Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous

by Riser, Mimi

  “But you’d still have done it.”

  A flat answer, and he noticed she didn’t phrase it as a question. Such perception deserved an honest reply.

  “Yes. Very likely I’d still have done it. I’m not a nice person.”

  “If you’re looking for an argument on that, I’m the wrong one to approach.”

  Tyler felt a grin stealing onto his lips. Her kind of spunk was pretty cute actually. He wrapped both arms around her when she gave an experimental twist, testing the waters on breaking loose.

  “I’m not looking for an argument,” he said, “just stating facts.”

  “Fine. Consider them stated. We both agree you’re a louse. Will you let go of me now?”

  He answered by tightening his hold. Why waste words when actions could be so much more eloquent? Besides, it was a wonderful excuse to hug her closer. “I also want to warn you that what I’ve done once, I intend to do a lot more.”

  Molly went rigid. “Ah. I see. Now on that, I will give you an argument.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “That’s what you think.” She wasted several seconds and all her breath in a brief scrabble for freedom. Brief and futile.

  Tyler kissed the top of her head when she collapsed against him, panting. “That’s what I know.” And he explained why. “Because you’re going to marry me.”

  Chapter 6

  This must be her Karma for blackmailing Ms. Patton. Molly had known that would come back to bite her in the butt. What goes around, comes around. She just hadn’t expected the payback to hit this hard. Or soon.

  Marriage. To a billionaire hunk. Some women would love to have that problem. Molly wasn’t one of them. Hunk rhymed with skunk, which seemed way too appropriate at the moment.

  “I’ll give you one hour to come to your senses or suffer the consequences,” he’d said, and not pleasantly.

  It was obvious no one had ever refused him before – that he didn’t believe her “no” meant no – obvious he’d do whatever it took to get his way. And really obvious that she was caught fast now between a rock and a hard man. Very hard. And she didn’t mean that in a humorous way. It was gut-wrenching awful.

  Her head pounded. So did her bare feet as she fled down the hall to the stairs. Between the throbbing in her temples and a worse pain somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, she never noticed the ballroom below was occupied. She was halfway down the sweeping staircase when a flash blinded her.

  Gad… One hand grabbed the banister while the other dropped the slipper she’d been clutching. A second flash went off, destroying whatever sight the first had left her, and a voice filled her ears. Deep, rich, musical, and exotically accented.

  “C’est magnifique! I shall call it ‘Cinderella’s Escape’ and make it the centerpiece of my new exhibit!”

  Footsteps sounded, hurrying up the stairs, and a warm, masculine grip closed over Molly’s arm, tugging her forward through a sea of dazzling stars.

  “Come, come, cherie. You must sign for me a release form – a model release, no? But I pay you top New York rate and immortalize your image for all the world to see! Not a bad deal, eh, for two seconds’ work. Carlotta!” the voice boomed. “Find me a form and my checkbook!”

  “What am I, your slave? Find them yourself,” answered a female voice, also rich and melodic but a little less heavy on the accent.

  A brief argument raged between the two in what seemed to be a mixture of French, Spanish, Italian, and Greek, with a little Hungarian thrown in. Or was that Russian? Bulgarian, maybe?

  Who are these people?

  Molly stumbled off the bottom step, blinking the stars out of her eyes, straining to see. Whoever they were, their timing couldn’t be worse. All she wanted was to find a bathroom where she could clean up and think. And not the bath attached to that gag-me-with-gilt bordello boudoir. How could she think with him lurking nearby? How could she…

  Goddess, what could she do?

  The photographer released her, and Molly stumbled again, only to be steadied by a firm but feminine hand on her shoulder.

  “Gently, gently,” the man admonished. “Do not damage my new model. Her face I shall make more famous than the Mona Lisa’s!”

  “Oh, leave the poor girl alone, André.” The hand gave her a comforting pat. “Can’t you see she’s been Tylered?”

  Tylered? What an expression. Sort of said it all, didn’t it?

  Molly blanched. Was her condition that obvious?

  How would this woman know anyway? She sounded like she spoke from personal experience, like someone who’d been “Tylered” herself. What was her name? Carlotta?

  Hell, she must be that fashionista, Carlotta Diego, the publisher of La Femme Fantastique magazine.

  And one of Tyler’s ex-wives.

  The ache in Molly’s head increased. Oddly enough, so did the ache in her chest. She swallowed as her vision cleared and the two people came into focus: André, short and stocky; Carlotta, tall and svelte, with extravagant red hair (dyed, probably) and wearing an ultra-chic ivory silk pantsuit with an elaborately beaded emerald green camisole sparkling beneath it. Matching green pumps with stiletto heels and large emerald earrings completed the ensemble. She was an eyeful, all right.

  So was André who sported a long dark ponytail and a Van Dyke beard, faded jeans, a white tuxedo jacket over a purple T-shirt, and… Molly looked twice… Hot pink cowboy boots. Very artistic.

  She swallowed again. It didn’t help. Her voice stuck in her throat. Not a big problem, apparently, since Carlotta and André seemed quite content to talk around her as though she were part of the room’s fixtures.

  “Tylered?” André waved his arms in the air in a broad, flourishing gesture. “What is this tylered?”

  Carlotta shot him a sideways glance. “André mi amor, don’t be dim.”

  And the two of them launched into another multi-language argument, lavishly embellished with more of André’s arm flourishes.

  Molly could only imagine what they said – like she really needed the reminder right now. Talk about embarrassing. Her blanche quickly rose up the color scale to crimson. Not that she could see this, of course, but she felt it – felt a lot actually. Too much.

  Damn.

  The emotional stress was bad enough, but there was a physical matter that required speedy attention. She glanced about for the nearest door. What were her chances of making a discreet exit while—

  “Enough!” André cut off the debate with a sharp slashing motion. “Forget the release form. Find my saber!” His arm swept out like a lasso around Molly’s shoulders, roping her in close to his side before she knew what hit her. His other hand gripped her chin in furious passion.

  Emotional, wasn’t he?

  “This face – this face has inspired what shall be my greatest creation!” he cried. “That makes this woman like a member of my family – like a mother, a sister, a daughter to me! No one shall toy with her while André D’Leon lives. I claim the right to defend her honor. Bring me a sword! I challenge Tyler James to a duel!”

  “I know you wouldn’t guess it to look at him, but André is quite the traditionalist,” Carlotta said, gazing blandly into Molly’s eyes.

  Which were popping at the moment, and not just from André’s clutch. His action had jostled things a bit and started another action that tickled the inside of her leg. A moving tickle, traveling south. Carlotta must have read the silent panic in her expression. Call it women’s intuition.

  Her gaze traveled down Molly’s body to where the tickle had ended at her exposed ankles. The woman’s brows rose ever so slightly. “Please tell me it’s that time of the month.”

  Molly coughed. “Um—”

  “Time of the month? What time of what month?” André released her to wave his arms in the air.

  “It’s girl talk. Shut up,” Carlotta told him. Her gaze flashed back to Molly’s, probing. Her brows arched higher. “Ai dios mio—” She clapped a hand to her mouth, though
whether to stifle a scream or a laugh was uncertain. “You were a virgin!”

  “What?” André roared out a stream of curses in every language he knew, which made it a long stream. “I shall cut off his ears!”

  Carlotta snorted, but she did it elegantly. “Really, André, cutting off his ears won’t stop him. You’ll have to aim lower.”

  Grinning like a cat, she retrieved from the floor a shoulder bag that matched her shoes, clasped Molly’s hand in hers, and began pulling her up the stairs. “Come. I’m staying in the Blue Room. It has a glorious marble bath. You’ll feel better after a good hot soak.”

  “She’s staying in my room.”

  Molly stiffened at the voice and nearly stumbled. The figure at the head of the staircase stood there fully dressed again, every dark hair in place. The perfect picture of cool, calm and collected (well, maybe not that cool). One would never guess how he’d just turned her world upside down and inside out.

  Carlotta kept climbing without missing a beat, hauling Molly along with her, even as Molly hauled back. When they reached the top, she paused and smiled sweetly. “Out of the way, Tyler. I have a knife in my bag. Don’t make me use it.”

  “Nice to see you, too, Carlotta. When did you arrive? Sorry you have to leave again so soon.” Looking anything but sorry, Tyler slipped his hands into his pockets, stepped past them, and headed down the stairs.

  His arm brushed Molly’s in passing – deliberately, she was sure – and his eyes touched hers in a look that sizzled her hair roots.

  “One hour,” he whispered. “Remember what I said.”

  Like she could ever forget? Don’t worry, she’d remember. And never forgive him for it.

  “Who says I’m leaving?” Carlotta called after him. “André finds the Ranch most inspiring. We’ll be here all week.”

  “Super.” Tyler continued his descent.

  “It is Cinderella I find inspiring,” André hollered. “And you, Monsieur James, are a” – he rattled off several foreign terms, all of which were probably better left untranslated – “but as you are my host, I will not kill you. Yet.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Tyler glanced back over his shoulder. “Fascinating people you know, Carlotta.”

  “Mmm, yes, it keeps life interesting.” With a ripple of laughter, she pushed open the first door they came to in the hall at the head of the stairs, and pulled Molly into the Blue Room. Which for some reason was a frothy confection of cotton candy pink satin and lime green lace. A Barbie doll would have loved it.

  Carlotta made a gagging noise and dropped Molly’s hand. “What happened to the beautiful blues? They’ve redecorated, the cretins! Whose brilliant idea was this?” Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room. “Bambi’s, I’ll bet. That bimbo has even less taste than she does brain cells. Her bra size is bigger than her IQ.”

  Uh-huh. Molly waited, staring, as the woman slammed the door with a back kick of a designer heel and hurled her purse to the center of a large canopied bed done up in layers of pink and green striped ruffles.

  “I’m supposed to sleep in that thing? It looks like a beach cabana,” Carlotta muttered, then caught the stare on her. “Oh, sorry. The bathroom is over there, through the dressing room. Let’s pray they haven’t destroyed that, too.”

  She heaved a dramatic sigh, stepped out of her stilettos, which left her not much taller than Molly, and led the way over yards of pink plush carpeting to an entrance curtained by a billow of lime lace trimmed with tiny tassels. She grimaced as she swept it aside.

  “Yes, this has ‘Bambi’ written all over it. She was Ty’s last wife, number six. I was numero uno, his first victim. And you, I presume” – holding the curtain, she turned to face Molly – “are in line for number seven?” Her brows arched up on the question, and a small grin curved her lovely full lips.

  Molly didn’t smile back. “I’m glad you find it amusing, but the situation is no joke. Thanks for the use of your bath.”

  Hoping she’d made clear she didn’t want to discuss the matter, she moved past through a dressing area she scarcely glanced at and into a marble bathroom larger than many people’s entire living quarters.

  Carlotta’s voice followed her. “Life is a joke, chica. But you impress me. At the beginning, Tyler’s conquests always bubble with enthusiasm. I bubbled once myself. None of us showed the ache I sense in you now until after we married him. Could it be he has finally found a woman wise enough to say no?”

  “No.” The syllable came out on a croak. Molly cleared her throat and turned to see Carlotta lounging against the doorframe, the expression in her dark eyes anything but amused. “No, I’m afraid refusing him isn’t an option.”

  Not with the ultimatum he’d given her. A “compromise” he’d called it. Despicable was what it was.

  “I have to marry him,” she said flatly. “There are children involved.”

  “Children?” Carlotta’s brow furrowed. “How can there be children? I thought you were a—” She slapped her hand to her head. “Dios. I’m so sorry, I should have realized who you are. The woman who’s been caring for Tyler’s nephews. Molly, is it? I met them in the poolroom when we arrived, and Barry told me what happened. Quite a shock. I never even knew Ty had a brother.”

  “Yeah, it was a ‘shock’ for a lot of us.” Feeling a sudden stinging in her eyes, Molly turned away to study the blue marble sunken… Tub?

  It was big enough to practice the breaststroke in, with plumbing fixtures so state-of-the-art she couldn’t figure out how to turn on the water. A dolphin-shaped thingy looked like it might be the faucet, but—

  “Oh, here, let me.” Carlotta hurried forward, and in seconds there were eight actual faucets pouring out hot water and steam.

  Right. There’d have to be several for a bath this size, or it would take forever to fill. Molly blinked back the useless tears. She should have opted for a shower – far less wasteful – but it was too late now. Little waves already lapped at the rim, stirred by some sort of Jacuzzi jets below the surface.

  “Are you the shy type?” Carlotta asked. “Or may I stay and talk with you while you soak?”

  She received a wry grin in response.

  As a Wiccan, Molly was mainly a solitary practioner, as opposed to being an active member of a coven or grove. But she attended group rituals occasionally, and sometimes they were “sky clad” affairs. Sex might have been new to her, but simple nudity wasn’t. The two things weren’t nearly as related as a lot of people thought.

  “Um, no, I’m not shy about things like that.”

  She slipped out of her clothes and into the bath while Carlotta pulled a small chair away from a vanity table and straddled it, resting her elbows on its back and propping her chin in her hands. A pensive pose.

  The woman had added pure, natural rose oil – expensive stuff – to the water, and the heady fragrance surrounded them both. Heat stung newly tender flesh, then relaxed and soothed as Molly’s body adjusted to the temperature. She submerged herself to the neck and leaned back, her hair floating out around her like a mermaid’s. She felt her eyelids begin to droop.

  “So…” Carlotta chewed her lower lip, entering the conversation with care. “Barry said you want custody of the boys, and Tyler has been…less than understanding about it.”

  “That’s putting it diplomatically. He wouldn’t even talk to me.”

  “So I heard. But he’s more than ‘talking’ to you now.”

  Molly’s eyes flashed open to shoot her a look. “Don’t remind me. I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “Sorry.” Carlotta suppressed a smile. “It’s been so long since I was a virgin, I forget what a first time feels like. But I can imagine that a first time with Tyler James gives new meaning to the expression Baptism by Fire. I think I envy you that.”

  “Don’t. I’m not in a very enviable position right now.”

  “Some women would think you were. Most, in fact.”

  “Yeah, and most women aren�
�t being blackmailed by the threat of never seeing their children again.”

  “Ah. So that’s his game. If you want the nephews, you must take the uncle, too?” Carlotta rolled her eyes. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Fair-play is not a word in his vocabulary.”

  “You do have a way with understatement, don’t you?”

  Their gazes locked for a long moment until Molly broke the contact by closing her eyes again. If only she could close her ears as well. This conversation was wearing thin. So was her patience, and looking at Carlotta didn’t help. The woman was beyond beautiful. She was stunning. Picturing her and Tyler together… It shouldn’t feel as darn irritating as it did.

  She gave herself a mental slap. “If you think marrying him is such a great thing, why aren’t you still with him yourself?”

  A blanket of silence fell between them. Then Carlotta’s voice, soft and sad:

  “Because I know how cruel he can be.”

  A chill ran down Molly’s spine, something more than fear, something worse. A feeling of doom.

  Yes, he was cruel, and selfish and domineering, and utterly shameless about it all. But knowing that didn’t seem to dim her reaction to him. In a way, it strengthened it. A horrible thought, and what it said about her wasn’t a nice thing to consider. The biggest danger here came not from him, but from inside herself.

  “If it’s any comfort,” Carlotta offered, “I don’t think he’s cruel deliberately. It isn’t as though he gets pleasure from hurting people. He’s not a sadist.”

  “He’s doing a darn good impersonation of one.”

  Laughter rippled through the room, echoing the sound of the water. “Molly, you are an innocent in more ways than one, I think. You haven’t lived the life I have, and for that you should be grateful. I’ve known some genuine sadists in my time, and I can tell you with certainty that Tyler is not one of them. The pain he inflicts is of a different sort. But it hurts more perhaps, because it is so unthinking, so blind. Tyler is…” Carlotta’s breath blew out in a sigh. “He is simply a man who fears emotion too much.”

  She laughed again, pure irony in the sound. “Many men are at odds with their feelings, but Tyler carries the problem to new levels. He’s been badly scarred, and where scar tissue grows, there is often a deadness to sensation. It’s nature’s way of protecting the wound.”