Wickedly Charming

by Kristine Grayson

  But he didn’t have that choice.

  Probably just as well.

  “I don’t like it here,” Imperia said as the cab wound its way through the deserted streets.

  “We won’t stay long,” Charming said.

  “When are we going home?” She wouldn’t look at him. She was clearly very upset.

  Still he found a small measure of hope in her words. By home, she meant Los Angeles. The mock Tudor house, her school, her routine. Slowly his girls were becoming creatures of the Greater World, which was what he wanted for them.

  Grace had her thumb on the middle of the page on her book. Her head was tilted slightly upward. To the casual person, it would still look like she was reading, but Charming knew better.

  She was listening.

  “We’ll be home within the week,” he said in his warmest, most reassuring voice. “Maybe even sooner.”

  “I’d like to be home now,” Imperia said.

  “Me, too,” he said, and as he did, he realized that unprepossessing house, with its beautiful garden and its somewhat messy interior had become home for him as well. He was beginning to love it there.

  Damn Ella for messing that up.

  The cab stopped in front of a spectacular hotel. It looked expensive, even from the exterior. Charming was glad he always traveled with his wallet, even to the Kingdoms, because there was no way he was going to be able to walk into this place and charm his way past the front desk.

  Not to mention that the price of the suite Mellie had reserved for him had to be as much as one of his house payments.

  But he wasn’t going to think about that. He could afford it, even if it was wasteful.

  He paid the cab driver, hustled the girls out, and realized, at that moment, they had no luggage. It took him the entire trip across the sidewalk to realize he had a lie for that too.

  He and the girls walked into the lobby. Fortunately his daughters were used to fancy places. Neither girl felt uncomfortable among the gold fixtures, the overstuffed furniture and the high-end plants. Even the rug looked expensive—too expensive for a public place. The hotel probably had to replace it every single year.

  One pinch-faced young woman stood behind the black reception desk. She had pulled her long red hair back severely, making her pale skin look ghostly against her high cheekbones.

  “May I help you?” she asked in one of those tones that meant What the hell do you want?

  That was when Charming realized he had to look a mess. He’d been in the same clothes since that morning. He’d worn them around Los Angeles, and in the rainy Kingdom forest, not to mention the smoke-filled corridor at Gussie’s. The girls looked all right, but none of them were carrying luggage.

  He let his shoulders wilt, allowing himself to look as tired as he felt.

  “My name is Dave Encanto. You should have a reservation for me and my girls.”

  The woman clicked the computer, and perked up. “Ah, yes, Mr. Encanto,” she said in a decidedly friendlier tone. That suite had to be worth a fortune.

  Charming braced himself for the price.

  “Everything’s in order,” the woman said. “Just let me see some identification….”

  He held out his driver’s license. She took the number, then slid a piece of paper at him, along with a key.

  “Would you like a key for your girls?” she asked.

  “Um…” he said, “don’t you at least need my credit card?”

  “All expenses, including incidentals, were paid when your friend made the reservation,” the woman said.

  Charming was tired, but not that tired. Mellie paid? Why? He would have to talk with her about that.

  The woman was still looking at him expectantly.

  “Yes,” he said. “Two extra keys for my daughters.”

  “Would you like help with your luggage?” the woman asked.

  He had a lie prepared for this one. He hadn’t briefed his daughters on it, but they would understand. They knew that no one in the Greater World should know about portals or magical travel.

  “I’d love some help with my luggage,” he said, “if only I had some. The airline lost it all.”

  “Oh, dear,” the woman said. “Do you need personal items?”

  “Yes,” he said, “toothbrushes and combs at least, and maybe some large T-shirts for my girls to use as nightshirts.”

  “Certainly, sir. We’ll have it all delivered to your room.” She handed him the extra keys. “Enjoy your stay.”

  He smiled at her, a warmer smile this time, then gathered his daughters. Grace was nearly asleep on her feet, but Imperia was watching the entire lobby as if she expected someone to attack her. She knew he hadn’t told her everything. And, honestly, he wasn’t sure how much to tell her.

  He steered his girls to the elevators, glanced at the paper the woman had handed him with the room number, and pressed the right button. The elevator was as gaudy as the lobby, with mirrored walls. As the door slid closed, he saw that he didn’t have to force himself to look tired; he clearly was tired.

  Grace leaned against him, wrapping one arm around his leg. Imperia stood straight, still on alert. He didn’t know how to relax his oldest daughter.

  When the elevator doors eased open, he followed the signs, leading the girls to the end of a long hallway. He used the keycard to open the door, and stepped into luxury. A bank of windows opened onto a long balcony. Behind it, the Boston skyline winked in the night.

  The main room had two couches, a dinner table for six, a big screen television set, and a baby grand piano. Still the room looked just a bit empty.

  To the left, an opulent room done in white and gold. Two beds and another television, which he promptly unplugged. The private bath had a third television, which he also unplugged.

  Neither of his girls protested. Either they were too tired or they really didn’t care.

  Housekeeping had been here ahead of him and left two large T-shirts with Boston written in flowing script on each bed. Both beds were turned down, and a small mint graced the pillow. Toothbrushes, combs, and other toiletries sat on marble counter in the bathroom.

  “Let’s get you guys ready for bed,” he said.

  “Where will you sleep?” Imperia asked with some concern. His eldest was needy but trying to hide it.

  “Let’s go see,” he said.

  They trekked across the oversize living room to the master bedroom. The king-sized bed looked small, but it was covered in pillows. The curtains were drawn, but clearly they overlooked that balcony as well. Another couch and two chairs sat on one side. This was a hotel room all by itself—and the bathroom was large enough to hold a family of four.

  “Wow,” Imperia said. “It’s big.”

  “Scary,” Grace said. “You wanna sleep in our room?”

  He smiled—a real smile for the first time in a while. “I think I’ll be fine here. But now you know where I am.”

  “Seems far away,” Grace said.

  “That’s just because it’s a new place,” he said. “We’ll be fine here for the night.”

  “Are we leaving tomorrow?” Imperia asked.

  “I don’t know the answer to that yet,” he said.

  “What about clothes?” she asked.

  “We’ll find some in the morning,” he said. “We have to get you girls to sleep.”

  And then he did just that, helping them with their routine as much as he could. Teeth got brushed, hair untangled, faces washed. The girls opted to sleep in the same bed. Grace put her book on the bedside table, but asked for a story anyway.

  Charming had barely gotten out the “Once Upon a Time,” when he realized his youngest was sound asleep.

  “You want me to finish?” he asked Imperia.

  She shook her head and curled against her sister. “’Night, Dad,” she said.

  “’Night, Imp,” he said, and smoothed a hand over her forehead. She smiled just a little, her eyes closing. Within a few minutes, she was asleep a
s well.

  His girls.

  Damn Ella for threatening them. Thank all that was magical that Gussie could clean up the mess. Now if she could only discover what had inspired Ella to go after the wrong kind of magic.

  He sighed and headed out of the bedroom, shutting out the light as he went. He left the door cracked open. Then he went into the master bedroom and picked up the phone, letting the automated phone system put him through to Mellie.

  Chapter 36

  She was waiting for him. She, Mellie, a woman who prided herself on her independence. Waiting for a man. Because she needed his help.

  She sat on the uncomfortable couch in the giant living room, with the television on behind her. She had it turned to a movie channel, so she wouldn’t see news headlines, afraid she might see herself or her book.

  She had on all of the lights, including the weird lights that shone down on the art. The curtains were closed, though. She had made herself a cup of chamomile tea—this room had everything—but that hadn’t really calmed her down.

  She was afraid he wasn’t going to show up. Why would he, really? It wasn’t his problem. He had written the book, yes, but his name wasn’t on it. Besides, the book was acclaimed. The writing was not just good, it was spectacular—everyone said so. The book was passionate and heartwarming, it was well-paced, and it made its point.

  Mellie had done none of that. She had provided the raw materials, and Charming had created a masterpiece.

  She leaned on a pile of overstuffed pillows. Her problem really wasn’t the Gotcha! interview. It was the way the Gotcha! interview made her feel.

  It made her feel as if someone had pulled back a curtain and revealed her for the fraud she was.

  Charming couldn’t make that feeling go away, no matter what he came up with. Even if he showed up.

  Besides, something was happening to him. He had called from the Kingdoms and he had his daughters with him. Which meant that his ex-wife had done something screwy again.

  The last time he had gone to the Kingdoms, he’d had to rescue his abandoned daughters.

  Mellie wondered what had happened this time.

  She wondered if he would tell her when he showed up.

  If he showed up.

  Mellie ran a hand over her face. She had no idea what the next day would bring. She and LaTisha were leaving, and they would have a meeting with the publisher. Things Would Get Decided, whatever that meant.

  Mellie had even used her laptop to refer to all those cases that the reporter and LaTisha had mentioned. James Frey, whose book started as a novel, but whose agent sold it as memoir, which meant it was “truthful,” when it was not. The scandal when people discovered he’d made up parts of the book must have been unbearable.

  After Frey, there were a handful of others, leading to the charge the publishing world didn’t know how to handle dicey legal aspects. And she was in that category now, lying about writing a book, promoting it as if it were her own.

  The phone rang, startling her. She grabbed the receiver.

  “Yes?” she asked, expecting LaTisha.

  “Hi, Mellie. It’s Charming.”

  Like he had to introduce himself. Like she wouldn’t recognize that voice. Like it didn’t make her feel warm and tingly all at the same time.

  “This is some room you reserved for me,” he said. “You didn’t have to pay for it.”

  “You’re doing me a favor,” she said.

  “The girls are asleep,” he said. “You want to come down here and talk? I really shouldn’t leave them alone.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be down there in a minute.”

  He gave her the room number, and hung up.

  She clutched the receiver for a moment. He had come. Even though he was having some troubles of his own, he had come.

  In spite of her best intentions—she didn’t want to have expectations, she didn’t want to think of him as anything other than a friend and business associate—in spite of all that, her heart beat just a little faster.

  She combed her hair, freshened her make-up, slipped on a new dress, because she couldn’t go see him looking sloppy and terrified.

  Then she grabbed her key, let herself out of her room, and headed down the hall.

  Chapter 37

  Charming should have asked for one more T-shirt, but he hadn’t thought of it when he was at the desk. He had been thinking of his daughters only, thinking of nightshirts, thinking of the evening ahead. And while a large T-shirt would double as a nightgown for his daughters, it wouldn’t cover anything except his chest.

  He hadn’t realized he would need something to change into before he saw Mellie.

  After he hung up the phone, he opened the closet door in the master bedroom. There he found freshly laundered robes with the hotel’s monogram on the right breast pocket. As if he wanted to show up at the door like some low-rent Lothario in an ill-fitting bathrobe and nothing else.

  He settled for washing his face, wetting back his hair, and using the mouthwash the hotel had so thoughtfully provided. But he couldn’t do anything about the smoky smell on his clothes or the mud on his shoes. He finally just took his shoes and socks off. The carpet was soft and plush, and he felt better, just doing that little bit.

  At that moment, Mellie knocked softly on the door.

  He hadn’t told her to be quiet, but she had figured that out. He liked that about her. She knew what other people thought, and adjusted her behavior accordingly.

  Unlike Ella.

  He sighed, wishing he could get thoughts of his ex-wife out of his brain.

  Then he pulled open the door, and all thoughts of Ella fled. Mellie stood in front of him, looking more vibrant than she had on television, as if seeing her in person added a whole new dimension. He had forgotten just how beautiful she really was.

  She looked exhausted. And defeated, even though he could see that she was trying to hide it. Her eyes were red, and he wondered if she’d been crying.

  Before he even had a moment to think about it, he extended his left arm and pulled her close.

  She felt good leaning against him, soft and round and warm. He buried his face in her black hair, enjoying the scent of her mixed with the rose of her perfume. He had wanted to do this from the moment he met her.

  This woman didn’t need a man like him groping her.

  But right now, she looked like she needed a hug, and he was more than willing to provide it.

  The problem was, he was more than willing to provide a lot more.

  He eased her inside and closed the door. Then he leaned back just enough to see her face.

  She tilted her head up to his. He looked in those emerald eyes, so sad and tired, and got lost all over again.

  The next thing he knew, he was kissing her—his mouth over hers, his hands on her cheeks (how had that happened?), his body pressed against hers.

  She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, kissing him back, making soft sounds in her throat.

  He had a moment of clarity—just barely—remembering his daughters, and somehow he maneuvered Mellie into the master bedroom. He wondered—briefly—if she minded the scent of smoke, then realized that if she did, she would have pulled away from him by now. And then he had another moment of clarity as he debated whether or not to close the door.

  If he closed the door, he was breaking a promise to his daughters that he would be accessible this night.

  If he left it open, he was violating his own standards of decency.

  Of course, if he let go of Mellie, he wouldn’t have this dilemma, but he wasn’t willing to do that.

  All of this ran through his mind as he continued to kiss her, enjoying the taste of her, the feel of her pushing against him, the smoothness of her skin beneath his hands.

  He almost forgot his door dilemma when Mellie solved it for him, by pushing the door shut with one stockinged foot. Had she been wearing shoes when she arrived?

  He didn’t know, and he real
ly didn’t care.

  Her hands slipped down the back of his pants, and his hands slid away from her face, unbuttoning her blouse.

  She stepped away for a half-second—he felt an actual physical sense of loss—and then she smiled at him, doing the unbuttoning herself.

  Before she took the blouse off, she unbuttoned the top button of his shirt—a silent command to join her—so he did, fingers fumbling with his own buttons as he watched her shirt slide off.

  She was wearing a white lace bra that revealed as much as it concealed. With a practiced movement, she unhooked it, and it fell away, revealing still-perfect breasts.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  She had to help him with his shirt, with his pants, and then he helped himself, kicking off the rest of his clothes, as she wriggled out of her skirt. She playfully pushed him backwards on the bed, and then tumbled on top of him, her body over his.

  She kissed him and wrapped her arms, her legs, her entire self around him, stealing his breath, stealing his mind, stealing everything except this moment, this woman, these sensations.

  He lost himself in them, and loved her like he had never loved anyone before.

  Chapter 38

  They ended up lying kitty-corner on Charming’s gigantic bed, their heads almost sliding off the side. Mellie propped herself up on one elbow. Somewhere along the way, Charming had lost his glasses. His face had a naked look, a private look, as if she were seeing him like no one else saw him.

  His cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes so bright that they looked alive, his mouth bruised. She nuzzled his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her.

  He felt good. He felt better than good.

  He felt marvelous.

  She straddled one leg across his hips. She had never ever made love like that before. She had never felt such urgency before, which, she supposed, reflected badly on both husbands. Although she doubted it was the fault of her first. She was so young and inexperienced. Her second tried, but he hadn’t really cared for her.

  Not like this.