Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3)

by Suzanne Halliday

  “My sister’s recipe. She’s a genius in the kitchen. Wait till you sink your teeth into one of these babies. They are to die for.”

  Reclining on his side, Cal leaned heavily on an elbow and reached for one of the proffered bars. Each one was carefully tucked into a paper pocket thingie. The minute he bit into the dense bar his taste buds surrendered and fell hopelessly in love.

  “Oh my fucking God,” he drawled—his mouth making quick work of the delicious treat. “This is amazing.” And he wasn’t kidding.

  ’‘tessa was having her own foodgasm, chowing down as quickly as he did. “It’s vegan, if you care.”

  Oh Jesus. Vegan. Cal’s mind fired up a memory that came out of nowhere and brought a smile. His mom was an avid Whole Food’s shopper. And by shopping, in no way did that imply pushing a cart around a store and checking off a list. No. That wasn’t mom’s style. She made every store run an educational experience, stopping to chat at the product demos, asking a zillion questions at the seafood counter, debating organic versus raw with the produce girl. Shit. Mom could put on twenty minutes of stand up at the drop of a hat on the subject of organic.

  “Your sister like you? Barefoot hippie with flowers in her hair and a fifty-pound sack of whole wheat flour stashed in the pantry?”

  She snorted with laughter. “Oh God no. Think, um … oh, I know! Think of your brother. You said he’s the older one, right?”

  He chuckled. Fucker. Yeah. Being oldest came with a double helping of side-eye mockery. Cal nodded and chewed. “Okay.”

  “Big sis is one of those rule following, make a list and check-it-twice types. I’ve never seen her, like ever, fly by the seat of her pants. And she bakes like a pro. To come up with my own recipe, I’d be flinging shit around in the kitchen making a holy mess but not her.” He liked the way she smiled thinking of her family. “Nope. Madam Baker would be carefully taking notes and probably running experiments! When she sent me this recipe? It came complete with pictures! Pictures!” ‘tessa shook her head. “She overcompensates like that a lot.”

  “Well, over compensate or not, these are fantastic. Do you think she’d marry me?”

  He almost choked with laughter at her immediate frown.

  “A guy could easily fall for a list-making baker.” Pushing the end of the bar into his mouth, he crumpled the paper and licked a couple of fingers. “I mean seriously. Come on.”

  “Yes, well,” she snippily replied. Cal heard the frost warning in her voice and chuckled. “Day late and a couple of dollars short, I’m afraid. Rhiann reports that the eldest is currently under the spell of a construction worker, or something like that.”

  “Rhiann. That’s a pretty name. She got any open spots on her dance card?”

  He fucked with her because it was funny as shit watching her reaction.

  “Not if she knows what’s good for her.”

  Well, well, well. How was he supposed to take that? Either this middle sister had a very possessive mate, or his adorable ‘tessa was marking her territory. With him in the center. Better be that last, he thought with a sudden flash of concern. Tearing open the other container, she tilted it in his direction. “Blueberries. Yum. Eat up.”

  He sat up and bent one leg at the knee, casually rested a forearm on his leg and popped a bunch of berries in his mouth.

  When she pointed at a flock of birds off in the distance and commented that they looked like a dark cloud, he scooted on his butt to follow her line of vision. He gave it a minute, anything less and she’d be bitching that he was only good at following directions but not at being present. Fuck, man. He was beginning to hate that expression. Being present. He was plenty present. Had to be in order to keep his libido under control. Seriously—she had no idea.

  Turning back around, he snatched another handful of the juicy berries and waited. If he had to guess, she was likely to ask how many damn birds he saw. Details, with her. Always the details.

  In a casual tone, she eventually asked, “How long do you think we rode along the road? Fifteen minutes?”

  He scoffed at her shitty guess. Timing was something he knew quite a lot about. “Not even close. We’ve been pedaling at least half an hour. Maybe even forty minutes.”

  Her response? “Ah.” With that one syllable, he sensed the start of whatever point she was going to make.

  Munching some berries, she held his gaze with a smug smile playing around her lips. “We’ll call it at thirty. Fair enough?”

  He shrugged—waiting to see where this was going.

  “So, for half an hour, the vista was right before your eyes. Yes?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me what you saw, Ty. Describe the scenery. And no, blue sky and green trees won’t do it. Dig deeper.”

  He knee-jerked and threw up a roadblock. “Whadaya wanna know?”

  ’‘tessa sighed and fixed him with the hilariously stern look she reserved for when he was being a dumb ass.

  “When you’re driving, information comes at you fast and furious, right? Speed, whatever,” she shrugged. “I have no clue, but you have to stay on top of everything. What you see, what the instruments tell you, how the machine handles. Even the weather comes into play.”

  “Correct,” he agreed. “It’s a lot to take on.”

  “And all of that happens in split seconds. From one moment to the next you have to take in a constant stream of stimuli and be ready to act on it.”

  Completely correct. Cal squashed the turmoil that sprang to life in the pit of his stomach. He’d flipped a car and almost gotten killed because of a split second distraction. But that was a worry for another day. Right now he had a much harder to handle situation on his hands. The Contessa was in her element and doing that lesson through words thing. Subtle but annoyingly spot on every time. He needed to stay focused and pay attention. Be present. Ugh.

  “You also remember every detail.” She popped a berry into her mouth and bit down. “You told me so. Said after every run you do a debrief with the pit crew. Right?”

  Reaching for a water bottle, he considered for the hundredth time how precise her memory was. Scary almost. The girl didn’t just recall every damn thing. She could also tell you what you were wearing at such and such a time plus a dozen additional details.

  “Impressive.”

  She looked so young and pretty against the blue sky. ‘tessa was the type of girl who belonged in a natural setting. He bet that making love to her in a field or along a stream or on a mountaintop or in the desert, well he was certain any of those scenarios would wreck him forever. She had that effect on him.

  Chuckling softly, she stretched out her leg and playfully nudged him with her foot. “I googled what you do. For real.”

  Googling generally meant she was on a roll and had something important to ask or reveal. But before she got to it, he was gonna mess with her. Just a little.

  Puffing his chest with self-importance he gave off an exaggerated leer with a nod and delivered a truly cocky challenge. “You googled me? Hot damn, ‘tessa! See,” he snickered while snatching her foot with his quick reflexes and yanking till her butt skidded across the blanket and she was almost on her back. “You do like me! Huh? Huh?”

  Her caught off guard squeak and frantic attempt to extricate her foot from his grasp had Cal revisiting the making love in a field idea. Something about her sexy body thrashing about, especially the brain-melting way her tits bounced and swayed with every movement … well shit. He was a guy.

  “That is NOT what I said. Cut it out, Ty. I’m being serious.”

  Now that he successfully got her on her back, he scooted closer, stretched out and leaned on an elbow at her side. He’d effectively caged her in and wasted no time looming over her. Cal was curious how she’d react to the obvious move.

  “How ‘bout you use that mouth to be serious about kissing me instead of pretending you haven’t been checking me out f
rom the moment I caught you stealing from my pantry.”

  She shoved at his chest with both hands. “I was not stealing and don’t recall you being bummed about sharing. I have most certainly not been checking you out, Google or otherwise, you arrogant ass. And we agreed; no kissing on the job.” Crossing her arms while she lay there looked hilarious. When she punctuated the snotty lecture with a sniff and said, “So there,” he couldn’t help himself and roared with laughter.

  “Oh, ho ho.” He chuckled. “Uh uh. Hold up, babe. Nobody said anything about not kissing.” The smirk came easily because they kissed like desperate maniacs every damn time they were together. “I just let you have your little control fantasy victory by saving the best for last.”

  She glared at him. His cock loved when she gave him “the look.” Fuck. If he ever actually did get into her pants, all kinds of hell would break loose.

  Ten days had flown by since they started hanging out. Ten days of play time with his ‘tessa, and he wasn’t being a snarky fuck by putting it that way because playing was pretty much all they did. Today’s nature ride wasn’t even a little bit unusual.

  Their first therapy date started with coloring, cutting and pasting. No, seriously. He spent an entire day being a preschooler. His mom would be thrilled. Other times, they made clay pots and baked cookies. Hell. One day, when the weather was all kinds of shitty, she pulled a sack of cards out of her backpack of goodies. She came fully loaded with Uno, a deck of Old Maids, and enough regular cards to engage in a lively competition with something she called the Funny Game.

  He was having fun and there was no denying that her unusual therapy approach delivered benefits. If he didn’t count the restless horniness that plagued him every damn night, there was no question that he was sleeping better. And dealing with less of the aches and pains that made him feel like an old man.

  And the best part of this whole crazy therapy thing? They ended every encounter with some high-octane making out. Just kissing. Maybe some over the shirt boob action but nothing more. Definitely explained his near-constant state of arousal. His dick was in serious need of relief and he wasn’t referring to a tug and rub.

  Though his reflexes were excellent, so were hers. With the speed and grace of a cat, she rose up, pushed him to the side and somehow managed to end up sitting on her feet as he sprawled out and tried to right himself.

  “No kissing,” she bawled indignantly. “That was our deal. You don’t argue with me or make me nucking futz with irrelevant questions—do as you’re told and rather than stick a gold star on your shirt, there can be some kissing. At the end, Ty. Not when we’re working.”

  “All right, all right,” he muttered. “I know. Submit and be rewarded. Shit ‘tessa. I seriously didn’t have you pegged as the type. Although, you in a latex cat suit and a pair of lethal stilettos? More than works for me.”

  Yanking her chain about this was endlessly amusing. She sputtered, blushed and did that frowny face she imagined made her look bad ass. If he had to guess, Cal figured the all-American girl-next-door with the sexy ass and mind-blowing tits had no clue. None. He was having a hard time reading how much experience she had but one thing was clear as Vodka. She might put a checkmark in the kinky fuckery box in a magazine article about sex styles, but that was about it.

  Instead of engaging with him, she simply ignored the chain yank with an exasperated grunt and shook her head. “Unless you want me to double bill the team because you’ve proven to be a handful, sit up and face me. Now. And no more comments.”

  She was using her, ‘So there’ voice. The alternate narrative in his head? It sounded like this, “Fuck me right now Cal Tyler, and do it good or I’m sending Dr. Andriotti a report that says you don’t have what it takes.”

  A guy could dream, right?

  Sighing, he moved with reluctance and settled on his knees, sitting back on his feet just like she was.

  “You’re a bossy little thing.”

  Her triumphant smirk was like an erotic Taser shot that went straight to his groin. Damn.

  She made him play Miss Mary Mack. Unbelievable. He was field-sitting in the Italian countryside and playing rhythmic clapping games that would make his mom dance with joy.

  After a few rounds and a lot of laughing, she stopped his hands and pressed them down onto his thighs. Man, that got his attention. Any time she touched him, he went to red flag status.

  “Now tell me what you saw on this forty-minute ride. Describe the scenery.”

  Automatically starting to glance over his shoulder, he jumped when she grabbed his face and said, “No looking. Describe what you saw from memory.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. Then he got serious. For what felt like an eternity, what to say stymied him.

  “I bet you could tell me in minute detail, every single display and number that flashed last time you drove. Take that same energy and use it to bring up in your mind what was right in front of your face as we rode along.”

  Damn. The girl was good. He understood what she was doing. Being plugged in and focused on just one thing twenty-four seven was frying his brain. She was attempting to short-circuit the input. It was part of her being present campaign.

  When he let all that other stuff fall by the wayside, his pain level dropped dramatically. Though she never used the word, he heard it enough from the team doctors. Psychosomatic. His issues were all in his head. Pfft. Why the hell not? It’s not like he hadn’t been head-fucked for a long time.

  SHE WAS WORRIED ABOUT TY. Even in the face of all the progress he’d made since the accident, it was startlingly clear to her that he was holding on to his pain like a man clings to a life raft. But she couldn’t get a feel for why.

  Appearances suggested he was a man who had it all. He was famous, was surrounded by people who lived to accommodate his every whim and unless she was easily duped, and Charlie really didn’t think she was, his pockets were pretty deep. Putting your ass on the line paid pretty well.

  And then of course, he was ridiculously good looking. Was he classic leading man material? Probably not. He was too big and powerful to be contained on film. There was just too much of him. But he was a stunner.

  Ryan Reynolds’ smirk

  R Patz’s eyes

  Henry Cavill’s nose

  Channing Tatum’s ridiculous body

  Russell Brand’s intelligence

  Zac Effron’s ass.

  Chris Pratt’s humor

  And his lips? No comparison could do justice to the man’s sexy mouth. It was hard and soft at the same time and when he used it on her, Charlie had a tough time remembering her name.

  In the simplest of terms, he was a stud; a hottie; a fuck stick as Rhi would put it. He had money, flashy cars, a friggin’ villa. The world was his for the taking so what the hell was going on inside him?

  Testing and probing as often as she could, only once did she sense so much as a scintilla of turmoil. That made him either an expert at being buttoned up tight or suggested he was running away from something buried deep inside.

  They were two weeks into a three-week assignment. An assignment that Mr. Sexy Pants manipulated and negotiated with her constantly. Instead of a weekday arrangement, he pushed until they met all seven days. If he had team commitments, she used those scheduling blank spaces to run around like a crazy person taking care of her own shit. But mostly he expected her to be one hundred percent focused on him the rest of the time.

  Peering into the old mirror in her postage stamp sized bathroom, Charlie sighed heavily, frowned and then dropped her face into her hands.

  What the hell was she doing?

  Somehow Ty managed to railroad her into being his date at a cocktail party fundraiser Team Crepuscolo was heading up. All his teammates would be there, and since most of ‘em had a willowy model stuck to them like a clinging vine, she was feeling like Suzie Sunshine in a J.C. Penney’s dress.

  This whole thing would make a great episode of Mean Groupies. The women she
saw hanging around the team travelled in a pack, traded lovers and relationships like library books, engaged in non-stop one-upmanship and were the definition of selfish. They were going to close ranks around her and make the evening hell. She was an outsider on the arm of a sex god.

  Shit. This could so easily get ugly. Why the hell had she agreed to go with him? Was she insane?

  Charlie knew the answer. He’d asked her to go with him right smack dab in the middle of a kiss. She would have agreed to accompany him on a climb up Mt. Everest with nothing but a windbreaker and a pair of gloves if it meant he wouldn’t stop. Kissing Cal Tyler was the highpoint of her day. What was the expression her dad used? Oh yeah—he took kissing to an eleven. Or maybe a twelve.

  Giving up on staring at her image in the mirror, she went into the little bedroom and looked at the dress spread out on the bed. A pale blue, open sleeve, low v-neck, loose-fitting chiffon party dress. She loved it. Loved the shoes too. Rhiann would be so proud of her for putting the whole look together. Even the clutch bag she’d carry and her jewelry were on target.

  But that didn’t mean Charlie wasn’t acutely aware that she was way out of her league.

  “I really want you to come.” She could still hear Ty growling the provocative words in her ear. That was another thing about him. The way he played so effortlessly with words. As if the tight, hard body and good looks weren’t enough, she found his conversational abilities sexy as fuck.

  And he worked her over with clever repartee and made her blush with wicked innuendo on the regular. It was just what he did. Part of who he was. Nothing special, right?

  Then why did he kiss her stupid every damn night? It was more than simply because she let him. Not having any real world relationship experience put her at a disadvantage with a guy like Ty, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t particularly aware of the restraint he exercised.

  When she’d laid down the law, messed with him about submitting to her, Charlie was adamant about one thing. Theirs was a professional arrangement. A temporary one and she wouldn’t be allowing any monkey business.