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.
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.
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.
I’m almost relieved when the limo pulls into the parking lot of the mall, because that means that it’s a change of scenery. I’ll be able to get away from Clay for a brief time while I find a dress, and that’ll let me get back into the right headspace for this. When the limo parks, I grab my purse and look over at Clay. “I promise I won’t take long and I’ll bring back a receipt. Any particular color I should keep in mind? How formal is the event?”
His brows furrow together as he gazes at me. “Just . . . fancy. I dunno.”
Well, that’s no help. “All right, then. I’ll go conservative.” The driver is at my door, so I get out, squinting into the sunshine. It only takes me about two seconds to realize that Clay’s right behind me, though. “What are you doing?”
Clay puts a hand to the small of my back, moving into step next to me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going in to get a dress,” I say pointedly. “At a women’s store.”
“I know. I can go with you.” He glances around, as if making sure no car is going to run me over, and then continues to lead me forward in a rather protective sort of manner.
“Uh, Clay, it’s a fat-lady store. Most men wouldn’t be seen dead in one of those.”
He scowls at me. “You gonna keep talking shit about yourself? Because I’m gonna have to change the contract if you do. That ain’t allowed.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “I’m just saying the truth. My butt can’t fit into a normal size anymore.”
“Your butt is pretty tasty if you ask me, normal or not.” The hand on my back slides down to caress the curve of my ass.
I yelp in surprise, stumbling forward on the sidewalk.
Clay only chuckles.
Face burning, I clutch my purse against my side and head into the mall. Clay moves back to my side again and I march through the shopping center, looking for the store I know will carry the size I need. I’ve always felt a little weird shopping in here in the past, but with a guy at my side? I feel really, really out of place.
I pretend to ignore Clay as I head to the back of the store, looking for cocktail dresses. Everything’s spangled and looks like something my grandmother would wear, but I suppose they would fall under “demure.” I find one in my size and turn toward the attendant. “Can I have a fitting room?”
“For that?” Clay drawls loudly, rubbing at his beard.
I can feel my cheeks burn with humiliation. “What’s wrong with this dress?”
He doesn’t answer me and instead turns to the sales clerk. “You got something with a bit more cleavage? And color?”
She looks at me, then at Clay. Her nose wrinkles slightly at him, as if she’s disgusted that this big, bearded guy is in her store, asking for cleavage. And for some reason, that irritates me. What, she thinks she’s too good for Clay because he’s got messy hair and a beard (despite an expensive suit)? She’s selling old-lady dresses. “No, those are our only plus-size formal dresses. You might go to the Nordstrom at the end of the mall.”
“This one’s fine, thank you.”
Clay gives me a surprised look. “We can go to Nordstrom. That’s fancier than here, right?”
“And probably more expensive,” I warn him. I haven’t shopped anywhere like that since my father started having money trouble. I’ve learned to be frugal. If we had time, I’d have preferred a secondhand store, or a thrift shop, if I could find one that carried clothes in my size, of course.
He just rolls his eyes and takes the plain dress out of my hands and puts it back on the rack. “Let’s get you something that doesn’t look like my granny got buried in it.”
And even though I should be offended, it takes everything I have to stifle my horrified giggle. “It’s hard to find plus-size stuff that’s sexy unless you shop online,” I admit to him as we leave the store.
“That’s fuckin’ stupid. You’re just as pretty now as you were when you were smaller.”
I glance up at him as we weave through the people in the mall. He’s got his hand on my back again, his stance protective and attentive at the same time, and he’s not looking over at me as he says it. It doesn’t sound like a line to him. It sounds like, well, he actually believes it. “I don’t know if you noticed,” I venture, “but I’m not the same size I was in high school.”
“I noticed.”
I can feel the shame creeping over me.
“Like your tits a lot more now, though.”
That . . . wasn’t the answer I was expecting to hear. But my pitiful, wounded self-esteem decides it has a little fight in it, after all. “Just my tits, huh?”
He glances over at me, and his white teeth flash in a grin. “Already told you that your ass was amazin’. Or do I need to shout it to a few people?” He cups a hand to his mouth.
Just as quickly, I grab his hand and haul it away. “Clay!”
He chuckles at me, shaking his head. “So prim and proper. That hasn’t changed.”
I guess not.
Clay moves closer to me as we enter the far pricier department store. He looks just as out of place here as he did at the smaller boutique, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he carries himself. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s getting a few stares from sales staff, or that shoppers are discreetly moving away from him. I study him as he steps ahead of me when the aisle grows narrow. There’s no denying that Clay hasn’t exactly put much care into his appearance. While his suit is impressive, his hair has always been a bit too long and right now it curls and waves around his ears and neck. His beard is long and thick and hides most of his face. He looks . . . mismatched. But there’s no denying that he’s handsome. Underneath all that, he’s tanned, built, and moves with a lithe grace that I’m envious of. If we weren’t in this ridiculous deal, I’d still be crazy over him.
It’s just that this deal changes everything, sadly.
Clay flags down a passing saleswoman and gestures at me. “We need a dress for my girl. Somethin’ sexy.”
“What’s your price range?” She asks immediately, all ears.
“Don’t got one,” he tells her, and pulls out his wallet, offering a black credit card. “I want her to have somethin’ with cleavage.”
She looks at me, then at the card, and a beaming smile crosses her face. “Won’t you both follow me?”
I’m of half a mind to tell Clay that we shouldn’t shop here, either. That these people are giving him funny looks and I don’t like it. But Clay looks back and winks at me. “Gotta love it when they work on commission.”
I lean in toward him. “I don’t like the way she was treating you—”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “Which is what makes her change of heart twice as amusin’, now.”
I’m a little surprised by this. He knows he doesn’t fit in . . . and he just doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter to him what others think. I get a flashback of the boy I dated in high school, who didn’t care that everyone thought I was a snob. He was so secure in his own skin that he didn’t need the validation of others. Clay Price never did anything he didn’t want to.
My heart gives a funny little squeeze at that.
When we get to the dresses, there’s more than just one tiny rack situated in the back of the store. There are tons of racks of fancy, sparkly dresses, all of them beautiful and elegant—and twice as expensive as the last store. I know Clay has money, but I still feel a little anxious when I flip over the price tag on a pretty maroon sheath. Is all of this being carefully added to my tab?
As if he can read my thoughts, Clay leans in, voice a bare whisper. “Anything over five hundred and the anal’s back on the table.”
I give a startled choke of laughter and slap at his shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
He just grins at me.
“Now,” the saleswoman says. “You wanted cleavage, right?” She gestures at a rack of black and red dresses. “I think something like this will look fantastic, and it comes in a variety of sizes.”
* * *
A short time later, I step out of the fitting room in a tight black bodycon dress with spaghetti straps in place of sleeves, and a built in girdle. I have to admit that I look pretty damn good, even if I’m showing more skin than I normally do. I spin around in the mirror, checking everything, before I head out to the cash register.
I can tell by the way Clay’s eyes gleam at the sight of me that it looks exactly like he wanted. I’m feeling pretty sexy, though, and I give my hair a little toss. “This meet your approval?”
“Fuck yeah.” He looks me up and down again with a hungry gaze that makes me shiver. “If it was any better, I’d cancel dinner and tell Fred he’s on his own.”
“Don’t do that,” I blurt out. I forgot that “sexy” means things move ahead that much faster.
He just gives me a wink.
“Oh, but you need shoes,” she coos at us. “There are the cutest Louboutins that would look perfect with that.”
I’ll bet there are. They probably cost twice as much as my dress, though. Before I can protest, Clay nods. “We want ’em. Add it to the card.”
And ten minutes later, I slip a spike-heeled pair of black, peep-toe Louboutins on my feet. When I stand up, I feel beautiful and powerful, like I’m the one in control. I can tell from Clay’s expression that he approves, and it just increases the heady sensation. He offers me his arm and I take it, and we leave the store—and the mall—like the world’s most conspicuous couple ever. When we get into the limo, I adjust my skirt, cross my feet at the ankles, and then glance over at him. “So when do you change?”
“Hm?” He glances over at my face, then back down at my legs again.
All right, even though I’m hating this contract, I’m not hating the fact that he’s so distracted at the sight of my legs. I feel prettier now than I have in years. Maybe ever. I slowly recross them just to watch his expression grow more intense. “Are we heading straight to dinner?”
“Yup. We’ll be there soon.” He sounds distracted.
I wonder if it’s impolite to ask if my date should brush his hair. Probably. My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Alice, and I pick it up, forgetting all about Clay. It’s a brief update on how dad is doing—she’s so thoughtful. She knows I’m nervous and is giving me updates every couple of hours just to keep me in the loop. Right now he’s napping and she’s letting me know what she has planned for his dinner. Even though I can’t be there, I’m beyond thrilled with how conscientious and attentive she is so far. I’m starting to relax about leaving my father alone with them. A little.
But when the limo stops for a second time, we’re in front of a steakhouse. A . . . chain steakhouse. I look over at Clay in surprise as the driver gets out. “Are we making another temporary stop?”
“Nah. This is where we’re having dinner.” He gives me another lazy, heart-stopping grin and I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or punch him in the face.
“I’m wearing a cocktail dress for The Sizzlin’ Skillet? Are you serious?” I stare at him, aghast. “I thought you said this was a business dinner.”
“It is. My buddy Fred’s meetin’ us there and we’re gonna talk business.”
“I didn’t need a three-hundred-dollar dress and eight-hundred-dollar shoes for The Sizzlin’ Skillet!”
“You did if I wanted you to have ’em.” The look in his eyes grows heated. “I wanted to look at you dressed up. And I felt like showin’ you off. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”
I just gaze at him blankly. I can’t believe this. “It’s a huge waste of money.”
Clay laughs. “Like I give a shit about that? I have money to burn for days.”
“It’s wasteful.”
“Not to me. Not when I get what I want.”