Dirty Scoundrel

by Jessica Clare

  She signed.

  She’s mine.

  But she gives a toss of her dark hair and glares at me. “What the fuck, Clay?”

  “Nice to see you, Natalie,” I drawl. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine this morning.”

  “Stuff the sweet Southern-boy act,” she snaps at me. “Why won’t you agree to the changes I wanted in the contract?”

  I’m fascinated by the pink sheen of her lips. They look all plump and kissable and I’m havin’ a hard time concentratin’ on what she’s sayin’. It sinks in a moment later, and then I laugh. “What, you don’t like the fact that I’m payin’ for all of you?”

  Her cheeks turn bright red and she shifts in her seat, clearly embarrassed. “That wasn’t on the table!”

  “You’re right, it wasn’t . . . until you mentioned it. Now it is. So thanks for that.”

  Nat’s jaw clenches. She is adorably cute and I realize in this moment how much I’ve fucking missed her the last seven years. It hits me like a ton of bricks and I’m glad I’m seated, because I feel staggered. Even her anger makes me hungry for her. I don’t mind her spittin’ at me, as long as I’m in her presence.

  You stupid ass, I chide myself, and rub the S on my knuckles. She used you. Now you get to use her.

  “I’m glad we came to an agreement,” I drawl.

  “This isn’t an agreement as much as it’s a hostage situation! You have me over a barrel!”

  “Not yet, but that can be arranged.” I force myself to be nonchalant, stretching my legs out in the limo. I’m seated across from her, and even though the back cab area of the car is probably bigger ’n my first bedroom, it feels too small. I’m antsy, and it’s all because I’m in her presence. “Anything else you want to offer up?”

  She huffs and her pretty blue eyes are flashing murder at me. “I’m almost afraid to speak.”

  “But you signed, didn’t you?” I point out, hardening my resolve against her. Doesn’t matter that she’s cute. Doesn’t matter that she smells fantastic and my cock’s aching at her nearness. I’m the one in charge and I’m not giving my power up. Not when I’m finally getting what I want.

  Natalie spreads her hands. “How can I not sign? Like I said, you have me over a barrel. You have all these people showing up to fix things that I’ve been trying to ignore for forever, and you got my father not one but three nurses so he can have round-the-clock staff and . . .” She swallows hard and then pulls out a tissue and starts dabbing at her eyes. “Shit.”

  I stare at her, horrified. “You cryin’?” I don’t want her cryin’. I want her spittin’ nails at me, all furious and angry and magnificent so I can be a ruthless bastard to her.

  “No,” she says quickly and tilts her head back, blinking rapidly. “I’m fine.”

  She ain’t actin’ fine. It’s clear she’s about to cry. It’s also clear she don’t wanna cry in front of me. Hell, I don’t want her cryin’, period. Last thing I want is to have her all weepy while I’m trying to get into her panties. I need to get her all good and angry again. “Good, because it’s about time I get to start enjoyin’ my side of the bargain.”

  Nat freezes in place and looks over at me with those shiny eyes. Her posture isn’t sad anymore, though—she’s practically bristling. “Oh?”

  I pat the seat next to me. “Come gimme a kiss.”

  Her mouth opens and her lips part. She makes a small, frustrated noise. “You’re serious?”

  If it stops her from cryin’ and gets her back to angry? Fuck yeah I’m serious. “Didn’t buy you to sit there and look pretty, baby.”

  “Don’t call me baby. And you’ve turned into a major asshole, Clay Price.”

  I shrug. “Guess you made me one.”

  Her back goes ramrod stiff and she gets to her feet, ducking her head in the limo’s low-roofed cabin, and practically storms the few feet over to my side before dropping heavily next to me. There’s a mutinous scowl on her pretty face but she ain’t cryin’.

  Good. I like that.

  Chapter Eight

  Natalie

  Good lord, Clay is such a jerk. I can’t believe I’m having to go along with this.

  It’s my own fault, though. I signed that contract. I knew what I was getting into. Liking it—or liking him—isn’t part of the equation. All I can do is grit my teeth, tolerate, and hope he gets tired of me fast.

  Until then, he’s determined to make me miserable. But I’ll put up with it, because it’s going to get me somewhere. It’s getting Dad three—three!—nurses and helping me keep the business afloat. It’s getting rid of all those horrific debts that are keeping me up at night.

  It’s giving me closure on the boy I’ve missed so, so much for the last seven years.

  I sure don’t miss his ass now. In fact, I wish he’d stayed gone. I would rather mourn the guy I lost than see the jerk he’s turned into.

  Don’t sweat this, I tell myself. It’ll be just like kissing a stranger. He didn’t have that beard when you were in high school, and the Clay from back then is nothing like the Clay now. This isn’t that guy. Your memories are safe.

  Saying that to myself makes me feel strangely better. I can’t lose the sweet, handsome boy I fell in love with back in high school. Not to the jerk that’s seated before me. I’ll always have those memories. They’re safe. So I study him. “A kiss, huh?”

  He nods, beard brushing against his collar as he does. “That’s what I said.”

  For some reason, I almost imagine that he’s as nervous as I am. That has to be my imagination, though. All right, since he’s not looking as if he’s going to help me—and he’s bought me, so I guess he doesn’t have to—I lean forward, closing the distance between us.

  When he still doesn’t lean in to meet me, I bite back a scowl. He’s going to make me climb all over him just to get this kiss in, is he? “You really are a prick,” I mutter as I scoot closer.

  Clay just chuckles, as if my complaints amuse him. Maybe they do. It only makes me more determined to get this over with.

  So I grab a handful of his shaggy beard and pull his face down toward mine.

  He looks surprised at my action, but his eyes get hooded as I move closer, and then my lips are on his.

  I’m . . . not expecting his breath to be as sweet as it is. Or for his lips to feel as soft as they do. His beard tickles my face, and it’s like kissing a stranger. I brush my mouth over his in a light caress, exploring.

  But then his hand slips to the back of my neck and he pulls me closer to him, and his lips part and then his tongue rubs up against mine.

  And it’s not kissing a stranger. It’s kissing Clay. The Clay I loved so much back in high school. The Clay I spent hours upon hours just breathlessly making out with. The Clay I missed so desperately. When his tongue strokes against mine and he takes control of the kiss?

  It’s like being seventeen all over again.

  A soft little mew escapes my throat, and he groans against my mouth. Deeper, his tongue strokes against mine, licking me as if I’m his favorite flavor of ice cream, and I swear I can feel that all the way down to my toes. Over and over, our tongues meet and clash, stroke and taste, and our lips meld until the world disappears around me. There’s only Clay in my senses, Clay holding me close to him, the scent of him in my nose and his hard chest pressing against mine. His hand is tangled in my hair and mine is against his chest, and I’m inches away from crawling into his lap. Just when I think I should pull away, his tongue brushes against mine once more and then I’m lost yet again.

  It seems like eternity before I pull away from him to catch my breath, and even as I do, he leans in and nips at my lower lip. I feel dazed at that one simple kiss, and I’m pretty sure I’m wet between my thighs from it.

  I’m shocked.

  And for a moment, Clay looks just as shocked as I am. With our noses inches apart, we’re both breathing heavy, and his gaze is locked to my kiss-swollen lips. “That’s a good start,” he murmurs.

&nbs
p; Just like that, the spell is broken. I push against his chest, sliding away from him, and wipe my mouth to show him just how little I care about his kiss. It’s a lie, of course—I’m shaken to my core. But I don’t want him to know that. “Satisfied?”

  “Nope,” he drawls, and I feel a tingle low in my belly. “But it’ll do for now.”

  Clay

  I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

  Damn.

  Doesn’t matter that it’s been a half hour since it happened. Doesn’t matter that since then, we’ve put Nat’s small suitcase in the trunk of the limo and driven off. That we’ve gone down the highway and we’re heading away from her small town and toward San Antonio proper. Doesn’t matter that it’s completely silent in the limo and Nat’s just staring ahead, hands folded in her lap.

  I can’t stop thinking about That. Damn. Kiss.

  Took me back to when I was eighteen again, and my dick got hard just thinkin’ about Nat. Didn’t matter the time of day, or if I was at church or at my part-time job at the chicken shack. Nat was instant hard-on fuel. I felt like the luckiest bastard alive havin’ her as my girl.

  Til the day she fucked me over, of course.

  But that’s in the past. Sorta. I’m gonna get her in my bed, and then move on. My one big regret in life will be over and done with, and then I can clear my mind.

  Course, first I have to clear it from that kiss. I wanna kiss her again. Hell, I wanna throw her down on the limo seat and stick my hand into her panties, but the driver’s payin’ a bit too much attention. That’ll have to wait until we’re alone. Instead, I’ll just daydream for a little longer about how soft her mouth was, and how flushed pink her face was from my beard. Never thought that would be a turn-on, and yet—

  “Hm,” Nat says to my side.

  “What?” I rouse from my daydreams, sitting a little straighter.

  She glances over at me, her dark brows furrowed in a hint of a frown. “It looks like we’re stopping in this parking lot.”

  I look out the window. Sure enough, we’ve pulled into an outdoor strip mall, the limo carefully navigating between rows of parking spaces. I’m not surprised. “I asked the driver to come here.” I’ve had this entire day all carefully mapped out, even though I won’t let her know that.

  “You did? Where are we going?”

  “I have a business dinner tonight with a potential investor. You’re going to be my date.”

  Her pink lips part and she looks shocked. “A date?”

  I pretend to adjust the cuffs of my jacket. “I did say you were gonna be assistin’ me twenty-four-seven until I’m done with you, didn’t I?”

  Natalie gives me an exasperated look. “Do you even know what an assistant does, Clay?”

  “Whatever I want her to,” I drawl lazily.

  She just gives a little shake of her head. “Okay, fine, we’ll have a business dinner. Is the dress casual or fancy?” Her hand smooths down the jeans she’s wearing.

  “Fancy,” I tell her. Mostly because I get to see her in a dress thataway.

  She bites her lip. “That’s going to be a problem. I don’t know that I have anything appropriate—”

  “Which is why we’re here,” I say, gesturing at the stores in the distance. “You’re gonna go in and get a dress on my dime and then we’ll head over for dinner.”

  Her mouth opens. Shuts. Then opens again. “Clay,” she protests softly. “I . . . This is a bad idea, okay? Can I please just stay in the limo while you have your business dinner?”

  “Nope.” And the more she asks, the more stubborn I’m gonna get. I’ve had this all set up and I’m not about to change it because she’s uncomfortable with bein’ seen with me. Too damn bad.

  Nat makes a frustrated noise and her hands clench into fists on her lap. “Why are you such a stubborn ass?”

  I give her my best I-dont-care look. “Is it me bein’ an ass because I’m not givin’ in to what you want? If I recall, I’m the one with the money.”

  Her jaw clenches and she stares out the window, at the store we’ve parked in front of. I don’t know the place but according to my Internet search for “fancy dress” this is the right kind of place. She ain’t wormin’ out of this one. I want her lookin’ all sexy—not that she isn’t already—with some fuck-me pumps on her feet and I wanna show her off on my arm. “Clay,” she begins again, her voice soft. “I appreciate that you want me to go to dinner with you, but I’d rather not.”

  “Didn’t ask you what you wanted,” I say sourly. She afraid to be seen with me? Too bad for her, ’cause I didn’t ask. “Go shoppin’ already. I’ll pay the bill. Or you want me to go in and give approval first?” I have to admit, I kinda like the idea.

  But she only swallows hard and stares at her hands in her lap. “Clay . . . I can’t shop there. They don’t carry clothes my size.”

  Huh? It doesn’t register at first, and I study her, lookin’ up and down. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m too fat.” Her cheeks are bright pink and she turns away, clearly embarrassed. “They don’t carry clothes in larger sizes.”

  “You ain’t fat,” I tell her, surprised. Sure, she’s a little curvier now than before, but she’s luscious.

  Natalie looks up at me, surprised. Her eyes brighten and she gives me a faint smile, a genuine one. “You don’t have to say that,” she says softly, still smiling. “You bought me, remember?”

  “I didn’t forget.” My voice is gruff. “And I ain’t lyin’. You aren’t fat. You’re gorgeous.” Fuck, she’s especially gorgeous now that she’s smilin’ at me. I want to forget all about dinner and just throw her back on the seat here and get her out of those jeans and—

  The driver’s still watchin’ us in the mirror. Dickbag. I twirl a finger at him, indicating he should keep his eyes forward. I don’t like bein’ watched with my girl. She’s mine and mine alone. I turn back to her before I start growling.

  “You’re sweet,” she tells me. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I still can’t shop there. So like I said, I don’t mind staying in the car while you have dinner—”

  I thrust my phone in her direction. “Show me where.”

  “What?”

  “You show me where you can find yourself a fancy dress that’ll fit.”

  Her mouth parts and then she takes my phone, her fingers brushin’ mine. Just like that, my dick gets hard as stone. Damn. I’m lookin’ forward to tonight, when I finally get to claim her as mine. But she focuses on my phone and types, concentrating, and then eventually offers it back to me. “This place, but it’s an hour away.”

  I take the phone from her and move to the front of the limo cab, showing it to the driver. “We’re goin’ here instead.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, window up.” I tap on it and then return to my seat.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver says again as the tinted window partition goes up and we’re alone. Well, a bit more alone.

  “Are you sure?” Natalie asks me, a worried look on her face. “It’s out of the way—”

  “Don’t care.” I begin texting. “I’ll tell my buddy we’ll meet up an hour later than anticipated.”

  “Is that going to interfere with reservations? I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “You ain’t a bother, you’re my date. All right?” As for reservations . . . well. What she don’t know won’t hurt her.

  Nat nods, and clasps her hands in her lap again. Her feet are tucked and crossed neatly. She sits like a lady, always. It’s fascinatin’ to me, just watching her. I could stare for hours and never get bored. Just bein’ near her again feels like it’s feedin’ me in some weird way. I already feel more whole, more complete, more relaxed.

  Didn’t know what I needed until I got my lady back in my life again.

  There’s a buzz, and she immediately picks up her phone. Her gaze turns worried as she reads the screen, and then she taps a message into it.

  “Everything all right?
” I ask, bein’ nosy.

  She looks up, startled, and hugs the phone to her chest. “What? Oh. Yes. It’s just, um, a question from my father’s caregivers.” She carefully keeps the phone angled away from me and checks the screen again.

  “He okay?”

  Nat nods absently, and it’s clear her attention isn’t with me any longer. “It’s the first time I’ve been away since . . . he fell ill. It’s an adjustment.”

  “He’s lucky you came back to stay with him after Stanford, eh?”

  Her expression grows closed off. “Something like that.”

  Natalie

  It’s quiet for the rest of the drive. I half feel like I should be chatting with Clay, but I’m distracted by so many things. I wonder how much he knows about what happened after we split up. Does he realize I never went to Stanford? That I stayed in Luka all this time? Does he realize how bad off my dad is? I’ve hinted that he needs assistance, but I don’t know if he realizes just how far gone Dad’s mind is . . . and how guilty I feel at leaving his side. Even now, Alice’s cheery text messages about how my dad is doing make me feel like the worst daughter ever. Shouldn’t I be at his side? Instead, I’m in a limo driving an hour out to a dress store that will carry my size for what sounds like a fancy dinner party.

  And I’m with Clay. Dad would hate that.

  I like to tell myself that Dad would understand what I’m doing. That he’d want me to get us out of debt. That he wouldn’t like it, but he’d at least understand it. Except I know he wouldn’t. I know his pride would make him absolutely loathe the thought of me selling myself to someone. The fact that the ‘someone’ is Clay Price just makes it ten times worse.

  But Dad’s not here and I’m doing the best I can. Maybe it’s a good thing that his memory has so many holes in it.

  Then I feel awful for thinking such a thing. I’d rather have my bombastic, theatrical father back than the confused man that’s now in his skin. Just thinking about it gets me all depressed, though, and I text little tidbits of information to Alice to keep myself preoccupied. That Dad likes a particular mug, and he likes his bathwater tepid, and when he gets anxious, you can put on one of his old movies and he’ll focus in on that and start reading lines like he’s in the studio, and the blanket he prefers when he gets cold is in the closet, and a million other things to keep myself preoccupied so I can ignore Clay.