Dirty Scoundrel(30)

And we kiss. A lot. Oh gosh, do we kiss.

As night falls, no one seems in a hurry to leave. We take one last  twilight ride down the river, and then return our tubes. Boone sets up a  bonfire, and then everyone hangs around it, talking and laughing. Lexi  plops down next to me with a bar of chocolate and marshmallows, and we  set to making s'mores. The younger Prices keep trying to steal Lexi's  s'mores the moment she makes them, but I offer mine to Clay, mostly  because I like watching him lick his fingers.

If that's wrong, I don't want to be right.

Eventually, though, I start to yawn, and when Clay puts his arm around my waist I lean in and rest my head on his shoulder.

"We should probably head out soon," Clay murmurs, his hand going to my  knee. His skin feels deliciously cool against mine. "You look like  you're about to fall over."

I start to protest, but what comes out is a yawn.

"Yeah," Clay drawls. "That's our cue. Come on." He pats my butt. "Time to go."

"Excuse me," Lexi says, and puts on a weird British accent. "Have you  been drinking, good sir? I can't allow you to drive us home if you've  partaken of the spirits."

"What did she just say?" Seth murmurs.

"No drinking," Clay promises. "I left that to Nat. I'm the designated  driver, and now I'm going to take my girl back to our room."

"Oh goody, can I come along?" Lexi deadpans. "I don't feel like a third wheel at all."

And then I feel a little stab of guilt, because I do worry that Lexi has felt like an extra all day and I didn't notice.

"I'll take Lexi home," Knox says, getting out his phone. "I'm calling my driver right now."         

     



 

I hesitate, but Lexi gives me a sly wink that tells me she's fine with  Knox giving her a ride. Ooookay, then. "If you're sure," I say, waiting  for someone to speak up.

No one does. Lexi points at Knox's phone, reading over his shoulder. "Tell him he needs to bring us Happy Meals."

Knox nods and starts typing.

"Yeah, she's fine. Come on," Clay murmurs.

"I'll call you later," Lexi yells out as we leave. I feel a little  guilty, but I can't make her come, and I know she's sober. She's not a  drinker. Maybe she's interested in Knox? I make a mental note to grill  her tomorrow via text.

Clay holds my hand and carries my bag as we head back to his truck, and  he opens the door for me so I can slide in. The moment I do, his eyes  widen.

"What is it?" I ask, worried about that look on his face.

"Did you use sunblock?"

"I did earlier." Now that he mentions it, though, I do feel warm. Really warm. I flip down the visor and peer at my reflection.

I'm tomato red. Oh god. My face is bright pink from chin to hairline,  and I'm pretty sure my scalp is even sunburned. How is that possible? I  lift my suit strap, and the line of pale skin that was covered looks  bright enough to be a stripe on the flag. Oh boy. This is going to hurt  tomorrow.

"It must not have worked very well," I say feebly, pressing my  fingertips to my skin. "Guess that's what I get for grabbing the first  one I saw at the drugstore."

"We'll get you fixed up, baby," Clay promises.

I guess at some point I started being okay with him calling me baby again.

He begins driving and at some point I guess I nod off. I wake up and see  we're stopping at a pharmacy. "Wait here," he tells me. Clay returns a  few minutes later with a bag and puts it on the floorboard, then tucks  me against his side. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get  home."

I nod and snuggle against his shoulder. "Didn't realize I was this tired," I tell him, yawning.

"It's okay," he says with a chuckle. "I got you."

"It's a long drive back to the hotel," I tell him, rubbing my face  against his warm, delicious arm. "Let me know if you want me to drive  for a bit."

"We're good," he promises me. "You sleep."

I do. I doze off and when I wake up, the truck has stopped and Clay's  opening my door. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmurs, and hefts me into  his arms.

That wakes me up. "Clay," I protest. "You can't carry me. I can walk!"

"I've got you," he tells me. "Just put your arms around my neck."

Since I have no other choice, I do, and I'm surprised to see we're not  at the hotel. We're in front of . . . a trailer, of all things. Oh. "Is  this where you live?"

"Yeah, it's a lot closer than the hotel. It's not much to look at,  though. Sorry about that. I never bring anyone over." He goes up the  steps and pushes the door open, then flips on the light. Inside, it's  surprisingly clean and neat, with an old, beat-up sofa, a large  flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, and blankets tossed over a nearby  chair. Even his kitchen is tidy. The place is small and looks a little  worn, but it's charming to see Clay's personality in the sparse  furnishings. There's a Houston Texans jersey on the wall, and a framed  family photograph across from it. He sets me down and then lightly  presses a kiss on my nose. "You need to take a cold shower to cool your  skin off."

"I feel fine," I protest. "I'd rather look around."

"You're fine, huh?"

"Absolutely."

He pokes my shoulder with a finger.

"Ow." I swipe his hand away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Go get in the shower or I'm gonna spank  you." He wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Unless you'd like that."

"Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn't," I say loftily. "Is it in our contract?"

He only snorts. "Just get your sassy butt in the shower. A cold shower,"  he points out. "And then you're gonna come out here and drink some  water, because I want you to stay hydrated."

"Nag, nag, nag," I tease, and then ruin it by yawning. "Are we sleeping in your bed tonight?"

"Yup, we are. We'll go back to the hotel in the morning." He moves past  me farther into the trailer, and opens a door. Inside are neatly stacked  linens, and he pulls a towel out and hands it to me.         

     



 

"I'm going, I'm going," I mutter. I take the towel from him and head for  the door he's pointing at. The bathroom's neat as a pin-neater than I  expected, given Clay's rough and tumble exterior-and the body wash in  the shower caddy smells like he does. I sniff it for a long, heavenly  moment before undressing and then turning the shower on.

The cold water hits me like a log. I bite back the yelp that threatens  and cling to the tile, shocked at how freezing cold it is. It takes a  moment for me to fiddle with the knobs and figure out how to change the  water to slightly warmer, and I end up shivering under the spray for as  long as I can bear it.

A quick look in the mirror when I get out tells me that I'm going to be  feeling this in the morning. Really, really feeling this. My skin is a  deep, angry red, and pale white where my swimsuit covered it. Ugh. In  addition to painful, it looks completely unsexy as well.

"Come on out," Clay calls to me.

I wrap the towel around my body and follow his voice. The sunburn's  starting to hit me now, and I feel exhausted and achy. Clay's waiting in  his bedroom-a tiny, neat room with a nightstand full of hunting and  business magazines, and a full-size bed that's had the blankets stripped  off of it, revealing a cool white sheet.

"Lie down," Clay tells me, and pats the bed. "I'll rub aloe vera on your burns."

"I should be waiting on you," I tell him miserably. "Pretty sure the reversal isn't part of the deal."

"Fuck the deal," he says. "Get in this bed already, baby."

Well, okay, him demanding I get into bed does sound a bit like our deal.  I do, and I carefully lie down on my belly, exposing my back to him. My  movements cause the towel to shift and I whimper when it brushes  against my reddened skin.

"You're killin' me, Nat," Clay says in a frustrated voice. "Hate seein' you in pain."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't like being in pain."

He chuckles and pulls the towel down my back. "No, that don't help much."

I grab the towel from his hand and hike it back up before he can expose my butt. "You can just do my shoulders."

"Like I ain't seen every inch of you already," he teases, pulling the towel back down. "Quit bein' so shy."

"It's one thing to be sexy naked," I grump. "Another to be ailing naked. Ailing naked isn't a good naked."

"Any time you're naked, I think it's a good naked." I hear the cap flip,  and in the next moment, something screamingly cold splatters on my  back. At my yelp of protest, Clay laughs again. "Sorry. Guess it's  cold."

"You're a terrible nursemaid."

His hand smooths onto my back a moment later, spreading that cold,  soothing lotion around, and I groan at how good it suddenly feels. "I'm  not used to takin' care of no one," Clay admits. "So I might not be the  sweetest nurse, but I'll be the most enthusiastic."