Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) (13 page)

After she straightened and walked to the mantle, her artist’s heart was near to overflowing. This place was like a dream. Running her palm along the aged wood, she explored every swirl and dip in the carved end caps and sighed heavily.

What a wonderful place to live.

And then she remembered where she was and with whom. Turning to look for Ty she wasn’t in the least surprised to find him right on her heels, both hands jammed in his pockets, suit jacket discarded, tie loosened and collar buttons undone. Her first glimpses of his expression told her loud and clear how delighted he was by her spontaneous, unreserved reaction.

“This is the main floor,” he told her. “There’s a terrace off the solarium that looks out over Castela Sant’Angelo.”

Oh my God! For real? Charlie gazed longingly at the big windows and searched the night vista for the distinctive castela.
How absolutely marvelous
, she thought.

Finding her voice, she asked, “Another level? Up or down?”

He reached for her arm and turned her until the heavy wood balustrade of a down staircase came into view.

“Common spaces up here. Kitchen, living room, dining.” One of his shoulders lifted and dropped like it was all no big deal. “Downstairs are the bedrooms. Don’t bother to keep a guest room. I never bring anyone here.” He looked her straight in the eye when he said it. “So one of the rooms is an office-slash-study-slash-man cave.”

She chuckled at the mocking description. At least he got how funny it was.

“There’s a master suite. I can show you if you’d like and one other room.”

C
AL WAS ENJOYING THIS WAY
too much. Watching her silently take in the uniqueness of his home gave him serious pleasure. Her delicate fingers feeling their way from room to room. The way she vibrated with delight at some of the Italian ceramics and pottery he’d collected. With no idea at all what the fuck he was doing, he simply bought pieces he liked. When she had a mini-meltdown over an antique urn, he almost gave it to her as a gift. Hell, she could back a moving truck up to the door if she wanted—as long as her eyes danced the same way they did when she bent over the elaborately decorated objects.

Suggesting a tour of his bedroom was an innocent offer. Last year he’d acquired an antique Tudor style four-poster bed that floated his boat in a big way. The design was unique and weathered the march of time with only a few minor repairs. The damn bed was his pride and joy and he bet she’d fall in love with it, too.

After removing the jacket and scarf, ‘tessa gave off an air of youth and vitality that translated to a heavy thrum in his ears. Her dress was a style she made look incredible. Short, gathered under her boobs and flaring out over her hips, he tried not to focus too long on her chest but fuck man—ignoring her tits was damn hard.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Tyler.”

He searched her face for a clue to her mood. Bringing her here was the right thing to do even if it sent up a bunch of warning flags. From the get go, he knew this girl wasn’t a player. Head games were not her style. Knowing that sorta set him free. He could let down his guard and be his authentic self and that meant he should ‘fess up.

Acknowledging her compliment about his home, he bent his head in gratitude. Cal wasn’t fucking around about not bringing anyone here. She was the exception and that earned her a box seat.

“Grazie, Contessa.”

Her eyes told him she was gearing up to give him a dose of what-what. Bet it’ll be quite a performance, too. The way she smirked had a sweet, captivating quality that got his blood pumping. He sped up and cut in front though when he saw the opening.

“It was,” Cal searched for a good word to use, “uncool of me not to tell you we were coming here.” Her face registered surprise. Good. He didn’t want her lumping him in with every other guy. This wasn’t a seduction.

Okay. Maybe that’s oversimplifying. Every second he was with her reeked of seduction, but any ulterior motives around bringing her home had way more to do with how deeply she intrigued him. Getting inside her head, knowing her better. That was the deciding factor.

He wasn’t surprised when she hit back with a stern drawl. “Very uncool, Mr. Tyler. Very.” And then she softened a teeny tiny bit. “But also very, um … informative.” Glancing around, he saw the delight she felt. “This might work for me.” She nodded. Her quirky half grin became that adorably cute smirk, and he sighed.

Whew. She wasn’t going to clean his clock for being a pushy asshole.

“But seriously, Ty.” Rubbing a hand against her stomach, she groaned. “Somebody promised me food and unless you want me in a famished dead faint, I hope for your sake that devious mind of yours has a dinner plan.”

He laughed. A look of mocking innocence was on his face when he scolded, “Devious mind? I beg your pardon, young lady. Not a deceitful bone in my body.” Cal grinned at her. “I’ve been fairly direct about what I want, ‘tessa. Remember?”

“You’re not helping your case.”

He flung an arm around her shoulders, catching her off guard and off balance and pulled her in for a buddy-hug. “I see I’ll have to feed the surly out of you. C’mon then. Into the kitchen. Prepare to be amazed.”

Shuffling them into the enormous kitchen, he led her to the stools around the island and told her to park it. Undoing the buttons at his cuffs, he was rolling back a sleeve when she asked, “Do you have a housekeeper?”

Odd question but so was pretty much everything coming out of the mind of a female.

“Fuck yeah. Angela. Mrs. Torrisi. But just one day a week. I like my space.”

Finishing the other sleeve, having rolled both to just below his elbow, Cal half shrugged. “Angela does the mom stuff.”

Now that got an instant response. “Mom stuff?”

“Be nice,” he snickered. “I have no problem with the day-to-day stuff, but my schedule tends to be erratic, so she handles the cleaners and does the shopping. No big.”

“Hmph.”

That was it. Just,
hmph.

Being adept in the kitchen was one of the many things he was good at. It helped to have a mom who made cooking a magically fun time. Hell, until he was a young teenager, Cal actually thought that kissing the mixing spoon when making cake batter was an actual thing. But just like discovering Santa wasn’t all he was cracked up to be, the spoon kiss ritual didn’t lose its significance and yeah, he always kissed the damn spoon according to Katie Merrill’s recipe.

They made random chit chat as he whipped up a simple meal, and in no time at all, she was setting the table and making him laugh with outrageous stories about a larger-than-life grandmother who sounded like a character from a Victorian novel.

“It’s totally my Nana’s fault that I’m the way I am.”

Bypassing the larger dining room, they went for the table in the comfortable nook—a much more intimate setting. Holding her chair as she sat, Cal felt her pleasure in the simple act. Taking her napkin, he shook it out with a sharp flip of his wrist mimicking the best and most dramatic flair he could. Draping it over her lap as she crossed her legs, he made quite the production out of making absolutely certain she was adequately protected against a potential spill. And copped a feel in the process.

Sitting across from her at the small table, his grin met her mocking headshake.

“Those hands of yours have a career ahead as an airport screener.”

What could he do but laugh? She had a point. He’d done everything except adjust her thong. And how did he know she wore a thong and not everyday panties? Because when she bent over to look at his ceramic treasures, he had a clear shot up her dress. Instead of offering decent coverage, the black tights she wore had a sheer quality at the top that gave him an eyeful of her ass and showed the unmistakable outline of her sexy underwear.

Piling her plate with a mound of pasta large enough for a family of four, he took her through the menu.

“The angel hair is made fresh every day by two sisters at a little grocery store nearby. Angela keeps me stocked. The basil comes from a garden of pots and planters on the terrace. Kept the garlic to a minimum.”

He blew her a kiss just for the hell of it.

“The bread I made myself.”

“Are you joking?”

Sliding the plate he’d piled high in front of her, Cal grunted and frowned. “No, I’m not kidding so screw you.”

He was just kidding so when she sat back and stared at him, he worried his tone might have pissed her off. Or hurt her feelings. Turns out he was wrong on both.

“You are a man of many … unusual talents.”

He agreed and nodded his head.

“And you also wear a mask.”

Shock raced through him. She nailed him right out of the gate. How’d she do that so easily?

“Or no, wait. Maybe you don’t wear a mask. Maybe you put the mask on. Like Batman. Regular guy by day, bad ass by night.”

Wow. Someone with a narrative in their head just as crazy as his.

Slopping a ridiculous amount of food on his plate, he commented in a husky growl, “Bad ass, huh?”

“Or insane,” she quickly replied. Arranging the pasta with her fork, she paused. He supposed she was considering where her comment led. “Why do you do it?”

Shoveling a tight ball of pasta he’d wound on his fork into his mouth, he looked at her, confused. “Do what?” he asked through a full mouth.

It took her a good long time to respond. “Risk your life. Why do you do it? What’s the end goal?”

How the fuck did he walk so blindly into that question and seriously—who the hell was this little girl and how come she cut to the heart of the matter so quickly?

Cal couldn’t believe he was considering telling her everything. All of it. The whole enchilada as his dad liked to say. And maybe at some point he would, but not tonight.

“Is this part of your therapeutic assessment?”

He didn’t mean the question to sound like a challenge and was glad she didn’t take it that way.

“A little bit, I guess.” Like him, she ate slowly and didn’t rush. “I wasn’t prying. Not really. Just trying to understand what motivates you.”

He poured some wine into a glass and slid it across the table. She took it and gestured to his empty glass. “What about you?”

She was observant. Something he’d do well to remember.

From a pitcher, he poured water into his glass and added a lemon slice for effect. “I’m driving so no to the wine.”

He could see the questions and comments forming in her mind and decided to divert the conversation away from him. No way did he enjoy being under the microscope of her assessing gaze.

“So tell me a little bit about what to expect, ‘tessa. As I said, the physical therapy ran its course weeks ago. I need a different approach. Something I think you’ll excel at.”

Her happy laugh put a big smile on his face. “Oh, I’m different all right! None of that woe-is-me crap. Not if you’re serious about getting your issues under control.”

Truth was, he was genuinely intrigued by what she did. Cal understood a little bit about mind-body stuff. His brother Jax was a vet who came back from the war one fucked up unit. Had taken a complete life change and a totally different direction for him to function in society.

Cal’s injuries weren’t life threatening and though serious at the time, he was in tiptop shape before the accident which made the healing and recuperation time fairly short. The only thing was, the more he focused on getting past the accident, the tighter he became. And being tight led to other things. Headaches. Muscle spasms and a phantom pain that gathered in his lower back and radiated into every tissue until he was incapacitated.

Hoping her holistic approach would shake things loose was what made him interfere so boldly in her life. For now, he’d keep to himself his fear that what was happening to him was all emotional and not physical at all. Being sick of his life was a contributing factor, he was sure of it.

She prattled on as they ate. Artfully weaving facts and research into an amazingly astute outlook on life. He couldn’t keep track of how many times and in countless ways she mentioned being happy or connecting with joy to lead a more fulfilling existence.