His heart expanded, filling his chest, his head, his hollow legs.
Then, behind the lids of his closed eyes, he saw it again. He felt it again. That warm, blissful light, that sense of acceptance and peace, but now accompanied by a nice kick of earthly sexual arousal. With her mouth pressing against his, he felt alive. He felt whole. He felt love.
“Hey, Petey, why you kissin’ Mommy?”
He smiled against Ashley’s lips then turned his head. “I like kissin’ your Mommy, is why. She kisses real nice, don’t you think?”
Anna P. shrugged. “I guess. Magee must think so, too. This morning he kissed her, too—and it was even before breakfast!”
Near closing time, Felicity sat on a stool at the Bivy for the third night in a row, an icy glass of club soda on the bar in front of her. It was getting harder and harder to deny the impulse to drop her face into the fizzy water and drown.
She spent her days cruising the climbing shop and fast-food restaurants, hoping to spot Ben. She spent her nights hanging around the Bivy, waiting for him—or those men to whom he owed money—to walk through the door. So far the only rewards for her diligence were a deepening worry and an addiction to mini-pretzels.
With his back to her, Magee stood at the cash register several feet away, the canned overhead lights sparking fire in his glossy black hair. She supposed she could ask him to refill her now-empty basket, but she’d avoided direct contact with him since her phone call to Drew and planned to keep it that way.
You make us believe you have exactly what we need.
He’d said that, like it was a bad thing!
And he’d said it out of frustration with their inexplicable, ongoing sexual chemistry. How could she be blamed for the old adage about opposites attracting? But instead of slapping him over it like she wanted to, she’d decided against defending herself. That would have given him the impression she cared a hoot about what he thought.
Which she didn’t. He didn’t know her or anything about her.
So she’d vowed never to give the scruffy, thrillbanging, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted cretin the satisfaction of another cheap shot at her.
Feeling righteous, she glared at his back and the classy sentiment on today’s T-shirt choice: I’m Not Feeling Myself Today…May I Feel You? Then she licked her forefinger to scoop up some of the salt crystals in the bottom of the basket and brought her finger to her mouth to suck them off.
Just then he glanced up, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. His back stiffened and his eyes narrowed. She thought she saw steam billowing from his ears.
Magee in a slow boil…but why?
As he continued giving her the evil eye, and she continued sucking on her finger, it hit her. He thinks what I’m doing is sexy! He thinks I’m doing it on purpose.
Hah! This was much more gratifying than slapping the scruffy, thrillbanging, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted cretin. She could torture him instead!
Moving lazily, she withdrew her wet finger from her mouth and dipped it back inside the basket. Without breaking his gaze, she slid it inside her mouth again, all the way inside, then slowly slid it back out. Letting her mouth drop open, she rubbed the wet pad back and forth across the inner dampness of her lower lip.
One of his hands jerked, knocking over a bottle, causing Peter, at the other end of the bar, to glance around.
Magee instantly ducked his head. “Peter, get Felicity some more pretzels,” he barked out.
At the rough order, Peter’s expression hardened. “What?” The angry note in his voice prickled the hairs on the back of Felicity’s neck. Ashley, walking toward the bar with a tray filled with dirty glasses, froze as Peter spoke again. “What did you say to me?”
Magee either didn’t hear or didn’t choose to heed the warning in his friend’s tone. “Felicity. Get her pretzels,” he repeated.
Peter slung the rag in his hand against the counter with a thwap and pivoted his chair to address Magee’s back. “What the hell’s wrong with you doing it?” he spit out. “Is there something wrong with your legs?”
A tense silence descended. The only two other patrons still left in the bar jumped to their feet and hurried out.
When the door shut behind them, Magee turned to face Peter. “All right, what’s your beef?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “For the last few days you’ve been a royal pain in the ass.”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You—”
“Don’t.” Glass rattled as Ashley, her face pale, dumped her tray on top of the bar.
Peter’s jaw clenched and he glanced over at her. “This is between Magee and me, Ash.”
“No, it’s not.” Her hands clutched each other at her waist. “This has nothing to do with you, Peter.”
“Ashley—”
“We’ve been friends for seven years.” She was backing toward the exit, her gaze flicking from one man to the other. “All of us. Please, Peter, please, don’t spoil…things.”
He was wheeling his chair to follow her, but she held out her hand to stop him. Felicity saw it was trembling.
“I can’t bear it,” Ashley said, looking as alone and painful as heartbreak. “I can’t bear for something else to go wrong.” She whipped around and fled through the door.
Felicity slid off her stool. “I’ll go after her.”
“No. I will.” Peter’s biceps bunched as he sped the wheelchair toward the door.
Uncertain, Felicity looked over at Magee. He was slumped against the back counter, his expression unreadable. As the front door slammed shut behind Peter, she found herself walking around the bar.
Magee didn’t appear to notice, even when she stopped in front of him. “Are…are you all right?” she asked.
His gaze flicked over her face. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” He blindly reached to the side, grabbing a bottle from the dozens of call liquors shelved behind him. With his other hand he scooped up a shot glass, poured, swallowed the liquid down. He poured another and swallowed that, too, grimacing in obvious disgust.
“What are you drinking?”
“Well, it ain’t no salsa shooter, that’s for sure, dollface.” He lifted the bottle and squinted at the label. “Peppermint schnapps. But it’ll do.” He tossed back another shot, grimaced again.
She put her hand on his forearm, halting him mid-pour. “What’s the matter?”
His brows rose. “What’s the matter with what—with Ashley or with the whole stinkin’ world?”
“With you.”
“What could be the matter with me?” The hand with the half-filled shot glass gestured impatiently, and an arc of schnapps flew through the air. He didn’t seem to notice. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m the one who made it back, right?”
She didn’t know if it was the booze or the late hour and the almost-argument that was responsible for his blackening mood. Wrapping her hand around the bottle, she tried freeing it from his grasp. “Give me this.”
He wrenched it away and poured himself another drink. “You won’t like it. It tastes like crap.”
“I don’t want to drink it, and if you don’t like the taste, then you shouldn’t have any more, either.” She reached for it again.
Shaking his head, he cradled the bottle to his chest. “I’ve decided that I need to get drunk, ugly-dog-drunk.”
She sighed. “What if I told you you’re already an ugly dog?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I wouldn’t believe it. You’ve got the jones for me, dollface, I can tell. Hell of a thing, because I’ve got the jones for you, too.”
“The ‘jones’? Personally, I call it the liepshitz, but hey, that’s just me.”
He toasted her with the liqueur. “Liepshitz, jones. But I have a purpose now, so I’m ignoring the whatever-you-want-to-call-it. Ignoring the whatever-you-want-to-call-it, that is, not the purpose.” Bringing the bottle to his mouth, he bit down on the cork-lined pourer, pulled it out with his teeth, then let it drop to the
floor. With the bottle halfway back to his lips, he paused, looking down at her and frowning. “Wait…what is the purpose again?”
She shrugged, humoring the idiot. “You tell me.”
He blinked at her, his puzzled expression clearing. “Of life, that’s it. The purpose of life. The reason why I lived and Simon didn’t.”
That errant memory: warmth, light, knowledge, blossomed in her mind, but Felicity quickly shut it away. “Don’t ask me, Michael.”
“We’re two of a kind, then. I’m no navel-gazer, either.” He looked away. “Lissie, go home.”
“Lissie keeps trying to, but—”
“Felicity tries to leave,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “It’s my Lissie who likes to stay and play.”
Oh, he had a definite buzz on now. “Well, neither one of us can leave you here. Come on, let me drive you home.”
He gave her a smile. “I’ll take a cab.”
“Hah, hah.” Felicity reached for the bottle of peppermint schnapps again, but he was too fast for her.
“Nuh-uh-uh.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. Since you seem to have all the company you need, if you promise not to drive yourself anywhere I’ll go find Ashley and make sure she’s okay.”
“Oh, come on, dollface.” Settling his elbows on the counter behind him, he lifted one of his dark eyebrows, a sardonic gesture that sent a sexy shiver down Felicity’s back. Even half-drunk, he remained one hundred percent dangerous. “Why set a new precedent?”
She blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Simon died eighteen months ago. You weren’t worried if Ashley was ‘okay’ then.” His gaze didn’t leave hers as he took a drink from the bottle.
“Of course I—”
“Didn’t see you at the memorial service, dollface. And I was there, in all my ankles-screwed-together glory.”
“It’s just that—”
“You would have had to take time off work to do something for the family that raised you? A day without a rubber glove sale is a day without sunshine, is that it?”
Irritated at his tone, she took a step back. He was hammering at her because he was in a foul mood. Because he missed his friend Simon and because there was tension between him and Ashley and Peter. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t deserve it, but she didn’t need to defend herself, either.
Remember? That would only give Magee the impression she gave a hoot about what he thought. Which she didn’t.
He didn’t know her. He didn’t know anything about her.
“So I’ve been thinking, how are you going to get rid of your Charm relatives?”
Her gaze jerked up to his. “What?”
“It’s obvious your pretty-boy producer has swallowed your fairy tale about the Charm wine cellar and the Charm sponsorship of the George Bernard Shaw Society.” His eyes were hard and most of the drunkenness had disappeared, leaving only the danger behind. “Just as it’s obvious you’re angling to become Mrs. Pretty Boy.”
Her face heated. Don’t explain. Don’t defend. Magee doesn’t know you or anything about you.
“He’s going to want to meet the clan, unless you take them out of the picture first, that is. I’d suggest something dramatic,” he went on. “It’ll be good for ratings, don’t you think? Kill ’em off in a fire. Or how about an earthquake? One big rumble and you’re relative-free.”
Felicity stared at him. How could you say such a thing? she wanted to shout.
It was none of Magee’s business what went on between her and Drew. And it was none of his business that she hadn’t come clean about the family to her producer, either. The fictional Charms had been a part of her life for so long, since boarding school, that they were—nearly, anyway—real to her. She’d never given a thought to telling Drew the truth.
No man knew the truth about her.
Her heart jittered.
Except one.
Her heart jittered again.
She looked at him, at his faded jeans and his rude T-shirt, at his stubbled chin, too-long hair, and dark, inscrutable eyes. He lifted the bottle of schnapps with two fingers and chugged down another swallow, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
How could this have happened? Him? Him? She felt like crying.
Because facts were facts. The only man who truly knew Felicity Charm was the scruffy, thrillbanging, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted Michael Magee.
A sob rose in her throat, and to escape it—and Magee—she ran for the door.
Magee slammed the bottle onto the countertop as Felicity rushed out of the bar. He was an ugly dog, all right, picking on Felicity instead of picking at his own damn wounds.
A headache already pounding at his temples, he grabbed a mug and poured the last of the evening’s coffee inside it. Then he drained the mug, filled it with water, and drained that down, too.
Making his way toward the front door to lock it, he decided to spend the night on the couch in the office. He’d wake up with a crick in his neck, but just in case he bypassed the hangover he so richly deserved, at least it would be one punishment.
With his fingers on the door handle, he paused. Then he swung it open, just to check that Felicity’s car had started.
To his surprise, instead of tearing down the road away from the Bivy, she was tearing across the parking lot toward him.
He braced for another knee in the nuts. Instead, she leaped into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist.
Nine
The casino doors swung shut behind her, allowing Ashley her first full breath since running out of the Bivy. She closed her eyes for a moment, appreciating the sense of well-being already wrapping around her like a warm blanket. Though she’d promised herself a month ago not to return, after stepping into that brewing clash between Magee and Peter she deserved a little fun.
Making her way to the nearby cashier’s cage, she dug her tip money out of her jeans pocket. It had been a quiet night, so there wasn’t much. That was fine. Her tips would be her limit. Once she played through them, she’d leave.
The young woman behind the bars looked up and smiled as Ashley pushed her cash across the counter. “Hey! We’ve missed you. How’s your little girl?”
“She’s great. Keeping me busy.” Ashley smiled back. “Quarter tokens, please, Meg. How’s your mom’s carpal tunnel?”
Meg slid a yellow plastic cup with the Easy Money Casino insignia to Ashley and grimaced. “She has to wear those wrist guards now. But she’ll tell you all about it herself. She has the shift after this one.”
“The next shift?” Ashley wrapped her hands around the plastic cup, assessing the heft of the tokens inside. “I don’t think these will last…oh, what the hey. Give me another forty dollars’ worth.”
As she reached inside her purse for her wallet, the other woman dragged her stool closer to the countertop. “And where’s your cute little brother Ben been hiding himself lately?”
Ashley’s mouth dried, and she grabbed an additional twenty from her wallet. “He’s somewhere around.” The second cup of shiny tokens made it easier to swallow.
With the tokens resting comfortably in the crook of her arm, she grabbed up her purse and rounded the corner toward her favorite slot machine. A little sigh of contentment escaped her when she saw that it was free. Lengthening her stride, she moved quickly to claim it.
“It’s me,” she whispered, patting the Silver Lady’s gleaming chrome side. “I’m back.”
She settled into a high-backed cushioned chair, as the Lady’s jewel-toned lights winked back at her. Then Ashley dug into one of the yellow cups. A token slid coolly through her fingers and into the machine. Clickety-click-clack. She lifted her hand to the Lady’s arm—she figured it burned a few more calories to pull the arm instead of pushing the roll button—and drew it down.
The Lady’s lights twinkled, her gears purred. A melodic ping sounded as each tumbler halted. Cherry, cherry, orange, grapes. Ashley fished for ano
ther token.
clickety-click-clack, twinkle, purr, ping ping ping ping
clickety-click-clack, twinkle, purr, ping ping ping ping
clickety-click-clack, twinkle, purr, ping ping ping ping
Within minutes, the stranglehold that tension had on her neck eased. “Thank you,” she said, as the machine sipped another token from her fingers. She drew the Lady’s arm down gently, even as she reached her other hand for her favorite iced tea—with extra lemon—that the barmaid brought by without being asked.
“Thanks, Joanne.” Ashley passed over a tip just as the Lady lit up, beaming in all her glory like a woman for a lover.
ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding
Ten dollars in token credit ticked onto the digital counter.
Yes! Ashley relaxed back into her seat. Every win meant a few more minutes in this peaceful paradise where nothing—no worries, no grief, no confrontations—intruded. She reached for another token.
Once down to the ice in her iced tea, Ashley admitted to herself she couldn’t put off a pit stop any longer. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to the Lady, then looked over a couple of machines, relieved to see someone she knew.
“Ted!” When the older man glanced over, she smiled. “Watch my machine for a minute?”
He nodded in understanding, then turned back to his own play.
Ashley beelined for the restroom and hurried through the necessary activities. As she stepped back onto the casino floor, her gaze went immediately to her machine. A figure was sitting in front of it, backlit by the Lady’s bright lights.
“Wait a minute!” she muttered to herself. “That’s my machine.” She stalked toward the usurper, anger threatening to spoil her good mood.
Don’t let it, she admonished herself, taking a deep breath. Don’t let anything disturb your peace.
It was then that she realized who the intruder was.
Peter.
The Thrill of It All Page 12
