Hot SEAL, Dirty Martini

by Johnson, Cat

  His eyes widened. “Clay’s bedroom.”

  “Yes.”

  The man’s mouth opened and closed again. “We sell sample sizes. You can bring home the colors and try them out on the wall.”

  He was too well trained to outright disagree with her but he was obviously trying to lead her away from making what he no doubt thought was a huge mistake.

  She’d be really angry at that if she weren’t pulling his leg to begin with by making those outrageous color suggestions for Clay’s bedroom.

  Tasha sighed. The sad part was, she felt to her core that a beautiful soft sea glass blue with white trim would be perfect in Clay’s bedroom. He’d vetoed her suggestion immediately without even looking at the swatches she’d tried to show him. He wanted white.

  White! Plain old boring white walls with white trim. She couldn’t imagine anything less inspired . . . So why didn’t she show him the error of his ways?

  Tasha reached into her bag and pulled out her house book. Flipping to the master bedroom section, she pulled out the color swatch she’d wanted from the beginning.

  “What do you think of this one?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I love it.”

  She nearly laughed. Compared to pink or lavender for a man’s bedroom, of course the clerk would love blue.

  Maybe she should take this tactic all the time. Suggest something outrageous and ridiculous first, and then after Clay was suitably shocked and appalled, bring out her real choice.

  He might be so relieved he’d let her have her way. It certainly had worked out that way with the paint guy.

  “So what do you think? The room’s already been primed so one gallon of color for a hundred square foot room?”

  He tipped his head again, no longer questioning her choice. “That should do it. Flat or eggshell?”

  “Flat, I think. It’ll hide any imperfections better, right?” she asked, since Clay had outright refused to strip the place to the beams and put up new sheetrock.

  “Yup. You know your stuff,” the man smiled.

  “Thank you.” She returned his smile.

  He might be flattering her because she was a customer, or because the cameras were there, or possibly because he was flirting with her. It didn’t matter why. She got next to no compliments from Clay, so she was going to enjoy getting one now.

  Having Clay take the evening off was turning out to be a good thing.

  As the man mixed the color, Tasha couldn’t resist one more dig at the absent Clay. “Hey, do you know if the garden center down the road has any of those pink plastic flamingos people put in their yards? I wanted to pick a couple up for the house to surprise Clay.”

  The salesman’s eyes widened. “Um, I don’t know.”

  Behind her, she heard the cameraman snort.

  Smothering her own smile, she said, “That’s okay. I’ll just stop by on the way home.”

  Less than an hour later, two pink flamingos graced the small patch of yard right by the front door where Clay would be sure to see them whenever he rolled in tonight. And Tasha had the paint color she wanted for his bedroom.

  She dropped off the gallon of blue wall color along with a gallon of semi-gloss white trim paint with the painting crew, who agreed to work until they got the room done tonight.

  They said they planned to be finished and gone by eight that night, which was a good thing. She wanted the room painted and the painters gone before Clay came home from his mystery date. That way he couldn’t stop them if he hated the color.

  But more than that, she wanted the room complete and looking great so he could maybe, by some miracle, appreciate that she’d been right.

  The blue and the white was the perfect choice for a beach house bedroom. And if he added white cottage-style bedroom furniture, and maybe even white interior plantation shutters on the windows—it’d be fabulous.

  She needed to show him how good it could look if he’d just listen to her.

  Maria had left for the day, so Tasha turned to her cameraman. “What do you say we knock off early tonight? Clay’s not here and the painters are going to work on their own without me so . . .”

  Greg flipped a switch and lowered the ever-present camera from his shoulder. “Sounds good to me. See you in the morning.” He turned and headed for the door.

  That was easy.

  Tasha waited for him to pull out of the driveway and then grabbed her own car keys. If he knew she was going out, he’d follow her—Maria’s orders.

  For what she had in mind, she didn’t need a shadow. All she was going to do was run to her house and print out some stuff. If she left some pictures of her ideas for furnishings in Clay’s room for him to find, he’d see she was right . . .

  It wasn’t a great plan but it was the only one she had. And while she was there, she could grab a few things she needed. She was already tired of the clothes she’d packed and they had weeks left of production.

  She made a list in her head of what she wanted to take back to the house as she drove toward her condo but she didn’t quite make it there as a thought struck her.

  Where would Clay go on his night off? She only knew one place he might be, but she also knew for a fact he’d gone there two days in a row.

  McP’s.

  What were the chances he was there now? She figured pretty good.

  Swinging the car into a tight turn, she got on the road that would lead to McP’s. She’d just drive by and see if his truck was parked there. Or maybe pop in for a quick drink and ask the bartender if he’d seen him, since Clay seemed to be on a first name basis with the guy.

  Happy with this new plan, Tasha slowed as she neared the bar and—son of a bitch—there was Clay’s big ass truck parked on the side street.

  Heart beating faster, she swung her car into an empty space and threw it into park.

  He had to leave early just to come to the bar? What the hell?

  There were plenty of times she didn’t feel like working a twelve-hour day, but she did it. Why was he special that he thought he didn’t have to do the same?

  She remembered how hard he’d fought Maria to get tonight off and how he’d reacted when she’d suggested putting a camera on him. Something besides his desire for a night off to get a beer was going on—and of course that had her thoughts circling back to the possibility there was a woman involved.

  Pulse racing, she grabbed her bag, locked the car and headed for the door.

  Inside, it didn’t take her long to spot him. He was hard to miss, especially since he was standing at the bar.

  Tasha strode up to him. “What are you doing?” she asked, though it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

  His eyes widened. “What the fuck are you doing here?” His gaze moved past her, toward the door. “And please tell me you don’t have a fucking camera on you.”

  “There’s no camera. And why does it matter anyway if all you’re doing is drinking? And you couldn’t wait until after we were done for the day to do that?”

  He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “You need to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are parts of my life that don’t concern you or this damn show, that’s why.” His eyes had an angry, crazed look about them. It might be scary if she weren’t so annoyed.

  “You signed away your privacy when you accepted the terms of that contract and the big old payout. Remember?”

  The payout that matched hers, which was still completely unfair in her opinion.

  “I might have signed away my rights, but that doesn’t include the right to privacy for the people in my life.”

  “Ah ha! So that is it. Which one is she, Clay? Hmm?” Tasha fought the sick feeling of disgust in her gut with pure spiteful jealous rage. “I bet she’d be interested in knowing what you and I did the other night.”

  “Holy shit.” He shook his head. “If you’d stop being such a bitch for a minute—”

  “Bitch? That’s the best you can com
e up with, Clay?” The insult to his intelligence didn’t give her as much joy as it should have as tears pricked behind her eyes. Then they weren’t behind her eyes any longer but instead cascading down her cheek.

  “Fuck.” Clay grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.

  She tried to shake off his hold on her, but his grip was too tight. “Stop manhandling me.”

  “I’m not manhandling you. I’m trying to save both of us a lot of embarrassment.”

  “Why? Because your girlfriend is inside?” To her horror, her voice cracked on a sob.

  Outside Clay backed her up against the wall. “Tasha, listen to me.”

  “No, you cheater.”

  He laughed, bringing her head up as confusion temporarily halted her tears. “I’m many things, but not a cheater.”

  “Liar and a cheater.” She was rapidly losing her steam as hurt overwhelmed her.

  He shook his head, smiling and confusing her more. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m not seeing anyone, casually or seriously. In fact, you’re the only person I’ve had sex with in more months than I’d like to admit. Happy?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe you.” But boy did she want to.

  “Why not?” he asked, still looking amused by her.

  “You keep sneaking out at night.”

  “Once was to meet my buddy for a drink. My guy buddy who made enough fun of me for being a part of this damn show without me showing up at this bar with a camera up my ass. The second time was to take a run on the beach, just like I told you.”

  “And tonight?” she asked.

  “Tonight was private.” Finally, he drew in a breath. “A friend died five years ago today. Every year we get together to honor him. I didn’t want the cameras here for that.”

  “Wow. Clay, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Because I didn’t want anyone connected to the show to know.”

  “I’m not connected—” When he cocked his brow she clarified, “I mean I’m not a producer or a director. I’m in the same boat as you are. Just a co-host working at the whim of the production company. I want my privacy sometimes too. I would have understood you needing yours. For something like this especially.”

  He hesitated and then nodded. “You’re right. I should have explained it to you.”

  “Thank you for admitting that and for telling me now. It means a lot.”

  Clay pressed his lips tight. “You didn’t really paint my room pink, did you?”

  “No. Not pink.” She cringed and dared to glance up at him.

  His eyes widened. “Jesus. What color did you choose?”

  “You’ll see. And I think you’re going to love it. Seriously. Especially once I show you how it could look once the room is furnished.”

  “Furnished? It is furnished. There’s a bed and a table. That’s all I need.”

  “There’s a mattress and box spring on top of a metal frame and a folding snack table as the nightstand. That is not furnished.”

  He rolled his eyes but he’d come around. She’d see to it. Slowly but surely she was wearing him down.

  “So, were you really upset at the thought of me having a girlfriend?” he asked.

  She glared at him. “Yes! I’m not going to be the other woman you’re cheating on your girlfriend with.”

  “That the only reason?” he asked, smiling.

  “Yes. Of course.” She broke eye contact. “What other reason could there be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A guy leaned out of the door and zeroed in on Clay. “Dirtman! Where are those drinks?”

  “Shit. I was about to order them when—”

  “When you got distracted. So I see.” The guy stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hey. I’m Asher. You must be Clay’s co-host and roomie.”

  “I am. Tasha Jones.” She shook the guy’s hand and marveled how Clay’s friend was equally buff and gorgeous as he was.

  Did hot guys hang around together? And how many more of them were there inside just like this one?

  She’d clearly been hanging out at the wrong places. The day of her final show was the first time she’d been here. She’d come back the next day to retrieve her car and meet with the producer, but she never hung out there. That had clearly been a mistake.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Tasha. Clay has told me all about you.”

  “He has?” She sent a shocked glance in Clay’s direction.

  He was shaking his head. “Knots . . .”

  His friend grinned. “I’ll let you two finish your conversation. Oh, and I ordered the round, so take as long as you need.” He winked at Clay and grinned at Tasha before yanking open the door.

  Tasha got a look at the back of his blue T-shirt. It said NAVY in big gold letters.

  “Your friend’s in the Navy like you were?” she asked.

  “Um. Yup.”

  “And your other friend who died, was he in the Navy too?”

  “Yes.” Tight-lipped, Clay reached for her elbow and glanced past her at the street. “Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Over there.” She gestured in the general direction of where she’d parked, badly and crooked, when she’d abandoned her car near his truck to stalk inside to find him.

  He walked her to her car and even played gentleman and held the door open for her, but he hesitated closing it after she’d gotten inside and buckled the seat belt. “Tash?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep tonight to yourself. What you saw, who you met, what I told you—all of it. Just please don’t tell Maria or the crew, okay?”

  “Okay, but I don’t understand why.”

  That he and his Navy friends all got together to celebrate a lost friend—Clay should be proud of that and it would make one hell of a story for the show.

  It would go a long way to making Clay seem more human. The female viewers would all fall in love with him. The men in the audience would respect and admire him.

  It seemed like a win-win for everyone for Clay to share that part of his life. The military past that he hid so well.

  “I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s important to me. I know I have to be on camera, but they don’t.” He tipped his head toward the building. “And I’ll do anything I have to, to make sure they’re not.”

  There was nothing but sincerity, concern and determination in his gaze. He was serious.

  Tasha didn’t understand his reasons, but she had to honor them. “All right. I won’t say a word. I promise.”

  “Thank you. And I’ll uh, take a look at your decorating ideas for the bedroom . . . and try not to freak out about whatever color you chose.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I’m asking.” She smiled. “See, all we have to do is each give a little. We get along pretty good when we try.”

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  She didn’t have time to question Clay’s odd comment as he slammed the car door and took a step back onto the curb. His gaze met hers briefly through the car window as he dipped his head before he turned and headed back toward the bar.

  Clay Hagan was one strange man. But damn, he’d never seemed hotter than he did tonight. She still didn’t understand why the argumentative asshole version of Clay turned her on, but this new compliant, vulnerable version of him, the one surrounded by his Navy buddies—damn—it was even more irresistible.

  She’d better get back to the house fast and break out B.O.B. before Clay got home and she couldn’t indulge in that one small bit of relief.

  Tonight she certainly needed it.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sleep didn’t come for Clay that night, but a text did.

  He was wide awake at midnight—he knew because he’d checked the time on his cell just moments before—when he heard the phone vibrate on top of the folding table next to his bed.

  Reaching for it, he read the screen.

&nbs
p; I can’t sleep.

  It was from Tasha down the hall and obviously wide-awake just like he was.

  He knew why he couldn’t sleep. She was the reason he was up. Or at least the sexual frustration she caused in him was the excuse he used to explain to himself why he couldn’t sleep. But what the hell was her problem?

  Probably too much tea before bed. That was her fault, not his.

  He needed sleep, dammit. Just weeks to complete the renovations from start to finish was an insane timeline to begin with, even without having her as a distraction, fighting with him during the day and keeping him awake all night.

  And then tonight, her being nice and understanding when she’d found him and the team at McP’s. He didn’t need the confusion of her acting like a decent human added to what was already so confusing between them.

  He needed her to be exactly who he’d thought she was in the beginning—a self-centered diva.

  And he really didn’t need her texting him in the middle of the night.

  He typed in the only reply he could come up with.

  What do you want me to do about it?

  Just seconds after he hit send, while the cell was still in his hand, her answer flew onto his screen.

  I don’t know . . .

  He frowned at her response, his brain filling in what she hadn’t written. Those three dots said all sorts of things she hadn’t.

  What the hell? Was this some sort of textual booty call from down the hall?

  Shit. His cock liked the idea of fucking her into slumber. It tented his shorts beneath the sheet, ready and raring to go, but this time his mind wasn’t going along for the ride.

  What had happened the other night could not happen again, if for no other reason than that it would play right into Maria’s deviant sexual twist to promote the show.

  Legally, they could do whatever they wanted with the footage, but he’d be damned if he made it easy for them.

  Just close your eyes and try to sleep.

  He hit send on the message and watched the screen until her reply appeared, just as he knew it would.

  I did. It didn’t work.

  What the hell was he supposed to do to help her? He was no sleep therapist.

  When he’d been in the SEALs, they’d hand out Ambien like candy so the team could sleep on the transport and be ready to go when their boots hit the ground.