Her relief at having her mother gone must have been poorly hidden, for Francesca hadn’t deigned to call her since she’d left. Chalcey couldn’t find it in her to worry about her mother’s state of mind. She had enough on her plate without having to pussyfoot ’round Francesca and constantly justify her choices. Like fretting over Sam and Marcus, running a business, and worrying about her students. And angsting over this upcoming Testing crap.
It wasn’t like she could study for it. There was no Cliff’s Notes version on how to pass a test set by a devious old Crystal Guardian with a big-ass grudge and a heap of magical woo-woo at his command. Or how to cope with the knowledge that failure would cost a man’s life.
Businesswise, at least, everything was falling into place. Student numbers were still on the up and up, forcing Chalcey to schedule more and more classes until she was stretched so thin that Jai put his foot down. “Quit being a chicken, and just commit already!” were the exact words he’d used. By that, he meant taking on Paulo and Leah as teachers once they’d worked out the required notice at their current studio.
He was right, of course. So she’d done it, committed to taking on more staff. And immediately after making the call, she’d felt so ill she had to rush off to the ladies’ bathroom. Wulf had been there for her, as he’d been there for her ever since he’d moved in. He’d held her hair back from her face as she retched over the toilet bowl, and he’d rubbed the aching muscles in her back. When she’d finished rinsing her mouth and brushing her teeth, he scooped her up and took her to bed, where he held her until she stopped shaking. No sexual overtures, just the comfort of his solidly muscled body enveloping hers, keeping her warm and safe until she was in charge of her emotions again.
In truth, with an über-sexy alpha male like Wulf around, Chalcey was kidding herself if she believed she was in charge of anything. Like the side of the bed she preferred, for example. Her favorite side was now his side.
And speaking of beds—specifically the things men and women tended to do in them—he was beyond amazing. When they made love, he savored every inch of her body, playing her until she was taut as a bowstring, whimpering with need. Only then would he give her want she wanted and plunge himself into her, filling the cold, empty place where her fear of losing him lurked.
He’d also repeated the shower incident, with more than interest. And he’d seduced her atop her small kitchen table, which now had a distinct wobble and would never be the same again. Not to mention the stairwell, and a few other places she would never have thought of trying.
Chalcey, too, had morphed from a woman who was completely able to justify her lack of opportunities to have sex—and easily able to ignore the lack—to insatiable. She couldn’t get enough of him. Didn’t matter what time he got home from his bouncer gig. She would awake the instant he stepped foot in her bedroom and damned if she wouldn’t be ready for him. In the deepest darkest recesses of her soul, she knew it wasn’t real, it wasn’t her. She wasn’t a rampant sex fiend. She was terrified of failing him, losing him, and the sex was her way of indelibly etching him onto her heart. She knew all this and she didn’t care.
As Wulf had done with her body, he even made the name “Chalcey” his own. No-one else said it quite like him. No-one else could imbue that particular combination of letters with such incredible intimacy and lush promises of bare skin, entwined limbs and drawn-out pleasure. There was definitely something to be said for a guy with an accent. Not to mention a guy who insisted that her full name, Chalcedony, fitted her perfectly in every way.
According to Wulf it was a unique name, a name as beautiful and sensual as the crystal itself. Chalcey, stubborn creature she was, disputed this quite vehemently.
As soon as she’d been old enough to understand just how weird a name she’d been stuck with, she’d demanded that her mother show her a piece of chalcedony. And she’d been majorly disappointed—so disappointed, in fact, that she’d burst into tears and demanded her mother change her name. There’d been nothing beautiful or sensual about the dirty-white geode her mother had produced. And not even a polished crystal Francesca had ordered in an attempt at appeasement had impressed her. Was she supposed to be pleased that while other girls’ mothers named them things like Emily and Laurel and Susan, she’d been named after a creamy white egg-shaped stone marred with veins of freaky-looking lava-orange?
Wulf had soon banished her long held childhood dismay by describing chalcedony as he knew it—blue chalcedony. A crystal that when tumbled and polished, glowed with an unearthly beauty that had stolen his breath. The online image he’d shown her had finally smothered any belief that he’d been exaggerating. For the first time in her life, Chalcey found herself liking the full version of her name.
About the only fly in the ointment were the relentless prank calls. Her answering machine was so inundated with them that weeding out the genuine calls had become a mission in frustration. If her studio wasn’t so new, and she hadn’t already invested in advertising and business cards, she’d have considered changing her number. She didn’t believe Ray was the culprit—not even he could be so stupid. He had to know he’d be the prime suspect. Call her paranoid, but she was considering asking Jai to bank the class takings. No point taking unnecessary risks if there was some weirdo out there who looked on a dance studio as an easy target.
Chalcey perched on the edge of the desk in her tiny office to leaf through a bundle of mail. She examined the one from her accountant more closely. Funny. It didn’t look like the usual bi-monthly newsletter from him that she usually tossed.
She ripped open the envelope and read through the letter. “Shit. Shit. Shit! It’s just not bloody fair!”
“What is wrong, Chalcey?” Wulf asked.
She tossed the letter aside and then slumped, hugging her middle. “Seems my accountant’s screwed up my tax returns—only like, ever since I took him on. And with back taxes, the IRS says I owe six grand. Six frickin’ grand! He apologizes for the mistake. Mistake? God! I am so firing his ass!”
She chewed her nails as she reviewed her woefully limited options, barely noticing when Wulf gently removed her fingers from her mouth. “I’ve got enough put away to cover upcoming expenses and the lease payment due in a couple of weeks,” she said, “but not enough to cover this, as well. My bank manager and the finance company I approached have already turned me down. I am so screwed. Fuck.”
Wulf cupped her hand around a mug of freshly plunged coffee and sprawled on her two-seater couch to drink his own. “Explain this finance company to me please, Chalcey. Is it akin to a moneylender?”
She took a bracing sip of coffee. “Exactly right. Except in this case, ‘money-lending’ is a misnomer because the miserly bastards aren’t bloody well lending me any. Both said basically the same thing. The area’s not that flash and I won’t attract the student numbers I need. Income from a dance studio is erratic, and I’m too inexperienced at running a business to be a good credit risk. I don’t have any collateral so if I default on my payments they have nothing to sell up to recoup their losses. Yadda yadda,”
“Are they in any way correct, or do they merely breathe wind through the holes in their arses?”
She inhaled her mouthful of coffee and managed to splutter, “Good one!” before a coughing fit got the better of her. “Gahhh…. Ahem! That’s better. Well for a start, yes, the income from a dance studio can be erratic, but I’m hardly a profligate spender and I’m smart enough to squirrel away money from the boom times to offset a sharp decrease in class numbers. And as for my experience? They want experience, I can give them fricking experience. I’ve been ballroom dancing since the ripe old age of five and I’ve been a dance teacher at other studios since I was fifteen. I’ve always been able to attract new students to my classes—and keep them. On top of all that, I’m a bloody good teacher and there’re at least half a dozen studios that’d offer me a job tomorrow. But I don’t want that. I want my own studio. All I need is a chance. I can make this
work. I know I can.”
He launched himself from his prone position on the couch and tugged her away from her perch on the table. Chalcey didn’t protest when he settled her in his lap and rubbed the frustration and panic from her shoulders with strong, capable fingers. “I believe in you, Chalcey. And so do Jai, Paulo and Leah. When I watch you dance, I see passion and joy and pure love of the dance. Others see it too, and that is why they want you to teach them to dance—so they may experience for themselves just a tiny bit of what they see in your face.”
Tears burned her eyes. Aside from her dad, no man had ever praised her like that before. Or shown such implicit faith in her. As soon as she’d hit puberty and her breasts had ballooned to their current overly generous proportions, any male over the age of about thirteen had been more interested in her chest than what made her tick. It had taken a displaced warrior from another world and a time centuries past, to look deep into her soul and know the joy that consumed her when she danced.
The prospect of being hounded by the IRS brought her plummeting back to earth. “Thanks, Wulf. You’re wonderful, you know that?” She reached up to urge his face closer so she could reward him with a kiss. And oh, it was all she could do not to deepen that kiss and take it to the next level. It was damned near impossible to tear herself away from him. His gaze told her he knew how she felt. And understood why she felt the need to distance herself.
“But the truth of the matter is, no matter how much faith you have in me, I have to come up with a very large amount of money. And I have no idea how.”
“I am given to understand that Francesca is wealthy by way of her second union. Perhaps you could ask her to help you.”
“No way.” She shook my head. “I borrowed money from her and Edgar once, and I swore I would never do it again. Edgar charged me as much interest as a bank would charge. And then he poked his ferrety nose into every little part of my life, confiscated my credit card and insisted on approving every single expenditure until I’d off paid the loan. It was a bloody nightmare—like having my own private IRS auditor bugging me on a daily basis.”
“What about Samantha?”
“She would loan me the money like that.” Chalcey clicked her fingers. “But I have to do this on my own, Wulf. I have to prove to everybody—and myself—that I can do this. If I borrow from Sam this time, what happens if I can’t make the next payment? I won’t use her as a cash cow. Besides, haven’t you heard the old adage that you should never borrow from friends? It’s a surefire way to ensure they don’t remain your friends for long.”
He rested his chin atop of her head and hugged her close to his chest. “You will think of a way. Why do you not talk to Sam, anyway? She may have some ideas. She is very clever. I believe she works hard to hide her intelligence, believing it not appealing to the men she pursues.”
“Mmmm. Might just do that.”
“Do not fret, Chalcedony. This will all work out, you will see.”
She heard Jai yodel at her from the studio—a not-so-subtle hint about the time. “Uh oh, duty calls. Time to go get ready for the class.”
Wulf released her and she stood, smoothing her skirt over her thighs. “Sure you don’t want to join in, Wulf? You must get awfully bored just sitting there watching. I’m sure there’d be no problems rustling you up a willing partner.”
“No thank you, Chalcey. I am happy to watch you. I do not find it at all boring.”
Apprehension scuttled tiny centipede-like feet over her skin. Would he be content to sit around and watch her after the Testing? Would he be this besotted with her after his curse was lifted and he was stuck with her for life?
Crap. She wasn’t gonna go there at the moment, not with the specter of a hefty tax bill hanging over her. She pasted a bright smile on her face. “Better get a shirt on then, or all the ladies in the class will be watching you instead of me.”
Wulf found shirts constricting. So in the studio it was either bare chest rippling with muscles and washboard abs, or his leather vest. Right now it was bare chest. Like she was ever going to complain.
During his stints as a bouncer, he compromised by wearing the clothes he’d arrived in, along with the outrageously expensive full-length leather duster that Sam had bought him as a gift to celebrate his new job. In the unorthodox garb, he somehow managed to contrive to look both sexy and menacing at the same time. It was a truly hot look. But for Chalcey, the bare chest look was even hotter. She burned to get him alone, run her palms over his body, and have her wicked, wicked way with him.
“Sure you don’t want to join in?” she asked, hyper-aware that she sounded husky with want and need.
“I am a warrior, not a dancer. I am sure.”
“Okay,” she said. “But don’t let watching the class stop you from catching some shut-eye. You haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “How can I sleep when you are so enticing, Chalcey? ’Tis your fault I get no rest. You are insatiable.”
“Humph!” She turned on her heel and walked out before he spotted her blushing.
Wulf followed her into the studio to greet Jai, before disappearing into the bedroom. Her gaze followed him. Her breath sighed out, signaling her longing. And her sigh was echoed not only by Jai, but also a new female student who’d arrived early to enroll.
“Whoa, mama!” Jai fanned himself with his hands. “The temperature’s rising, it isn’t surprising that he—”
“Certainly can can-can!” The newcomer finished off the song lyric with a throaty laugh. She stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Esmeralda. You must be Chalcey. And he must be… yours?”
Chalcey shook her proffered hand. “Who? Jai? Not hardly. Sorry, Jai. No offence.”
“None taken, doll.”
“I mean Mr. Bare-chested Warrior King,” Esmeralda said.
“Ohhh. Him. Yes, Wulf’s definitely mine.” She couldn’t help her terribly smug smile.
“Pity!” Both Jai and Esmeralda chorused.
Covertly, Chalcey checked Esmeralda out. She had long-lashed eyes of a blue so deep that it was almost purple, a café au lait complexion that even a certain actress cum Revlon model would envy, and a tall, leggy figure à la a famous Australian lingerie model. Complete with expertly applied cosmetics, figure-hugging dress, and high-heeled sandals, she was an exquisite package. With a big secret.
“To answer your question, yes,” she said.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.”
Esmeralda’s practiced smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Am I likely to be a problem for you?”
“Not me personally, but it sort of depends on what exactly you’re looking for out of the class, Esmeralda. If you’re looking for dating material, then so long as no-one gets upset during class-time, it’s none of my business. However, anyone acting inappropriately or obviously sleeping their way through my students will be subjected to a personal dressing down from moi, and a referral to a dating agency. Is that likely to be a problem for you?”
“Not a bit, Chalcey. I’m just here to have fun and learn to dance.”
It was Chalcey’s turn to smile. Genuinely. “It doesn’t mean you can’t flirt and have lots of fun. And shit, girl, the way you’re put together, I reckon you’ll be having heaps of fun.”
Esmeralda beamed. “Jai said you’d be cool with it.”
“Oh, I’m cool with it. In fact, from my lofty pedestal of hindsight, I’m looking forward to watching two certain men in the next class pant after you.”
Jai’s eyes lit up and what only could be described as an evil smile flit across his handsome face. “You mean the unlovely Patrick and his partner in slime, Cliff?”
“Correctamundo,” she said. “Gold star for you.”
“Oooh, yes!” Jai rubbed his hands together and performed a little dance of mock glee. “They need to learn a lesson about keeping their hands to themselves and you’re sooo their type, Esmeralda. I’ll give you the nod when our boys arrive and then you can un
leash your charms on them.”
“I do appreciate the opportunity to hone my flirting techniques,” she purred, fluttering her eyelashes at Chalcey and thrusting out her chest. “Wouldn’t do to lose my touch.”
“You go, girl,” Jai said.
“Play nice, you two,” Chalcey said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“You mean any more trouble, Ms I-Had-Two-Men-Fighting-Over-Me Laureano.”
“Gee, thanks so much for reminding me of that particular episode, Jai.” People began to filter in to the studio and mill around by the payment desk. “That’s my cue to go extort some money,” Chalcey said. “And Esmeralda?”
“Yes?”
Chalcey patted her arm. “I really hope you do find a nice, understanding man.”
“Thanks.” Pain creased her smooth features for a moment. Then Jai engaged her in a whispered conversation and pointed out a man who’d just walked in, and was arrogantly surveying the room like it was his own little empire.
Esmeralda and Jai giggled.
Chalcey bit her lip to hide her smirk. Let the games begin.
The class she was teaching for this particular timeslot was beginners’ Ceroc, also known as French Rock Jive. Ceroc is a fun, upbeat partner dance, done to any sort of music with a decent beat, perfect for those who are uncomfortable with the flamboyant nature of Salsa, or being mashed up against a stranger’s groin as per the Lambada.
Because many brave souls like Esmeralda dared front-up to a class solo, there were usually uneven numbers of males and females, which suited Chalcey fine. She preferred to organize the class into pairs and work a rotation scheme. So if, say, there were two extra women, after the first move had been walked through, she asked the guys to stay put, and all the women to “move down two guys” and dance with a new man, leaving two new women to stand out for a rotation. Many people who came with partners were rather disconcerted to find themselves split up for most of the class but Chalcey firmly insisted they would learn the moves more quickly if they danced with other people. Most students quickly became comfortable with the concept. As an added bonus for the dance teacher, there was less likely to be sniping between permanent couples because “he isn’t leading properly” or “she keeps trying to lead”.
The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle Page 20
