by Riser, Mimi
She didn’t have the experience he did. Maybe she thought sex felt that good with anyone. But Tyler knew it didn’t, and she damn well better take his word on that, because he wasn’t giving her the chance to try any other man for comparison. What they had together was as good as it got. If she didn’t realize that now, she would eventually.
Besides, there were the kids to consider. He wanted them. Molly wanted them. What better arrangement than to marry and raise them together? Surely she could see that.
The big question now was why couldn’t he see? The kids, that was.
Sudden fear knifed down his spine. There were too many people milling around, not just the models having their pre-work fun, but the technical crew pouring in and out of the area, getting things ready for the shoot. How could he be sure they were all on the level? Where was his security team? Shouldn’t they be here keeping an eye on things? Didn’t they know a billionaire’s nephews would be prime targets for kidnappers?
“Beanpole, where are the boys?” He said it quietly so as not to alarm Barry. Although, Barry should be alarmed. If anything had happened to those kids, Tyler would personally kill him. “You were supposed to be watching them, damn it, not the cheesecake parade.”
“Ty, don’t go paranoid on me, man. You are such a worry-wort. The kids are fine. They’re at the shallow end of the pool with a couple of athletically inclined lovelies named Leila and Piper. The girls are teaching the twins how to swim, and Stevie is helping. It’s a great opportunity for them. Piper is a champion diver, and Leila used to be a lifeguard. They’ve both got a fantastic breaststroke.” Barry pantomimed it, but not a swimming motion exactly, more like he was drawing mountains in the air in front of his chest.
Tyler’s fear subsided, but he still wanted to kill him, just on general principle.
“Leila and Piper are going to teach me how to swim next,” Barry added.
“You already know how to swim.” Tyler glowered.
Barry held a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell them that.”
Rolling his eyes, Tyler swung away from him and skirted the edge of the hustle and bustle around to the shallow end – a separate, more private area shielded from view by the waterfall that cut the pool into two portions, large and small, like a curtain dropped between them. There, the human noise was muted by the rushing sound of the water, and the only figures on the scene were the three boys, their two smiling “athletically inclined” swimming instructors, and Fluffy, sprawled out panting on the white sand like a big shaggy throw rug.
Spread beside the dog was a striped beach towel littered with little T-shirts, socks and tennis shoes. The boys were swimming in the cutoffs they’d arrived in. Their uncle mentally added swim trunks to the list of things he planned on buying for them. Shit, he’d be buying them entirely new wardrobes regularly. Boys that age grew fast. He had.
Tyler hung back in the shade of some flowering bushes, watching, unwilling to intrude lest his presence spoil whatever fun the kids were having. He’d never admit it to him, but Barry had made a smart move. Right again, buddy. It was better to have the boys here, away from the crush of activity. Not just safer, but less stressful for them. They didn’t need to be surrounded by all that New York hype.
The twins certainly seemed to be enjoying their lesson, and the girls looked like they knew how to teach it. They had that way with children that most females seemed to have. And Tyler didn’t. Maybe that was because he’d never really been a child himself. To him, being a kid had meant feeling victimized, helpless. He hated feeling helpless, so he’d grabbed his own reins by the age of ten and hadn’t let go since.
Unfortunately, he’d grabbed Steve’s reins, too, and hung on just as hard. He’d only wanted to spare his little brother the knocks he’d had to take, make things easier for him. He’d never meant to squeeze so hard he drove him away.
Or was the real problem that he hadn’t squeezed enough?
“You’re becoming just as big a bastard as Dad was, Ty. I won’t let you ruin my life like you’re ruining yours.”
Steve just hadn’t understood that only the tough survived. Maybe Tyler had made things too easy for him, softened too many blows. But who could have guessed back then what would happen? He never should have let him go, that was what Tyler knew now. Instead of loosening his grip, he should have tightened it. If he had, maybe Steve would still be alive.
He sure as hell wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The lesson was simple. To keep someone safe, you had to keep them close. And he would from now on. Very close. No more letting people slip through his fingers. Brothers…wives… What you wanted, who you wanted, you had to hang on to – with an iron grip if necessary.
There were three boys now who needed Tyler’s protection just like their father had. He’d failed Steve. He wouldn’t fail Steve’s family. And that included Molly. Her, he’d keep the closest of all. If she didn’t like it…
Hell, she’d like it, all right. He’d see to that. He’d bind her to him so tightly, she’d never break free. She wouldn’t even want to try.
He stared at the pool, the boys paddling and splashing, and the two girls – one with black hair, the other with light brown – standing in water up to their waists. Each one supported a twin from underneath while the boys practiced floating and kicking. Which was Leila and which was Piper? Did it matter? The better question was which twin was which? They looked like carbon copies of each other, two freckle-faced imps with hair like bright copper pennies.
The girls obviously found them cute as the dickens. So did Tyler, but the sensation they stirred in him hurt – that tight, tender feeling in his chest. It pinched even harder when he looked at ten-year-old Stevie, blond like his dad and with the same clear gray eyes. The same face that stared out of the small gold frame. Almost. The face in the photo was smiling. A merry lad, Steven James, Sr. had been. A serious little old man, seemed his son.
Tyler’s throat constricted. Older Brother Stevie reminded him more of Older Brother Ty than the fellow whose face he wore. The poor kid.
The fresh memory of Stevie standing up to the Big Bad Uncle juxtaposed with images of himself facing down a heavy-handed father.
He blinked suddenly stinging eyes – must have gotten sand in them – turned and left the scene as quietly as he’d entered it. He was nearly to a back stairway, which led to a second-story balcony ringing the inside of the courtyard, when he noticed he’d picked up an escort. Fluffy pushed up against his right side and, from somewhere, a small tiger or the boys’ very large tom had appeared to weave about his feet. The feline switched sides with every step. Why did cats always do that?
Tyler paused to pat the dog and have a word with Fang. “Hey, pal, you spray me again, and I’ll have you neutered. Are we clear on that?”
Fang sat down, pointed his hind toes straight up in the air, ballet-fashion, and washed under his tail, which Tyler took to be cat-talk for “Kiss my ass.”
“Same to you,” he replied.
“Cats were worshipped as gods by the ancient Egyptians.” The soft voice drifted down from above. “I think Fang knows that and expects everyone else to follow suit.”
Everyone else could go take a flying—
His breath caught. Everyone else disappeared from sight and mind as Tyler glanced up to see Molly on the balcony, looking like a piece of night sky in a black silk sheath embroidered from shoulder to hem with a sweep of silver stars.
Witchy and bewitching.
Was this the same lady who’d glared daggers at him before and said he made pond scum look good? The one who’d charged out of the bedroom leaving one slipper behind, like Cinderella fleeing the ball? Fleeing him.
The eyes of an enchantress sizzled into him now, exotically accented with kohl and blue-green shadow the same sultry shade as her irises. She’d painted her lips a luscious deep red and pinned up her hair into a cluster of curls that escaped in teasing gold tendrils at the nape of her neck.
Warning bells went off in him. What was she up to? Besides trying to drive him crazy. She was succeeding in that, by the way. Not that he was complaining. He’d expected her to come around to his way of thinking. Just not quite this fast or this…um, aggressively.
His mouth went dry as she turned away from the railing and glided down the spiral staircase, trailing perfume and sexual allure.
Oh, screw the warning.
She stopped on the second to last step, a few feet in front of him, and smiled. Seductively. Tyler’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Black magic woman…
Maybe Gladys Patton had been right. Maybe Molly really was dabbling in some sort of sinful dark sorceries.
One could only hope.
He returned the smile.
Chapter 8
Molly’s legs turned to jelly at the open hunger in those midnight blue eyes. The high heels she wore suddenly felt treacherous, unstable. She locked her knees to keep from falling off the stairs.
Carlotta’s lesson in seduction had been hurried, but she’d said that since Tyler was already hooked, it wouldn’t take much to reel him in. Carlotta had been right. Tyler looked willing enough to agree to anything, to sign a deal with the devil if need be. And all Molly needed him to sign was a prenuptial agreement.
An icy chill prickled her nape, even as the heat in his gaze slow roasted her down to her toes. How could she feel so hot and so cold at once? So full of longing and so sick with dread. The two sensations went hand in hand, didn’t they? She dreaded him because she wanted him, hated the idea he had any power over her, especially that kind of power. A loss of pride and dignity went with it. He’d turned her into a weak woman, indeed, where matters of the flesh were concerned, and he’d done it in the blink of an eye.
That was the scariest part, how fast she’d fallen for him. Who had hooked whom? And the fact that this sort of thing was obviously old hat for him made it so much worse. It was a new thing for her. Very new and very daunting. Unless she could treat the attraction between them as casually as he did, she was risking more than her pride in this game.
Would walking away from him when he tired of her really be as easy as Carlotta said? She’d gotten over Steve, hadn’t she? Eventually. But that had been a very different situation, and she’d never felt for Steve what she now felt for his brother.
“Believe me, you’ll tire of Tyler’s game as quickly as he does,” Carlotta had promised. “Three months at the most. Never have I known the passion to last longer than that, not with anyone.” This from someone who had, apparently, known a lot of passion with a lot of men. The voice of experience, sounding to Molly’s ears like the voice of doom.
There ought to be more to passion, damn it. Or was that just being naive? Molly searched inside herself, looking for a ray of hope. But hope for what?
She searched Tyler’s eyes, pure magic in their deep blue depths, pulling at her, holding her spellbound. It was safer probably to hope Carlotta was right – easier and less painful in the long run to let herself become as jaded as everyone around her seemed to be.
But she wouldn’t have been Molly if a little something in her didn’t hope for just a little bit more. She believed in magic. She had to; it was part of her faith. If she wanted to play dirty pool, there were numerous old “love spells” she could cast that just might trap Tyler like he was trying to trap her.
But that was a dangerous, manipulative form of magic, trying to make a specific someone love you. Most Wiccans avoided and advised against it, Molly among them. The energy you sent out always came back to you, so you’d better be very, very careful what you sent out.
The only spells Molly performed were simple ones for simple needs – like burning brown onion skins to attract extra cash when her coffers were low, adding basil to bathwater for spiritual cleansing, making “sweet dream sachets” stuffed with anise seed to banish nightmares… Easy, everyday herbal magic. “Green Magick,” some called it. That was Molly’s style of spellwork, soft and gentle, part of her lifestyle as a Wiccan, a way to connect with Nature and commune with the Divine.
She used a different kind of magic now, older, simpler, but far more potent in its way. Woman’s Magic, woven from perfume and make-up and a drop-dead sexy outfit borrowed from Carlotta. The smile on her lips, however, and the expression in her eyes were entirely Molly’s, and she played them for all they were worth.
A desperate move in a dangerous game with high stakes. Her children. Her heart. To win the first, she’d have to gamble the latter. A scary thought, but it was too late to back down. The bets were called. Somewhere a cosmic roulette wheel was already turning.
Tyler’s own magic reached out, merging with hers into a spell neither of them could stop now. Yin-Yang, male-female force spiraled up and around them, creating something greater than the sum of its parts. She’d just have to let it play itself out and hope that Carlotta was right, or that maybe…
Goddess… Did she dare hope that maybe, just possibly, this spell would last?
No. Magic was one thing, but a miracle was something else. Any fire that burned this hot couldn’t burn for long. Heat poured off the man like a lava flow, steaming the air between them. Her temperature rocketed up the scale in response just from looking at him, sensing him.
Without a word, Tyler raised his hand in a gentlemanly gesture to help guide her down the last two steps. He did have some manners, didn’t he? When he cared to use them.
Molly stretched out her hand to meet his, bracing herself, knowing that lightning would strike when they touched. His fingers curved around hers, and electricity crackled in a brilliant white blaze, dazzling her—
Hell, she hadn’t meant that part about the lightning literally.
Or was that a camera flash?
Blind as a bat and teetering on her stilettos, she stumbled forward off the stairs. A second flash struck just as she crashed into a brick wall. Tyler’s chest? His arms closed around her, and he back-stepped, knocked off balance by the impact of her topple. Something let out a screech that sounded like a banshee and felt like an ice pick through the brain. Fang. He must still have been hanging around the man’s feet. No matter how many times he got stepped on, he never learned, that cat. Fluffy put in his two cents with an enthusiastic chorus of deep bass woofs.
“Shut up,” Molly told him.
“And get your nose out of my ass,” Tyler added.
“Perfecto!” André exclaimed. “The first shot I shall call ‘Cinderella’s Revenge,’ the second, ‘Fall From Grace.’ I am on a roll today, no?”
“I’m going to roll him out the door if he keeps this up,” Tyler grumbled under his breath. His hands slipped down to Molly’s waist, holding her against him. “Are you okay, baby?”
“I am excellent. Thank you for asking,” André said. “And you?”
Tyler made a strangling noise in his throat and slid his hands farther to cup silk clad hips. “Molly?”
What did he want her to say? That the muscular feel of his body made her weak in the knees? That his hands on her made it difficult to draw breath?
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Fine? She is exquisite!” André declared. “Such expression she has! It is all in the expression, you know. The expression of emotion is what I look for in my subjects.” He glanced at Tyler. “You should try it sometime.”
“What? Photography?” Tyler gave him a chilly stare as Molly pushed out of the embrace.
André chuckled. “No. Emotion. A cold lot, you Americans can be. Too controlled. You are human, no? To be human is to feel! If you do not let those feelings out, they consume you inside. That is why your culture suffers so many heart attacks. It has nothing to do with – pah – cholesterol.” He spat out the word. “It is the build-up of emotions that clogs arteries!”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to report your theory to the FDA and the American Medical Association,” Tyler said dryly.
André ignored him and turned with a click of his
hot pink boot heels to Molly. “So, Cinderella” – a broad smile spilt his beard – “I see your fairy godmother has been busy with her wand, eh? Nice job. That dress looks better on you than it does on her. But do not tell Carlotta I said so.”
Shooting her a wink, he spun about to leave and nearly tripped over Fluffy who was sprawled out panting again, exhausted by the whole show.
“Who let a bear in here?” André demanded. He glared around, looking for the culprit, then stalked off, waving his arms and spewing forth foreign curses.
Molly blushed as Tyler’s gaze raked over her, his eyes narrowed. How fast the spell had broken. An icy tension stood between them now, suspicious, accusing.
“I should have realized this was Carlotta’s work,” he muttered.
It was Carlotta’s work, but feminine ego bristled at the underlying implication. “Excuse me? You think I can’t make myself attractive on my own?”
Well…um, maybe not this attractive. Five thousand dollar designer dresses were not her usual fare. And the shoes, quite frankly, were killing her feet. How did Carlotta walk in these things? It was like wearing stilts.
Feeling suddenly silly and sick of the game, Molly turned to flee back up the stairs. “Never mind. It was a dumb idea. I should have known better.”
Rule One: When wearing high heels, never try to run up an open spiral staircase.
Her foot slipped off the edge of the fifth step and she sailed backward…gasping, grabbing at air…
And landing smack in Tyler’s hold as he fielded her like a fly ball. One arm caught under her back, the other under her legs, and he clutched her high against his chest.
His eyes gleamed down pure danger.
Her breath snagged in her throat.
“It’s not dumb,” he said. “I just know Carlotta, and I’m sure she didn’t give you this dress without giving you some very specific instructions to go with it. I want to know what she told you.”