Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) (57 page)

“This seems like a good time to take a step back. Not so much screwing around. That way, we can get a fix on what’s down the line. Make some plans.”

Now, he really did think when he heard the words in is head that he sounded perfectly reasonable, but she was putting off the wrong vibe for that to be the case. Cal thought he better quickly add something about knowing what was in each other’s hearts but never got the chance.

It was brutally obvious when she spoke that he’d fucked up. Somehow, and he wasn’t sure exactly how, she got the wrong message. His take a step back plan wasn’t the clarion call of a kiss off. Not at all. But that’s what she heard.

“So we’re agreed then.” Her delivery was monotone and hollow. “Time to reset. Good choice, good choice. Better for everyone.”

“No, wait,” he muttered when a tremor of finality in her words gave him pause. “That’s not what I meant, ‘tessa.”

She didn’t let him explain further. “Yes, well that’s what you said. It’s cool, really. I’m good. We got closure.”

Closure? What? Who fucking said anything about closure?

She turned on her Chucks, pulled the braid of hair over her shoulder and held onto it as she swept past him. “Let yourself out, Caleb. I have a headache and I’m gonna go lay down.”

He grasped at straws. “What about dinner?”

“There are take-out menus in a kitchen drawer at the studio.”

Cal watched her retreat up the stairs in disbelief. She thought he wanted out? Here he was ready to rip out his heart and hand it to her and she was walking away. Could he have fucked this up any more?

Men are such assholes.

Charlie reached for a brush and went at her hair with a vengeance. Swiping the wide paddle from scalp to ends, she set a furious rhythm that matched how bothered she was.

Having never been on the receiving end of an alpha outburst, she was more than a little astounded at Caleb’s heavy-handed behavior. Just who the hell did he think he was, trying to control her that way? Was he insane?

She snorted and pulled the brush harder. Clearly he was.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Was it? She couldn’t imagine Brynn putting up with He-Man behavior from Jax. And Rhi? Well, damn. Whether from Liam Ashforth or any other sentient being, she was unlikely to take anyone’s shit.

Or, maybe she was wrong about that. Was the outburst just him being a dick or was something else at play? Jealousy? A girl might put up with a ton of alpha shit if it came from possessiveness. He did have a territorial vibe going on.
Hmph.

Tossing the brush aside, she re-braided her hair then went and sat cross-legged in the middle of the big bed, slumping awkwardly with her forearms resting on her knees.

This is what she’d feared all along. He’d overreacted. But so had she. They seemed to do that a lot. It occurred to her that they were forever five seconds from perfect—but those imperfect five seconds were bigger than the whole.

It annoyed her that he blew hot and cold. Or did he? She dropped her chin and hung her head with a groan. Did he or didn’t he? His no-go zones confused her. Many times, she’d thought about their conversation when he’d unburdened himself from the wound of losing his best friend in a horrible, unnecessary tragedy. On that occasion, she’d had a glimpse inside his heart as he spoke. Since then? Not so much. Being adept at sidestepping conflict and parsing carefully chosen words wasn’t being real. She’d been grading him on a curve because he actually could be authentic and open up. But in truth, it felt like she was kidding herself.

Charlie flopped back on the bed, turned to her side and grabbed hold of a pillow, hugging it for comfort.

When he said he was falling in love with her, she’d been over the moon. But right away it was a one-off. He never said another word. And her? She’d known for a while now that some part of her fell for him the first time they met. Of course, she hadn’t realized it at the time. Sometimes love-at-first-sight takes time to be revealed.

But she knew it for sure. She was in love with Caleb. Hearing him admit he was falling for her was everything she hoped for until doubts made some noise. He’d said
falling in love
. Not in love. Falling, suggested a process at work. Plus, when he said the words, he’d been buried inside her body. Post-coital declarations of a process didn’t have the same impact as a heartfelt admission.

Was it possible that her charming prince wasn’t a perfect match? What if a flaw at the center of their relationship doomed them? She’d never stopped to consider the possibility.

She might be a blonde but she sure as shit wasn’t dumb. Wishing for a soul mate, the White Knight of her girlhood dreams, was romantic fluff. This was real life and in the real world there was always the possibility that her heart would yearn for something that in the end wasn’t her destiny. Would she be the sister who nursed a broken heart into old age?

Quite possibly.

Her mind examined the facts. They were wildly attracted to each other and there wasn’t much sense in fudging that truth. But even so, he still held something back and nothing she did or said made a difference. Hell. He wouldn’t even discuss it with her.

Viewed in that blindingly truthful light, she started to see cracks forming in this so-called wild attraction.

They were also about as mismatched and out-of-sync as two people can be. She was young and inexperienced. He was older, jaded and a man-whore for his entire adult life. Great match, huh?

She was a simple girl. Nature turned her on. A silent stroll through a dusty museum filled her with excitement. She liked dragonflies and crystal jewelry. Suede boots and gypsy tablecloths made up her wardrobe.

Him? He was a confusing contradiction of Euro-suave and country boy rugged. One minute, he drove a Maserati and was the superstar of a Formula One race team. The next? Flannel shirts, work boots, jeans and a sensible Ford.

She was young and exuberant. He wasn’t.

He was sophisticated and worldly. She couldn’t be bothered.

She counted fairy wings on a dew kissed lawn. He needed a definition of fairy wings and empirical proof such things existed.

He craved control. She remembered how he bristled at the use of a simple word—submit. They were at loggerheads on this one. He demanded and she couldn’t wait to flip the bird at the mere suggestion of being under someone’s thumb.

Bad case of square peg, round hole?

They were never going to work. Besides, there wasn’t much use in holding on. It hurt like a bee sting on her big toe when he babbled on about stepping back. Seemed obvious to her that he felt banging each other at every opportunity was cool while it was just them. But with his brother and her sister coming back into the picture, he’d decided that this was a good time to cool the heat.

A man who could say he was falling in love one day and then a week later say they needed to chill out might still be technically a charming prince. But it was painfully apparent; they were not on the same page and probably not even reading from the same book.

Sadness engulfed her but she didn’t regret any of it. Now she knew how much love she had to give. To the right man. A man who might not ride a white horse and sweep her off her feet, but hopefully would be less of a crapshoot.

“I
T’S SO GOOD TO BE
home.”

Jax smiled at his wife and patted her growing bump. “Pregnant honeymoon was a bust, huh?”

Brynn laughed like what he said was the funniest thing ever. “Far from a bust. We’ve got a house in the Outer Banks!” She was clapping and doing a front seat victory dance with all the appropriate sound effects. Surprising her with the wedding gift of all time had been a stroke of pure genius.

Contented was a new word on heavy rotation in his vocabulary. He’d even looked it up one night when his beautiful and very sexy wife’s pregnancy cravings sent him to the kitchen at midnight to make fish sticks.

That’s right--fish sticks! Cheap, crappy, frozen fish sticks. While he would gladly fly a French chef all the way from Paris to come cook for them, she happily pushed a cart through the Food Lion and filled their pantry and freezer with every strange comfort food imaginable. Basically, they ate their childhood while honeymooning on the water during a very cold and blustery OBX winter.

Between bowls of Cap’n Crunch and plates of Eggo waffles, they devoured fluffernutter sandwiches, drank gallons of chocolate milk, and had fireplace picnics cradling big stoneware bowls full of homemade chili, or his mom’s vegetable soup and some weird thing Nana Wilde made, called Bandolero Baked Beans. Legend had it, Brynn explained, that the recipe came from a South American gaucho Nana was involved with in her younger days.

The Baron-Wilde’s had a colorful history thanks to the outrageous older woman’s rich life.

But back to his contentment. He really did look it up.
A state of happiness and satisfaction
. Sounded about right. He was married to an extraordinary woman, had a baby on the way, was starting a business with his brother—a long-held dream—and for the first time since the war, he wasn’t obsessing over his PTSD every damn day.

Life, as the saying goes, was good. Damn good. He even had the T-shirt to prove it. They grabbed matching Life-is-Good-at-the-beach shirts in an enormous souvenir and beachwear shop and wore them into the ground.

“Hey, I have an idea, why don’t we build a gazebo behind the house and put a hot tub in it?”

A gazebo and a hot tub. With a side-shaded smirk he drawled, “We? Why don’t
we
build a gazebo and hot tub? Seriously? Don’t you mean me?”

His cheeky wife leaned her body into the center console and pouted, “Oh, hush. I’d help if you hadn’t gotten me pregnant.”

She loved reminding him. He enjoyed hearing it ‘cause, yep-yep. That’s what he did. He fucked her pregnant. Sure, it sounded a bit crude, but she fell over giggling every time he used the expression.

“Give it a rest, would you woman?” he drawled satirically. “It’s gonna be a long couple of months if you’re gonna whine about it all the damn time.” Muttering about her being a Fertile Myrtle and how there weren’t enough condoms on the east coast to satisfy her wanton desires, he turned into their driveway as she roared with good humor at his teasing.

“Welcome home, baby.” Man. Did he like saying that, or what?

She reached for his hand and squeezed—her eyes fixed on the quirky and unique Queen Anne style home. Brynn’s love for the old house and what it represented to her family was no secret. Living here, bringing their son or daughter home to this house, even running his business from here, all of it was a chapter in the Baron-Wilde history book titled,
There Once Was a Family Named Merrill
. They’d only known each other a few short months, however, their families were connected since before they were born. Their parents insisted they’d always known that someway, someday, somehow, the families would be joined forever.

And now they were.

“Hurry husband,” his pregnant wife chided. “Get your knocked up old lady down outta this beastly truck and help my waddling ass up the stairs.”

Smiling broadly, Jax unhooked their seatbelts, kissed her soundly and climbed from the truck. As he walked to her door he lingered on a thought he’d been mulling over. The truck was a crutch. One that helped him over a scary reflexive habit stemming from the trauma he experienced as an Army medic. When he came home, one of his triggers was rooms or vehicles with space and people behind him. He bought the truck to contain the anxiety—the first step to reclaiming a normal life.