Tapping Her (Bad Boy Billionaires #1.5) Read online

He chuckled at that. “You realize how fucking absurd and downright hilarious it is that you, little toothless, pigtail-wearing-Cassie, named her pig Dad, right?”

  “He looked like a Dad. And I was never innocent enough to pull off pigtails.”

  “Fuck, you’re fantastic.” A giant grin consumed his face. “What happened to Dad?”

  “My mom got tired of him constantly tearing up the house, so they sent him to a farm.”

  “A farm, farm? Or like ‘a farm’?” he asked, gesturing quotation marks with his fingers.

  I squinted. “I don’t understand the difference. I thought a farm was a fucking farm.”

  He slowly tilted his head to the side, assessing my incredulous expression. After a few seconds, he merely smiled and got off my bed, walking around my bedroom and getting all up in my personal shit.

  I followed his big-ass feet across the room, yanking a picture frame from his hands. “Not so fast, Thatcher. What other kind of farm are you talking about?”

  For a fraction of a second, I watched his eyes go wide before he schooled his expression into one that was irritatingly neutral.

  And then, it clicked. The bastard was insinuating that my mom had Dad offed. He hadn’t been—I’d checked, and had even made my mother get pictures of Dad with his new farm family. Well, two could play that game. I’d make Thatch rethink opening his big fucking mouth before I was through with him. Good thing I’d always been a fantastic actress.

  “Oh, my God!” My hand went to my mouth. “You don’t think my—”

  “No,” he backtracked, eyes wide and head shaking adamantly.

  I almost wanted to drop the act when I saw the distressed look on his face. Almost.

  “That’s not what I said. I’m sure your parents sent Dad to a real farm. A really nice farm. I bet Dad had the time of his life at that farm. I bet he was a wild man, doing crazy pig shit and frolicking in the fields. Maybe you ate a lot of ham that month, but I’m sure it was a coincidence.”

  Ham. It took a whole lot of willpower not to burst out into laughter. Even when he was trying to be serious, he couldn’t help himself. The man was sarcastic to his core, and it gave me a very odd sense of déjà vu.

  “Oh. My. God!” I shoved his shoulder hard, forcing him to take a step back. “You think my mom had Dad killed?!”

  His eyes transformed from playful to panicked.

  “No. No. That’s not what I think. I think he grew old on that happy, beautiful farm. I bet Dad died doing what he loved, rolling around in shit and pulling some serious piggy tail.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said, staring off into space and putting on my best distraught look. “I can’t believe my mom killed Dad. I feel like my entire childhood is a lie. My whole life is one big fucking lie. Thanks a lot, Thatch!” I stabbed him in the chest with my index finger. “You have ruined everything.”

  “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sure Dad is still alive. I bet that fucker’s gonna live to be a hundred!”

  “Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.” I turned away from him, fighting the smile threatening to cover my entire face, and threw myself onto my mattress. “This whole time I thought Dad was happy with another family on a farm, when in reality, he was dead.” My voice was muffled in my pillows. “Dad was dead, and no one even fucking knew about it. My mom fucking had Dad offed because, apparently, he was too much of a hassle.”

  A soft chuckle hit my ears, and I turned onto my back, finding Thatch vibrating with silent laughter. The expression on his face—a fine mix of hilarity and constipation—almost made me break.

  “Are you laughing?” My lips burned as I tried to hide my amusement with feigned disgust.

  “Definitely not. That’d be a real asshole thing to do,” he muttered, trying like hell to fight a smile. He assessed my face and started to grin. “Wait a minute…” He paused, pointing a finger at my face. “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Are you insinuating I’m not upset about Dad?”

  He nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And by the look of that smile trying to swallow your face, I’d say I’m right. You look like the fucking Joker.” He laughed, shaking his head. “It actually scares me how good you are at acting. I feel bad for every motherfucker that’s fallen inside your trap. You should come with a warning label, honey.”

  Even though he was one-hundred-percent correct, I still grabbed my TV remote from the nightstand and chucked it at him for having the audacity to accuse me of being a lot to handle. I was, but only I got to say I was high-maintenance.

  Unfortunately, Thatch was a lot quicker than he looked, crouching down, and giving the remote nowhere else to go but straight at my window. It cracked and shattered with an impressive screech, glass flying onto the hardwood floor like confetti.

  Well, fuck.

  He straightened from his crouched position and assessed the damage. His fingers running along the broken glass and noting the giant hole in the center.

  Thatch turned around, facing me. “I’ll take the blame for breaking the news to you about Dad’s death, but this—” he gestured a thumb over his shoulder “—this one’s on you, crazy.”

  I sighed. “Son. Of. A. Bitch.”

  And that was how I had managed to get Thatcher Kelly shirtless and sweaty, hammering nails into a piece of plywood that covered my broken window.

  “Honestly, Cass, if you wanted a striptease, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve obliged, and you wouldn’t have to replace a window.” He glanced over his shoulder, smirking.

  I was lying on my belly, chin resting in my hands, and enjoying the show from the comfort of my bed. A few rogue droplets of sweat slid down his back, bumping over the beautiful dips and valleys of his muscular form. Damn, this man had to put some serious hours in at the gym to look that good.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked, lining up another nail against the wood. “Next time, let’s avoid all of the menial labor and focus both of our energies on something more entertaining. Something that involves your tits and me in a deep, mouth-to-nipple conversation.”

  “Why are you still talking?” I took a sip from the straw inside my can of Coke. “You’re supposed to be standing there, hammering your wood, and looking pretty. I’m not paying you for small talk.”

  “Pretty sure you’re not paying me at all,” he pointed out. “Your crazy ass broke the window, and now I’m stuck putting up a temporary solution until you can get someone in here to replace it.”

  “Meh, those are just minor details at this point.”

  “Okay. Here’s the deal,” he said, lining up another nail. “Wrap those gorgeous lips of yours around my cock, and we’ll call it even.”

  “Slut,” I responded through a cough.

  “I never said dirty talk was a requirement, but if that’s what gets you off, I guess I can roll with it.” He glanced over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows in my direction.

  “You know,” I responded, tapping my chin. “Considering I’m a fan of sucking cock, I probably would’ve gone for it. But since you lost Walter, and we’ve yet to find Satan himself, I’m gonna have to pass.”

  “Shit. I almost forgot about that goddamn cat,” Thatch muttered.

  “Yeah, I kind of did too,” I said, eyes still fixated on his biceps as he hammered in the last nail. I was starting to think we were terrible friends to Kline and Georgie. I probably should have been out searching for Walnuts rather than lounging around, watching Thatch’s big muscles at work.

  It was definitely time to resume our search. No way in hell could I let Georgia come home to her cat missing.

  I got up from my bed and headed for the hallway. “Move those fucking clown feet into my bathroom and get cleaned up. Time’s a wastin’ on finding The Asshole.” I called over my shoulder.

  A few feet into the hallway, I heard Thatch mutter, “Jesus Christ. That little cocksucker. Not even my cat, and he’s ruining everything.”

  “Don’t you think we should actua
lly search the apartment building in which he vanished before the rest of Manhattan?” I asked for the second time today.

  Crazy Cassie had been convinced immediately after Walter’s disappearing act that he’d up and, I don’t know, fucking teleported himself to the other side of Central Park. She’d dragged me out onto the sidewalk, and led by the helpful direction of her tits, I’d followed right along on a roller coaster ride straight into hell. Up and down the sidewalks of the park, from one side to the other and back again, a Twilight Zone cab ride, and a little light manual labor at her apartment later, and here I was, about to follow her into the depths of Manhattan fitness and fornication again.

  I guess that makes me the crazy one.

  “Would you stop contradicting every fucking thing I say? Use that beanstalk body of yours and search the surrounding area.”

  Fed up, I pulled her to a stop with the hand she was dragging me by. “I’m going back to search the building, and if I don’t find him, I’m calling Kline.”

  “Thatcher—”

  “No, Cass. Stay out here and search if you want, but you’ll never find Walnuts in the bevy of strays combing Central Park. God, for all we know, the little prick has a key to their apartment and is halfway through his afternoon bath in the middle of their goddamn bed.”

  “Shit!” she yelled, her face falling as she started running in the direction we had come, shoving people out of the way as she went.

  “What?” I asked, breaking into a jog to keep up.

  “The door!” she shrieked. “We left the door to their apartment open!”

  Oh, fuck.

  Yeah, safe bet they weren’t going to be asking us to watch their apartment or their cat again.

  My legs were twice the length of hers, so I passed her easily, sprinting through the crowded sidewalk. I slammed through the door, nodding at the doorman as I went, and thanking fuck their building had one.

  Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I took the stairs three at a time. Fourteen stories up with sweat pouring like a fucking faucet from my temples, I finally burst through the stairwell door and out into their hallway.

  The door was open just like Cass had said, so I said a silent prayer I hadn’t just deprived my best friend and his new bride of all their belongings.

  Shoving the door as I went, I slid to a stop just inside and examined the open floor plan with manic eyes. All the furniture seemed to be in place, and nothing of value stood out as missing, but I hadn’t kept an actual fucking inventory list either.

  I’d just started to take a full breath when a tap on my shoulder sent me into a near seizure.

  Cassie spoke as if nothing was amiss. “Stuff’s all here, but no devil cat. The door was closed, by the way. Whoops.”

  I put a hand to my forehead and tried to stop the nearly brain-piercing urge to strangle her.

  “What took you so long?” she went on, having beaten me up here by taking the elevator.

  White-hot rage consumed every cubic inch of my insides, but I tried my best to tamp it down.

  Is this what an aneurysm feels like?

  “Hey, Thatcher, you okay?” she asked, her face turning serious as I sank to the floor and rubbed at the tension in my temples. Her bra-covered breasts pushed against the fabric of her T-shirt as she sat down beside me.

  How in the fuck did I still find this crazy asshole woman attractive? What was wrong with me?

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, scrubbing at my eyes and hoping they had some kind of link to my actions. “I want to donate my brain to science.”

  “Huh?”

  “Like the football players are doing for concussions. I think this would be worthwhile research too.” As my head fell back to the wall behind me, she nudged me roughly with one of her feet.

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now, but stop it,” she demanded. “You’re scaring me, and it’s pissing me off.”

  I turned my head and looked into her eyes to find them actually angry, spitting blue flames and making the end of her nose pull slightly askew. She straddled the line between angelic and evil too easily. She foiled that boundary with the mystifying mix of her peaches and cream skin and powerful, knowing eyes.

  Too wild to be innocent, too authentic to be wicked.

  Her light pink lips pursed, and without a thought, mine were on them. They acted on their own, begging for an invitation from her or me, or both of us, to take it further. One moment bled into the next without thought or action until her lips moved under mine. Not far and not open, but not away either.

  Stunned, I pulled back. I couldn’t understand it, but something in me didn’t want to hear her say no—so I said it for her.

  “Thank fuck,” I said, a rough rasp lingering in the edges of my voice. “I finally found a way to shut you up.”

  The vivid blue of her eyes clouded by derision, she jumped to standing. Though they were marred, they were still resoundingly powerful, chaining me to them. Even knowing her chest must have bounced with the movement, my gaze never left the confounded lines of her face. It was so out of character; I didn’t even recognize myself.

  “Don’t ever kiss me again without permission,” she whispered shakily. The rough edge of her command cut like a knife. All traces of superficial playfulness had disappeared, and the look in her eyes burned through several layers of flesh until it met my soul.

  Some kind of nerve had been frayed, and I wasn’t sure I was a talented enough surgeon to execute the repair. The only option was to move on, and the only tactic I knew how to employ was avoidance.

  I climbed to my feet. “Let’s search for Walter one more time. Here, inside the apartment, and around this floor. If we don’t find him in the next thirty minutes or so, I’ll call Kline.”

  “That deadbeat isn’t going to care! Georgie cares. Fuck, she’s gonna be mad.”

  “Don’t worry,” I comforted her but didn’t move closer. “Kline gives no fucks about Walter, but he gives all kinds of fucks about Georgia. He’ll hire a fucking private detective if he has to.”

  “A cat detective?” she asked as she considered my words, tilting her head to the side and grinning just enough to look normal again.

  I shrugged and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. If there are cat burglars, there must be cat detectives, right?”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Yeah.” We didn’t agree on much, but on that, we were on the same fucking page.

  I was thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. Things that would probably never happen. Things I wasn’t even sure I wanted to happen.

  And that made me the goddamn king of royally fucked.

  Bora Bora, Thursday, April 20th, Afternoon

  I glanced through the open bathroom door to the steam coming out of the shower and back down to the screen of my phone to confirm the name on the incoming call said what I thought it did.

  It fucking did.

  With a touch of the green phone icon and a frustrated groan, I answered and didn’t mince words. “You, Cassie, Wes, or Walter better be dead or in the process of getting that way.”

  “What if I told you Wes is fine, Cassie’s crazy, I almost died, and the cat is missing?” Thatch said in my ear without pause.

  “Shit.” The piercing pain of aggravation made me squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Yeah,” he confirmed.

  I turned to face away from the bathroom and paced the space in front of the bed.

  “The first three I understand, but how in the fuck did we arrive at the fourth? Walter is the bane of my existence, but other than being sloppy and surly, he’s surprisingly easy to watch.”

  “Well, we thought it happened while I was having a conversation with Cassie’s tits—and seriously, we’ll have to have another talk about that later—but it actually happened while she was threatening to go all Fight Club with your neighbor.”

  “It’s actually painful to be friends with you right
now.”

  Exasperated laughter pulsed in my ear. “I’m picking up on that. You’ve got a seriously heavy aura pouring through the phone lines right now.”

  “You know what comes through right after my aura?” I asked.

  “Something tells me I don’t wanna know, but at the same time, I have to know.”

  “My hand. To fucking strangle you.”

  “Kline—”

  “I’m on my honeymoon right now,” I pointed out the obvious. “A vacation specifically designed for constant sex with my insanely hot wife. And you and fucking Wes won’t stop interrupting it.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced toward the bathroom again.

  “I don’t know about Wes, but this is my first and final time, dude. I just want to know if the cat’s got a tracking chip in it.”

  I wrapped a hand around my throat, dropped my head back, and closed my eyes. “I’m not completely sure, but my mom would know. She did all of his vet stuff.”

  “Thank fuck,” he muttered. He actually sounded worn-out and weird. But I didn’t care. I planned to save all of my energy for exponentially more pleasurable activities, and I refused to let my tendency to care get in the way of that.

  “She’s also likely to make your life a living hell if you speak with her directly about her missing, beloved cat,” I advised. “Your best bet is to talk to Bob.”

  Thatch chuckled. “I don’t know why you decided to show leniency toward me by telling me that, but thank you. I can only handle one irrational woman at a time.”

  “You’re welcome. And you owe me.” I stood from the bed again and looked out at the turquoise water. If it weren’t for the sun, it might have looked like it went on forever.

  He sighed. “I’m completely unsure how my watching your cat has ended in me owing you another favor, but I don’t even care. As long as this day ends without bloodshed or blue balls, I’ll count it as a very difficult win.”

  My eyebrows pinched together, and I turned to the sound of Georgie in the bathroom door. “I don’t know, I don’t want to know, I don’t need to know. Just take care of it,” I said in vague dismissal.