Clay might have seen the hesitation. “You mean it?”
She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Yes.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Now get out of here. I need to get this done so I can get out of here.”
He cocked his head. “Why? What are you doing?”
“I didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. “I’m meeting my dad for dinner.”
He face seemed to sink at first, but then he smiled. “Oh, well, have fun.”
Then she felt like a total shit. No matter what ultimately happened between them, Clay was a good guy and had treated her well as her employer. Overall, that was. Aside from paying her loans. Her dad had asked about her job. This might be an opportunity to introduce them to each other. If she wound up working for Clay for the long haul, she’d have to do it at some point. “If, uh, you don’t have any plans, I can ask my dad if he’d mind if you came along.”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “You and your dad haven’t seen each other in a while. I’d just be a third wheel.”
Now she felt really bad, because he was trying to give her a graceful way to back out. She felt horrible. She stood up and draped her arms on his shoulders. She touched her forehead and nose to his. “Would you stop? If he’s okay with it, I would love for you to come along. And I feel awful that I didn’t think of it before.” She kissed him.
“Okay. But only if your dad’s okay with it. He might not want me tagging along.”
She kissed him again. “Oh, one other thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t say a word about us. Please. I haven’t even told him about breaking up with Bryce yet. That one’s gonna kill him.”
“Why?”
“He really liked Bryce. Well, that’s not necessarily true. But he didn’t hate him. He liked the idea of Bryce. Still…I’m not ready to lay all that on him yet.”
“I can do that.”
She kissed him again, and if she hadn’t had so much to do, she would have helped him lay all his fears to rest. But she was supposed to meet her dad around six, and she knew traffic would be a bitch as it was. She wanted to finish the last two emails and then hit the road. “Let me call my dad and I’ll let you know.”
He grabbed her ass and pushed her into him. “Or I could make you feel fantastic and just wait for you here.”
She grabbed his chin playfully. “You. Why don’t you go get some shoes on just in case?”
“Where’s dinner?”
“P.F. Chang’s. He likes it there and knows they have food I can eat and like. And there’s one not too far from here.”
“So I don’t have to look all fancy.”
She laughed. “No.”
“Should I hold off till you can make sure your dad’s okay with it?”
She kissed him one last time, a deep kiss full of promise for later on. “No. Plan on it.”
“I suppose you have your dad wrapped around your finger.”
“No.”
“Well, I am.”
“Get out of here. I’m still on the clock.” She backed away from him and sat back down.
He stood and cupped his crotch, readjusting himself. “Damn, woman. You make me hot.”
She started typing on the computer but said, “Feeling’s mutual, hottie. Now get the hell out of here so I can work. I don’t need to get in trouble with my boss.”
He was laughing, but he turned around in the doorway. “You’re safe…unless you want me to punish you.”
“Damn it, Clay. Let me work. You’re too distracting.”
He continued chuckling as he walked down the hall.
When she was sure he was out of earshot, she picked up her phone and dialed her dad. When he answered, she walked over to the window, as far as she could from the door, and lowered her voice. “Hey, dad. I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Sure, kiddo. I hope you’re not wanting to ask if we can postpone tonight. I’m almost to Denver.”
“No, no. I’ve told you about Clay, my boss, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well…would you mind if I brought him to dinner too? I think he’s kinda lonely tonight.”
“Uh, sure. Why not?”
“Thanks, daddy.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “You only call me that when you want something. Is there something else you were going to ask?”
She laughed. “No. That was it.”
“Okay, kiddo. See you in a bit.”
“See you, dad.”
* * *
Clay was going to go, but he couldn’t help but feel like Emily was doing it just because she felt bad about not inviting him in the first place. He tried not to let it get him down. After all, sad wasn’t sexy.
Wait, no. No sexy. Not if he was meeting her dad. Part of Clay wanted to make a great first impression, because he was hoping Emily would start thinking of him as more than just her boss, just her friend, just a fun fling. Those were his thoughts as he was brushing his teeth.
But then he thought, Fuck this. He was being a pathetic, whiny, mopey child. He was not going to continue to beg Emily to see him in a different light. He would not beg her to stay. She hadn’t fallen for love-struck Clay. She’d fallen for cocky Jet, just like all the women out there. So that’s what she—and her dad—would get. No more giving into sensitive Clay.
So he looked in his closet. He was going to be a little more hardcore. He pulled out a pair of camo jeans that he hadn’t worn in ages and some black combat boots. He had a Slayer t-shirt in one of his drawers too. It took him a few minutes to find it, but he did. Once he had his clothes on, he put in earrings (he hadn’t worn any in a while), and changed out his flat snakebites for lip rings. He considered pulling his long hair back and decided against it. A couple of necklaces and a little eyeliner, and he’d scare her dad for sure. That was fine. He felt cockier than he had in months.
He was lacing up his second boot on the side of his bed, and he heard Emily rap on his bedroom door. He could hear her voice as she entered. “Dad said he’d love to meet you. You ready?”
“Yeah. Want me to drive?” He stood and grabbed his wallet and keys off his dresser and turned to see Emily. She was a great actress, but not good enough. He could see the spark in her eyes. She was either scared shitless or feeling a little warm. He hoped both.
He saw her swallow. “Yeah, sure.”
He walked toward her, feeling like he had the world in his hand. She was beautiful, that woman, and she was wearing another one of those cute dresses that had a short skirt. Long, sexy legs, dark eyes, long, shiny dark hair, to-die-for tits, and a winning smile. He grabbed her hand. “I know I can’t do this once we get there, so I wanna get it out of my system now.” He wrapped his other hand around her neck and kissed her hard, then led her by the hand to the garage.
Yeah, he was glad he’d decided to be Jet. Jet could help him through anything.
Chapter Twenty-eight
JACK BRINKMAN TOOK Clay’s hand in a hearty shake. “Nice to meet you, Clay. Emily has told me a lot about you.”
Clay smiled. “Yeah?” No need to get too cocky about that one, Smith. You’re her job. Of course, she talked a lot about you. “Well, you have a hell of a daughter. Mind if I call you Jack?”
Emily’s father smiled, emphasizing the crow’s feet beside his eyes. “That’s my name. Is there something else you’d rather call me?”
The three of them laughed then, and Emily patted her dad’s hand. “I’ve missed you so much, dad.”
“So how is the job going? Or are you allowed to talk about that with your boss right here?”
Clay smiled, knowing that, of course, she might have other things to say that she’d keep to herself, but he hoped that overall she enjoyed it enough to say so. “I love it. I don’t think that’s a secret. I think the hardest part’s done, though. Clay is now thoroughly organized, and so I’m working on beefing up his social network.” Clay had started laughing when she said “th
e hardest part’s done,” so she looked at him. “What?”
He was smiling and shaking his head. “You haven’t been on tour. I’d like to know what you think about that.”
“How hard can that be? You’ll already have a tour schedule and you’ll be on a bus. You won’t be able to really screw that up, will you?”
He laughed again. “I wanna know what you say after tour.”
Emily didn’t have an answer for that. Surely, she’d have to know that Dennis, their manager, was starting to get the tour organized, even though the album hadn’t even been recorded yet. Spring would be here before they knew it. Clay loved the excitement of a live audience, of thousands of fans swaying to the music, moshing in the pit, throwing up the devil’s horns, roaring and screaming and singing along. There was nothing like that energy, and the only thing better was how he felt when he was lying next to Emily.
Emily just smiled sweetly and nodded. Then the waiter brought their drinks and set them in front of them. “Are we ready to order?”
Clay picked the first thing off the menu that sounded good, trying not to let Emily’s lack of response get to him. Deep down, he knew she was going to leave before the tour. He didn’t know when, but he could feel it. When the waiter left, Emily said, “I need to run to the ladies’ room. Be right back.” She kissed her dad on the cheek and walked through the room away from them.
Clay couldn’t take his eyes off her. Jack asked, “How long?”
Clay was still thinking about Emily leaving and the tour. “What do you mean—how long till the tour or how long it’ll go?” But he caught her father’s eyes and realized he’d misunderstood.
Jack smiled. “How long have you known you love her?”
Oh, goddammit. Clay could have kicked himself, because he might have dressed like Jet, but he’d been Clay the whole time. This woman was doing it to him. He couldn’t put Jet on like he used to. What the fuck was wrong with him? And now…now her dad knew just how far he’d fallen. And, if, like Emily had said, he wanted her to marry Bryce, he wouldn’t like anything affirmative coming out of his mouth. Still, Clay was a shitty liar.
So…the truth it was. “I’m not sure. But how could I not?”
Jack smiled. “Indeed.”
* * *
The three of them stood outside talking for half an hour after they’d walked out of the restaurant (long after they’d worn out their welcome there as well). Emily was relieved that her dad hadn’t said a word about the way Clay looked—and why had he chosen to go all rock star, tonight of all nights? Yeah, he was hotter than ever, but her dad would never appreciate it.
Well, no harm done, she supposed. The two men actually got along famously and talked about things like politics and censorship, the state of the economy, and even a little bit about football preseason. Several times, she’d felt like she needed to pick her jaw up off the table, because—while she knew Clay was deeper than most people gave him credit for—he was even more well-rounded than she’d thought.
Of course, she’d never asked to talk to him about the economy.
Her dad was impressed. She could tell. Of course, he was looking at Clay as her employer, not as her lover.
When they finally said goodbye, Emily hugged and kissed her father, and then he and Clay engaged in a manly shake. Wow. Clay really had made an impression on her dad, even looking all hardcore. At least he hadn’t worn spiked wristbands or full crazy makeup like she’d seen lots of bands do.
When they got to his car, Clay asked, “You wanna drive her?”
Oh. He must have been able to tell how much Emily loved this car. But no. She couldn’t. “I haven’t driven a stick shift since I was a teenager. You don’t want me taking that out on your baby, do you?”
He laughed. “It’ll come back to you. I trust you.” She shook her head, but he grabbed her hand and placed the keys in her palm. “I want you to.”
She looked at his hand, then in his eyes. Yes, he did trust her. He’d said that before. But why? And how? Granted, she’d never broken his trust, but had she ever given him a reason to put all of his faith in her?
Still…the lure of driving a pristine black Corvette made the offer impossible to turn down. She nodded her head. He opened the driver side door for her and then got in on the passenger side. When she turned the car on, she could feel the power—through the floor, the steering wheel. She took a deep breath and looked over at the gearshift. Then she looked up at Clay—she couldn’t help it. He was looking at her with patient smiling eyes. She pressed the stick in and pushed it over to reverse, then looked behind her while letting up on the clutch.
Clay had been right. It was all coming back to her. Her feet and hands knew what to do, and before she knew it, she was on the road.
Oh, the power. It was sexy. And if she thought she’d been turned on when Clay drove, it was nothing like when she had control over the car. Holy shit. The car moved like a cat—sleek, smooth, and the engine purred. It wasn’t a long drive home, but Emily was hotter than hell when they got there.
Clay kept his hands to himself while she drove, though, and it was probably a good idea. It was safer that way. She had control of that wildcat while she drove, but if Clay had touched her, it would have been trouble.
When she pulled into his garage, he was out of the car in a flash, opening her door for her. She felt reluctant, not wanting to get out. But she did, handing the keys to him. “You liked that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” It was barely a breath. She pulled him to her, and he pressed her against the car. It was a heady mix, that beast of steel supporting her back, Clay’s cock grinding into her front. God, she felt like she could never get enough of him. Part of her wanted him then and there, but it was so hot in the garage. After the air conditioning in the car, she didn’t want to feel sticky and sweaty. Just hot.
He started to lift her skirt and she said, “Not here.”
He kissed her again. “Whatever you want, babe.” She grabbed his hand, and they walked to the door. He unlocked it and, once they were in the door, he pulled her close by the waist and kissed her again.
As his lips drifted down her neck, she said, “Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we do it in my room this time?”
“Sure. You won’t mind a smaller bed?”
“It’s a queen. It’s not small.”
“Smaller than mine.”
“Yeah…” His lips were drifting lower. “But I don’t want to feel lonely in there anymore.”
He brought his face to hers. “Anything for you.” She felt his tongue in her mouth again, warm and reassuring. “Should we use the rope again? You wanna try it on you this time?”
She took a deep breath. She’d trusted him once tonight, and he hadn’t let her down. Then he’d trusted her with his car. Why not continue the trend? She looked in his eyes and knew that she did have complete faith in this man. No matter what else happened, she knew he would treat her right. “Okay.”
“Why don’t you grab some wine out of the kitchen, and I’ll find the rope and take some of this stuff off.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“What?”
“Leave it on.”
He turned and looked at her, a smirk lighting up his face. “Why? You like it?”
“Hell, yeah. I want to strip it off you, piece by piece.” He started strutting toward his room, and she kept an eye on his ass until she turned toward the kitchen. “By the way,” she said so her voice would carry, “that was pretty damn ballsy, wearing that to meet my dad.” She walked over to the wine rack. A sweet red—that’s what she hoped it was when she grabbed it, but she’d never been a hardcore wine drinker. She was just guessing and hoping. She opened the cabinet door to the right and pulled out two wine glasses. She heard Clay’s boots on the floor before she turned to see him.
“I figured your dad needed to see me as I am. Then next time he sees me, my long hair and tattoos won’t be such a surprise.” He was
close to her again and wrapped part of the rope around her waist and pulled her close.
“By the way, those lip rings?”
“Yeah?” That twinkle in his eye was intoxicating.
“Damn hot.”
“You think so?”
“God, yes. Please kiss me again.”
The smile was small, but the fire in his eyes was undeniable. He leaned close to her and kissed her, slowly this time, and instead of focusing on the heat between her legs this time, she directed her attention to the feel of those rings against her lips. Jesus, yes, that was fucking hot. She’d liked the feel of the flat jewelry, but the rings were sensational. He moved his mouth differently with that jewelry. His kiss felt more methodical, more passionate, and she loved how the metal felt against her lips, her neck, down her cleavage…
She let out a loud breath as he started unbuttoning her blouse. Her fingers were wound in his hair, but even hanging on for dear life, she was dangerously close to losing it. She whispered, “In my room. You promised.”
She felt him smile against her breast, and he raised his head. “Damn. Lost track of where I was.”
She grinned. He picked the rope up off the floor and grabbed the wine. She took the glasses and looped her arm in his, and they walked down the hall to her room.
Once inside, she set the glasses on the dresser and then walked back to close the door. She took the wine and rope from him, setting the bottle next to the glasses and throwing the rope on the bed. Then she took two fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him close to her. “Hey, careful. This shirt’s a classic.”
She knew he was kidding, so she said, “Shush, you,” and planted her mouth on his to get just one more scorching kiss. Then she grabbed the shirt by the bottom and pulled it up, kissing his skin, starting around his navel and working her way up. She let her tongue get involved too. God, he tasted good, and she could have kissed his skin all night. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor as she unbuttoned the pants. “I thought that was a classic, and here you are throwing it on the floor.”
Feverish (Bullet #3) Page 20
