Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous (14 page)

“Anything wrong?” He asked it innocently.

As innocent as a barracuda.

And everything was wrong.

So why did it feel so right when his hand closed over hers, bringing it back to his lips? Liquid tremors flowed through her arm, pooling in heat deep within her as he kissed her palm. Molly curled her fingers into a fist and pulled free. It was easy to see who was in control here. And it wasn’t her.

“Do you want to see the boys?” Tyler persisted. “To make sure they’re okay?”

Why was he being so amenable all of a sudden?

She shot him a wary look. “Don’t try to be nice. It makes me worry what you’re up to.”

“Me?” He blinked, making the innocent eyes again – and not fooling her a bit. “I just thought you might feel better if you checked out things for yourself, is all. And, just for the record” – he leaned forward to whisper – “I don’t figure on being
up
to anything until tomorrow. It’ll probably take you a day to recover from this afternoon, huh?”

Hot and cold chills swept her simultaneously. Her stomach cramped, and she almost choked.

“How very gallant of you.” And how very amazing that she kept her voice so steady. “But,
just for the record
, I’m beginning to think that the rest of my life won’t be long enough to recover from you, Mr. James.”

“Tyler,” he corrected. “And, thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Take it anyway you want,” she said, and left it at that. Stepping past, toward the stairs, she left him, too.

His voice followed her. “Does this mean you’re surrendering?”

Molly didn’t turn around, didn’t reply. The magic had soured, and so had her mood. Besides, she really did want to check on the boys, and she couldn’t do it in these clothes, could she? Not if they were swimming. One splash or wet hug, and the dress would be ruined. She’d do a quick change, collect her brood, and then… What?

Pray for a miracle, maybe?

That would be simpler if she knew what kind of miracle she wanted. A fast, equitable end to this godawful situation? Or just that the situation could somehow be…different.

Yeah, she was a dreamer, all right. Stupid her.

She picked her way carefully up the stairs, holding on to the railing for support. Why had it seemed easier coming down? It might have been safer to have ditched the shoes before starting the ascent, but pride had prevented it. If Carlotta could survive wearing these dreadful things, so could she.

And if Carlotta could survive Tyler James, then—

His footsteps sounded behind her when she was halfway to the top. Damn. She couldn’t move fast enough in her heels to escape him, and before she could get them off to flee the rest of the way barefoot, he was right there with his hand on her shoulder, his breath teasing her ear along with his words.

“You didn’t answer my question. And, in case you haven’t realized it, your hour is almost up.”

“So is my patience with your attitude, mister.” Molly spun around to glare him in the eye, and nearly lost her footing. The hand on her shoulder steadied her.

“Tyler,” he corrected again. “If we’re going to be married, you really should remember my name.”

He trailed his fingers down her arm to close over hers on the railing, his firm grip a warm contrast to the feel of the cold iron biting into her palm. “I’m waiting for your decision, baby. Yes or no, which is it?”

So soft he spoke, more seduction than threat, but he threatened all the same. Her hand clenched under his, clutching the stair rail until her knuckles ached. That damn magic billowed up like smoke – suffocating, clouding her brain, making it difficult to breathe, speak, difficult to think.

“You make it sound like I have a choice,” she rasped out.

Did her eyes look as desperate as she felt?

Tyler’s eyes half-closed, a thick fringe of lashes guarding his thoughts. His voice breathed out husky and warm, scarcely more than a murmur. “There are always choices. This was still a free country the last I looked. No one can force a person into marriage.”

“No?” Anger flashed up inside her, cutting through the smoke like a flare, snapping her daze. “Then what do you call what you’re doing to me?”

“A little gentle coercion?” He smiled slightly, as though this were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

“I’m not forcing you, Molly. Just helping you to see that what I want is what you want, too. I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone. Believe me, if I wanted to use real force” – a dangerous glint lit his hooded eyes – “I’d take a far more
hands-on
approach.”

Sudden visions filled her head, unwanted, of all the things his hands
could
do to make her surrender. Naughty visions, naked and hot, bringing all her senses into play, bringing tactile memories of the things his hands had already done to her. Rubbing, stroking…melting her with the flick of a finger.

She swallowed, hard, and shoved the memories out of her mind, stiffened her spine and tried to pull her hand out from under his. Tyler’s grip tightened, locking her in place on the open staircase. The ground swam dizzily below them. Blue sky stretched off into eternity beyond the overhead dome.

Suspended ’twixt Heaven and Earth…

And emotionally, it felt like hell.

He stood on the step below her, his face nearly level with hers, their torsos almost touching, barely a hair’s breadth between them. Silk whispered against silk as his shirt grazed her dress with each breath he took.

“I don’t understand why you’re fighting this,” he whispered as softly as the rustle of the fabric. “It’s not like I’m asking for a fast fling. I’m asking you to
marry
me.”

Which, in his case, amounted to the same thing.

On top of which—

“You didn’t
ask
anything. You
told
me.” She tried to stare him down with the accusation.

Staring back, he looked less than apologetic. “Is that the problem? I was supposed to get down on one knee and propose? Sorry, baby, this isn’t the movies. It doesn’t happen that way in real life.”

It did sometimes. Steve had proposed on one knee, with a single perfect rose in one hand and a small diamond ring in the other. He’d had an old-fashioned streak, sweet Steve – including the romantic notion that a couple should wait until their wedding night to consummate their love. No whirlwind seductions for him. But there seemed little profit in mentioning that now. Especially since she’d ended up refusing Steve, too. Molly still had the rose though, pressed between the parchment pages of a Witch’s traditional journal, her personal
Book of Shadows
. A faded floral relic of faded dry dreams.

And she had Steve’s boys, the crux of this matter.

They needed her.

She was willing to do a lot to stay with them.

But this… How had he phrased it in the bedroom?

“Consider it a business deal, Molly. We both want something the other can provide.”

Yeah, that was it, the old “you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours” proposition. Wonderfully romantic – not – when the proposition was marriage. It made her feel like a prime candidate for Carlotta’s former profession. Perhaps prefacing the deal with a wedding was supposed to make it feel less like prostitution, but somehow it made it seem all the more tawdry.

Whatever else you thought about it, prostitution
was
a business, the world’s oldest service industry, some said. Marriage, on the other hand, was
personal commitment
– deeper, stronger – a joining of hearts, minds, and souls as much as bodies. Husbands and wives might be business partners in a sense, but their business was family and life. The way Tyler played it made a mockery of the institution.

If she had to trade him sexual favors for what she wanted, she’d rather do the deal open and above board, no hypocrisy. Being an honest whore might feel less damaging inside than knowing you were merely a disposable wife.

Holding on to that thought, she met his gaze with a newfound steadiness in her own. To him, this was just a game.

But two could play it.

Tension crackled in the air like static electricity. The artificial breezes of the dome blew around them, feathering tendrils of hair across her face. Molly scarcely noticed. She took a deep breath and made him a counter offer.

“No, I don’t expect you to get down on one knee. You might dirty your trousers. Perish the thought.” She smiled, but not in a nice way. Women pushed to the edge didn’t smile nicely. They bared fangs. “All I expect are a few small concessions. I’ll surrender, but not unconditionally. And if you want to hear my terms, we’ll have to take this discussion elsewhere. I don’t do
business
on staircases.”

Tilting up her chin, she glared down her nose at him. “Now I suggest you let go of my hand before I demonstrate what
one knee
can do when applied with enough force to the proper spot.”

Chapter 9

Tyler leaned back in his office chair and crossed his legs. With care. He wasn’t sure which felt worse, the blow to his pride, or the blow to his groin.

The former, probably. He’d been knocked in the nuts before, and harder than this time. The other discomfort was new. Women, on rare occasions – very rare – refused to sleep with him, but no one had ever refused to marry him. Who in their right mind said no to a billionaire?

Molly Leigh.

Through slitted eyes, he studied her sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk. She didn’t look stupid. She didn’t look crazy. Curled up like a kitten in the cream-colored leather armchair, with her face scrubbed clean, her hair pulled into a loose braid over her shoulder, and dressed for the night in pale pink pajama bottoms and a powder blue T-shirt, she looked like a kid, soft and sweet. Almost innocent.

But she wasn’t.

His gaze strayed to the front of the T-shirt, where emblazoned over her chest was the slogan “Get a taste of magic – lick a witch.” She’d said it was a gag-gift from a friend. Tyler hadn’t laughed.

Damn shirt. A jolt of desire stabbed through tender flesh. He winced and uncrossed his legs.

“Still sore? I guess that makes two of us, huh?” Molly batted her eyes. “Oh well, we’ll muddle through tonight somehow. I’m no expert on these things, of course, but even if we can’t manage the main event, I’m sure there must be” – she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue – “other ways to pass the time.”

Moving like a cat on the prowl, she uncurled her legs and stood up. Then sat sideways on the desk and leaned across it, brushing papers aside as she slithered forward till she half reclined on the polished surface, facing him head-on. She propped up on her elbows and peered over the edge into his lap, her brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought.

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” Her eyes slanted slyly to his with the offer. Her scent filled his nostrils, and her breasts pushed out the invitation on her shirt.

Tyler gripped the arms of his chair to keep from dragging her straight off the desk and onto the floor. He shoved off with his feet, driving the chair back a safer distance, and clenched his teeth. He wanted more than a kiss, damn it.

“I want you to marry me,” he ground out.

Molly made a
tsk-tsk
noise, and shook her head in reprimand. “Now, now, we already settled that this afternoon. I’m giving you the honeymoon part, for goodness sake. Don’t be greedy.”

Yeah, a three-month
honeymoon
. Which, come to think of it, was longer than any of his other honeymoons had lasted. But it wasn’t enough. Tyler wanted
all
the parts – the bells, the flowers, the cake, the whole nine yards. Was that so greedy? Women loved that sort of show, didn’t they? His other wives had. Why did Molly have to be different? Why couldn’t they do things the way he always did?

Or, um…maybe not. He had to admit, he was getting a bit weary of the divorce part.

His chest tightened as he stared at her. She was different, all right. The thought that she could walk away in three months sat in him like a lead weight. Shit, maybe he was greedy, did want too much, but that was what she did to him.

Stubbornly, he set his jaw.

“I want a
wedding
before the honeymoon, my ring on your finger, our names together on a license. I want everything all nice and legal on paper!” What he wanted, frankly, was to make it as difficult as possible for her to leave.

“Papers?” She grabbed a handful of them from the desk and tossed them into the air like confetti. “We don’t need no stinking papers.”

“
You
needed one,” he said grimly.

“But nothing major like a license. Just a friendly little business contract to keep things straight between us.” Sprawled belly down on the desk, propped up on her elbows, she rested her chin in her hands and blinked. “It was your idea.”