“Gimme a chance to shower. Unless sweaty workman is a turn on. I’m easy,” he drawled. When she started following along, he went in for the last lane change. The one he hoped would cut off her foolishness. “It’s what you want, right? My dick. Easy sex.”
“Oh,” she breathed. He liked how that one word was her go to when she wasn’t being phony. “Well, no actually. That’s not what I want.”
The words left her mouth before she realized their importance. He looked at her in triumph.
Crossing his arms like a cop intimidating a suspect, he looked down at her and laid it out so she’d have no doubt.
“Is that so? This must be your lucky day then, ‘tessa. Because frankly, I’m sick of what you want. I think it’s time to let me have a little of what I want.”
“What you want?” Her voice was high and squeaky. Understanding was starting to dawn.
“That’s right.” He began walking from the room. Sliding the pocket doors all the way open, he turned back at the last. “There may be some tying involved.” His eyes swept up and down and he made a split second decision. “Wear the boots, baby girl. And leave your panties here. I want you to know when you walk through the door that your pussy is mine for the taking.”
He grinned all the way along the path to the studio. He’d left her sitting in the dining room, speechless. Great. Now all he had to do was quickly look up some basic bondage knots. If he was gonna fake his way through this, he might as well get some of it right.
Charlie wiped the counter down one more time. It was clean and spotless but her nerves were so frayed she needed to keep busy or else crumple to the floor in a corner. Her reaction was baffling, but everything about this unusual relationship was practically incomprehensible. Who the hell else would this happen to?
Being nervous made her struggle. When they collided on the path earlier, her usual confidence checked out. This was a big part of what perplexed her the most. She’d never been nervous with Ty. Startled, yes. Nervous, no.
Hold up. Had she hit on something? Ty never made her nervous—but Caleb? He scared the living crap out of her. There was something intimidating and absolute about the real man—not the dare devil caricature. And that’s the problem. She’d created a duality in her mind. The suave, sometimes prickly race car driver with the fancy Italian Villa and Majolica ware on display in his surprisingly modest home. Versus a jean-wearing blue-collar guy with a drafting table and an SUV. She surrendered her innocence to one and snarled non-stop at the other.
Charlie wanted Ty back so badly that she’d missed one basic fact. They were the same man.
At first, she’d been angry and humiliated when he hadn’t acknowledged her to their families. His bland denial of their relationship seemed a worse betrayal than discovering another woman in his life. Time, and a clearer mind, helped her see that she should’ve ripped the ugly weave out of Cloud-ee-ah’s hair, smacked the lying bitch across the face and kicked her duplicitous ass to the curb when she had the chance.
Hindsight. Like Karma. Such a bitch.
And then, of course, picking apart or deconstructing her attraction to the man would be futile. Ya’ couldn’t spend your whole life dreaming about Prince Charming or waiting for a planetary alignment to bring true love right to your doorstep and not have a belief in destiny. Kismet. Fate.
She was his.
Oh my.
And that also meant that he was hers.
Oh.
The truth sank in.
Oh!
What the hell was she doing? My God, she’d been so stupid.
If this is what she wanted—if he was what she wanted, it was high time for Ty and Caleb to become one. That’s the only way she’d know for sure whether they had even a sliver of a chance. Destiny and happiness weren’t always equal partners. She had to take what she wanted—what she needed and pray their foolishness hadn’t permanently damaged what the universe so gloriously laid in their laps. Twice.
SHE CAME TO HIM BEARING cake. A gooey, rich slab of coconut infused awesomeness that had him going back for seconds.
Was he surprised his ‘tessa was an amazing cook? No. Girl could do anything she set her mind to. What amazed him, though, was her obstinately maintaining that the kitchen arts, as she quaintly called them, had never been her thing. He came away with the distinct impression that the Wilde sisters did not easily step on each other’s toes.
Hmph. Just like him and Jax. Being the younger brother had a way of triggering some pretty goddamn potent shadow-following, along with the hero worship.
Cal blatantly observed her—there was nothing covert about his interest. He’d told her what to expect, even though half of his bluster had been bullshit. He didn’t give more than a second’s thought to the presence or absence of underwear in this scenario. He’d told her to come bare-assed and without an inkling of doubt, he knew she’d done as told.
Imaging her naked under the skirt added a titillating edge to his scrutiny. Letting her clean up and putter around was all sorts of hot. He just sat there, tapping his fingers one at a time in a rhythmic cadence on the wood arm of his chair, watching. Thinking. Wondering. Planning.
He found her nervous energy exciting. She knew what was coming—at least she thought she did. Girl was in for a surprise. He was over waiting for her to grow up and be the woman he knew she was. All the acting and game playing got old and he intended to give her a reminder of what they had. If they were going to move forward, he was going to start where he intended to end. With honesty.
When there was absolutely nothing else she could waste time doing, she rocked on those dangerously sexy boots right into the middle of the room, stood there looking uncertain for a second and then smiled at him tentatively.
“Should I give Brynn the recipe? Would make a great treat for the bakery.”
“No,” he answered in a clipped tone. “Let’s keep that just for us, hmmm?”
“Oh,” she burbled with an awkward lip tug. She kept chewing while a dozen thoughts exploded in her face. She’d neglected to turn on her shields this evening and he could read her like a picture book.
“Come here.”
More lip chewing. She really had to stop that. Something about the anxious habit made him want to do all sorts of nasty things to her mouth.
With a few adorably unsteady steps, she was standing at his knees. He could see how badly she wanted to say something so he cocked his head to the right and looked up at her.
“I’m guessing you’re finished with the silent treatment.” He didn’t hide the leer or the snicker. She deserved both for putting him through weeks of hell for no fucking reason other than because her feelings were hurt and she got scared.
“Go ahead,” he drawled. “Spit it out, Charlize.” Cal used her given name for a reason. ‘tessa would never do half of what Charlize managed to pull off. Understanding why didn’t make him like it any better. Charlize refused to connect with him. Fine. Until he lured ‘tessa out of her shell once again, he was stuck dealing with the Baroness of Wild in all her obstinate glory.
She nodded, bit her damn lip again, and swept her hair off her shoulders. Oh my God. This was it. They were finally going to talk.
“I’m not going to apologize,” she murmured.
He nodded once. In a way he was glad. All her hippy-speak about owning feelings was genuine. She shouldn’t apologize. He’d gotten less than he probably deserved for what he’d put her through.
He watched with admiration when she straightened slightly. Ah, there she was. There was his sweet ‘tessa.
“You hurt me.” She held her hand up to stop his retort, so he snapped his mouth shut and let her hold the floor. “I realize it wasn’t intentional and accept your explanation. The team wasn’t going to just let you walk away.” Her shrug told him she’d given this a lot of thought. “It’s just that in my world, a board of directors doesn’t unleash a sexual attack to make a point. I wasn’t prepared.”
“Ditto.”
“I should tell you,” she bit out, “that Dr. Andriotti sent me a scathing letter about my final report on your therapy. It went through my agency first and didn’t catch up with me until I was packing to come home. He wasn’t, um…” she jested. “Pleased with my assessment. Inferred that I’d wrecked your competitive edge by filling your head with rainbows and unicorns.”
“You had nothing to do with my decision to quit.”
She smirked.
“Okay, so maybe you did. But I was already there in my mind. You just pointed to the escape hatch.”
She smiled and then grew serious. “I shouldn’t have run. I know that. But, you’re the first man …”
“And the only one, Charlize. I’m the only man.”
She acknowledged the terse claim with a slight nod. “Look,” she replied. “This is all new to me. Sorry, but it’s true. And when we met here, you acted like I wasn’t even a blip on your radar. It hurt. Again.”
An uncomfortable truth. One he had to live with.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Caleb. And I also don’t want to wish that I could have Ty back. I don’t want to play pretend fuck buddies. And I don’t want to feel bad that trust is what’s standing between us.”
“You can trust me, Tesoro,” he hurriedly bit out.
“Yeah, but can I trust myself? This isn’t just about you. I don’t even know who the hell I’ve been the last few weeks and that makes me uncomfortable. I want to be with you. Hard to deny. But I don’t like who I’ve become because of that wanting.”
Okay. He’d heard enough.
“Let me show you who you are, ‘tessa.”
He ran his hands up the outside of her thighs, above the boots and under her skirt. Encountering nothing but soft skin, first he caressed her ass, grabbed both cheeks in a fierce grip and urged her closer still.
With one of his big paws holding tight against her bottom, he used the other to make a point his young lover needed to hear. Slipping two fingers between her thighs, he ran them along her pussy from front to back and then forward again. His fingers were wet with proof of her desire when he pulled them away and showed her.
“See this?”
A nervous, embarrassed nod. God, she was sweet.
“When you see my cock and it’s hard with wanting, that’s because of you.”
She was blushing. He was falling so hard, he hoped a body cast wasn’t going to be necessary.
“When I see this,” he waggled his moisture-covered fingers, “I know it’s because of me.”
He put his hand back between her legs and without any ceremony, spread apart her pussy lips and sank his middle finger deep.
“This is who you are, baby girl. Your body doesn’t lie and can’t play games. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
She started to shake. He knew exactly how she liked to be touched and used that knowledge to his ruthless advantage. When she was beyond wet, her legs trembling with the effort to stay standing, he withdrew and put the hand covered in her moisture on his crotch. He was one lucky motherfucker. She’d played right into his hand and given him the best opening Cal could wish for.
“I’m going to show you exactly who you are, Contessa. Starting with this—you are mine. Don’t give a shit about before. This is now. You? Mine. Only mine.”
Whoa. Her lids came down to shield her eyes incredibly fast. He was okay with that. This right here was some serious shit. Before he admitted his love, he wanted ‘tessa to embrace this single, underlying fact. She belonged only to him. He had the memory of some stained sheets to prove it, too.
Time to take back control.
“Undress. Right where you are. But leave the boots on.”
If she hesitated, he didn’t notice. She unzipped and shimmied out of the skirt first. He sucked in a harsh breath. Fuck. She looked so tempting in nothing but those wicked boots and a short black sweater. When she moved slightly, he caught a glint. Something totally revealed when she lifted the sweater over her head. She was wearing the dragonfly navel jewelry. He hadn’t seen it since that last horrible day in his apartment. Seeing it now, after he’d just demanded she acknowledge being his, struck him like a sucker punch to the heart. She was already his. Not necessarily branded but definitely marked.
“Leave the bra for now,” he grated huskily. Sitting back in his chair he eyed her loveliness. Cal stared at the cluster of blonde curls at the apex of her thighs, knowing how soft and fragrant they were.
That she let him look all he wanted and just stood there quaking, turned every inch of his body to stone.
“Let’s find out how in the moment my naughty ex-therapist really is, shall we?”
The quick smile was genuine and twinkled with mockery. “I’d say bra, boots and nothing else is as in the moment as a girl can get and still be standing.”
“Oh, honey. You won’t be standing for long.”
He saw the flash of mischief in her eyes before she started making all sorts of gestures and body moves.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m in the moment! This is called vogueing. Get it? Vogue.” And then she started singing Madonna.
That glitch in the time space continuum making him crazy? Gone. The playfulness was back. He was enchanted and ferociously turned on.
“Okay, material girl,” he drawled. “Strut your fine ass up into the loft and make sure you do it with plenty of panache. I want full bad girl swagger. Show me what’s mine.”
Her laughter rang out—she fired off a look. One of those snippy snappy uptight librarian glowers.
“And when you get up there, go the dresser. Top drawer, left. Open it. Take out two ties. Then stand by the bed and wait for me.”
“May I ask what this has to do with being in the moment?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
She wanted the laughter back and the only way do it was to be the one to initiate the silliness. So, because she absolutely couldn’t help it, Charlie vamped her way across the room and up the stairs while singing and pantomiming the Hokey Pokey. Putting her left foot in, out and shaking it all about was shit tons of sexy-times fun in boots. The first time she swayed her hips and turned around, she got the distinct impression by the look on his face that she was hitting all the marks.
Was it weird strutting about bare-assed, in boots and a sheer lavender-hued bra that offered nothing in the way of modesty? Oh, probably. But really—none of this was any stranger than half the stuff they’d done during their brief time together.
After she hit the top steps, Charlie giggled, finished her song, clapped loudly and hollered, “Made it!” Hearing Ty’s manly chuckle was perfect. “Yeah,” she muttered quietly as she hurried to the dresser. “I’m gonna hokey his pokey and then we’ll see what it’s all about.”
Pulling open a drawer, her first instinct was to laugh when she saw how neatly he put his stuff away. In a very tidy row, all rolled into perfect circles, there were about a dozen ties—what the hell was he gonna do with so many here in the countryside? She shrugged off the thought. Guys. Who understood their wardrobe choices?
Eyeing up his tie collection, Charlie grimaced. Seriously? Was there a department in the men’s clothing section labeled monochrome and boring? Ah, well. She was gonna have to change that tout de suite because she was SO not a black and white kid of a gal. I mean, well shit! Even being tied up deserved a pop of color.
Exhaling with a groan, she plucked two bland lengths of lovely silk from the collection and was about to close the drawer when her inner child said, hold up. Don’t pass up this glorious opportunity to alter his perception.
Giggling softly, she took each tie, shook it out, folded it in thirds and put them all back in the drawer in a messy pile. She thought about doing the same with his underwear but talked herself out of it. He gave instructions and she could easily assert she was just following his command. He didn’t say anything about creating havoc but he also hadn’t given her carte blanche to r
ifle through his things.
Okay, so … she brought her bad girl ass into the loft and picked two ties. Now what the hell did she do? He said to wait. Her eyes flew around the space. Only the center area of the A-frame loft was tall enough to stand. As the unusual room spread out, there was a chair and an ottoman, a side table, two dressers and a tall armoire across from the foot of the bed, which made a furniture wall at the top of the stairs. The most distinctive part was by far, the enormous arched window under which sat the low, platform bed.
Not a lot of options. Sitting in the upholstered chair was a no. Not without any panties. Sheesh. She’d already ruined a bedspread—no need to destroy a chair as well.
Lying on the bed didn’t appeal either. Decisions, decisions. Then her artist’s eyes created a tableau Charlie knew was perfect. The moonlight streaming from the window would act like backlighting so she flounced to the head of the bed, draped a tie over each shoulder, making sure to cover her nipples in the process—sort of like sexy suspenders—and struck a pose. When he came around the armoire and saw her, she’d be making a silent visual statement.
Cal was up and running the second her Hokey Pokey ass cleared the top step. He had a lot to do and the more imaginative he could make this the better.
The Internet, ah the worldwide web—what a treasure trove of ideas it offered. When he checked out bondage tips, a bunch of fascinating stuff about sensory play came up. That’s right, sensory play. Even the description was right up ‘tessa’s alley. Ignoring the more sadistic options, he was curious about a lot of things but pain wasn’t in his wheelhouse, he focused on the pleasure aspect and what sensory deprivation brings to the table.
He hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of ice chunks and put them in a cup. And a fudgesicle. He’d have to use the two frozen things pretty quickly. Next, cherries. There was a jar in the frig of the sweet fruit and they were the ones with the stems still on. Exactly what he wanted. Everything else was already in a box concealed under the stairs.
Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) Page 34
