Dalton, Tymber - Fire and Ice [A Triple Trouble Prequel] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (18 page)

PART II

Chapter One

Now

“Jeez, Callie, what the frak is up with you today? You act like you’re about to bounce out of your skin.”

Callie looked across the table at her friend, Shawna. “What?”

“You drinking espresso shots before you even get to the coffee shop, or what?”

Callie realized she’d been anxiously tapping her foot and willed it to stop. “Better?”

Shawna raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her. “Not really. Purple? Really girlfriend, you’re shitting me that’s not a wig, right?”

Callie stroked her hair. “I was in a mood.”

“A mood? Is that code for drunk?” Shawna’s mocha skin looked flawless, as always. Her shoulder-length hair had, no doubt, suffered an hour’s torture of straightening for her to achieve the casually mussed look she sported. She wore blue jeans and a gorgeous maroon blouse that set off highlights in her brown eyes. She pulled the look together with stiletto sandals that gave her five-three frame an extra four inches. If someone didn’t know she held a law degree and was the head of the Mid-Atlantic Conservancy Trust for the Performing Arts, a position she inherited when her wealthy parents died and left her the job in their will, they’d never know she was worth over forty million dollars. She still insisted on driving her fifteen-year-old VW Rabbit to work every day at the “MacTrippa” office, as she called it.

“I was not drunk.” Callie examined the result in the chromed side of the napkin holder. Her green eyes, one aspect of her appearance that never changed, stared back at her. “I was experimenting.”

“Girl, you flunked that experiment. Leave the mad scientist crap to Dr. Frankenstein, and get your ass back to the hair stylist.”

“I did it myself,” Callie mumbled. “I like it. You’re my friend. You’re supposed to support me.”

“You’re what, thirty-five? Time to leave purple hair behind.”

“Thirty and holding,” Callie mumbled. Sort of the truth, although Shawna didn’t need to know that.

Shawna snorted in derision. “Embrace your age. You’re a hot woman. You don’t need to go purple to prove it.”

“It’s not like it’s all purple. Just a few streaks for highlights.”

Shawna arched an eyebrow at her again. “More like you were lit high or something.”

Callie looked around for any sign of her intended mark. Three years of coming to this Charleston coffee shop and time was growing short. So far, all she’d picked up was Shawna as her friend, and a caffeine addiction. But her sister had insisted events were already in play, and literally any day now, she’d find him.

Why her sister couldn’t just hand over his name, address, and phone number beat the hell out of Callie. But Babs insisted it didn’t work that way, that mortals’ free will must be maintained, otherwise the prophecies wouldn’t be fulfilled, blah, blah, blah.

Always complicating shit. Just like her.

Shawna sipped her latte. “We still hitting the opera tomorrow night?” She grinned. “I saw the publicity stills of Salzari, the lead.” She let out a low whistle. “A Saturday night at the opera never looked so sweet. Two words, honey—tight leather pants.”

“That’s three words,” Callie pointed out.

“Uh-uh. These pants look like they’re painted on him, making ‘tight’ and ‘leather’ eligible for one-word status. Hyphenated, at the very least. And he’s definitely got the bod to wear them. How often do we get a hunk like that singing Puccini here in Charleston?”

“Not very.” She sipped her cappuccino.

“Uh-huh. Exactly.” Shawna started to say something else when she let out a low whistle. “I’ll take one of him to go, and hold the wrapper, puhleeze.”

Callie turned to look. The coffee shop sat on a corner, with doors opening to both streets. The man had walked in through the coffee shop’s far side door, not the main entrance in front of the counter. His jet-black hair brushed his shoulders but looked right on him, like he spent a lot of time out of doors doing hard, honest labor and didn’t have time to get it cut. His grey-green eyes bore a hint of amber in them. He carried a copy of
The Post and Courier
tucked under his right arm, likely just purchased from the paper box right outside. Faded, tight blue jeans over worn work boots, and a collared blue knit, short-sleeved shirt highlighted his trim, lithe body. She guessed him to be around six foot and one-eighty.

Mmm. Yummy.

Callie was vaguely aware of Shawna clearing her throat. When she turned, she spotted Shawna’s playful smile. “Girl, I’ve got guys falling out my asshole. Go get him. This one’s on me.”

She’d already jumped up from her seat and taken three strides toward where he had queued in line to order when she realized who he must be.

Fuck!

Okay, well, if she had to hook up with a fleabag, there were far worse looking ones. He was almost as hot as the Lyall triplets down in Florida who Babs had warned her to stay away from.

She stepped into line behind her mystery wolf hunk. He didn’t turn around, but she stared at the back of his neck and enjoyed his warm, earthy scent.

There won’t be anything hard about this job. Well, except hopefully Mr. Hunkalicious’ cock.

When it was his turn, he stepped up to the counter and ordered a large, black coffee, with an extra shot of espresso.

My kind of guy.

When he turned around to step to the end of the counter where the pickup area was located, their eyes locked. For the first time she could ever remember, her mouth went dry.

After what felt like forever, she managed to speak. “Um, hi.”

The hint of a smile curved his lips. She saw the wolf lurking under the surface.

So this is what it feels like to be prey.

“Hello,” he said.

“Ma’am, did you want to order?” the clerk asked.

Callie fought the urge to evaporate the multiply pierced clerk where she stood. “Um, can I get an extra napkin?” she asked without breaking eye contact with Mr. My-What-Big-Eyes-You-Have.

He smiled.

“Ma’am,” the clerk said, exasperated, “the extra napkins are on the tables.” She looked past Callie, who struggled against the desire to make the girl’s head explode. Callie finally rationalized that the girl’s piercings would cause shrapnel and possibly harm innocent bystanders. “Can I help the next person in line?”

“We’d better step out of the way,” Wolf Man suggested.

“Uh-huh.” Callie knew she shouldn’t be reacting like this. No other man had ever made her react like this.

Then again, she’d never fallen for a shape-shifter before. At least, not a wolf.

I am sooo going to kill Babs for this.

She followed him to the end of the counter, where the man stuck out his hand. “Daniel Blackestone.”

She hoped her hand didn’t feel clammy. “Callie Maher.”

Another clerk set his order on the counter. “Large black coffee. Extra shot.”

“That’s me,” he said with a smile, his gaze never leaving Callie’s.

Callie nodded.

“I need my hand back,” he said with a deliciously raised eyebrow.

Oh, you stupid fuck!
she chastised herself as she let go. “Sorry.”

He pulled out his wallet, fished out a business card, and handed it to her. Blackestone Construction. “That’s my cell,” he said. “I’m on my way to a meeting, but give me a call. If you’re free later, maybe we can grab something to eat?” One dark eyebrow deliciously arched again. She wished he’d stop doing that. Every time he did, it made her panties even more squishy. “Unless you’re not available?”

“Oh, I’m available!” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a frantic rush. “Anytime!”

“How about we meet at five this afternoon at Prachett’s? My treat.”

She nodded dumbly.

“Do you know where that is?”

“Over on Highway 5.”

He smiled. “See you at five, Callie.”

“Okay.” She watched him pick up his coffee and stroll out of the shop.

It took every ounce of her strength not to follow him.

Shawna’s laugh brought Callie back to the present. She looked over at her friend, who was beckoning her back to the table with a crooked finger. In a fog, Callie returned and plopped down in her chair. Shawna plucked the card from her hand and studied it before letting out a low whistle.

“I’ve heard of him. Honey, you just hit the jackpot if you don’t let him get off the hook. Rich businessman. His company makes a generous donation to the Foundation every year.”

Callie took the card back as her pulse struggled to slow its racing pace.
What have I gotten myself into?

* * * *

When Callie finally made it home, she walked into the master bedroom, into the large walk-in closet. She stepped through it into her sister’s dooryard.

Babs, in her maiden form, knelt on the ground next to a small vegetable patch. A little pile of weeds lay next to her.

Callie angrily strode over to her. Babs never looked up. “Okay, sis. What. The. Fuck?”

Baba Yaga still didn’t look up. “Cailleach, you show up at my house unannounced, uninvited, and using that tone of voice with me? That’s very risky.”

“Risky my ass!” She ran a hand through her hair. “Damn it! You set me up! You didn’t say anything about me falling in love with this guy or him thinking I am his mate!”

Babs finally sat back on her heels and looked up at her sister. “I take it you met your wolf?”

“
My
wolf? Oh, no. Fuck, no! Wait just a freaking minute. You know damn well I’m not out to get hitched.”

“Then walk away from him.”

Baba Yaga’s calm tone infuriated Callie. She sputtered, angry and indignant, until she realized walking away from the man whom she’d just met wouldn’t be possible. Dejected, she plopped down onto the grass. “What am I going to do? This wasn’t what I signed up for,” she wailed.

Babs finally smiled. “You’re going out to dinner with him tonight.”

* * * *

Daniel Blackestone sat in his pickup truck, eyes closed, and waited.

Nope, not going away.

The rock-hard erection he’d developed upon meeting Callie Maher wasn’t getting any better. In fact, as he thought about her, his member throbbed, practically trying to claw its way out of his jeans to go find and fuck her.

To claim her as his One.

Despite all the bullshit he’d been raised on, part of him never expected to meet his One. At least, not like this. Not in line in a coffee shop in Charleston. He certainly never expected this kind of reaction from his body or his soul.

She wasn’t even a wolf. He didn’t know what the hell she was, but human wasn’t among his top thousand choices. She wasn’t a shifter, either. At least, not any shifter breed he’d ever met. Definitely not wolf or canine, and not feline. The only reason he’d let her walk away was because from the way her pulse had raced, and the way her scent suddenly overwhelmed him, he knew she felt the pull, too. She wouldn’t miss their dinner.