Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) (50 page)

“We’re eating in the dining room.” She nervously pushed some hair behind her ear and chewed a lip. “Is that okay?”

He almost said something, but didn’t. She wondered what got censored. Removing the heavy coat he favored—one of Jax’s he’d swiped off the coat rack—he draped it over a kitchen stool and looked indifferent. Totally indifferent.

No way had she expected this reaction.

“Is the food hot?” he grumbled. He answered his own question and hers with a dismissive shrug. “Then I don’t care where I drop my plate.”

All righty then. So. He wasn’t about to make this easy for her—whatever this was. Not quite an apology for her strange behavior these last weeks and not a white flag either, this pseudo-first-date felt more like an opportunity to hit the reset button. Take a step back. Stow the unreasonable resentment.

It sure would help if they weren’t at each other’s throats when Brynn and Jax returned.

“Everything’s ready,” she informed him. “Would you like a drink first?”

What was the expression Rhi used for moments like this? Eyeball combat? Yeah. That one. He was good at it. She almost cowered, but he suddenly softened. Not much but she no longer felt like he was about to throw her in chains and toss food scraps to her from the table.

“Lead the way.”

Oh goody! Charlie almost clapped her hands with delight. They weren’t about to brawl. So far—so good.

The original dining room was a part of the old house she loved the most. It was the one room Brynn insisted on keeping intact. Heavy wooden pocket doors, and a built-in china cabinet, plus beautifully seasoned cherry wood everywhere you looked. It was opulent but homey. Formal but cozy. She loved it.

She led the way to the drink cart and hoped he was watching her ass as they walked. The short, checkered skirt showed a lot of leg. Leg emphasized by the thigh highs. The sexy thigh highs that made her strut like a vixen, leading her man into sin.

Oooh
, she liked that thought. A sinful vixen. Sounds like a good book title. Ha! She should make a note of it to share with Rhi when the time was right.

“Um, I heard from Brynn today.” She was chatting. If she didn’t, some other horrible habit of hers might surface. Like chewing her nails because she was nervous.

He didn’t look up—just kept on going through the motions of martini making.

“A text. She’s shipping a hammock that comes with a Cyprus stand. For the backyard.”

She watched him spork the olives onto the silver picks she put out. He continued to say nothing. She cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably. Then it hit her. The silent treatment. Same thing she’d been doing to him.

When he handed off her drink, she noticed the slightest of hesitations before he clinked their glasses gently. “Cin cin.”

She nearly fainted dead away. The informal Italian toast felt like a last minute reprieve. That was progress—it had to be.

Dinner was great. He was stuffed. Homemade meatloaf was like crack for a guy like him. Mound up some fluffy mashed potatoes next to a big ol’ slab of loaf, dump some gravy on it and you had a Y chromosome’s dream meal.

While he’d shoved food into his mouth with the finesse of a monkey with utensils, she rattled on and on about everything from how fast the snow melted to whether the local honeybees would have a better year.

Cal had to admit, watching her tap dance and squirm all through dinner was amusing as fuck. He knew the second he came through the door and saw her, that she’d had a change of heart about her attitude. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but there was finally a glimmer of light.

Because fucking with her was working out so well, he threw down and went for the full Monty of indifference. Let’s see how she handled this, he thought.

Forcing a tremendous belch that rattled the windows, he slapped his stomach with a hearty thwack and stood up.

Dammit. Why hadn’t he tucked the napkin into his collar? Or better yet, his waistband. Now that woulda’ been funny as shit. Burp. Stand up. Scratch his balls or his stomach—whichever seemed best at the time and rip off the napkin to toss it in front of her like a flag at the starting line.

“Thanks,” he drawled. “I’m out.”

“Huh?” she looked genuinely startled. “But wait. I made cake and—” she murmured, but he cut her off.

“Bring the cake later if ya’ want.”

“Later?”

“Well, yeah.” He kept the smirk on low, but it was there, clear as day for her to see. “When you come to the studio.”

He struggled not to laugh when she repeated his words. “When I come to the studio.”

“Sure. You want me to fuck you, right?”

She blinked. Inside his head, he fell over laughing.

“Gimme a chance to shower. Unless sweaty workman is a turn on. I’m easy,” he drawled. When she started following along, he went in for the last lane change. The one he hoped would cut off her foolishness. “It’s what you want, right? My dick. Easy sex.”

“Oh,” she breathed. He liked how that one word was her go to when she wasn’t being phony. “Well, no actually. That’s not what I want.”

The words left her mouth before she realized their importance. He looked at her in triumph.

Crossing his arms like a cop intimidating a suspect, he looked down at her and laid it out so she’d have no doubt.

“Is that so? This must be your lucky day then, ‘tessa. Because frankly, I’m sick of what you want. I think it’s time to let me have a little of what I want.”

“What you want?” Her voice was high and squeaky. Understanding was starting to dawn.

“That’s right.” He began walking from the room. Sliding the pocket doors all the way open, he turned back at the last. “There may be some tying involved.” His eyes swept up and down and he made a split second decision. “Wear the boots, baby girl. And leave your panties here. I want you to know when you walk through the door that your pussy is mine for the taking.”

He grinned all the way along the path to the studio. He’d left her sitting in the dining room, speechless. Great. Now all he had to do was quickly look up some basic bondage knots. If he was gonna fake his way through this, he might as well get some of it right.

Charlie wiped the counter down one more time. It was clean and spotless but her nerves were so frayed she needed to keep busy or else crumple to the floor in a corner. Her reaction was baffling, but everything about this unusual relationship was practically incomprehensible. Who the hell else would this happen to?

Being nervous made her struggle. When they collided on the path earlier, her usual confidence checked out. This was a big part of what perplexed her the most. She’d never been nervous with Ty. Startled, yes. Nervous, no.

Hold up. Had she hit on something? Ty never made her nervous—but Caleb? He scared the living crap out of her. There was something intimidating and absolute about the real man—not the dare devil caricature. And that’s the problem. She’d created a duality in her mind. The suave, sometimes prickly race car driver with the fancy Italian Villa and Majolica ware on display in his surprisingly modest home. Versus a jean-wearing blue-collar guy with a drafting table and an SUV. She surrendered her innocence to one and snarled non-stop at the other.

Charlie wanted Ty back so badly that she’d missed one basic fact. They were the same man.

At first, she’d been angry and humiliated when he hadn’t acknowledged her to their families. His bland denial of their relationship seemed a worse betrayal than discovering another woman in his life. Time, and a clearer mind, helped her see that she should’ve ripped the ugly weave out of Cloud-ee-ah’s hair, smacked the lying bitch across the face and kicked her duplicitous ass to the curb when she had the chance.

Hindsight. Like Karma. Such a bitch.

And then, of course, picking apart or deconstructing her attraction to the man would be futile. Ya’ couldn’t spend your whole life dreaming about Prince Charming or waiting for a planetary alignment to bring true love right to your doorstep and not have a belief in destiny. Kismet. Fate.

She was his.

Oh my.

And that also meant that he was hers.

Oh.

The truth sank in.

Oh!

What the hell was she doing? My God, she’d been so stupid.

If this is what she wanted—if he was what she wanted, it was high time for Ty and Caleb to become one. That’s the only way she’d know for sure whether they had even a sliver of a chance. Destiny and happiness weren’t always equal partners. She had to take what she wanted—what she needed and pray their foolishness hadn’t permanently damaged what the universe so gloriously laid in their laps. Twice.

S
HE CAME TO HIM BEARING
cake. A gooey, rich slab of coconut infused awesomeness that had him going back for seconds.

Was he surprised his ‘tessa was an amazing cook? No. Girl could do anything she set her mind to. What amazed him, though, was her obstinately maintaining that the kitchen arts, as she quaintly called them, had never been her thing. He came away with the distinct impression that the Wilde sisters did not easily step on each other’s toes.

Hmph
. Just like him and Jax. Being the younger brother had a way of triggering some pretty goddamn potent shadow-following, along with the hero worship.

Cal blatantly observed her—there was nothing covert about his interest. He’d told her what to expect, even though half of his bluster had been bullshit. He didn’t give more than a second’s thought to the presence or absence of underwear in this scenario. He’d told her to come bare-assed and without an inkling of doubt, he knew she’d done as told.

Imaging her naked under the skirt added a titillating edge to his scrutiny. Letting her clean up and putter around was all sorts of hot. He just sat there, tapping his fingers one at a time in a rhythmic cadence on the wood arm of his chair, watching. Thinking. Wondering. Planning.

He found her nervous energy exciting. She knew what was coming—at least she thought she did. Girl was in for a surprise. He was over waiting for her to grow up and be the woman he knew she was. All the acting and game playing got old and he intended to give her a reminder of what they had. If they were going to move forward, he was going to start where he intended to end. With honesty.