by Johnson, Cat
He tipped his head.
Tasha blew out a breath. “I guess I should have guessed. I mean McP’s is full of SEAL stuff.”
“You mad?” he asked, surprised that she didn’t seem pissed. And just as surprised she didn’t kick him out of her bed while screeching at him.
She lifted a shoulder. “No. Not really. I know how you are.”
Clay lifted a brow. “And how am I?”
Tasha laughed. “So many words come to mind, but if I were to choose just one, I’d go with uncommunicative.”
He bobbed his head. Her word could have been worse. “I can live with that.”
Reaching down he grabbed her by both shoulders and pulled her up to him.
She bit her bottom lip and her eyes locked on his. “Any other secrets I should know about? Wives? Kids? Felonies?”
He smiled. “No to all of the above.”
“Okay. I can live with that.” She moved in and then she was biting his lip instead of her own and he could definitely live with that.
A few days later, Clay realized they’d fallen into a pattern.
For almost a week now he’d done the same thing. Jam the signal. Have sex. Sneak out of Tasha’s room before dawn to turn off the jammer and slide into bed for a few hours sleep before the crew arrived.
He’d gotten more sleep when he’d been a SEAL, but he wasn’t going to complain. This was a short-term deal anyway.
In spite of his doubts about the timeline, the project was progressing and basically on schedule. Soon the house would be done. The show would be over and he’d have his peaceful sanctuary back after Tasha moved back to her own place.
That would be the perfect time to break off this new habit of theirs.
So why did he wonder if she’d text him from her bed after she’d moved out? And, dammit, he knew if she did he’d be over there or she’d be over here half an hour later.
What exactly did that make them? Friends with benefits maybe? Though they weren’t exactly friends. More like coworkers.
Fuck buddies? That didn’t exactly fit the bill either. They’d actually started to talk in between rounds of sex. Not fight. Not sex talk. But actual conversations.
He didn’t want to think the other word to describe what they might be because they were not a couple.
They’d never been on a date. They didn’t hold hands or call each other baby. This wasn’t a relationship. It was sex. Nothing more.
As he flopped over on his bed, trying and failing to get comfortable, the cross on his arm caught his eye. He remembered Tasha’s gentle touch as she ran her fingers over it. Remembered the genuine concern in her eyes when he’d told her at McP’s about Randy’s death.
He wasn’t such a course Neanderthal as she made him out to be. Like it or not, he had feelings and this thing between them was starting to feel like more than just sex— He didn’t want that.
Not with a woman who lived in a different world than he did. She thrived in the bright lights of the camera while he sought the shadows, just as he had for years as a SEAL.
The man who ended up with Tasha Jones might always live in her shadow, but it would be a shadow cast by a spotlight.
That woman would die if her life weren’t on display in the most public manner. The thought of that made his skin crawl. He was comfortable being invisible.
Why was he even thinking about her or them together? She’d made no secret from the beginning that she thought he was beneath her. A woman like that would never be happy with a man like him for more than the couple of hours a night while he pleased her in bed.
In fact, he should probably feel used. He might, if he wasn’t enjoying their time together just as much as she was.
Yup. He’d be sorry when it ended, but he’d never admit that to her—or Asher or any of the other guys.
It was enough he’d finally admitted it to himself. That was progress in his personal growth.
The sky was growing brighter outside his window and it was pretty clear he wasn’t going to get any more sleep this morning. He sat up and decided to see what was going on in the world since he’d been living in a bubble of renovations and sex for the past couple of weeks.
He hadn’t gotten around to hooking up the television he stashed in the garage, so he grabbed his cell phone and opened the cable company’s app.
There, he navigated through the channel lineup.
He might be a caveman, as Tasha called him, but he wasn’t ignorant when it came to technology. He’d long ago learned how to find a way to stream onto his phone. All he needed was some kind of a signal and somebody’s log in information—usually his parents’—and he’d manage it.
Sometimes it was glitchy, yeah. Sometimes it required jumping through hoops or dancing along the line of being illegal, but he’d found a way to watch at least something in most places in the world.
Here, it was easy. They had kick ass, high-speed Wi-Fi set up in the house and were close enough to the city he could log in to see all the cable channels he could ever want plus the local stations.
As he scrolled through the channel guide on the cell, he paused when he saw an ad pop up between the listings.
It caught his eye because it was his own fucking eyes he saw. It was a picture of him in uniform. It was his last official military photo taken before he’d retired.
He hit the ad and it sent him to a webpage for the show. He read the headline.
One Navy SEAL. One television star. What happens when they’re thrown together into the renovation zone? You get one Hot House! Coming soon, only on THN—The Home Nation station.
There was a video on the page. He hit the screen to play it. It was a montage of scenes and—mother fucker—one of them had just been filmed two days ago. He recognized the shirt Tasha had been wearing.
This video was brand new. It had obviously been put together in the last couple of days—after he’d told Tasha he was a SEAL.
They showed his official military photo again, zooming in on the medals on his chest before it cut to a shot that stoked his rage to the danger zone. It was the framed photo that he knew was hanging on the wall behind the bar of McP’s. It was of him and the team.
His head nearly exploded when he recognized it. It had been taken on the first anniversary of Randy’s death. They all sat around the table, drinks raised while Randy’s shot sat on the table in front of an empty chair.
How the fuck did they even know to go to McP’s if Tasha hadn’t told them?
Exploiting him was one thing. But to bring the other guys into this—to capitalize on the death his friend—it was inexcusable.
He’d confided in Tasha and she’d run right to the producers and told them everything. She was so desperate to be a star she didn’t care who she bowled over to do it.
Of course the producers would jump right on this information. Him being a SEAL was something they could use.
Jaw set, he didn’t care he was only wearing underwear, he stood and strode across his bedroom. He flung open his bedroom door so hard it crashed against the wall. He crossed the hall to Tasha’s door.
He didn’t knock. He just stormed into her room. “What the fuck is this?”
Looking half asleep, she struggled to sit up in bed. “What’s what? What’s wrong?”
“This video.” He held up his cell phone as proof even though she couldn’t see it from where she was. “You told them I was a SEAL?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t told anybody.”
“Don’t bother lying. Somebody told and you’re the only one who knew.”
“Clay, I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Then how do they know?” he accused.
“Maybe your little signal jammer doesn’t jam as well as you think it does and they heard. You ever think of that?”
His gaze shot to the camera in the corner of the room. “Thanks. Now they know about that too.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought you would have turned it on before you came
in.”
“I didn’t.” Though he should have.
She had him so crazed. Christ, what was happening to him? He used to be able to take on any situation, face all adversity, with the calm of a monk.
Thank God he wasn’t in the teams anymore. The way he was now, he would have gotten them all killed.
He’d lost his edge. Lost his cool.
Hell, he’d lost his damn mind and it was all her fault.
“Doesn’t matter anyway. I won’t be using the jammer again. Believe me.”
She breathed faster as her eyes narrowed. She’d read the meaning behind his words, as he’d intended her to. There’d be no more midnight booty calls. No more pillow talk and sharing secrets.
They were done.
Maria and Joanne and the rest of them would be lucky if he could bring himself to speak civilly to her for the last week of production.
They’d taken advantage of his service to his nation without his permission. It would serve them right if he didn’t speak to Tasha again and ruined the show.
“Fine,” she spat. “You don’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re almost done with the show. I’ll tell Joanne we’re doing the press tour separately so we won’t have to see each other.”
“Press?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I might have sold my soul for this house but I didn’t agree to any press tour.”
“Oh no? Maybe you should have gotten someone a little smarter than you to read over your contract, sweetie, because you certainly did agree to promotion.”
He dragged in an angry breath as she called him stupid to his face. She was a conceited, superior diva who always had and always would look down on him, just as he’d thought.
His heart raced and his pulse pounded, but his brain somehow managed to still function. Or maybe it was pure gut instinct, but he knew if he didn’t get out of there he was going to do or say something he might regret later—and the camera was going to record it all.
Turning, he left her and everything they’d shared together behind him.
THIRTY
Tasha drew in a shaky stuttering breath as her tears turned into sobs.
Pacing her bedroom like a caged animal, she pressed the cell closer to her ear. “He’s such an ass. I thought we were getting a—along. But he hates me more than ever. Call me when you wake up. Please.”
She disconnected the call. Her rant was only on Jane’s voicemail, but it helped to get it out to somebody.
Clay was an ass, just as she’d thought he was in the beginning, before she’d let sex cloud her better judgment.
He was insane. Off the rails. Accusing her of doing all sorts of things she hadn’t done.
What proof did he have to come in her room at the crack of dawn all scary like that?
He had Navy and SEAL tattoos all over him, so why did he assume it was her who told? Lots of people had to know he was a SEAL. It wasn’t like those things were kept secret. Were they?
And she still didn’t know what video he was talking about when he waved his cell phone at her.
Calming enough to think, she remembered Maria had mentioned a promo spot the network had been running. She’d said she’d email the link to Tasha, but she hadn’t checked her inbox in days.
Her days here were so messed up she had no set routine and things that used to be built into her morning schedule, such as checking her email, had fallen by the wayside.
What the hell had been in that video that had set him off? It had to have been bad. She grabbed her laptop, leaning against the wall where she had it plugged in and charging. She could check for Maria’s email right now and solve this mystery. Then she’d go and confront Clay and make him apologize.
She had to scroll past lots of junk in her inbox, but finally she found an email from Maria from three days ago. She hit the link that took her to a video promo spot.
Clay was smiling in one shot, and frowning at her in the next as she held up a paint sample he hadn’t liked.
She saw herself, eyeing Clay as if she were picturing him naked as he bent over to pick up a hammer. Actually, she remembered that day and she had been imagining just that. She saw herself again tripping over a broom and careening into a table where an open gallon of paint sat, before Clay caught her and prevented both her and the paint can from toppling over.
There was nothing about him being a SEAL. In fact, there was nothing bad at all that should have angered him.
If anything she should be the one upset. In less than a minute of footage they’d made her look like a bumbling buffoon while Clay looked like the hero.
So what was his problem?
She wiped her eyes and set down the laptop. She wanted to make herself a cup of coffee—maybe the caffeine would help her think—but she was afraid he was out there.
Hurt and mad, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him right now.
The sound of his truck starting in the driveway sent her running to the window. His room faced the ocean, but her room faced the street and today that provided exactly the view she needed of Clay peeling backwards out of the driveway before he took off down the road.
She shook her head. Driving like that, he was going to get himself or someone else killed. She was mad and upset, but not enough to wish him dead.
Great. Now she was going to have to worry about him until he got back—if he came back.
What if he quit? What would happen to the show? What would happen to his house? Would Joanne hold him in breach of contract? They could take the house. That was spelled out clearly in the papers he’d signed.
He wouldn’t walk away. He might hate her, but he loved this house and he wouldn’t risk it.
Tasha blew out a breath—mad at herself for being concerned about a man who obviously didn’t give a crap about her.
It might not be safe on the roadways with Clay out there and in a bad mood, but at least it was safe for her to go to the kitchen.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth and threw on shorts and a T-shirt for the day before she made her way out to the kitchen.
After starting the coffee, she was waiting as the glass carafe slowly filled when the front door swung open.
Heart racing, she leaned out of the kitchen and peeked at the front door, but it wasn’t Clay. It was Greg, the cameraman.
“Hey.” He moved into the kitchen and glanced around. “Where’s the big guy?”
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. He had a meltdown about the video promo and stormed out.”
“The newest one that just started airing today?”
“Wait, today? I didn’t know there was another one. I thought he was upset about the one that’s been airing on the network all week. Maria told me about it days ago.”
He shook his head. “No. There’s a brand new cut. The ads went live at midnight.”
It was starting to make more sense now. God, what was in this new one? Whatever it was had pushed him over the edge. With a sense of dread, she asked, “What’s in it?”
Greg pulled his cell out of his pocket and poked at the screen before thrusting it toward Tasha. “Here. See for yourself.”
She pushed to play the video and saw Clay in his Navy dress uniform looking devastatingly handsome.
Nothing about that should have freaked him out, but then the shot cut to a photo. From among those in the group of men she recognized Clay and his friend Asher, the guy she’d met at McP’s.
Again, she couldn’t understand what was so bad about that. Sure, he was a private person and she knew he didn’t want his friends on camera, which is why he’d snuck out and ditched his cameraman when he went out to meet them, but it wasn’t anything to be so angry about.
The voice over and text was pretty generic. It basically portrayed Clay as a guy’s guy and her as a girly girl.
It showed how opposite they were and posed the question of what would happen when these two unlikely people were thrown into
the renovation zone together for twenty-four hours a day.
The video ended and she handed the cell back. “I guess he was mad because he thought I told Maria that he’d been a SEAL. For some reason he didn’t want anyone to know, but I didn’t tell her.”
“I know you didn’t.” Greg nodded. “I did.”
“You? How did you know? I didn’t know until he finally told me the other night—um, you know, after you guys left but before I went to bed. In my room.”
Shit. She was bad at lying.
He let out a short laugh. “How could you not know? Didn’t you see his bone frog tattoo? That’s a SEAL thing.”
She scowled. “I’m sorry but frog bones don’t exactly scream Navy SEAL to me.”
Jeez. He was acting like it was common knowledge and she was the only one in the world who didn’t know it.
“Well, it is a Navy SEAL thing so when Maria was talking about wanting to play up Clay’s time in the Navy in some promo I said how cool it would be to mention the fact the SEALs train in Coronado, which isn’t that far from here.” Greg continued, “Maria seemed so interested that I told her she should check out the bars in Coronado where the SEALs hang out because they have some cool memorabilia on the walls. Lots of history. So she and I went over together to shoot some B-roll.”
“McP’s,” Tasha said under her breath. She glanced up. “McP’s Pub is where Maria and Joanne first met Clay.”
He nodded. “Yup. That’s what she said so she and I went there and boy did we strike pay dirt. That’s where we found the picture of Clay and his teammates.”
Tasha’s brain spun with a detail that had escaped her before. “Can I see that video again?” she asked.
“Sure.” He unlocked the cell and handed it to her.
She watched the video again, pausing it on the shot of the photo.
Zooming in she looked closer and blew out a breath. Not one of the men seated at that table was smiling like you’d expect from a group of guys out at a bar.
Clay had told her they all got together annually in honor of their fallen teammate.
There was something written in the corner of the photo that she couldn’t read. What if it said RIP? Or his friend’s name and the date he’d died, just like Clay’s tattoo did?