Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) Page 13

  “Ermygawd.” She exclaimed in a husky growl. “These shoes have to go.”

  Flopping onto the sofa, she was all legs and arms in the billowy dress and for the briefest moment, his conscience grumbled. Here he was entertaining some pretty dirty thoughts about a girl who was probably too damn young for him. Not that he was old. In years, that is. If he had to guess, he’d put ‘tessa in the mid twenty category. Uh, almost.

  Snatching up the martini glasses he sauntered slowly toward her, aware of the dull ache in his back. The sharp stinging agony was gone, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Not stupid enough to consider the alcohol a crutch, he was glad nonetheless for the drink in his hand. Sometimes a martini was the best medicine if only because it silenced some of the noise in his head.

  Watching as she slid the sexy shoes off her feet, his mouth twitched with laughter. ‘tessa was undeniably genuine and completely unlike any of the women he’d been with. And by been with he meant fucked.

  “I’m crushed Baroness,” he teased. “Those shoes had a starring role in a fantasy I was concocting for later tonight.”

  She laughed as a flush crept up her neck and onto her face. “Oh, bite me. I love a great pair of shoes as much as the next girl but let’s be honest, okay? They’re torture devices, plain and simple. I prefer being barefoot.”

  He handed off her drink and put his on the coffee table before joining her on the sofa. “What about socks? Do socks count?”

  Her dramatic gasp cracked him right the hell up. “Socks? Sacrilege! Foot prisons, that’s all they are.”

  Foot prisons. Man, she was full of ‘em.

  Turning in his direction, she tucked her feet under her ass and relaxed against the end of the sofa. Her body language let him know he had her undivided attention. The thought was immensely satisfying.

  Holding her glass up, she asked, “Do we toast or just fall face first into the drink?”

  He didn’t have a chance to answer before a shocked and delighted gasp brought him up short.

  “Ty!” she exclaimed. “Oh my God. Is that a dragonfly on the cocktail pick?”

  Huh? A what? He looked at the martini pick holding the three olives sticking from their drinks. Ohhh, right. The dragonfly picks.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “They’re cool, huh? Handmade. Found them in a craft bazaar and had to have ‘em. The beads are pretty, aren’t they?”

  She had this astonished expression on her face that intrigued him. Why? Chuckling, he asked, “Why? What’d you expect? Toothpicks with checkered flags?”

  “Oh, Ty,” she muttered. He easily detected the sound of heavy emotion in her voice. “I love them.”

  Raising eyes sparkling with something he couldn’t describe, she gushed excitedly, “The dragonfly is my spirit animal.”

  “Your spirit animal,” he repeated. She looked at him like having a self-declared spirit animal was an everyday and therefore perfectly normal and reasonable thing. “You’re serious.”

  Nodding, her eyes going wide she said, “Completely.”

  The conversation was supposed to be about him but he couldn’t care less. He was fascinated by the hippie flower child. Hearing her views about the most mundane of things would enchant him no matter the subject matter.

  “I want to hear all about this spirit animal ‘tessa but first, the martini. That initial sip when it’s still ice cold is the best.”

  She twirled the cocktail pick through the clear liquid and winked. “I can already tell you the olives will be my favorite part.” Dropping the pick onto a napkin, she looked at him expectantly. Oh right. He should say something. Maybe a toast.

  “Let’s drink to the one thing that wouldn’t go good with peanut butter.” Lifting his glass, he said, “Vodka martini. Dirty. Shaken.”

  She giggled and dryly murmured, “Well said.”

  That first sip really was the best. As the icy liquid hit his lips and slid across his tongue, Cal enjoyed the smooth cocktail with its olive brine back kick.

  “Mmm. Tastes like a snow drift,” she purred. “I like it! Do we olive now?”

  She didn’t wait to hear his answer, quickly reaching for the dragonfly pick and putting it to her mouth. There was nothing out of the ordinary about what she was doing, but his mind forgot to read that particular memo. He watched transfixed as her mouth opened and she bared her teeth, plucking an olive off the pick with obvious delight. He didn’t shudder, but some sort of seismic shift rattled his fucking cage big time. The thought of her using those teeth on his body overtook his imagination.

  Calm the mother fuck down, his common sense yelled from the sidelines.

  Slowly savoring a plump, briny olive he asked, “So explain the dragonfly thing.”

  “Okay,” she quipped. “But don’t think my silly rambling will let you off the hook. Yolo is on my bête noire list so …”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it. No crystal ball. Explain myself. We’ll get there, babe.” Tilting his head in a complimentary bow, he gave her a ladies first wave and said, “Let the silly rambling begin.”

  It wasn’t a huge sofa so she was close enough to reach across the empty space between them and smack him on the knee. There it was again. That tactile thing.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she scolded.

  Cal laughed easily. “Oh fuck ‘tessa. That ship sailed long ago. Right about the time you said you were the Baroness of Wild. A wild child you are not!”

  He enjoyed her mocking laugh and the charming eye roll. “Oh my God, Ty. You don’t even know how funny that is. Wild child. Ha!”

  Yeah, well—he meant it. Modern day hippie? Yes. Flower child? Absolutely. But wild child? Fuck to the no.

  He took another sip and put his glass down. Relaxed and enjoying this time with her, he slouched a bit and rested his head on the arm he folded on the back of the sofa. He’d removed his suit jacket but was still sporting the vest. With his free hand, he loosened his tie and undid the top buttons on his shirt. Slamming his feet onto the coffee table, he crossed ‘em at the ankles and grinned at her. “Go for it. I’m all ears.”

  ONCE AGAIN CHARLIE FOUND HERSELF drowning in the rough surf Ty’s overwhelming masculinity churned up. When his feet hit the table with a heavy thud, she pulled it together before she went under for a third time and made a total and complete fool of herself.

  Oh, she wasn’t a full twit. A partial twit where he was concerned, yes. But she also knew he was just killing time with her. Grown up men like Cal Tyler only amused themselves with naïve younglings such as herself.

  Was the kissing red hot and off the charts? Totally. The thing was, he never made any sort of a move to second base. None. She wanted to kick the ass of whatever first base coach was sending him stay put signals until remembering that an experienced lover wouldn’t be taking cues from anyone. So the fact that he didn’t push just told her how uninterested he was in more. With her.

  Damn.

  Taking another sip of the frozen snow drift, she gathered her thoughts and set the drink aside. Time for a lesson.

  “The dragonfly’s symbolic meaning is one of transformation. Being adaptable, choosing joy over misery, light over dark. With me so far?”

  He nodded, his eyes watching her intently. She saw his chest rise and fall a few times. Gathering all of her hair into one hand, she twirled the heavy mass until a long tail formed. Draping it over her shoulder, Charlie fingered a curl and met his probing gaze.

  “The Japanese believe dragonflies bring good fortune. Tennyson wrote about them.”

  “What makes it your personal spirit animal?”

  A small smile played around the corners of her mouth. Trying to explain the influence her venerable grandmother had on her life and the lives of her sisters was a tale for another day—so she took the short route in the telling because the end was the same.

  “My grandmother says I’m an old soul. And believe me,” she snickered playfully. “She would know.”

  Fiddling absently with her
long necklace, Charlie drawled, “She explained that the dragonfly symbolized a maturity having nothing to do with physical age. A dragonfly moves in every direction. Since they don’t live long, they live in the moment.”

  He mumbled something she’d been hammering into his head from their first day together. “Know who you are, where you are, what you want and where you’re going.”

  So he was paying attention. Winning.

  “And to Native Americans, they signify purity.”

  His eyebrow arched at the carefully chosen word, and she stared blankly at him in return. Let him make of that statement what he will.

  “When I was a little girl we would play next to a slow stream near our house. It wasn’t summer until you could chase the Blue Dashers along the banks. If I sat near the water and held real still, sometimes they flew by close enough to feel the air ripple from their wings. I remember thinking the noiseless sound was the shimmery creatures whispering to me.” Her shrug was automatic. A knee jerk. “I was just a kid.”

  She tried not to look too deeply into his penetrating stare. His expression unnerved her. Did he think she was a nitwit with an overactive imagination? A quick glance suggested his thoughts were circling a totally different track. Is this what all those romance books she devoured like forbidden candy meant by a man’s lustful gaze? Uh oh. She better watch herself. Suddenly the track analogy in her head was littered with frantically waving red flags.

  “So,” she sniffed with a starchy twang, “spirit animal. The end. You’re up next big guy.”

  Charlie used the moment between moments to shift how she sat. Her legs would fall asleep if she didn’t move around. Putting both feet on the floor, she carefully held the short dress against her thighs while keeping her knees pressed tightly together. Flexing her feet, she moved them up and down by her toes to get the blood flowing again.

  So quickly her only reaction was a frightened yelp, he surprised her by suddenly sitting up and grabbing hold of her calves. With a yank and a swerve he swung her legs onto his lap as she flopped against the arm of the sofa. Desperately trying to keep the damn dress under control, Charlie held on to the hem like a frantic baby clutching a security blanket. And then he started massaging her foot.

  Oh my God. Soooo not fair. She tried every mental diversion in her arsenal to keep from moaning and quaking head to toe like a dog having a tummy scratch. Only the sharp pain from teeth chomping down on her lip stopped her from serious embarrassment. Time to take back control of what was happening.

  “Yolo is the lazy man’s excuse for shallow thinking. You don’t strike me as shallow.”

  “Lazy man’s excuse? Jeez. A bit harsh don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” she allowed with a moue. “But remember, there’s a big difference between a teaspoon and a cup. Living within the shallow depth of the latter can’t compare to the freedom of the last.”

  She didn’t avoid his gaze this time, fixing him with a pointed stare. “Are you a teaspoon or a cup? It’s a choice we make, really. And I don’t accept that it’s not.”

  He didn’t say anything right away—just kept gently kneading her foot with a pensive half-frown on his face.

  “Yolo is not my favorite phrase,” he finally muttered. “And I think you might be right about the shallow thinking.”

  Wow. She scored a lucky bulls-eye on the first shot.

  “You asked why. Why the speed racer caricature and the phony lifestyle.”

  Charlie almost jumped his ass right then. He knew how to use big words like caricature. Intelligence was her crack. She and her sisters were alike in that way. None of them could ever conceive of bringing home some guy with a comic book mentality into their father’s spectacular personal library. No matter how hot he was.

  “I could say it just happened and maybe even convince you what you felt wasn’t blowing sunshine up your ass but what’s the point?”

  She didn’t react, said nothing and waited for him to continue. Whatever this was, he had to own it. Without prodding or encouragement from her. The teaspoon or the cup. The choice was his.

  “Guess I better start at the beginning. I know you won’t, but feel free to stop me at any time.”

  He earned the teasing grin and soft chuckle and almost got an earful of uncontrollable moans from what his hands were doing to her feet. She silently hoped he wasn’t just another spoiled brat who didn’t take life seriously. There were plenty of those guys to go around—not that they interested her in the least.

  Ty’s vibe was confusing. His aura truly was a coat of a thousand colors. The man was going in so many directions at the same time, it was a wonder he wasn’t perpetually dizzy.

  When he paused and drew in a deep, deep breath, she almost held hers. Expectation tugged at her nerves. He was opening up right before her eyes.

  It was a long story. He enjoyed sharing it with her. She was a fantastic listener, and while saying absolutely nothing, her facial expressions and body language let him know she was hanging on every word.

  Talking about Harvey felt damn good. It’d been a long, long time since he’d spoken of his friend to anyone. Not complicated or suspenseful until the very end, the stories he shared of their boyhood adventures were happy and more funny than serious. Connecting with the good memories was something he hadn’t done since Harve died.

  Then came the end to the rambling story but telling her what happened was harder than he thought it’d be. Remorse he’d not voiced previously threw him off center. When he heard himself say, “Should have taken the keys. I knew he was fucked up,” his chest felt painful and heavy. It was a guilty admission he’d been too much of a pussy to say out loud. The confession of his failure to stop a chain of events out of his control.

  Cal knew his thinking was fucked up. But shit. He was only human.

  And then she spoke. Finally. After patiently sitting through the entire re-telling of his and Harve’s growing up together, she reacted to nothing until the anguished words left his mouth.

  Sitting forward hand stretched out and caressed his arm. At some point, he’d rolled back his sleeves, so the warmth of her touch on his skin sent a zap of awareness into every fiber of his physical being.

  “Sweetie,” she murmured. Did he almost start bawling like a baby at the simple endearment? Yes.

  “Harvey made a choice that night. His choice. Not yours. The road was dangerous. He knew that. You asked him to cool it. He didn’t. Putting his and your life in danger and cramming some bullshit Yolo down your throat is on him. News flash. You weren’t the universal designated driver. Being a good guy doesn’t mean you’re responsible for someone else’s choices. No matter how much you loved them.”

  Tears stung his nose and welled in his eyes. She spoke softly and stroked his arm.

  “So how does what happened take you from Virginia to Italy?”

  “I don’t fucking know,” he admitted gravely. “At first, I didn’t drive. Couldn’t. And then next thing I knew I was at the race track. It started with stock cars. Pretty soon I went from fan to driver. Had a mentor. Old guy who grew up sucking on exhaust fumes and had engine oil running through his veins. One day when he was pushing me to go hard or go home he said Yolo and well,” Cal had to reel in a shit ton of emotion before he could go on. “At the time, it felt like a sign. Does it make me lame that that’s how all this happened?”

  No comment. She just remained sitting forward and didn’t take her hand off his arm.

  “When I came here, I was running and everyone knew it. My mom and dad. Even my brother, the Army doctor. At first, this was all good fun and plenty of games. The Europeans love their drivers.” The self-deprecating smirk he shot her was heartfelt. “Got lucky right away. When Crepuscolo picked me up, I sold them a bill of goods basically insisting the only way to drive was like a ruthless bastard.”

  He laughed. For real. What happened was exactly as he described it. Did he know at the time what the fuck he even meant by driving like a ruthless bastard
? Absolutely not. It was just a bunch of words he’d strung together because they sounded good.

  “Fame and fortune ensued. Neither by the way are what they’re cracked up to be. Celebrity is frivolous and fortune is nice but doesn’t come with a guarantee of happiness. So, what’s that leave me with? A bad case of superficial and empty.”

  He paused and carefully considered what to say next. She wanted honesty and being in the moment. Authentic was how she sometimes put it. Well fuck. Doesn’t get more authentic than this.

  “I know what’s going on ‘tessa. I know the doctors are whispering that I’m whacked in the head about driving. Probably think I’ve lost my nerve, and that’s why an accident I should’ve walked away from has stopped me at the starting line.”

  He felt the gentle squeeze of her hand. She understood. A huge weight melted off his shoulders.

  “Bottom line. The truth at the center of all truths. I hate this shit because it’s empty and, well it’s not about me. Any of it. Is it?”

  No surprise that she didn’t sway left, right, up or down at the question. Dragonfly ‘tessa was in a holding pattern, but he saw the corner of her mouth quiver with a smile of encouragement.

  “I’m living some other guy’s life.”

  Bam! Just like that, she swung her legs off his lap and slammed her bare feet on the floor. “I think we need another martini.”

  Shooting back the very end of the cocktail in her glass, she pulled the last olive off the pick with her teeth and encouraged him to do the same. The matter-of-fact way she acted completely threw him. He’d just poured his heart out, and she wanted another drink?

  “I’m driving, remember?”

  Of course, that didn’t stop him from draining his glass and handing it off to her while she muttered, “Hurry up,” and wagged her fingers in his face. “Be a good boy and do as you’re told.”