Bad Husband Read online

  Clay wanted to ask her why that particular move was a force of habit and also the names, addresses, and social security numbers of every man she’d used it on, but figured he would try and play it cool.

  Frankly, just being this close to her already made it difficult to play it cool, but add in the fact that he hadn’t seen her in two days, and he was barely able to do more than stand there and stare like a thirst-stricken man dying of dehydration in the desert. Just being within a foot of her, and he felt like he’d stumbled onto an oasis.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Her lips twitched. “Hey.”

  And . . . silence.

  Heather broke it by slipping her arm through his and tugging him over to a booth. “We’re scintillating conversationalists, aren’t we?”

  “The best,” he agreed with a smirk.

  She slid onto the bench seat, tugging him down next to her. “So, are you dogging my steps now in my personal life, too?”

  “For the record,” he said. “I had a meeting, but she canceled.”

  An emotion crossed Heather’s face, here and gone so fast that it was indiscernible. “Well, that’s convenient.”

  “A business meeting,” he clarified, maybe not able to see through the many layers of defense she possessed, but also not a complete idiot. “With my lawyer.”

  “Oh.” She visibly relaxed. “Not my business.”

  “So, wings?” he added, suddenly happier than he’d been all day. “They come highly recommended apparently.”

  Heather turned so her back was against the far wall, bending one leg and rotating it sideways so that it lay across the bench seat. “Is this the moment I tell you that you don’t know your wife at all?”

  He frowned, though scarily, not because she’d referred to herself as his wife. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Oh damn, sorry,” he said. “Then not wings. How about—”

  She had him going for a second, her expression so perfectly controlled that he nearly missed the twinkle in her blue eyes.

  But then her lips curved at the same moment a server set a giant basket of wings down in front of her. “Here you go, Heath. All flats, just the way you like them.”

  Clay’s brows drew down. “You—”

  She dissolved into laughter. “Your face. Oh my God, your face!”

  “Words a man lives to hear?”

  Her giggles cut off as she looked at him, one brow raised. “Really?”

  Now his mouth was twitching. “You asked for it.”

  “You would think that I had said that I was a serial killer for how crestfallen you looked.” She snagged a wing then shoved the basket in his direction. “Plenty of people are vegetarians.”

  Which wasn’t the reason he’d been upset.

  Her admission had shaken him because he hadn’t wanted to believe he could have missed that big of a detail about her. Not when they’d already eaten more than one meal with each other, not when they’d spent a good amount of time together.

  He hadn’t liked thinking that he might not know her at all.

  She shoved the basket his way again, and he picked up a wing, grinning as she took a bite and managed to get a smear of sauce on her cheek. “I think I might actually be able to be a vegetarian”—a bite—“well, except for bacon. Bacon is just”—another bite—“too good.”

  “And wings,” he added.

  Nodding, she finished her piece then dropped the bone into the basket. “Eat up, Steele. You snooze, and I’ll take more than my share.”

  “Why do I feel like that was your motto in kindergarten?” He took a bite and nearly moaned because, goddamn, was it a good wing. “Did you used to take all the crayons? Refuse to share your juice box?”

  “First,” she said, gesturing with a half-eaten piece of chicken. “That would mean sharing straws, so gross. And second, so what if I didn’t share my Oreos? They were mine, dammit.”

  His breath caught. “You’re amazing, Heather O’Keith.”

  She froze for a beat before snagging another wing. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

  “No,” he said and kissed her, sauce and all.

  He barely felt the wing in her hand plunk onto his lap.

  But he certainly didn’t give two shits about the stain it left behind.

  Seventeen

  Heather

  * * *

  “Ahem.”

  Heather didn’t hear the voice, not at first, not when Clay’s lips were on hers and she had all but crawled into his lap as he’d kissed her. His lips, good God, she could write some really dirty poetry about his lips and the way they were somehow both soft yet demanding, hot yet soothing, lush and sexy as sin.

  She especially loved when he slid his tongue slowly across hers then nipped at the corner of her mouth.

  It gave her goose bumps, every single time.

  “Ahem.”

  Luckily, Clay wasn’t as lost to his surroundings as she was because while the throat clearing managed to penetrate her pleasure-addled ears, it still wasn’t jarring enough for her to pull her mouth away from his. But Clay, thankfully, had some sense left. He stiffened, gently setting her away from him, and turned to face the interrupter.

  “Yes?” he asked coldly and the tone was so different than the one he’d been using with her that it brought Heather back to their initial introduction.

  He’d been so standoffish months before, so frosty that the reemergence of that same quality made her realize how long it had truly been since he’d used that imperious voice with her.

  “Mind not sticking your tongue down her throat in my bar?”

  “That’s none of—”

  Heather poked her head out. “It’s my fault, Bobby. But it won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t. I can’t have my sis making all of my customers vomit.” Bobby grinned. “Another basket of wings?”

  She nodded. “Yes, please. And two of whatever’s on draft tonight.”

  Bobby left, and Heather didn’t waste any time in answering the question she knew was coming. “He’s my half-brother, but on my mom’s side.” She rolled her eyes, wondering why her parents were incapable of using any form of birth control. “I’m sure you know that Jordan is my brother, but he’s technically only a half-sibling as well. We only have the same dad. Our parents banged before his mom married his dad. My mom had me then went on to have a gaggle of other children.”

  “I—uh—” He rubbed his forehead. “So that’s a lot.”

  “That’s not even the tip of the iceberg. And it’s not just my mom, my dad gets around a lot, too. I’ve got a pack of half-siblings on his side as well, they’re all just much younger than Jordan and I.”

  “That must make for some really interesting family reunions.”

  She cleared her throat. “It’s some serious Jerry Springer bullshit up in here. Or it would be, if we actually saw each other on a regular basis.”

  “Uh—”

  Bobby plunked down two beers and another basket of wings. “What’d you do to the poor man, sis?” he asked, smirking as Clay rubbed his forehead.

  “Family tree discussion.”

  “Ah. That would do it.” He reached across Clay to tug a strand of her hair. “See you around.”

  And he was gone, disappearing to who knew where. He wouldn’t call, wouldn’t pop by her office. She knew if she wanted to keep any sort of relationship with Bobby, it was on her to reach out and maintain, and since he didn’t return texts, emails, or phone calls, she made bar visits when she was in town.

  One out of five in which he’d make an appearance, but that was probably better for everyone.

  Because while she loved Bobby, he wasn’t the greatest manager or businessman and frankly, the only reason the money her mother had given him for start-up costs hadn’t been completely blown was because Heather had personally vetted and hired all the staff at the bar.

  Luckily, good food, good location,
and good service meant the place pretty much ran itself. It also meant that her loveable but flighty half-brother could disappear for days at a time without disturbing the business.

  Of course, she got the calls he should be handling, but all in all, Heather would rather have that problem than not knowing where Bobby had flitted off to.

  At least the bar kept him close.

  Her mother’s three other children? Not so much. Last she’d heard, Trix was in Kathmandu, working at a children’s health clinic. Kevin was in the Army and the only communication she got from him was the occasional email stating that he was alive. And Will? Well, last she’d heard, he’d gotten into MIT but had instead chosen to go to a community college.

  When she’d offered to pay his tuition, thinking that the hefty price tag of MIT might have been prohibitive, he’d cut off all communication.

  So, there was that.

  Her mother, on the other hand, still sent plenty of communications, but they were all either centered on what piece of art she’d recently acquired—she was the curator for a very important museum in New York—or were filled with demands for grandchildren.

  No questions about her business, her work, her life. Her mom just wanted her to get married and have babies.

  Which was hysterical considering that her mother had five children from five different men and had never bothered to get married.

  I’m different from you, pumpkin, she’d said the last time Heather had pointed out the discrepancy. You’re not like me. You need a man in your life for the long haul.

  Not like her.

  Well, yup, Heather would take that.

  Not like her mother sounded like a damned good thing—

  Fingers on her cheek made her blink and realize that she’d been staring at the basket of wings instead of eating them. Or talking to Clay. Or, well, doing anything that a normal person might do.

  Her stomach twisted as she forced a smile that quickly transformed into indignation. The basket was empty. “Wing thief!”

  “Spoils go to the victor.” A grin. “Or maybe, you snooze you lose?” Clay winked and slid the other basket toward her. “All yours.”

  Since her mouth was burning—sauce burn, not Clay burn, thank you very much, she thought with a snort—she fished out a carrot stick and nibbled on one end. “Sorry that I zoned out on you there.”

  “No sweat.” He shrugged before taking a sip of his beer. “Ah. That’s good.” His eyes met hers. “I’m assuming you helped them pick it out.”

  Her cheeks felt hot, but she returned his shrug with one of her own. “I might have made a few suggestions.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He grinned, running one hand down the inside of her arm, making her shiver as heat arrowed directly south.

  Note to self, the arm is apparently an erogenous zone.

  “This place has Heather O’Keith written all over it.”

  Her brows pulled together, wanting to find an insult in the statement but unable to do so, not when the words were earnest and his eyes kind.

  “What does that mean?” she asked softly.

  “That the reason it’s jam-packed is because this place is well-run with good food and in a great location. It’s smart. Successful”—he touched her cheek again—“Like you.” He hesitated then said, “I’m sorry your family isn’t what you hoped.”

  Her breath caught.

  This man absolutely undid her.

  Heather let the sentiment settle deep inside her, holding it tight. Then she made a joke, because . . . shit was getting too real.

  “Messy”—she swiped a dot of sauce from the corner of his mouth and licked it off the tip of her finger—“Yummy. Like you.”

  He chuckled, giving her a goofy look that made her like him so much more. “I try.” Then he changed topics, and she felt another piece of her heart fall for him. “So, word on the street is that Tony is trying to buy out Sellco. Now that’s going to be a—”

  “Total disaster,” they finished together.

  They talked business and Netflix shows and movies they’d seen, then favorite restaurants and places to travel.

  She confessed her love of expensive pajamas.

  He confided that he hated wearing a suit.

  They talked about everything and nothing.

  And it was the best night of her life.

  Eighteen

  Clay

  * * *

  Hours later, he walked Heather to her car. It was just after two and he tried to remember the last time he’d been up this late—escapades with Heather, aside—without a laptop in front of him as he actively crunched data.

  College maybe?

  But even then he’d been serious, focused on building Steele Technologies into a powerhouse.

  His father’s company had limped on after the murders, doing fine, the board making safe but boring decisions. Clay wasn’t disappointed by that. In fact, he was grateful. Without them he wouldn’t have been able to go to college, wouldn’t have had money to fall back on when a few of his early business choices didn’t pan out.

  The board was the reason why he didn’t end up in foster care—his father’s partner becoming his guardian because Clay didn’t have any other living relatives.

  Rich had been a single man in his fifties, so Clay had been shipped off to boarding school, had stayed there in the summers and over the holidays.

  But it was better that way.

  He’d needed to get away from the sympathy, the pitying looks.

  Rich had always told him he was only holding over Steele Technologies until Clay was ready, and that had motivated him like nothing else could. He’d used the time to grow stronger, more confident, and he’d worked his ass off studying business, the marketplace, statistics, everything and anything that might one day be helpful.

  That was what having something to prove would do to a person.

  And he’d had a hell of a lot to prove.

  Rich had retired the day after Clay graduated with his master’s degree. He’d been a great listener when Clay needed to hash something out, a neutral third party when the board didn’t like one of Clay’s suggestions.

  He’d been there and was probably the reason that Clay was semi-well-adjusted.

  But Rich had died, too.

  A year ago, just after the company went public.

  And Clay had been alone again.

  The lights on Heather’s car flashed as she unlocked it, and as he stared down at the sporty little number, the past faded as a grin spread across his face.

  So, his girl had a need for speed, too.

  “What?” she asked, and he ignored the blip in his mind at the possessive word. Part of him had already decided that this woman was worth whatever risk she might bring.

  “Mine’s blue.”

  Her lips curved. “Oh. I couldn’t decide”—she brushed a hand over the silver surface—“I loved the blue but couldn’t justify the extra money for the paint job, not when she was already so expensive, and I hardly ever drive as it is.”

  “Don’t like it?” he asked, moving forward to cage her between the open door and the body of the car.

  “No. Hate it. And traffic. And other drivers.” She lifted one shoulder. “But I do occasionally give my driver a day off.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Her brows furrowed. “My driver?”

  “No, your car.” He took a step closer, loving that Heather’s breathing hitched. “You called her a she.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never actually come up with one. She’s so pretty that I guess I just always refer to her as a . . . well, a girl.”

  Clay slipped his arms around his girl, shifting her so her back rested against the body of the car, then he leaned closer, his chest brushing hers any time one of them took a breath.

  And they were both breathing pretty fast.

  “So,” he prompted, stepping even nearer, closin
g every bit of distance between them so she was sandwiched between him and the car.

  “So, what?” One of her legs came up to wrap around his hip.

  He bit back a groan. “So, what are you going to name her?” His mouth dropped near her ear, and he pressed a kiss just behind it, loving that Heather’s hands slid behind his head to hold him there.

  “Mmm,” she moaned as he kissed her neck. “I’m—” She hissed when he nipped her throat. “Behave, or I won’t tell you.”

  She tugged at his head, drawing him away from her skin and up to her mouth. Their lips nearly touching, her breath warm and hot and with just the hint of mint from the gum she’d chewed earlier.

  “I’ll behave,” he said.

  A scoff. “Unlikely,” she replied. “Especially when your hands are doing that.”

  Clay hadn’t realized he’d moved, gripping her other thigh to coax it around his waist, sliding his palms up and down the softness there. If only those sexy-as-hell jeans weren’t in his way.

  He smiled. “I like that.”

  Her tongue darted out, swept across his lips. “Me, too. Which is why I’m not stopping you.”

  “You’re also stalling because you can’t come up with a good name.”

  “Nope,” she said, a smug grin on her lips. “I came up with one the moment you mentioned it.”

  “Yeah?” A nod in response that made her lips brush against his, her hips flex just enough to be the most intimate sort of tease. “Well, then tell me already.”

  Her hips shifted again, and this time he couldn’t hold back his groan.

  “Kind of liking this not telling you thing.”

  “Heather,” he warned, running out of patience that had nothing to do with her car’s damn name and everything to do with the fact that he wanted her naked and under him.

  “Oh, poor baby,” she said, but her words were breathless and a sexy little moan escaped her lips when he slid a hand up under her shirt.

  Skin. Fuck he loved her skin.

  “Name,” he demanded, not that he gave a shit about the stupid name any longer. He just wasn’t above using any tactic he could to stay where he was, Heather wrapped around him, his cock pressed tightly against her pussy.