Bad Husband

by Elise Faber

  “Smart ass.”

  Her fingers snagged his wrists, drawing his palms down until he cupped her ass.

  “Is this my hint?” he teased.

  “Literally. Mmm.” She moaned when he squeezed then pushed him onto his back, straddling his hips.

  A raised brow. “I thought you were exhausted.”

  “Funny”—she tilted her hips, riding the hard ridge of his cock through the layers of their clothes and making them both groan—“I’m not feeling tired at the moment.”

  Clay flipped her onto her back. “Me neither.”

  “Hey—”

  His mouth slanted across hers, cutting off her words. At the same time, his fingers moved to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them and her underwear off her in one quick movement.

  “Clay—”

  “Shh.” A smirk as he shoved up her shirt. “Lay back and rest that tired body of yours.” His tongue traced circles on her stomach, lower. Lower still.

  Her eyes slid closed on a moan, and she was thanking all the various deities for gifting the world such a glorious mouth when he used his fingers to spread her wide and gave her a kiss that had her crying out and seeing stars.

  “Oh, oh God.”

  Heat spiraled through her, tensing her muscles, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out all over her skin. Too fast, she was at the precipice, trying to control her fall, to slow down and wait for him.

  One finger teased the entrance to her body, slid inside.

  And there was no hope of waiting, the orgasm had its claws in her, and it yanked her down the other side.

  She screamed. Which she would deny outright later because Heather O’Keith didn’t do something as uncouth as shriek like a banshee in bed.

  But it had definitely been a scream.

  Clay rose with a smirk—which she had to face, he’d earned the right to wear—and stripped off his shirt, wiping his chin with it. A stroke of warm hands up the outside of her bare thighs. “I like you like this.”

  “Bottomless?” she asked, her throat slightly hoarse.

  He chuckled, and her insides quivered, banked heat unfurling, spreading out to her limbs.

  She didn’t know what it was about Clay that made her insatiable, but she loved it anyway.

  She loved him.

  Her pulse was a rapid tattoo against her skin. Not in panic, not this time. The words were right, a piece that fit perfectly into the rest of the puzzle that was her and Clay, completing the image, a perfect fit.

  Her lips parted to tell him, to repeat the sentiment he’d given her the night before, not wanting to wait when everything was finally, perfectly awesome.

  But Clay didn’t give her a chance.

  He tugged her shirt and bra up and off and he kissed her, tangling his tongue with hers until she forgot what was so important to tell him, until she forgot her own name, until she forgot anything except sensation and desire.

  She gripped his head when he feasted on her breasts, but when he would have slid lower again, she gripped his shoulders.

  “No.”

  Heat in his eyes, but his head shook and he started to extract himself from her hold.

  At least, until she reached down to stroke him.

  He groaned and dropped his head to her chest, thrusting into her hand.

  “Inside, baby,” she whispered. “Now.”

  A nod, his stare filled with emotion as it stayed locked with hers. Then he was sliding home, and she was holding him tight as they both groaned.

  “I love you,” he said.

  And the words came, natural and reflexive. “I love you, too.”

  His hips froze, his eyes went wide in shock, but it only took him a second to recover, for his smile to brand itself into a special place of her heart.

  “I thought you were going to wait,” he said.

  She leaned up, pressed a fast kiss to his mouth. “I didn’t need to.” And then she clenched her inner muscles, making him hiss in pleasure. “Now move because I’m about to go gray waiting for my next orgasm.”

  Mocha eyes lighting with amusement, with affection. With love.

  “You are perfect, Heather O’Keith.”

  She touched his cheek, sensations running over her body, emotions wrapping tightly around her heart, but she had regained enough of herself to say, “I know.”

  His chuckle morphed into groan halfway through.

  But Heather didn’t mind at all.

  Twenty-Two

  Clay

  * * *

  Clay had never felt more optimistic or enthusiastic about something that wasn’t business-related.

  But here he was, smiling like a fool as Heather talked about a book “the girls” had recommended. It had, apparently, made their friend CeCe flush bright red when they’d all video-conferenced to discuss a notorious scene in Chapter Sixteen.

  “I didn’t realize that someone’s cheeks could be that exact shade of crimson, but then Colin snuck onto the screen—they’re still on their honeymoon, you know?” She paused, waited for him to nod. “And so, Colin came onto the screen and said, ‘I thought we’d already tried that?’ And then he laid this kiss on her . . .” She cackled. “It was so fucking hot, and I can’t wait to give her shit about it for all eternity!”

  “You guys are cruel.”

  She snorted. “No, I’d fully expect teasing in return, and I know they will give me the hardest of all hard times when we eventually cop to a drunken wedding in Vegas.” A huff. “And plus”—she lifted one hand—“CeCe knows we love her.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  “Oh, hey”—she closed her laptop, the screen now free of her gaggle of friends—“I meant to ask you, how did you like the book I sent you?”

  Since he’d learned a lot from that particular volume of literature, most especially, what his woman liked in bed, Clay just grinned, slid his own computer to the side, and tugged Heather into his lap. “I found Chapter Twenty-Two particularly informative.”

  “Twenty—” Her head tilted, brows coming together in recollection. Then her lips curved. “Oh, you liked that part, did you?”

  “I did, but I also think that you would like it, too.”

  “Hmm.” She nuzzled his throat, sending goose bumps down his arms. God, he loved when she did that. “Maybe I would like it.”

  His fingers drifted down, teasing under the edge of her shirt, button-free today.

  Her skin was like silk, and he found himself forgetting about the book, about the scene that he’d imagined Heather would like. Instead, he stroked along her ribs, the undersides of her breasts, inching higher and higher until—

  The doorbell rang.

  “Fuuck,” she muttered and pushed herself up from his lap. “That must be the pizza. You have to answer it”—she pointed at her nipples, hard points that made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra—“I can’t go like this.”

  Clay snorted and pointed down to where his cock threatened to poke a hole in his jeans. “My problem’s worse. I’ll scare the delivery boy.” But he rose to his feet anyway, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before crossing the room to answer the buzzer when it rang a second time.

  After confirming it was, in fact, the pizza they’d ordered, he pressed the button to open the gate and slipped out the front door, hoping that the cool air would take care of his problem.

  Luckily, it did the trick.

  That, along with mentally reciting some data for the business venture he wanted to show Heather that night.

  He was still at her house, having spent all of one night at his own apartment in the city over the last few weeks. Knowing it was a total waste, he made a mental note to ask Heather about selling it and moving in here or selling both of their places and buying something together. . . but he made that mental note set about a month from then. No way did he want to push her, to scare her when he’d finally got what he wanted.

  Slow and steady had been his motto with Heather.

  Aside from
the whole drunken marriage thing, he imagined her retorting, which put a smile on his lips that the delivery boy probably thought was for him.

  “Thanks, man,” the kid said when Clay tipped him an extra twenty for being the creepy, weird, smiling old guy.

  “Have a good one,” he told the kid with a wave, waiting until the car had driven off and the gate closed behind it before going back inside and locking the front door. He would probably always be extra aware of gates and doors and locks, but Clay’s fear had eased. He didn’t check them repeatedly as he had in the past. He didn’t panic when something wasn’t secure.

  He was getting there, but he also knew it was something inside him that would never be truly “fixed.”

  And he’d take being a little overcautious—especially when it came to protecting Heather.

  Speaking of which, she’d snagged some plates and napkins along with a bottle of wine and was lounging on the floor of her living room. She’d cleared the coffee table of their laptops and files and squeezed in between to recline against the couch.

  “How’s your problem?” he asked.

  “They’re great.” Her hands came up to cup her breasts through her shirt.

  He almost dropped the pizza. “And you’re dangerous.”

  A smirk. “Hell yes, I am. How’s your little problem?”

  After placing the pizza safely on the table, Clay took advantage of her distraction of the meat and cheese to reach down and tweak her nipple.

  “Hey!” She jumped back.

  He mock-glared. “Little?”

  Her eyes danced with mirth. “I’m sorry, I meant gigantic, so big it’s an almost painful problem.”

  “That’s more like it,” he said and snagged her hand, bringing it against his cock.

  “Ooh.”

  “Not little,” Clay agreed. “And still very much here any time I’m within six feet of you.” He peeled her fingers off when she squeezed hard enough that he wanted to forget about the food and bend her over the couch to— “Now behave. You’re hungry.”

  “Your fault,” she accused, but grabbed the plate he held out.

  He waited until they both had slices and full wine glasses before reaching behind him for his laptop. “I wanted to show you something. I know that since the Pierce deal fell through, we’ve both been looking for a similar deal. So”—he clicked open a file—“I came up with a list of companies that we could potentially invest in together.”

  She’d gone very still as he spoke, her expression unreadable.

  “Or not,” he said, closing the screen and thinking he’d royally fucked up.

  Slow, Steele, he thought disgustedly. You were supposed to be moving slow.

  Heather turned and grabbed her laptop. “You want me to tell you what I’ve been working on?” she asked, softly, as she opened a file and showed it to Clay.

  It was a list of companies, some of which were the same as Clay’s list.

  Her expression was gentle. “I’m tired of traveling alone.”

  “Oh, thank fuck,” he said, wrapping her in his arms. “Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too.” His lips found hers, kissing her until all the worried tension about screwing up and moving too quickly and pushing her too hard left in a wave of desire and need and heat. He broke away. “Pizza.”

  Heather’s eyes were knowing, but instead of commenting, she picked up her slice and chowed down. “So,” she said after he’d joined her. “Should we compare lists and crunch some numbers?”

  “That might have been the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

  She blew on her nails, buffed them on her shoulder. “I’m just getting started, Steele.”

  Just over a day later, Clay watched Heather ascend the steps to RoboTech’s private jet and tried not to feel as though she were taking his heart along with her.

  He waved when she turned back then leaned against the hood of his car, waiting for the stairs to close and the plane’s engines to start up. Only then did he get into his car and drive to his office.

  They’d compared company lists the afternoon before, crunched data well into the night and then had moved fast, having their lawyers put in a joint offer that morning. Something extra convenient they’d discovered, and that Clay took as a sign they were doing the right thing, was that their respective businesses were both represented by the same law firm, McAvoy and Associates.

  The company they decided on was Helix, a young tech start-up with more orders than they could keep up with.

  Helix needed capital to expand and direction with where to place the manufacturing and storage units—Clay’s strong suit. Plus, their R&D department wasn’t functioning as it should and getting underperforming research to pan out or switch directions was right in Heather’s wheelhouse. Helix was their top choice and just about as perfect of a joint investment as they could ever dream to come across.

  But since it would be some time before they heard back, Clay focused his brainpower on other projects.

  The quarter was ending and there were always reports to go over. Then his head of HR had an issue they needed to discuss, one that had resulted in an emergency meeting after it was discovered that an employee had stolen a very valuable prototype.

  It was in that meeting that he finally caught up with his lawyer, Rebecca Darden.

  Yes, he’d called in the big guns in order to scare the shit out of Timothy.

  And no, he felt no shame.

  Bec was a hotshot attorney and had just made partner. She was capable, smart, and a hard-ass.

  “Steele,” she said, shaking his hand before slanting her eyes to the corner of the room.

  Taking her hint, he got up and followed her. “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to confirm that your issue was handled?” she asked. “Sorry again I had to cancel that Sunday as well.”

  Considering he’d spent the entire weekend in bed with Heather, Clay hadn’t minded.

  “Not your fault,” he said. “Business comes first.”

  He thought of the marriage license Heather had stolen from his bag. Instead of hiding it, she’d taped it to her bathroom mirror. The action had made him grin and then tug her close so that he could show her exactly how much it meant. “It was a small personal matter,” he told Bec, trying to keep the grin from his lips. “But it’s all taken care of now.”

  “Good.” She paused before crossing her arms. “So, scuttlebutt says that you and Heather are having naked, sexy time.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “You’re as bad as she is.” One female brow rose. “And it’s none of your business.”

  “She’s my client and my friend.” Brown eyes went flinty cold. “So, yes, it is my business.”

  “Scary,” he said. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I’ve known her longer, so she wins.”

  “Cold.”

  “Remember that,” she said, lips twitching before all teasing left her expression. She pinned him in place with that patented stare. “Your legal matter didn’t have to do with a baby mama, did it?”

  Clay didn’t consider himself easily intimidated, but Bec was in a whole other league.

  “No baby mama,” he said. “I love her, Bec.”

  And that quickly her frosty exterior faded. “You mean it.” Her voice held a note of incredulity.

  “It’s true.” He shrugged, mildly annoyed.

  “So the infamous bachelor known as Clay Steele has fallen.” Despite the teasing she touched his shoulder gently. “I’ve never seen you look so happy . . .” A pause in her words that had him frowning. “I’m mentally hugging you right now.”

  “Is there something wrong with hugging in actuality?” he asked.

  “Only that I called you over here so that we’d make Timothy more nervous and more likely to give up the goods.”

  Clay flicked his eyes over his shoulder, saw that his—now former—employee was sweating and looked like he was going to shit himself. “It appears your tactic is working.”

  “Yu
p.” Bec checked her watch. “But hugging you will ruin that.”

  “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Mentally hugging you back.”

  She snorted and he opened his lids, saw the laughter in her own eyes.

  “Heather does you good.”

  “That she does,” he agreed.

  “She’ll also give you a hell of a chase.”

  He nodded. “Maybe. But I think I’m faster.”

  “I hope so.” Bec tilted her head toward Timothy, and they began walking back to the table. “Oh, before I forget, I passed the Helix acquisition to my junior associate while I deal with this. I already sent Heather a text, letting her know. Anything major happens I’ll pick it up again, but I’ll leave the back and forth to him. Okay?”

  “Works for me.”

  Her eyes narrowed on his former employee as they took their seats, and there was unrestrained glee in her tone when she announced, “Timothy is priority one.”

  Timothy paled.

  It didn’t take long for him to give up the goods.

  Clay arrived back at his apartment well into the evening and was reheating his takeout that had gotten cold on the drive.

  City traffic wasn’t something he would miss if he moved into Heather’s place.

  His phone buzzed the same time the microwave dinged, and he grinned when he saw it was Heather.

  Tell me why I love my job again? she texted, punctuating the sentiment with a row of sleepy emojis.

  Because you’re incredibly good at it? he sent back.

  Oh. Well, there’s that. Dots on the bottom of his screen. I don’t like sleeping without you.

  He knew what it cost her to send that, how hard it was for her to put herself out there, and the fact that she continued to do it with him? Well, fuck, she absolutely owned him.

  I can fly out, he texted, only half-joking.

  A rolled eyes emoji. We can survive five days.

  Orgasms, was his only counter.

  She sent him a gif with a curly headed girl giggling. You’re ridiculous.

  He replied with a sad puppy gif. So that’s a no?