Condoms?
Her eyes flew wide. “You bought condoms?”
What the hell? He was expecting this to happen with her? Or worse, was he setting up this house—nay, this construction site—for sex with other women while she was living in it with him?
“They’re sponsors. Maria put them there.” His voice was rough as he spoke while stretching the latex over his length.
XXL, indeed. Wow.
She brought her gaze back up as Clay leaned forward again, only this time it was to grasp her hips as he slid inside her.
A gasp escaped her lips as her body gripped on to what she’d been sorely missing.
The sensation of being filled completely while he pressed on her clit was all she needed to send her over the edge. She cried out as the orgasm hit her hard.
He palmed the back of her head and held her face against his bare chest, all without slowing the thrust of his body into hers.
The combination of his hand and cock extended the spasms and she relished each and every incredible one, from the first tingle to the final aftershock.
She heard his grunt accompany each stroke into her until finally he held deep and let out a long low groan. She felt every pulse of his release inside her. It was a spectacular reawakening to a sex life that had been a dried up wasteland for too long.
Tonight had certainly broken that drought—although she supposed the one-night she couldn’t remember had technically broken her dry spell. She wasn’t going to count that since she didn’t recall any of it.
Damn, had that night been as good as tonight?
That made it extra tragic she couldn’t recall a thing, because only B.O.B. had ever given her a climax this long. This intense.
No human man ever had. No man except for Clay.
Why did it have to be him? The one man she couldn’t get along with. The man she had a definite hate-hate relationship with. Or at least a deep mutual dislike, as they’d discussed before this surreal sexual encounter.
He was still inside her. Still panting. Still fisting her hair as he held her tight against him.
She felt the heat of his sweat-dampened skin beneath her cheek. Felt the pounding of his heart. Smelled the scent of him—a masculine mixture of good clean sweat and spicy deodorant.
The sink had to be the most uncomfortable place she’d ever had sex, but she didn’t mind. He felt good inside her, even as his erection faded. It was like she’d denied herself for so long that her body was starving and greedy. Now that she’d fed it, it wasn’t about to go without again.
That was going to be a
problem for so many reasons, the least of which was the two-hundred pounds of bad attitude now pulling away from her while looking just as mad as he had before they’d had sex.
While shaking his head, Clay stepped back. He flushed the condom and tucked himself back into his shorts.
With one final glance at her, he yanked open the door and stalked away without even a single word.
What the hell?
More confused than ever, and not as satisfied as she should be considering the mind-blowing sex, she braced both hands on the sink and jumped down.
She closed the door that Clay had left open and turned on the shower.
When she went to move the towel, she spotted B.O.B. and seriously considered going for round two since sex with Clay was like eating Chinese food. It was great when you were in the midst of it, but too soon afterward you were ready for more.
She glanced at the wall between her and Clay and decided against going for another big O on her own.
His hearing her turn on the vibrator now might really throw him over the edge. She put it down on the sink before stepping over the edge of the tub and under the shower spray.
Good sex was sweaty business so she had some cleaning up to do. A lot of thinking to do too, because tonight had to have been the strangest interaction she’d ever had with any man, never mind one she had to work with and live with.
The crew would be back in about eight hours. Then what? She could only hope the cameras hadn’t picked up the sounds that were no doubt coming out of the bathroom, in spite of Clay nearly smothering her to keep her quiet.
Tasha sighed.
Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.
SEVENTEEN
“Clay?”
His back stiffened when he heard Tasha behind him.
The dead last thing he wanted to do was turn around and see her—and remember last night.
He’d lost his mind. Obviously. That’s the only excuse he could come up with for how he’d practically broken down the bathroom door to get to her.
Christ. What a mess.
But the crew was here and the cameras were rolling and so, after yet another restless night of shitty sleep, he had to play nice.