He wasn’t surprised when she hit back with a stern drawl. “Very uncool, Mr. Tyler. Very.” And then she softened a teeny tiny bit. “But also very, um … informative.” Glancing around, he saw the delight she felt. “This might work for me.” She nodded. Her quirky half grin became that adorably cute smirk, and he sighed.
Whew. She wasn’t going to clean his clock for being a pushy asshole.
“But seriously, Ty.” Rubbing a hand against her stomach, she groaned. “Somebody promised me food and unless you want me in a famished dead faint, I hope for your sake that devious mind of yours has a dinner plan.”
He laughed. A look of mocking innocence was on his face when he scolded, “Devious mind? I beg your pardon, young lady. Not a deceitful bone in my body.” Cal grinned at her. “I’ve been fairly direct about what I want, ‘tessa. Remember?”
“You’re not helping your case.”
He flung an arm around her shoulders, catching her off guard and off balance and pulled her in for a buddy-hug. “I see I’ll have to feed the surly out of you. C’mon then. Into the kitchen. Prepare to be amazed.”
Shuffling them into the enormous kitchen, he led her to the stools around the island and told her to park it. Undoing the buttons at his cuffs, he was rolling back a sleeve when she asked, “Do you have a housekeeper?”
Odd question but so was pretty much everything coming out of the mind of a female.
“Fuck yeah. Angela. Mrs. Torrisi. But just one day a week. I like my space.”
Finishing the other sleeve, having rolled both to just below his elbow, Cal half shrugged. “Angela does the mom stuff.”
Now that got an instant response. “Mom stuff?”
“Be nice,” he snickered. “I have no problem with the day-to-day stuff, but my schedule tends to be erratic, so she handles the cleaners and does the shopping. No big.”
“Hmph.”
That was it. Just, hmph.
Being adept in the kitchen was one of the many things he was good at. It helped to have a mom who made cooking a magically fun time. Hell, until he was a young teenager, Cal actually thought that kissing the mixing spoon when making cake batter was an actual thing. But just like discovering Santa wasn’t all he was cracked up to be, the spoon kiss ritual didn’t lose its significance and yeah, he always kissed the damn spoon according to Katie Merrill’s recipe.
They made random chit chat as he whipped up a simple meal, and in no time at all, she was setting the table and making him laugh with outrageous stories about a larger-than-life grandmother who sounded like a character from a Victorian novel.
“It’s totally my Nana’s fault that I’m the way I am.”
Bypassing the larger dining room, they went for the table in the comfortable nook—a much more intimate setting. Holding her chair as she sat, Cal felt her pleasure in the simple act. Taking her napkin, he shook it out with a sharp flip of his wrist mimicking the best and most dramatic flair he could. Draping it over her lap as she crossed her legs, he made quite the production out of making absolutely certain she was adequately protected against a potential spill. And copped a feel in the process.
Sitting across from her at the small table, his grin met her mocking headshake.
“Those hands of yours have a career ahead as an airport screener.”
What could he do but laugh? She had a point. He’d done everything except adjust her thong. And how did he know she wore a thong and not everyday panties? Because when she bent over to look at his ceramic treasures, he had a clear shot up her dress. Instead of offering decent coverage, the black tights she wore had a sheer quality at the top that gave him an eyeful of her ass and showed the unmistakable outline of her sexy underwear.
Piling her plate with a mound of pasta large enough for a family of four, he took her through the menu.
“The angel hair is made fresh every day by two sisters at a little grocery store nearby. Angela keeps me stocked. The basil comes from a garden of pots and planters on the terrace. Kept the garlic to a minimum.”
He blew her a kiss just for the hell of it.
“The bread I made myself.”
“Are you joking?”
Sliding the plate he’d piled high in front of her, Cal grunted and frowned. “No, I’m not kidding so screw you.”
He was just kidding so when she sat back and stared at him, he worried his tone might have pissed her off. Or hurt her feelings. Turns out he was wrong on both.
“You are a man of many … unusual talents.”
He agreed and nodded his head.
“And you also wear a mask.”
Shock raced through him. She nailed him right out of the gate. How’d she do that so easily?
“Or no, wait. Maybe you don’t wear a mask. Maybe you put the mask on. Like Batman. Regular guy by day, bad ass by night.”
Wow. Someone with a narrative in their head just as crazy as his.
Slopping a ridiculous amount of food on his plate, he commented in a husky growl, “Bad ass, huh?”
“Or insane,” she quickly replied. Arranging the pasta with her fork, she paused. He supposed she was considering where her comment led. “Why do you do it?”
Shoveling a tight ball of pasta he’d wound on his fork into his mouth, he looked at her, confused. “Do what?” he asked through a full mouth.
It took her a good long time to respond. “Risk your life. Why do you do it? What’s the end goal?”
How the fuck did he walk so blindly into that question and seriously—who the hell was this little girl and how come she cut to the heart of the matter so quickly?
Cal couldn’t believe he was considering telling her everything. All of it. The whole enchilada as his dad liked to say. And maybe at some point he would, but not tonight.
“Is this part of your therapeutic assessment?”
He didn’t mean the question to sound like a challenge and was glad she didn’t take it that way.
“A little bit, I guess.” Like him, she ate slowly and didn’t rush. “I wasn’t prying. Not really. Just trying to understand what motivates you.”
He poured some wine into a glass and slid it across the table. She took it and gestured to his empty glass. “What about you?”
She was observant. Something he’d do well to remember.
From a pitcher, he poured water into his glass and added a lemon slice for effect. “I’m driving so no to the wine.”
He could see the questions and comments forming in her mind and decided to divert the conversation away from him. No way did he enjoy being under the microscope of her assessing gaze.
“So tell me a little bit about what to expect, ‘tessa. As I said, the physical therapy ran its course weeks ago. I need a different approach. Something I think you’ll excel at.”
Her happy laugh put a big smile on his face. “Oh, I’m different all right! None of that woe-is-me crap. Not if you’re serious about getting your issues under control.”
Truth was, he was genuinely intrigued by what she did. Cal understood a little bit about mind-body stuff. His brother Jax was a vet who came back from the war one fucked up unit. Had taken a complete life change and a totally different direction for him to function in society.
Cal’s injuries weren’t life threatening and though serious at the time, he was in tiptop shape before the accident which made the healing and recuperation time fairly short. The only thing was, the more he focused on getting past the accident, the tighter he became. And being tight led to other things. Headaches. Muscle spasms and a phantom pain that gathered in his lower back and radiated into every tissue until he was incapacitated.
Hoping her holistic approach would shake things loose was what made him interfere so boldly in her life. For now, he’d keep to himself his fear that what was happening to him was all emotional and not physical at all. Being sick of his life was a contributing factor, he was sure of it.
She prattled on as they ate. Artfully weaving facts and research into an amazingly astut
e outlook on life. He couldn’t keep track of how many times and in countless ways she mentioned being happy or connecting with joy to lead a more fulfilling existence.
At one point when she’d been pontificating on the benefits of laughter as a psychic medication, he’d imagined a time far in the future when they’d be together laughing their asses off. Instead of being freaked out by the thought, he felt a sense of calm.
She was changing him already.
“So, do you think you can do that? Not talk back and definitely no why this or why that. To borrow from Master Yoda, it’s either do or don’t do. No questions. Capisce?”
She was enjoying the dumbfounded expression on Ty’s face as she laid out some of the things they’d be doing. When she mentioned coloring books and baking cookies, he’d looked at her as if she was batcrap crazy.
Pfft. He had no idea!
All of a sudden he chuckled. A real chuckle. Deep, rumbling and sexy as hell. Charlie didn’t think for a second he was going to casually let her call all the shots. Not without getting a few in, here and there. She waited for his first comeback –and secretly hoped he made it a doozy.
Sounding incredulous he asked, “Are you saying the only way you’ll work with me is if I,” she waited with baited breath for what he said next. “Submit?”
She chomped down on her bottom lip to keep from roaring with laughter. Submit. That’s what he came up with. That she wanted him to submit. The idea was so delightfully funny she almost peed. Snorting and then covering her face in embarrassment, Charlie shook her head. “Something tells me you and submit aren’t the best of buds.”
“Probably a good call,” he drawled. “But for you, ‘tessa. Toss a bit of the Baroness of Wild my way and I might try to be good.”
Charlie giggled uncontrollably and even slapped her hand on the table. If only he knew how truly ironic the title was. She had to share this particular funny with Rhi.
“Do you think we have different notions of what constitutes being good?”
His grin was disarming. “Depends on the context.”
Dropping her hands into her lap, she relaxed and smiled. “Well, be that as it may, you’re my client and I will expect you to be good, Ty.”
His expression told her he was thinking about what she said and probably working up a wicked response.
“I can do the good guy thing,” he proudly announced.
Sheesh. Men.
“Seriously? Being a good guy is waaay different from being good. And you know it.”
He held up his hand. “Now wait a minute.”
“Give up,” she drawled. “No matter what you think, I’m way better at this than you are. My dad is an English professor so playing word games with me is kinda pointless.”
Ty’s eyes widened and he nodded his respect. “Oh man, that explains a lot. I figured you for someone with lively dinner conversation experience. My dad is a high school principal so believe me, vocabulary always scored extra points.”
“Oh,” she yelped with glee. “So you DO know when you’re being an ass.”
He clutched his chest as if he’d been shot. “Ouch, ‘tessa. You wound me.”
She bunched up her napkin and tossed it on the table. “I’m going to do a lot more than wound you Cal Tyler if you don’t take me seriously.”
“What’s in it for me?” he asked with an innocence that earned an exaggerated eye roll. “Being good, I mean. If I’m a good boy, what do I get?”
Charlie stood and smoothed a hand down the front of her dress. “Well, what you need is a good kick in the butt for thinking that testing me every two seconds is gonna get you anywhere.” She crossed her arms and stared him down. “There may be a few missing pieces but I’ve got you figured out. Mostly. If I didn’t think I could help you in a real sense, well.” She shrugged to make her point.
“You’ve got me figured out?” He didn’t hide the incredulous edge to the question.
Smarty pants. She’d show him.
Moving around the table, she picked up their dishes and took them to the sink. He didn’t get up but rather sat there staring a hole through her.
“We’ll side step the whole race car driving thing and why you do something so dangerous, for now.”
“Coward,” he muttered with just a hint of challenge.
“Oh, bite me,” she answered drily. “I asked you a direct question earlier which you conveniently dodged—so don’t give me crap because I won’t let you dominate the direction of the assessment.”
“Hey. What is it with you and the submit and dominate thing? You don’t strike me as the type.”
She sighed. “Again, Ty. Bite me. You’re the one that said submit and while it’s not a word that I’d use, yeah. Sure. When I’m in charge, I want you to submit.”
In the blink of an eye, she felt like the spider realizing how deep into the web she was.
“So,” he murmured silkily. “You want submission and won’t allow me to dominate. Do I have that right?”
Not entirely sure how to climb out of the verbal hole she stupidly dug, Charlie exercised her universally accepted right to play one of many female cards held in her deck.
Feigning a stifled yawn, she stretched, leaned against the countertop and scanned the room for a clock. “It’s getting late and I’m bushed. We have an early start in the morning and—”
He cut her off before she even saw him approaching in the rear view. Damn, he was that good.
“You can stay here. Tonight. That way we can start at the ass crack of dawn if you want.”
Ah, temptation. Thou art a cunning bitch. Hmph. Another great snark-gasm to share with Rhi.
“Ty. Don’t, okay? You’re on thin ice as it is. Giving me another reason to doubt this arrangement, well…”
He rose from the table, walked around the island and came at her. With his hands braced on either side of her, he gripped the counter and caged her in. The man knew how to be direct.
“Tomorrow I can’t dominate you. Tonight I can.”
And then he kissed her.
And kissed her.
And kissed her.
Charlie clung to him and trembled as he made it very clear with his mouth how easy it was for him to dominate her.
The kissing continued. His tongue slid into her mouth and she was lost. The desire rolling off him in powerful waves held her in a vise of heat until it was all so overwhelming that it scared her. Scared her witless. This guy was a man, and her? Shit. She was a toddler compared to him. A little girl playing a game she had no hope of winning. And didn’t know the rules for.
Disoriented when he eased off, it took her a minute to process what was happening. He’d reacted when she got scared. She felt it in his touch.
He didn’t say anything when they drew apart—just kept their bodies plastered together while he stared into her face. Unable to look away and too shaken to mask her emotions, it was all she could do to simply breathe. If he let go of her, she’d likely hit the floor with a thud.
Eventually they separated, but he never let go of her hand. And he wouldn’t, unless he had to. He helped her slip on the denim jacket and stood silently while her shaking fingers knotted the long swath of purple.
Every so often, one of them would murmur. But that was it.
The long ride to her tiny, bolthole flat felt surreal. The whole way there he held her hand unless he needed his to drive. They spoke very little, and when they did, their tone was hushed and intense.
A parking space materialized out of nowhere outside her building. Walking along the pavement together, she picked up the cadence of his solid strides and her booted scampers when he went too fast.
He insisted on seeing her directly to the door of her apartment where he waited patiently while she struggled with a sticky lock that needed a shoulder shove at the last to get past.
“Do you want to come in?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. The polite thing to do? Maybe.
“That’s not a good idea, ‘te
ssa,” he grumbled
There was heaviness, a thickness in his voice she hadn’t heard before.
Just when she was sure he’d kiss her good night, he straightened and pushed her through the door. “I’ll wait till I hear you lock. Be ready tomorrow at seven,” he reminded her.
As she shut the door, Charlie locked eyes with him as he hovered in the dimly lit hallway.
“Good night, Ty.”
“Sweet dreams, ‘tessa.”
“OKAY, SO. POWER FOODS. NO crap allowed.”
Cal nodded. Easy to follow since he wasn’t much of a crap eater. Not unless you counted the milk chocolate he craved and hoarded like a fucking squirrel with winter approaching. Europeans had a totally different take on chocolate than a kid raised in Virginia who thought a family trip to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania was a candy lover’s dream. Following a Hansel and Gretel path of chocolate kisses that led over a cliff -- he’d be the first dumbass to fall.
They were sitting on a blanket in a huge open field above a winding country road. The view of the surrounding countryside was unbeatable. Today’s slow down and smell the roses activity involved bike riding. Not mountain or sport biking where the ride was arduous and challenging either. Nope. For the Baroness of Wild, her idea of biking involved an early start, a leisurely pedal, countless slow downs and stops to admire the scenery or take a water break. That’s how they ended up lolling about in a field.
From her backpack, she drew out something wrapped in paper and a travel container. This is what his days with ‘tessa were like. She had every base covered and calmly laid out a daily plan rivaling the logistics and oversight Crepuscolo employed to move the team all around Europe. The girl was a marvel.
Cross-legged on the blanket, she impatiently shoved the long braid she kept her hair in over a shoulder and winked at him. In a conspiratorial voice, she told him, “Coconut almond energy bars. Homemade—thank you very much.”
Folding back the paper, she uncovered two good size hunks and showed him. A wide smile illuminating her face.
Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) Page 9
