Erin McCarthy - Full Throttle

As Rhett walked his mother to her car, Shawn busied herself shoving the bridal magazines into a pile and cramming them into the desk in the corner of the living room. Then she carried dirty coffee mugs to the kitchen and filled the sink with soapy water.

“You’re always doing dishes,” Rhett said when he came back in. “Why don’t you use the dishwasher?”

“It’s broken. I don’t have the money to replace it.” It was a hated chore, but then again, weren’t all chores hated by most people?

“What’s wrong with it? Did it actually die, or it’s just not getting dishes clean?”

“It’s not getting the dishes clean. There’s dried old food on them after an hour of water spritzing them. It makes no sense.” Though she wasn’t sure why they were talking about this.

“The jets are probably clogged.”

Before she realized what was going on, Rhett was on the floor, dishwasher door open, parts being inspected. “Where are your tools? I need a screwdriver.”

Was he for real? Shawn swished her hand to make the suds inflate. “You don’t have to fix my dishwasher.”

“It’s no big deal. It’ll take me ten minutes.” He smiled up at her. “Besides, if you’re washing dishes ten times a day, it’s going to cut into our sexy time.”

Oh, geez. She should have known. “I’m not planning to be horizontal the majority of my day. I don’t think doing the dishes is going to ruin our sex life.”

“Just a little insurance.” He stood up and kissed the back of her head. “Where is the screwdriver? And a drill would be helpful.”

“In the basement. Next to the washer and dryer.” She should have left it at that. But she wasn’t wired that way—she was a button pusher. So she added, “And who says I have any intention of having sex with you again? Just because you fix my dishwasher doesn’t mean I will lie down for you any time. I may need some convincing, you know.”

He stopped on his way across the kitchen and studied her. “You like to play this game, don’t you? You want me to get aggressive and throw you down on the floor and prove you like my attention.”

Maybe. “No, of course not. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hell, the truth was, she did want him to throw her down and make her forget that they were married. Which was messed up, she had to admit.

“Liar.” He laughed softly. “But the answer is no. Because I don’t dance on a puppet string. If you want me to fuck you, just ask and I’ll decide if I want to give it to you or not.”

Shawn felt her jaw drop. “You’ll decide? Oh, you’ll decide? Screw that!” Any sort of tender feelings she’d been having toward him disappeared pronto. She was sorry she’d let him gag her. Shawn Hamby was not to be gagged. She had things to say, damn it. Opinions that mattered. “I am not the kind of woman who is going to beg you for sex.”

“Who said anything about begging? I meant I think you’re strong enough to ask for what you want without dancing around in passive-aggressive style. Don’t hint, then expect me to do all the work. It doesn’t suit you.” With that, he went down the basement steps.

Shawn was tempted to throw a coffee mug at the back of his head. “Asshole,” she muttered in frustration, and it felt good. She didn’t understand him. At all.

Wouldn’t he want her to be sly about sex? Wasn’t that the point of a man who wanted to dominate? She was supposed to be coy and shy, and he was supposed to grab her and do her? He was right, she was willing to play that game. But this one? She didn’t even know what game they were playing, let alone what the rules were.

Which pissed her off. She didn’t like to lose. She was a born competitor.

So when he came back upstairs with tools in hand, knelt down, and leaned into the dishwasher, she couldn’t let it go. “I thought you wanted to do the work. I thought that was the whole freaking point. So what am I supposed to do, Rhett? What am I allowed to do? Not that I ever agreed to be your submissive, but what does a submissive do exactly if it’s not flirt, beg, hint, or demand?”

His head popped out of her dishwasher. “You’re supposed to trust me. You’re supposed to trust me enough to be honest and direct with me.”

It wasn’t an answer that was going to satisfy her. Ever. “How is this for direct? You can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

Rhett didn’t say anything, which further annoyed her. He just fiddled and unscrewed and pulled something that looked like a dead mouse—holy shit, was that a mouse?—out of her dishwasher. Shawn waited until he had dropped the pile of yuck he was holding, expecting him to answer her. But he didn’t.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?”

“I wasn’t aware that was a question,” he replied.

She threw her soapy sponge at him. “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

The sponge bounced off his knee, leaving a trail of suds down his shin. He didn’t even look up. “You told me I’m sleeping in the guest room. I told you that this is your house, and I’ll do whatever you say. So I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

That was a deflating response to her anger.

No. She definitely did not understand Rhett Ford.

“What happened to ordering Chinese food?” It was an emotional hook to hold on to her anger, she knew that. Was fully aware of how juvenile it was. Yet couldn’t stop herself from seeking some sin to lay at his feet.

“I came home early. But I can order it now if you’d like. I can go and pick it up.”

Said the man very respectfully as he fixed her dishwasher. She was stymied. “We can just get it delivered.”

Finishing the dishes, Shawn dried her hands off and reached for her cell phone. While Rhett worked, she found herself dialing for delivery, asking him what he wanted.

By the time the food arrived, he had finished with the dishwasher and was washing his hands. “We can test it with the Chinese food dishes,” he told her. “But it should run just fine now.”

“Thanks.” Because she was grateful and sheepish and uncomfortable. What was happening between them? It was something. It was nothing. It was nothing she’d ever encountered and nothing she understood.

She wanted to trust him, but to what end? She didn’t know. And she wasn’t quite there yet.

While eating, they talked about the track schedule and about Rhett’s car and who to hire as a marketing director. His advice was sound, his tone respectful. After watching the cup series race on TV, Shawn went to bed.

Alone. Rhett just said good night and gave her a yawn, still on the couch.

It should have felt like a victory.

Instead it just felt unsatisfying. Like diet ice cream.

In her PJ bottoms and a USC T-shirt, she poked her head out of her room and called down the hallway, “Do you need help moving tomorrow? I can come to your apartment and help you pack, or clean the apartment, or whatever.”

“No, that’s okay,” he called back. “I’m sure Nolan and I can handle it.”

That wasn’t satisfying either. “No, really, I can help.” She wasn’t a total bitch. She was helpful, a hard worker, a good friend. She just didn’t like being told what to do. But she could offer. “You want the apartment clean or you won’t get your deposit back.”

“Yeah, Nolan would probably appreciate that since it’s his.” Rhett was just in her line of view, even though he was twenty feet away. She couldn’t read his expression. “Thanks, Shawn.”

“You’re welcome. And thanks again for fixing the dishwasher.”

“My pleasure.”

She hovered in the doorway, feeling like an idiot. Then she said, “Good night,” yet again and retreated, closing her door behind her.

When she climbed into bed, she swore she could smell him on her sheets.

The vibrator stared at her in the dark from the nightstand, mocking her, while her vagina berated her for being so stubborn.

Maybe her pillow would like to insult her while they were at it. Shawn punched it so it wouldn’t get any ideas, and threw her head down, feeling bitter, determined not to think about Rhett.

So far marriage was a dress that didn’t fit her.

She’d much rather be naked.

With Rhett. Naked, him thrusting into her again, her cries trapped by the tight fabric over her mouth . . .

Uh-oh. If this was her not thinking about it, this was going to be a long night.

Because she knew from experience that he would not come into her room.

And she was right. He didn’t.

RHETT threw the last of his clothes in one of the boxes Nolan had brought with him and surveyed his empty bedroom. He wasn’t sorry to be leaving this small and dark apartment, though he was sorry he’d been relegated to Shawn’s guest bedroom. But it was for the best, for now. He wasn’t going to live with that passive-aggressive shit, where she poked at him and circled around what was bothering her and jabbed with sly, underhanded comments. So he would stay in the guest room and hope she would learn to trust him, learn that she could say whatever she was thinking, feeling, and he would respect that.

He wanted to make her happy. It was that simple.

But he wasn’t going to be put in a position where he never knew if a sponge, or worse, was going to come at him.

Was he demanding and intense? Yes, he was. He couldn’t change that, and he was honest about it, had been from the first minute he met her. But he was also fair, helpful, polite. So he liked to think. So why was Shawn fighting him so hard at every turn? It was like she was determined to wrest power from him.

“You okay?” Nolan asked him, appearing in the doorway. “You look like you could chew glass and like it.”