Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) (10 page)

Grinning at her like an idiot, he quipped, “I would have found another way to spin my web.”

Her soft smile at the reminder of their fly and spider repartee was almost as exhilarating as a victory lap.

When her expression wasn’t on lock down, she had expressive eyes. Eyes that gave a lot away about what she was thinking and feeling. He felt bad for all of about a nanosecond that he could read her so easily. Unfair advantage?
Absofuckinglutely
. But just like on the track, he’d use whatever he had to cross the finish line.

’‘tessa wanted to cut him a break. It was written all over her face. But he could also see that she was trying to reconcile the obvious attraction between them with her professional responsibilities. Another way she was different.

Cal didn’t think he was a man-whore but some of his more questionable hook-ups came close to falling into the unsettling category. When the lead reporter for a Bolivian news team flat out told him she’d fuck him senseless for an exclusive, he’d taken her up on the offer and been a cocky bastard about it after.

He wasn’t completely brain dead. Even the slightest suggestion along those quid pro quo lines and his ‘tessa would be out the door in a flash. And most likely with his crushed balls tucked into her satchel.

There were times when pushing at the edges was a successful maneuver. Every driver knew that. And there were other times when easing off and holding back showed the path to victory. Watching her closely, he downshifted enough for her to have some space. Let her think about things and see which way she wanted to go.

What surprised the shit out of him was that he had no trouble handing her the pole position. He wasn’t a
take directions
or
follow along
kind of a guy. That’s not how you sustained a ride or got to the top of your game. But with her, he couldn’t deny the appeal of giving the sweet girl a chance to run the show. Lead the field, so to speak. His dick agreed. As usual, his fucking brain fired up with an erotic montage of possibilities. Most of them involved being naked.

When she relaxed a bit and sat back in her chair, he saw the winner’s circle come into view. Part of him was happy dancing inside his head that she wasn’t going to shut his lame attempt to lure her in down, without giving him a chance. The other part was deciding how difficult getting into her tights was gonna be.

Watching her legs cross in the other direction, Cal had a hundred fantasies crowding his thoughts about her and those thigh high suede boots. Her and nothing but those suede boots, wide legged and bent over the hood of his vintage 1970 SS 454 Chevelle.

Jesus. Where the hell did that thought come from? The Chevy was in his parent’s garage and would stay there until or if, he ever decided it was time to go home. Go home and be Caleb Merrill again.

“Is there a case of Skippy in your web, Mr. Tyler?”

She asked the question with such an air of innocence that his brain briefly short-circuited. Ignoring the warning lights flashing on his mental dashboard, he bit off a smirk as he went and stood directly in front of her realizing belatedly that his arms crossed posture more or less shoved a blatantly obvious erection in her face.

“Case of Skippy. Twelve-pack of Diet Coke. Box of Nutter Butter cookies.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Standard web items. Now, if we’re talking about what’s stashed in my bedroom,” he drawled. “That’s where the good stuff is. M & M’s. Peanut butter cups. Beefy Jerky,” he said with an eyebrow waggle.

“Impressive, um … supplies.” She crossed her arms just like his and smiled so sweetly his teeth hurt just watching her.

“I aim to please.”

She colored to a deep rosy blush but didn’t look away.

“Is that so?” she quipped with a starchy sniff. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Why did he feel like the tables just turned on him?

Fiddling with the ends of her purple scarf, the one she’d unwound from her neck and draped around her shoulders, Charlie carefully considered the best way to put Mr. Sexy Pants and his know-all, see-all eyes in his place.

She’d never survive an entire day with him if he kept up with the clever innuendos and obvious seduction campaign. Swatting back and staying one step ahead of that sort of shit was Rhi’s forte. Not hers.

On reflex, her hand swung to touch, then clasp, the crystal necklace. A hippie girl through and through, crystals and hand-strung beads were her signature wardrobe and stylistic go-to since she could remember. She had a case brimming with crystal and gemstone jewelry that she switched out and changed up according to her mood. The stone she chose today was an amethyst, which she swore vibrated when negativity or evil invaded her aura.

Did she consider Cal Tyler some sort of threat? No. Not in the classic sense of what danger meant. Being a natural blonde didn’t mean she was entirely daft. Even without a lot of experience in this area, she knew that for all intents and purposes, she was in way over her head with a man like him. Best come armed with whatever would keep him from just plowing her over from the sheer force of his overwhelming masculinity. Masculinity that at times scrambled her thought processes. Having him looming so big right in front of her face threw her off balance. The sly smirk on his face told her he knew damn well he was rattling her cage.

Men. So friggin’ cocky. It’s like they think they own that crap or something. Sighing, Charlie gave the purple stone one last squeeze before meeting his eyes.

“Just so we’re clear, Mr. Tyler,” she informed him in her best fuck-with-me-at-your-peril tone. “If,” she arched an eyebrow at him, “and I do indeed mean if, I take this assignment, I expect you to do what you’re told.”

Shit, shit, shit and double shit. The slight curl of his lip let her know she’d just said that in the most clumsy and inarticulate way possible. Do what he’s told? Holy crap. Where the hell was her common sense hiding?

“What I mean by that,” she added starchily with a hair flip over her shoulder, “is that you’ll be paying me for my services, not…”

Shit, shit, shit and triple damn shit.
Universe
, she silently begged.
Please stuff a sock in my mouth or something
. Do what you’re told and now stating that he’d be paying for her services.

Charlie silenced a groan, but not before he heard the telltale sound.
Hello. You have reached 1-800-Get-Your-Act-Together.

Throwing her hands up in exasperated frustration, she spared him a fierce glare. “You know what? Screw it. This is ridiculous. You make me nervous with all this,” she gestured dismissively with her hand at the way he was crowding her with his sea-faring macho man posture. All he needed was a deck beneath his feet, rolling and swaying with the ocean’s waves and the look woulda’ been complete. “With this … argh!”

She was getting more and more agitated by the second, and all he did was stand there and smile at her—with his damn crotch almost smashed against her face.

Some kind of seasonal madness must have taken over because in the space of two heartbeats, she swung from being tempted to smack the wicked grin off his handsome face to making mental calculations about how best to wrap around him and climb Mr. Sexy Pants like a tree. She bet he’d be fun to crawl all over.

Seriously?

It didn’t help her frame of mind one bit that he seemed to have the inside track on her every thought and reaction. When he chuckled softly and moved away, she worried it was because he knew she’d reached her limit and chose that moment to ease off and step back. At this rate, her triple-shit quickly became a snarling quadruple-shit punctuated with a mental grimace.

Remember who you are.

Right. Gotcha.
Charlie nodded her head. She could do this. After all, he was only messing with her. Staying in control meant not playing his game.

“You’re right, ‘tessa.
Mi dispiace.
” The husky growl in Italian, and the suave nodding apologetic bow of his head, plus the way he splayed a hand on his chest, almost gave her a whiplash case of the giggle-swoons.

The warmth in his smile made her insides all mushy. The man was a contradiction wrapped up in a spectacularly sexy package. One minute, he seemed larger than life and overwhelmingly dominant—giving off a worldly and slightly jaded air. And the next, almost like the view seen between swaying and fluttering sheets hung on a clothesline, she saw a glimpse of something else. Something quite different. Unless she was imagining things, Cal Tyler was lonely and all of this was a sham.

“It’s just that you’re so cute when you’re trying to be all big and bad.”

“What? I mean,” she stuttered. “Yeah, well, I am big and bad.” There! She told him.

Rising from her seat she mindfully cursed that her composure wasn’t anywhere near normal and shot him a scathing glare. With just a couple of steps, she went to her satchel and reached inside, pulling out her daily planner. Hoping to buy enough time to mentally regroup, Charlie opted for business and steeled herself against further temptation.

Slamming the overstuffed planner onto the conference table, she flipped it open and paged to the section with her calendar. Trying not to look at him was harder than she thought and since she didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction, she kept busy by gathering her long hair into a manageable tail, swirled, flipped and tucked a couple of times until a big knot hung against her nape. She generally made it a rule to keep her neck covered unless she planned in advance for it not to be. Charlie’s neck was a no-go zone. Sensitive beyond reason, she rarely exposed her ground zero of sexual weakness.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, the skin prickled behind her ear sending tingles of exquisite awareness down her neck, across her collarbone and shoulder to shoulder. Involuntary shivers made her reach a trembling hand to rest along her jawline and neck.

“Let’s schedule a time when we can discuss,” she told him with a critical air, “specifics about your case. We’d need about ninety minutes. If that’s doable, I have my calendar ready and …”

She stopped mid-sentence when meeting his gaze left her floundering. Oh my.

No … seriously.
OH MY.

His eyes latched on to hers. She couldn’t look away if she tried. Things she didn’t want to know or think about were plain as day in his expression.

Charlie swallowed hard and wondered if this is how the fly felt once the magnitude of the web she was caught in became clear.

A
FTER TEASING HER ABOUT TRYING
to come off like a bad-ass, Cal retreated the second he saw her mentally shrink back. It was damn hard to figure out where her limits were because she blew hot and cold all over the track. So rather than push too far, he sat back and enjoyed the show once she got all stuck up and snotty with him.

Did that snotty attitude bordering just this side of being a brat turn him on? Fuck, yeah.

He watched in amused silence when she shot from her chair like a rocket and stomped in those incredibly sexy boots to the enormous, well-worn satchel she carried and tore through it like a maniac.

A random thought coming out of nowhere invaded his mind. His mom would love the way this girl dresses and her adorable attempts to demonstrate that she intended to be the boss of things. Kate Merrill would take one look at the lovely Contessa, and before she knew it, the poor girl would be sitting at the family table.