Her expression of absolute shock was fucking priceless. When she blushed beet red and ducked her head, he got quite a thrill.
“My sister would love you,” she muttered.
“I don’t do sisters,” he informed her.
She jerked her head straight, the blush deepened and she stuttered awkwardly. “No. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just … my sister, she has a smart mouth, too.”
A smart mouth, is it? Well, I’ll be damned, Cal thought. I just insinuated coming on her tongue, and she comes back with smart mouth? Oh, God. He was in over his head.
Quickly clearing his throat, he moved past the bumbling moment and refocused their attention on the sandwiches. Licking a smear of peanut butter from his thumb, he noted but didn’t react to the way her eyes flared as she studied him.
“I’m a honey man.” He smiled when she blinked a couple of times. Cal was just as confused. He was just better at hiding it.
“H-honey?”
Gesturing with a nod to the banana in her hand he said, “Can’t have the peanut butter without a nice, firm banana. Right?”
Her brows bumped together, and her entire face squinched. He wanted to laugh. His ‘tessa understood exactly what he said. The bewildered expression was because she couldn’t believe he had the balls to go there. Fucking with her was shit-tons of fun.
“But I prefer a layer of sweetness. Something I can lick off while I’m eating.” He held up the honey pot and smiled innocently.
Seeing her skin flush crimson was incredibly arousing. What the hell was that all about? When she continued to gape at him, he had to keep from wrapping his hand around the nape of her neck to pull her in for a demanding, wet kiss.
Taking the banana from her hands, he leered at her and growled, “Here. Let me show you how to handle this.”
Just like that, the color drained out of her face. Well, he thought. At least, I know where the line is.
Adopting a thoughtful and matter-of-fact manner, he licked the peanut butter off the spreader then set about slicing her fruit into perfect rounds. Arranging them in rows, he pressed the slices into the peanut butter before looking at her, clear-eyed. “On top or open-face?” Honest to God, he thought. I didn’t mean that to sound crude, but it did. Shit.
’‘tessa pursed her lips, and there was no hint of a smile hovering nearby. A hand reached for the crystal dangling low on her chest. “Maybe I should go.”
Cal blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “No! Look, I apologize.”
Her dubious gaze felt like a slap.
“I’m acting like a dick.”
He saw her grasp on the crystal harden.
Offering a courtly bow, he didn’t hesitate to grovel. Whatever it took to get her to hang around was all right with him. “I promise to behave if you’ll stay, ‘tessa.”
She bit her lip, and he pressed his together. “Please,” he begged.
Yeah. That’s right. He was begging.
“I’m not one of your racetrack groupies, Cal Tyler. I’m a consultant for the commission sponsoring the European Rugby Exhibition. It’s my job to accompany the team to matches and media events. I didn’t come here today to hook up with this year’s calendar pin-up hotties.”
“So, you think I’m hot?” He said it before common sense reeled the words back. When she huffed out a frustrated sounding growl and threw her hands up, he groaned at his stupidity.
“Fuck, ‘tessa. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he insisted with his hands up in surrender. “I’m a guy, and sometimes that shit slips out. My bad.”
Cal knew he was in the clear when her expression turned to a pout.
“Dammit,” she muttered. “All I wanted was some Skippy.”
Breaking the uncomfortable impasse was as simple as picking up the platter and moving to the other side of the room. “I can pull the coffee table closer to the loveseat or we can have a picnic on the floor. Your call.”
She followed, looked at him. And then the loveseat. And then at the floor. “Can we have a fire?” she asked.
“Whatever you want, ‘tessa.”
In a theatrical voice, dripping with old world formality and not a little humor, she belted out, “The Contessa of Skippy would like a fire plus all the pillows from the loveseat and chairs.” Pointing at the plush carpet, she laid out her demands. “Make a picnic nest and I’ll give you another chance.”
“A picnic nest,” he murmured out loud. What a charming way of putting it. “Done,” he drawled.
Dropping the platter onto the coffee table, he repositioned it near the edge of the carpet. Next, he gathered all the pillows and tossed them into the nest he was creating. With the flick of a switch, the fireplace roared to life. Swiftly going to a window seat, he opened the bench and withdrew two more pillows and a big soft throw blanket.
She wanted a picnic nest? He’d make her a doozy and see how she reacted. It was the designer in him that made Cal go the extra mile.
Tossing the throw blanket in front of the table, he fluffed the biggest pillows and positioned them, so they had something to lean on. The rest of the pillows, he divided between both sides. Surveying his handiwork, he suddenly realized something crucial was missing.
“Hold on,” he muttered before bolting across the room to a full-length panel, which opened to reveal a small refrigerator. “Can’t have peanut butter without something to wash it down. Sorry,” he apologized earnestly. “No milk in here, but I do have cold water and a bunch of juice.” The expression, ‘What’s your pleasure’ almost tripped off his tongue, but he got his shit together in time to ask, “What can I get you?”
“Apple juice?” she asked hopefully. “It’s my favorite.”
A small rip appeared in his emotional armor at her soft question. He drank the stuff by the gallon. The odd synchronicity did not go unnoted.
Bringing two single serve bottles from the frig, he lowered to his knees in the nest he’d created and gallantly held out his hand to help her. She wasn’t sure about taking it, and he bet he knew why. When they’d been joined by the hand earlier, he’d been acutely aware of the heat and a tingling current passing between their palms. He’d been unnerved so he understood her hesitation.
The vantage point on his knees offered a tantalizing view of her bare feet as she kicked off her shoes once again and stepped onto the blanket. Her toes were painted a soft pink, and she had a jeweled bracelet around one delicate ankle. At the last second, she took hold of his hand and let him help her down. He wasn’t sure what he expected once she sat, but something about the way she went to her knees then gracefully slid on one hip to her butt rattled his cage. And when she gathered her long skirt and arranged it so she could sit cross-legged? That was the tipping point for him. He was completely under her spell.
Leaning with his back against the pillows, Cal stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. Trying to sit like her would’ve strangled his erection and caused serious pain. At least, in this position he could attempt to cover his obvious arousal. Pulling the platter off the table, he plopped it on his lap. There. That worked, right?
Accepting one of the juices, ‘tessa tore off the cap and shimmied sideways, so they were partially face-to-face. Taking a hefty swig, she ended with a satisfied sigh. “Always reminds me of home.”
Word. He knew just what she meant. Might explain why he clung to the childhood beverage when he was thousands of miles away.
“May I?” she asked with a finger pointing at the sandwiches on the platter.
“Dig in.” He chuckled. Lifting the sandwich to his mouth, Cal quickly ran his tongue around the edges in case any honey escaped, watching her as she balanced her loaded slice in one hand and tried to take bites of the peanut butter and banana piled on top.
She nibbled and chewed, and then dropped the floppy bread back on the platter. “Kind of messy, huh?” he asked with his mouth full.
“Worth it,” she laughed, chewing with eye-rolls of bliss. “God, I miss
this.”
Agreed, one-hundred percent. Although it wasn’t the peanut butter he was thinking about.
“So why rugby? And what the hell do you do?” Cal caught a dribble of oozing honey with his tongue before it slid down his finger. Licking his lips of the gooey delight, he caught her staring at his mouth and smiled.
“Umph. Immanarttherapist.”
What the hell did she say? Between the sticky peanut spread making it difficult to talk and the hand she held in front of her mouth, he was reaching for clues when there weren’t any.
Swallowing what he’d been chewing and swiping his tongue across his lips, Cal chuckled. “Say again, ‘tessa?”
“Sorry,” she muttered, her nose crinkled with embarrassment. “Skippy mouth, y’know?”
He smiled. And then she dropped her hand away and gave him a goofy-looking grin, her teeth covered with the brown peanut sludge.
When had Claudia ever done anything so un-self-conscious? Or his most recent lover, Nadia? Never, was the answer in his head. Here, right before his eyes was the difference between a professional mistress and a girl who’d probably slap his face for the thoughts he was having. Something shifted inside him with a thud.
Giggling at his wide-eyed reaction, his ‘tessa dropped the last corner of the bread onto the platter and looked around frantically. Shit. He forgot to grab some napkins. What should he do?
Aw, fuck it, he thought. They didn’t need any damn napkins. He knew another way to clean her up.
With absolutely no effort because she offered zero resistance, he put a hand on her neck and pulled. And just like that, he had the Baroness of Wild and the Contessa of Skippy lying across his lap.
“Whadareyoudoing?” she squeaked. Now that he understood.
“Peanut butter is so messy…” he murmured as his mouth closed in on hers.
THEIR FIRST KISS STARTED OFF slow and tentative. Cal licked and nibbled along her lips and sucked on the puffy bottom. When she moaned, he took the sound as a sign that she was as into this as he was.
From there, the clean-up kissing turned serious. Her small hand moved into his hair with her thumb caressing his cheek. He tasted unsophistication in her kiss but the guileless enthusiasm, hesitant and shy at first, rocked his fucking world.
She was sitting on his lap, her bottom moving restlessly. As the kiss deepened, his hard-on was close to exploding. He wasn’t sure if anything had ever felt so perfect or arousing. The things he wanted to do to this girl …
A rough grunt ripped from his chest when he felt her tongue tentatively dance with his. Breathing more heavily with every second, Cal took hold of the braid at the nape of her neck. She struggled to keep her lips on his when he gave a brief tug.
Growling against her mouth, he made it abundantly clear how turned on he was. “You need a good kissing, ‘tessa. Now open wide and let me in.” Her answering shiver was the sexiest thing he’d ever felt.
She let him have full access. From there, he took them on a no-holds-barred kiss that was wet, deep and satisfying as fuck. The girl gave everything, held nothing back.
He couldn’t help it. Feeling her tits pressed against his chest almost caused Cal to forget what he was doing. And she was fully dressed so go figure. Covering one of the glorious mounds with his big hand, he marveled at the size and shape—his fingers itching to slide inside her clothes so he could caress her properly. When his thumb made contact with a pebbled nipple that her flimsy dress and bra didn’t disguise, he almost lost his shit.
Hand full of tit, tongue down her throat, her moaning and wiggling on his lap … Cal was sure they were in the waiting line to heaven when a series of loud booms cut through the desire.
What. The. Fucking. Fuck? The haze of lust he’d been in gave way to anger when another tremendous boom sounded, followed by applause and laughter. Someone was going to die if he had anything to say about it.
“Oh.” He felt her breathy whimper on his face as he eased off the kiss. “Is that fireworks?”
While he wished the fireworks were because of their kiss, he frowned knowing that instead some idiot was tossing off firecrackers, and the last boom sounded suspiciously like a trash can got blown to smithereens.
The whoops and hollers outside the house kept getting louder. Probably an idiot performing for the raucous crowd. Motherfuckers …. this right here was the shit Cal didn’t need and why he hated these parties.
Her wide-eyed innocence as she looked at him cooled his ardor. This wasn’t the time or place. He had to say something ‘cause her body was losing its warm softness as she came back to earth and started to stiffen and withdraw.
Massaging the breast he refused to relinquish, Cal dropped his head forward to hers. “Sorry, ‘tessa. Sounds like the kids are misbehaving.”
She didn’t respond. Not with words. Her heavy sigh said it all.
Boom! Pop! Ka-boom!
Cal was reluctantly scrambling to his feet when he saw his mystery girl get there ahead of him.
“Oh my God,” she muttered angrily, only she wasn’t talking to him. Not really. “Guaranteed it’s that squad of aging boys I’m supposed to be handling. None of them have gotten the grow the fuck up memo.”
’‘tessa delivered this diatribe as she checked the buttons on her dress, smoothed her hair and wiped a few fingers across her lips. He had to admit to being more than a little pissy that she wasn’t at all blinded by the hots for him. Far as he could tell, she’d forgotten him altogether.
More noise outside compounded her haste. “I better get out there,” she bit out. “Before one or all of them blow their fingers off. Or worse.”
Running for the door, she suddenly turned and came back. With her hand out and a brilliant smile on her face she drawled, “My pleasure, Cal Tyler.”
He wrapped her dainty hand in his and smiled broadly. “The pleasure was all mine, Contessa.”
Screams of laughter, then BOOM!
“Oh shit. Sorry. Gotta go.”
And with that, she whirled away from him, unlocked the door and bolted down the long hallway.
“Wait!” He yelled after her. “How do I reach you?”
She was almost gone before she laughed gaily, waved over her shoulder and hooted, “Have no fear, Mr. Sexy Pants. Our paths will cross again if they’re meant to.”
If they’re meant to? What the fuck kind of answer was that?
The scowl on his face changed in a split second to laughter. “Mr. Sexy Pants?” He said aloud. “I’m taking it!”
Cal high-fived the empty air, tucked in his shirt and went in search of the guy handling security. It was going to be a long night.
“Well, this is a fine mess.” Anderson Merriweather dead-eye stared at the line of recalcitrant athletes and shook his head.
Charlie shared his frustration and ire.
Anderson was the team handler sent by the commission to make sure things like this didn’t happen. It would have helped a lot, she reflected with a frown, if he’d actually done his damn job instead of sitting in his hotel room leaving her and the trainer Brad, along with Will Dean who doubled as PR Spokesman and general roustabout to handle things. Keeping a bunch of spoilt rugby stars in line was way harder than it should be.
“Easy Merry,” the squad’s co-captain argued. “The boys and I were just having a bit of fun, is all.”
The perpetrators of said ‘fun’ all bobbed their heads in unison.
She knew what was coming next. Anderson’s true skill lies in passing the buck and making anyone and everyone else responsible for his failings.
“Wilde,” he barked. “I thought you were supposed to be channeling this,” he sputtered and waved his hands. “This … exuberance. What happened to directing the lads toward acceptable recreational pursuits.”
Good grief. She wanted to laugh in his face but stayed impassive in her expression. Not exactly rolling in money, Charlie needed this gig. Paid assignments were few and far between. Even though her unique skills and educat
ion made her overqualified for what she was doing, teaching Type A personalities and results driven professionals to slow down and smell the coffee before the stress got in the way was something she enjoyed.
But that didn’t mean she was going just to stand there and let this guy chew her up and spit her out. Uh uh. That wasn’t going to happen.
Fixing an annoyed expression on her face, she offered Anderson a snarky moue and nodded in Will’s direction. “Which I would have been happy to do, except that Mr. Dean thought it a better use of everyone’s downtime to attend some swanky garden party.”
“We got loads of good press, Merry.” That one statement was Will’s standard trump card. Press coverage was currency. Period.
Anderson slammed a battered copy of the Daily Mail onto a table. “You and I have very different notions of what’s considered good press.”
Charlie bit her tongue to keep from laughing. She liked a British accent as much as the next, but something about two grown men snarling at each other with those accents gave her the giggles.
“Mr. Pearcey blowing up Santana Moraux’s ten thousand dollar Hermes bag and almost frying her Yorkie at the same time does not fall under the heading of ‘good press.’”
Dan snickered, and the guy next to him gave him a good jostle with his elbow. Bunch of overgrown children.
Brad finally said something that put everything into perspective. “Yes, well these hijinks interrupted my training schedule. Now we only have four days to practice for the next match.” He gave Anderson and Dan a meaningful look. “So back-to-back sessions and no time off. Next time, keep the fireworks for the pitch.”
The uncomfortable smackdown pretending to be a meeting wrapped up shortly after. In her opinion, the whole thing was just stupid and pathetic. Charlie got the whole, boys will be boys thing but sheesh. Give those boys access to wine, women, money and celebrity and they acted like immature assholes.
Not only had the guys tittered and been rude as their exploits were put under fire, but they also pushed, shoved and acted like idiots on their way out. This was one assignment she was eager to wrap up. The money was nice, but she wasn’t an airhead despite them treating her like a terminally stupid blonde. None of these guys benefitted at all from her efforts.
Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) Page 4