Dirty Scoundrel

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.

If he wanted my attention, though, I’m sure Clay would say something. He’s not the type to let me slide. After all, he made me kiss him five minutes after getting into the car. I can only imagine what the rest of our time together is going to be like.

And then I squeeze my thighs tightly together, because my imagination is going to some pretty torrid places.