Struck from the Record (7 page)

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” Liz said.

“Thank you so much!” Jamie cried. “I’m just, you know, so happy to see you happy, too. Oh, and, Andrea,” she said, as if remembering something, “did you get ahold of that art gallery owner I introduced you to when you were looking for new pieces?”

Andrea’s lips thinned. “Um…which one?”

“It was, like, a month ago, I guess. Maybe six weeks? You know, the one from that last exhibit I saw you at. Asher McWalter.”

Andrea hadn’t mentioned that to him.
Strange.

“Oh, right,” she said, glancing away, as if she wanted to be anywhere but in this conversation. “Yes. We, uh…we spoke. Briefly.”

Fuck
. He knew what that meant.
But why the hell is she nervous? If she’s fucked the guy, then why is she purposefully avoiding my gaze?
That meant something was wrong. Something that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Who is Asher McWalter?” Clay asked, forcing her to look at him.

She frowned. “Nobody.”

“He runs this amazing art exhibit downtown,” Jamie said.

Sensing the building tension between Clay and Andrea, Liz put her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “How about I buy you a drink?”

“Oh. Sure,” Jamie said with a frown.

Then, they disappeared.

“Well?” Clay prompted.

Andrea met his gaze. Christ, she was so strong. Even though she didn’t want to say whatever was about to come out of her mouth, she still looked him in the eyes and crushed him.

“He’s an art gallery owner who I met about a month before your attack. He’s the guy you saw me with the night of your…robbery.”

Clay’s mouth went dry as the crowd started counting down to midnight.
Bad Suit
. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been fucking that douche bag for over a month?”

She nodded minutely.

“You told me to come fight for you in that bar, knowing you were going home with him. He wasn’t some stranger you’d picked up. That was planned,” he growled. “You let me show up and you let me finger-fuck you in the restroom,” he spat.

“Clay…”

“You broke the rules, Andrea. No wonder you want to end the game. Why the fuck did you leave with that douche?”

“Fuck, isn’t it obvious? I wanted to make you jealous,” she cried.

Clay’s eyebrows rose. “You left me alone, pissed off and horny, only for me to get jumped and have the shit beaten out of me…because you wanted me to be
jealous
?”

She gritted her teeth. “I didn’t know that would happen. I didn’t
want
it to happen.”

“Five, four, three, two, one!” the crowd cheered all around them as they watched the ball hit the ground in Times Square, the festivities being shown on a giant projection screen on the wall.

But Clay and Andrea just stared at each other, as if in a duel.

“Well, are you going to kiss me?” she demanded as everyone made out around them.

He was so pissed. Unbelievably, horribly pissed. He couldn’t think straight; he was so angry. A rage filled him to his core to know what Andrea had done.

Their game was simple. It had worked for ten years until Asher McWalter had walked into her life.

Clay let his anger feed him as he grabbed her roughly by the back of her neck and kissed her like it would be their last breath.

Chapter 6

LIMOS

In the back of the limo, Clay shredded Andrea’s expensive dress between his hands. Whatever had passed between them during that midnight kiss hadn’t dissipated in the time it took them to get out of the ballroom and into their waiting limo. In fact, it had only heightened their emotions. All Clay wanted was to rip Andrea’s clothes off and claim her body.

Fuck his ribs. He was getting laid. Right here. Right now.

“This dress cost a fucking fortune,” she murmured.

Not that she gave a fuck. He could see it in her eyes. She’d rather have the material in pieces on the floor of this limo than around her body.

“Tell someone who gives a fuck, baby.”

“Well, you’ll have to buy me another one.”

He bore down on her, sliding his hands up her bare calves. He grabbed the slit he’d torn into the dress between his hands, deviously grinned up at her, and wrenched it into two until it hit her upper thigh.

Andrea exhaled loudly and squirmed. He knew she was trying to seem unaffected, but he wouldn’t have any of that fucking shit.

“I’ll do as I please, and you’ll like it,” he told her.

She raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you all domineering?”

“Shh,” he said. “You broke the rules, baby. It’s my turn.”

Her eyes widened, and then he saw it—the fire that he so craved from her. She was crazy if she thought she was getting off scot-fucking-free for her part in what had happened to him. Yeah, he wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t responsible for him getting jumped, but what she’d done pained him more. It went against the foundation of their relationship. And he was fucking pissed.

“You think I’m just going to lie here and let you do whatever you want?” she demanded, sitting up onto one elbow. “You said yourself, nothing has fucking changed between us.”

“That was before I knew you were fucking with me, Andrea,” he growled, his voice rising an octave.

She plopped back down onto the leather interior. “I wasn’t fucking, fucking with you.”

“Then, what the hell were you doing?”

Andrea opened her mouth to explain, but he’d had enough talk from her. There was no way she could explain her actions. She’d toyed with him. Wanted him to be jealous about her being with Bad Suit—douche bag Asher McWalter—as if the guy could ever live up to Clay…as if he could give Clay a reason to be jealous.

“If you would just let me…”

He dug his fingers into her thighs until she stopped talking. He crawled his hands up her perfect milky-white skin, hoping he’d leave fingerprint bruises all up her inner thighs to remind her just whose girl she was.

She groaned, grasping the seat and lifting her ass, urging him on.

He tore the remaining piece of her dress, stripping away her last vestige of modesty, revealing once again that she wasn’t wearing anything at all underneath it.

“Making a habit of this?” he asked.

“You like it.”

“I wear bow ties, and you go commando. I think I got the better end of the deal.”

Her eyes fluttered closed again when his fingers finally made it all the way up her legs. Clay pressed them open wide and teasingly circled his finger, so he was close to touching her where she was clearly demanding but not quite. He could sense her frustration and desperation, see it in her brow. When he saw her eyes start to flicker back open to demand he touch her, he slipped his fingers between her lips and slicked them with her wetness.

And, fuck, was
she wet.

He plunged two fingers deep inside her and then drew them up against her walls in just the way he knew she liked. She whimpered softly, and the sound was music to his ears. Leaning forward, he roughly swirled his tongue around her clit until she was bucking beneath him.

The back of the limo had never held so much appeal to him. He forgot all about his aching ribs and the echoes of their argument. Instead, he just focused on this one task—making her come. And she would, goddamn it. He could fucking guarantee that. He was good at many things, but sex was his specialty.

Andrea pushed her pussy up against his face, begging for the release he was holding just out of range. If she wanted to toy with him, he could toy with her. Oh, sure, she would come—when he let her.

“Clay…” she moaned.

“Say it again.”

“Clay fucking Maxwell.”

“That’s right,” he said with a grin.

Then, he circled his tongue around her clit, and she came all over his face.

He didn’t waste any time. She lay there, panting. The second fucking orgasm he’d given her, unreciprocated, in two weeks. He was damn sure he was getting his own tonight—more than once, if he could ignore his damn ribs long enough.

Clay unceremoniously yanked down the zipper of his tuxedo pants, pulled his dick out, and maneuvered to enter her. She shuddered as he thrust up inside her. Her walls were still contracting from the pleasure he’d just provided, and he could feel the heady remnants of her orgasm.

He wasn’t easy on her body either. Leaning his elbow on the cushion by her head, he drove deep and long into her, claiming her body. She moaned, tightening all around him. Her hands cupped his face. All remnants of their fight had fled her face. She looked up at him with dreamy hooded eyes, and all he saw was how beautiful she was. Even though he was taking her punishment out on her body, he still found her gorgeous beneath him.

“I love when you take me like this,” she said, digging her nails into his hair.

“Hard?”

“And rough,” she agreed.

He pounded into her harder at the words. Fuck, it’d been two fucking weeks. He was pretty sure that was a record.

And then she was shuddering underneath him again. She came out of nowhere, and in response, his body jerked and bucked as she squeezed him, tilted her head back, and cried out his name. He couldn’t help it. There was no stopping it. With that kind of reaction, his dick had its own fucking mind. He leaned forward and exploded inside her, lost in the throes of release.

When he returned to himself, he slipped out of her and crashed back onto the limo seat next to her. She eased into the tiny space next to him, lying on her side, her chest heaving.

“Goddamn it, Clay,” she whispered.

“Mmm,” he murmured. He was feeling really drowsy. Since his ribs were now on fire—maybe physical activity had been a bad idea—he thought sleeping sounded pretty awesome.

“How can I stay mad at you now?” she said.

“Why the fuck are you mad at me?” he bit out. “You’re the one who broke the rules.”

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

“I’m a lawyer, honey. Try again.”

“That means you know
exactly
how to bend and break the rules to
your
liking,” she said. “I’ve learned a thing or two from you over the years. Don’t forget; I was there for the three
miserable
years of law school.”

“Oh, fuck, not this again.” He closed his eyes against the same conversation they’d had on multiple occasions. “Just because we made it through law school together doesn’t entitle you to anything.”

“Every other couple we knew has broken up or gotten divorced!” she reminded him. “Every one!”

“That’s because one person would get pissed that the other one was fucking other people. You and I didn’t give a shit about that. We had an arrangement with rules. Remember? That’s why we survived my three years in law school.”

“You’re so thick sometimes.”

He smirked. “I definitely am. You just felt how thick I am.”

Andrea snorted and sat up. Without a second thought, she grabbed the ends of her destroyed dress, tied them into a knot on the side of her leg, and somehow managed to regain all her dignity. “Not everything is about your dick.”

“Just most things.”

Andrea was silent the rest of the way back to their house. He let her brood. He was pissed enough for the both of them.

At some point, he must have dozed off because Andrea shook him awake when the limo had stopped. Clearly, he was more exhausted than he’d known. And the pain meds were wearing off.

They entered their house together, and Clay went straight for the pill bottle. He took another one to douse the flames in his sides. When he rounded back toward the foyer, Andrea was standing with her hands on her hips, staring at him.

“We should talk,” she said.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to talk?”

“I don’t care.”

He ran his hand back through his hair and started up the stairs.

She stomped after him. “Are you really just going to ignore me?”

“Talk if you must talk, woman.”

“I don’t feel like I should have to apologize about Asher.”

Clay ground his teeth. “The fact that you’re using that douche’s name in my house—”

“
Our
house,” she spat back. “Any other night, you wouldn’t have given two shits that I’d been seeing him. How many other girls have you seen through our games?”

Clay shrugged. “More than one.”

“Right. So, don’t come back all high and fucking mighty.”

“Have you seen him since that night?” Clay asked.

He glanced at her as they both walked into their massive master bedroom with the giant four-poster king-size bed in the center.

“What? No, of course not,” she said, something flashing in her eyes. She almost looked hurt that he had even asked.

Or guilty. Huh.

“Good.”

“And why do you even care?” she demanded. “You claim you aren’t jealous, but you are. You claim you don’t want a real relationship, yet you want me to be there for everything for you. You claim that this makes you happy, but it doesn’t.”

“You agreed to all of this, Andrea!” he bellowed. “You’re not the girlfriend type. You’re not the marrying type. You don’t want your heart broken. You don’t want to be left alone, like your parents left each other. You make the same fucking claims that I do.”

Her eyes spit fire at him. “And what if I’ve changed?”

“You haven’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

Clay laughed and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “Because you like the games. You thrive on the games. You said it yourself…we survived three years of law school when no one else did.” He swept his hand through her long blonde hair, pushing it off her shoulders and exposing her collarbones. “You know I care about you. You know you’re my girl. At the end of the day, I come home to you. We
work
this way.”

He could tell that she wanted to say something else, but instead, she just turned away from him and walked into her walk-in closet. Clay dropped his hand with a sigh. Everything hurt too much for this conversation.

Andrea reappeared a couple of minutes later in a silk negligee that barely graced the tops of her thighs.

“I’m going to sleep,” she said. Then, she strode right past him, crawled into the enormous bed, and turned on her side with her back facing the middle of the bed.