Feverish (Bullet #3) Read Free

was shoving her panties and
bra into her purse. She picked up the leather miniskirt off the
floor under the coffee table and sat down to slide it on. Clay felt
Jet rearing his ugly head, but maybe a little Jet was just what
CarmenLuciaAnja needed. “Look, babe.” He almost cringed hearing his
own voice, but he pressed on. “Don’t take it personally.”
    She almost snarled. “How exactly am I
supposed to take it?”
    He shrugged, resisting the urge to display
himself like a trophy. “Consider yourself lucky. Not a lot of women
can say they’ve slept with a rock star.” Add to that, Clay knew he
was well endowed and good in bed—one groupie had dubbed him fucktastic . This woman had no idea how lucky she was.
    Except Clay felt like a skeezy slimebag even
thinking that.
    No way would he let her in on that secret,
though.
    She rolled her eyes and stood up, buttoning
the sleeveless leopard-print blouse up the front. “Whatever. I’ve
had better.”
    He doubted that, even though it still took
him down a peg. But he couldn’t let on. “Oh, really?”
    She snarled. “I don’t kiss and tell, but I’ve
fucked some of the best.”
    All right. He couldn’t let it go. “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. Guys from Deftones, Five Finger Death
Punch, Black Veil Brides, The Last Savior of God, Fully Automatic,
Kytten Punched, Em—”
    He felt his eyes narrow. He was pretty sure
she was full of shit about at least half of the bands she’d named.
“Fully Automatic?” He’d toured with those guys more than once. At
this point, he figured she was just trying to get under his skin,
and if he wasn’t careful, she would. Still…he knew the guys in
Fully Automatic quite well.
    “Yeah. You know Ethan Richards?”
    Oh, of course. And he could actually believe
that one. Not nowadays, but earlier in Richards’s career. If she
said she fucked him last week, Clay would start laughing. Ethan’s
girlfriend had just had a baby recently, and Clay was pretty sure
the guy had been clean for a couple years. He was convinced the
dude was still a prick, but that was beside the point. “You should
know the answer to that, considering our bands have toured
together.”
    “Yeah, well, I’ve tapped that.”
    God, Clay was going to make her launch into
another pummeling streak if he wasn’t careful, but he just couldn’t
stop himself. “You and half the groupies on the planet.”
    She reached under the coffee table for one of
her thigh high boots and snarled at him. If he couldn’t control
himself, she was going to deck him again. “Fuck you, you
fuckstain.”
    He had it coming, but she was losing her
creativity. He would just shut up and smile and lock the door
behind her when she left. He leaned against the wall and crossed
his arms over his chest while she zipped up her boot. Then she got
on her hands and knees to look for the other shoe. He hoped she
didn’t get splinters from the end table, because then he’d never get rid of her.
    Then he spied the top of the boot behind the
chair next to the fireplace. He walked over to the chair and pulled
the boot out. He walked over to her, still on all fours but on the
other side of the coffee table, and held the boot in front of her.
She stopped and looked up at him, a scowl still on her face. She
reached out and tugged hard on the boot. She got up and stormed
back to the couch where she finagled it on. Clay managed to keep
his trap shut and just enjoyed hearing Judas Priest rattling around
in his head.
    When she finally stood, she pulled on her
blouse to snug it down and then stomped over to the other chair in
the room, scooping up her tiny black purse and throwing the strap
over her shoulder. She licked her index fingers and rubbed them
under her eyes. She must have known she had a lot of caked-on
makeup there, and she looked a little better after she did that.
She walked over to the front door and unlocked it. She opened the
door, but before she walked through it, she turned around and
looked at