Dirty Scoundrel(46)

And by renovate, I mean I tear rooms up and then call people in to fix  up my messes. I'm not much of a painter, alas, but a real one's coming  tomorrow. I head to the master bedroom, slide on my shoes, and then grab  the keys and head out of the house, down the walkway, and toward Lexi's  bungalow. The property we picked came with a cottage joined to the  sprawling main house by a little pathway in the backyard, so I offered  for Lexi to move in. Her yoga business has been failing and failing hard  back in Luka. The town's too small-and Lexi's too weird-for it to work.  She's now doing home visits and trying to set up a web presence, but  she's been rather distracted lately to get much done.

I know that feeling. It seems like life seems to hit all at once sometimes. It's been the same for me.

Dad had another fall not long after Clay and I got married, and at the  suggestions of his nurses, we moved Dad to a home in San Antonio. It's  one of the most expensive ones available, and he's got a massive suite  all to himself. There's care-staff that can look after him night and  day. More importantly, there are no stairs for him to fall down. I  thought he'd hate it, but to my surprise, he actually loves the home. It  seems that there are a lot of fans of his movies, and he's treated like  the celebrity he is every time he leaves his room. They even have Chap  Weston movie nights on a regular basis, and my dad's the center of  attention when they do. He loves that. I visited yesterday and it was  like my dad was constantly holding court, signing autographs, flirting  with the ladies, and charming the nurses. I haven't seen him so happy in  years. It took a lot of the stress off of me to realize that he needed  real company, not just a nursemaid.

Dad's not thrilled I'm with Clay. Not at all. But most days he doesn't  even remember who Clay is, so I try not to let it bother me. I'm not  going to let Dad's misery control my life. Not any longer. At the end of  the day, he's just a sad, elderly old man who spent more time unhappy  than anyone should, and I'm not going to let that happen to me.  Sometimes he'll call and gripe at me for making poor life choices, but  most times Dad lives in his own little world.         

     



 

I don't bring Clay up, and Clay has no interest in seeing Dad. Works for me.

Since I married Clay and we now live closer to San Antonio, the Chap  Weston Museum is now run by a few employees, and Clay and I head out  there every now and then to check on things. It doesn't make a ton of  money, but it's important to my dad-and to me, oddly enough-that it not  fail, so on it goes. As long as it's in the black, I don't feel guilty  about it. Clay wouldn't care if it was a money pit; he just wants me to  be happy.

I get to the door of Lexi's little cottage and I can hear her weird yoga  music playing in one of the back rooms. I knock, but there's no answer,  so I try peeking into one of the windows. They're all closed, though.  Hmm. I debate texting her again, when my gut decides to revolt and  another wave of nausea hits. Uh-oh. I glance back up at the main house,  but it's a good walk back up the steps, and I suspect I won't make it in  time.

So I try Lexi's doorknob. It's unlocked, thank goodness, so I let myself  in, racing toward the bathroom down the hall. I make it to the toilet  just in time to puke my guts out. There's not much left in my stomach,  so I end up just dry heaving against the porcelain bowl for a while, and  then grab the nearest towel to wipe my face, whimpering.

"Uh, dude? You okay?"

I turn around to see Lexi in a towel-and nothing else-standing in the  doorway behind me. Her dark hair is disheveled and she looks sweaty.

"Sorry," I say weakly. "I wasn't trying to let myself in but my stomach kinda had ideas of its own."

"Should I call 9-1-1?" Her voice is deadpan, but she moves to the edge of the tub and offers me a fresh towel.

"Very funny," I say, shaking my head. "I'll be okay. I just need a  moment. Did I catch you before you were about to get in the shower?"

"That would be kind of difficult, seeing as I'm sitting on the edge of  the shower," Lexi says, amused. "You did catch me at a bad time,  though."

"You have a package-" I begin, and then stop, because when I lift my  head, I can see right into Lexi's bedroom. There's a naked ass in her  bed. A very white, naked ass, and the owner of it is facedown in the  covers. For a moment, my heart stops. But then the man sits up, and I  see that it's Knox.

Ew. I just saw my brother-in-law's naked ass.

In my best friend's bed.

I shoot Lexi a look of horror. "What-"

"It's not what it looks like," she begins, and then tilts her head. "Actually, no, it's exactly what it looks like."



I'm back home a very short time later, still a little unnerved at  finding out that Lexi and Knox are sleeping together. I collapse on the  sofa in the living room-or what will eventually be the living room-and  close my eyes, trying not to get another visual of my weird friend and  my weird brother-in-law having sex.

No sooner do I lie down than the front door opens. "Babe?" Clay bellows.

"In the living room," I call out, struggling to sit up.

He appears a moment later, a gorgeous view for any woman. I drink up the  sight of him-his now-thick beard, his slightly too-long dark hair, his  laughing green eyes, his broad shoulders and amazing, taut body. I sigh.  In addition to a raging case of sour stomach, I also have an incredible  libido, which is a terrible pairing. I get turned on at the drop of a  hat, and then my gut shuts that idea down promptly. It's kinda hellish.

"Don't get up, baby," Clay says, coming to kneel by the couch. He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead tenderly. "You okay?"

"Same as usual," I tell him. "Thrown up twice so far today, but the good  news is that there isn't much left in my stomach." I grimace. "And  you'll never guess what I saw today."

"Save it," he says, and rubs his knuckles lightly over my cheek. "You lie down and I'm gonna make you some tea."

"Why are you home so early?" I ask.

He shrugs those big, delicious shoulders and just that simple movement  gets me hot and bothered. "My baby needed ginger tea. So I came."

"Yes, but I could have waited-"

He shakes his head at me. "My baby needed ginger tea," he states firmly. "Now close your eyes."

"You big overbearing dweeb," I tell him affectionately, but I do as he  says. I always do as Clay says. It's impossible to argue with him,  because he never believes he's wrong. It's cute.

I wake up a short time later to find Clay sitting on the far end of the  couch, and he's got my feet in his lap. He's texting someone quietly on  his phone with one hand and rubbing my ankles with the other. I yawn.  "Did I sleep long?"         

     



 

"‘Bout an hour," he tells me, and his thumb strokes my foot. "How you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

"I'm gonna get you that tea now. You stay put."

I sit up as Clay leaves the room, watching his tight butt flex in his  even tighter jeans. Lord have mercy, but I hope my stomach holds up for a  few hours, because I'm feeling really turned on at the moment. My  husband returns a moment later, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He  gives it to me and watches me closely as I sip it. He's attentive and  possessive normally, but now that I'm pregnant? That's ratcheted up to  eleven and Clay's worse than a mama bear . . . and I have to admit, I  eat it up. Every single moment of it.

"Better?" Clay asks.

The tea tastes terrible, but I don't want him to worry. He already  worries about me too much, and we're only in month two. I smile and tell  a tiny fib. "Much."

He sits back down at the far end of the couch and puts my feet back in  his lap. I resist the urge to rub his cock with my feet. My goodness,  I'm feeling frisky. It's got to be my big, delicious husband doting on  me that's got me so revved up. "I can't believe you're home so early."

He shrugs, a smile on his lips. "Missed you and my baby."

And that does it. This man is going to get laid. Right here, right now. I  carefully set my mug of tea down on the table next to the couch, and  then fling myself into Clay's embrace.

His eyes widen when my arms go around his neck. "Babe?"

"I'm feeling a little . . ." I trail a finger down the front of his shirt. "Amorous."

His eyes go smoky at the thought. "And your stomach?"

"Don't care about my stomach," I tell him in my best, most sultry voice.  "At least, not right now. Other parts of me are aching."

"Allow me to help, then, Mrs. Price." He pulls me into his lap, dragging my skirt up.

I run my fingers through his gorgeous, full beard and shift my hips,  rubbing against his cock. I love days like today. Actually, I love every  day now that I'm with Clay. Everything seems bright and full of promise  now that we're together. And as he grabs the crotch of my panties and  pulls them aside in a move that makes me breathless, it makes me think  there's no way I could be happier. Clay's my life, and I was just going  through the motions without him. I lean in and brush my mouth against  his, lost in his touch.