Feverish (Bullet #3) (19 page)

Still, what he was feeling at that moment was
close. “Back to normal
now
then, right?”

She smiled and nodded and sat back in front
of the computer, but he saw her looking at his bare chest. He
didn’t mind. She’d been all over it yesterday. He hoped those were
good memories for her.

He started walking back to the kitchen,
definitely ready for that cup of coffee now. He was glad that
overnight he’d gotten his emotional shit together. Not having Emily
for longer than one night was much easier having had time to sleep
on it. He had no doubt she was still attached to her dickweed
fiancé anyway, and he didn’t want to be rebound guy. That’s all he
would be if he even tried to pursue anything with her.

So he let that new song start rattling around
in his head again. He planned to give Brian a call in a while to
see if they could jam soon. They’d planned on recording the next CD
sometime in the fall, so it was time to start solidifying songs
anyway. He was feeling good about it when he rounded the corner to
the kitchen.

He was pouring himself a cup of coffee when
Mary entered from the basement door. “Anything in those sheets I
should know about?”

It felt like gravity was pulling on his face.
Had she found something? He looked up from the mug. Okay, no. She
was half teasing. But what about the other half? He wasn’t going to
give anything up. “Why do you think there would be?”

Mary got up to the counter right next to him
and said, “I’m not stupid, Clay. I can tell when you’ve had a lady
friend over. But let me just say, for the record, that I think it’s
pretty inconsiderate. The way you carry on, Emily probably felt
like she couldn’t come out of her room.” Clay’s eyes must have been
wide. The worried look on Mary’s face faded. “Unless, of course,
you prearranged it with her.”

Hot damn. She hadn’t figured it out. Clay had
to be careful not to let out a sigh as his muscles relaxed. Then
she
would
figure it out. “She knew about it. She was cool.”
No, it wasn’t confined to his bedroom, but Mary didn’t need to know
anything else. “So…if you find some shit in my bed, I had no idea
it was there.”

Mary nodded. “Good.” He continued looking at
her for a moment, afraid to say anything else, because he didn’t
trust that he couldn’t give it away. Mary smiled and shook her
head, then took off in the direction of his room.

That’s when Clay let out the air he was
holding in his lungs.
Now
maybe they could get back to
normal…whatever the fuck
that
was.

Chapter Nineteen

WEDNESDAY, EMILY GOT yet another email from
Bryce, short and sweet. Such an asshole.
Em, I’m sorry. I love
you. I understand why you’re mad. Please tell me when you’re ready
to talk.

Well, short maybe, but about as sweet as a
dill pickle.

She had decided to think about it a while.
She’d accepted his offer of marriage at a time when she thought
she’d never love anyone. She still wondered if she’d ever be able
to feel deep feelings about anyone who was any good for her, but
she was beginning to suspect that she’d never be satisfied without
any passion in her life. She was starting to think it’d be better
for her to be alone.

And maybe that was what she needed to focus
on for a while. That was the plan, and so she just threw herself
into her work. Clay was at least a good boss, in that he was
pleasant, appreciative, grateful (and vocal about it), and he paid
well. The basic things he had her doing were simple, almost too
simple, but fine. She’d started looking into his social media and
trying to find out what she should do and how she should do it. He
definitely needed some interaction, even if it wasn’t much. The
only activity he’d had on his Facebook page in two months was from
fans posting. Even if all she did was post a picture a week, it
would be better than what he’d been doing. She’d talk to him about
it after she came up with a solid plan which, she figured, would
take another couple of days. She needed her ideas to rattle around
in her head and gel at some point. Whatever the case, she thought
she’d need a handle—a username—for when she posted as an admin. She
didn’t want girls propositioning
her
. But she also figured
she’d do better to have a neutral username, something like
death
or
black hole
, so her presence as a female
wouldn’t scare off those ladies. They were a huge chunk of his fan
base, and she didn’t want to alienate them.

Emily had spent a lot of the afternoon
brainstorming and writing down some of those ideas, and near the
end of the day, she was responding to emails. Clay walked in and
sat in the chair to the side of the desk. He didn’t say anything.
Emily finished reading the last two sentences of the email and then
looked over at her employer. “Yes?”

“You know it’s after five, right?”

“And?”

“And this shit’ll wait till tomorrow. You and
me, we’re gonna go drink some beers.”

“This
shit
is for
you
,
Clay.”

He leaned over and looked at the computer
screen. “It’s email, Emily. It can wait till the morning. How many
unanswered ones? Three?”

“Four.”

“See? Big damn deal.”

She sighed, trying to feign exasperation, but
he was right. They could wait until morning. “Fine. One thing,
though.”

“Name it.”

“That children’s charity you donated to—they
want you to come to a dinner next week.”

“Oh, fuck, no. I did that last year, and I
had to wear a tux. No way.”

“It’s for a good cause, and they want to
honor you and the other donors.”

“No.”

She arched her eyebrows. “I bet you look
great in a tux.”

He sucked a breath in through his nose and
leaned forward, just a little. “Would
you
go with me?”

She considered him. Yeah, she’d known the
last thing she said was going to be a mistake, but she hadn’t been
able to resist. As much as she loved Clay in his rock star casual
wear—today, snug blue jeans and a black Machine Head t-shirt—she
would collapse under her own body weight viewing him in something
like a tuxedo. She was crossing that line again, so much easier now
that she’d felt him inside her. “If you wear a tux, sure, I’ll
go.”

He smirked. “Fine. Done.” He leaned back in
the chair. “Anyway, I didn’t come in here to get roped into doing
shit I didn’t want to do—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done. I’m doing what
you pay me to do.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” He
leaned back and stretched, fishing into his right jeans pocket.
“The coast is clear, and so I wanted to bring you this.”

This
was the multi-colored mini she’d
worn Sunday night. He set it, wadded up, on the corner of the desk
next to the keyboard. “Oh, thanks.” She logged off the computer and
then picked up the skirt. “Now that you mention it, I, uh, still
have something of yours too.”

He cocked his head. “Yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm. Let me go get it.” She thought it
was funny that he was so intrigued. He should have remembered. But
they were talking about Clay, the guy who couldn’t remember to pay
his electric bill until the power was shut off. Of course, he
wouldn’t remember she had his shirt. She was lucky he remembered to
give her her skirt back…although she’d never be able to wear it
again. She wouldn’t be able to think about anything but Clay if she
wore it again.

She walked down the hall to her room, and she
didn’t realize until she’d gone in there that he’d been following
her. He stayed in the doorway, though, and just leaned against the
jamb. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

She smiled and walked across the room to her
bed, tossing the skirt on the chair in front of the small desk. She
had his olive green t-shirt rolled up and wedged between the two
pillows at the head of the bed under her comforter. She pulled it
back and removed the shirt. She turned around and noticed he wasn’t
walking into the room. Ah…he was honoring their agreement in some
weird fashion. She’d never said he couldn’t enter her room, but
maybe he realized that was the only place that belonged just to her
in his house. The smile on her face hadn’t faded when she met him
in the doorway and handed his tee to him.

He cocked his head. “Interesting.”

“What?”

Clay had never struck her as the analytical
type, but there it was nonetheless. “I’m just wondering why, of all
places you could have put this in your room, you hid it in your
bed?”

That
was weightier than she’d
expected. She wasn’t going to tell him the real reason, but she
suspected he already knew. “I figured, even if she looked in my
room, Mary would never look in my bed for something.”

His smile grew lopsided, and his eyelids
looked heavy. “She wouldn’t look in your drawers either.”

No matter how much practice she’d had with
playing it cool, she could feel a blush crawling up to her cheeks.
“So I wasn’t thinking.”

He took one step in her room then, and that
made him close. She could still feel the fire she had inside for
this man, and she knew it would make him hard to resist. “Maybe
your heart took the lead.”

She felt her heartbeat speed up in response
to his words, and then she knew she might as well quit trying.
Against all reason, she wanted him. Just as always, she wanted the
bad boy who’d likely break her heart while at the same time fail to
nurture the parts of herself that needed to grow. But fuck it.
Whether Bryce had cheated on her or not, her blood hadn’t boiled
with him. The hair on her arms hadn’t stood on end, hoping to feel
his touch. Hell, she hadn’t dampened many panties with the guy
even; Clay, on the other hand, had infected her with deep desire,
and she couldn’t deny it. Her pussy was throbbing, wanting to feel
him again, and she decided to take the plunge. Without thought, she
grabbed him around the collar and pulled him the other step of the
way into her.

His eyes grew wide, but he said nothing as he
brought his lips to hers, and she melted into him. He grabbed her
around the waist and pulled her close. She moved her hands to his
neck and just gave in. His tongue was slow and sensuous. It seemed
he felt the same way, and she was a little relieved about that.
When they broke for air, he opened his eyes, touching his forehead
to hers. “I don’t think I want to go out for those beers
anymore.”

She smiled. “Why not?”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“Something else came up.”

She started laughing from her belly. “I think
it might be fun. Just you and me, a beer or two…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Then pick up where
we left off?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “All right.” He kissed her again
and then asked, “You wearing that?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. Just asking.”

She glowered. “Get out of here. Give me a
minute.”

“Seriously, you don’t have to change.”

“I know, but you’re right. I’m too dressed up
compared to you.”

“You look great.”

“Get out of here. I’ll be out in a sec.”

He acted exasperated. “Fine.”

As soon as he left and closed her door, she
took off her blouse. She didn’t want to look professional when her
date was casual, so she dug through her drawers and threw on a
Evans Blue t-shirt. She took her jeans off, followed by her damp
panties, because she wanted to go without undies like Clay did and
see what he thought of that. She slid the jeans back on and then
put on a pair of sneakers. She checked herself in the mirror and
spritzed a little perfume on her wrists before opening the
door.

She walked through the living room to the
entryway where Clay stood, swinging his keys in a circle on his
index finger. He didn’t seem irritated that he’d had to wait,
though. “Haven’t changed your mind, have you?” She grinned and
shook her head, feeling giddy as she got closer to him. “You look
great, by the way.”

She could hardly wait to see what he thought
when he saw what she wasn’t wearing.

Chapter Twenty

CLAY WAS A lot of fun to hang with. They’d
wound up only drinking one beer each while he told her about Last
Five Seconds’ rise to fame. She grew to care about Clay even more,
because he showed a little glimpse into himself. He was just a guy
who wanted to have fun doing what he loved. He held no animosity
toward anyone, had no hard feelings about anything; he just seemed
to go with the flow, and he found ways to make that flow
enjoyable.

If you had to be stuck in a waiting room, an
elevator, or a ridiculously long line, he would be the perfect
person to be with, because there was no way he’d let the moments
grow dull. He had an enthusiasm for life that just couldn’t be
extinguished. In that way, he was like a kid—every moment, every
situation held some wonder, something fascinating, and Clay wanted
to find out what that was. His mood was infectious.

Emily wondered why that didn’t seem like a
good quality, like she didn’t expect him to be serious when the
situation warranted it. Well, it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him
more sober. He was playful a lot of time, yes, but she’d seen him
serious on occasion…like the first time he’d gotten close to her
and asked her to think about giving herself to Jet.

So was that it? Was Jet the fun guy and Clay
the more down-to-earth, practical man? He’d once said he and his
onstage persona were both different sides of his personality, but
when she’d hinted that maybe the real guy was more Clay, he’d grown
quiet, not wanting to discuss it. And she’d respect that. She
didn’t want to force him to talk about something he didn’t want to,
but she thought maybe she’d hit on something when he’d grown quiet
during her Jet/ Clay interrogation.