Tapping Her (Billionaire Bad Boys 1.5)

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.