Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) Read online

  “Bravo, Ty. Setting a new speed record are you?”

  Charlie gasped and turned toward the disembodied voice putting an end to whatever was happening. What she saw standing in the doorway was enough to make her shrink with concern.

  A woman with an air of wealth and privilege wafting off her like a heavy perfume was glaring at her and the stranger in whose arms she was still held.

  Uh oh, this wasn’t good.

  She felt the man’s chest rise and fall with a deep sigh right about the same time Charlie belatedly realized his hand was still full of her exposed ass. Balling her fists, she pushed against the solid wall of a man and briefly considered running from the room like an outraged virgin.

  When she snorted at her own joke, he glanced into her eyes and she was surprised to see her humor returned. Apparently, Mr. Sexy Pants found this amusing.

  “Claudia,” he acknowledged flatly. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Charlie tried not to snicker when he pronounced the name ‘Cloud-ia.’ Her sister Rhiann would get a kick out of the pretentious spin.

  “Really Tyler,” the uptight bitch surveying them with an exaggerated sniff of disdain complained. “Putting your hands in some wait-girl’s knickers while you ignore your guests is rather,” she paused for good measure, “déclassé. Don’t you think?”

  Déclassé? Good grief. Who was this crazy bitch? Her grandmother was a friggin’ Broadway legend which meant Charlie knew a little bit of a lot about using ten dollar words. Her shoulders tensed from the impulse to verbally annihilate the woman.

  When the stranger who she now knew was named Tyler tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, she shivered at the gentleness in his touch. Unaware of what she was doing until it was too late, Charlie bit down on her lip again only, this time, Tyler smoothed his thumb across her mouth to stop the mauling.

  Their eyes met again as he rearranged the skirt of her dress, so she was decently covered. The decently covered part of things, however, didn’t stop him from palming her ass before stepping away.

  To say she was flabbergasted when he reached for her hand and kept her close by was the understatement of all times.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Tyler shrugged.

  Charlie watched the frigid exchange with avid interest.

  “But the Signorina is a welcome guest in my home. Hardly the wait-staff.”

  Oh, snap! The emphasis he put on saying she was welcome left no doubt that the cloud-bitch was not. And he still didn’t even know her name or who she was! This time, when Charlie bit her lip, it was to keep from laughing.

  And then it was her turn to be startled when a second voice boomed, “Bloody hell, Baroness! You never told us that you knew the man himself.”

  There was surreal and then whatever came after that. Maybe phantasmagorical? She liked that word. It was the epitome of awesomeness, only finding places to slip it into a conversation was practically non-existent. The scene unfolding in front of her felt like a hallucination, and she was gonna enjoy telling her sister, Rhi, this story.

  Dan Pearcey pushed his way into the suddenly not-so-big pantry and ogled her from ears to ankles. Fucker. She detested the guy. He was the team runner for the rugby exhibition she worked for. Of course, he’d show up when and where he was least wanted. The asshole lived to make her life more difficult.

  “Seems we have an audience.” Tyler chuckled. “Baroness,” he added at the last with a twisted grin.

  “Mr. Tyler,” Dan wheezed as he shoved the end of a canapé in his mouth and wiped his hands down the front of his trousers. Offering a handshake like all this was normal, the guy was so dumb he didn’t pick up the cue when the man by her side just stared at him.

  The cloud-bitch weighed in next. Waving her hands like an excited two-year-old, she snarkily hissed, “This is the highlight of my day. In the closet with Cal Tyler, Crepuscolo’s driver extraordinaire and his little troop of groupies.”

  Charlie’s head snapped back at this news. He was a driver? Wow. She’d heard an earful about the legendary status of Europe’s formula one drivers. All of the top guys were reported to be sex gods. The type who ends up with whatever Victoria’s Secret model he wanted.

  The arctic chill coming from her side turned the pantry into a freezer in seconds. Wasn’t hard to imagine icicles hanging from the cloud’s sculpted nose or Dan’s duck feet encased in a block of ice.

  But her fingers? The ones clasped in a big, strong hand? Yeah. Not cold at all. In fact, she was acutely aware of their palms touching and the throb of heat she couldn’t ignore.

  “Excuse us,” he ground out. Tugging her along, he walked them forward, forcing their audience to step out of the way as he casually blew right past them. His dismissive air was hilarious and eye-opening. Cal Tyler came off as someone you wouldn’t want as an enemy.

  Right before they cleared the doorway she pulled back to get his attention. Eyes that scared as much as excited looked back at her.

  “The Skippy,” she murmured and pointed at the forgotten container on the floor. “And my shoes.”

  Where two seconds ago she’d seen a hardness that made her sit up and take notice, now she saw his powerful gaze soften with a glint of humor.

  Quickly bending to retrieve her shoes and the jar of Skippy that started all this, Tyler picked it up, glanced at the label, quirked a wicked grin and said, “Creamy. Just the way I like it.”

  Barefoot and stuck to his side by a grasping hand that left no wiggle room, Charlie tripped over her own feet when the grin changed to a suggestive leer. She’d been in her fair share of amateur stage productions starting in preschool when she landed the part of the apple in a salute to healthy snacks.

  But this bit of theatrics was from a script she’d never read and improv wasn’t her best side. How was she supposed to perform? Vamp? Vixen? Virgin? Horny tourist? Race car driver groupie? The possibilities were endless.

  But when all was said and done, being the youngest granddaughter of Bryanna Charles Baron-Wilde was all the background she needed to pull off her part in this hilarious farce.

  Giving her unexpected companion a lascivious smirk—well, she hoped that’s what it was. She didn’t have a lot of experience in that area. Charlie pulled the long braid of her hair over a shoulder and twirled the end. Her playful response made Tyler’s eyes sparkle with shared mischief.

  “Mmm, I don’t know about that. Creamy gets boring. Sometimes I like the crunchy stuff. You know…something hard to grab on to with my teeth.”

  Yeah. That might have been a step too far ‘cause in a heartbeat, the humor in his expression turned to a smolder. Did it help matters that she suddenly acquired a desperate need to bite her lip? Judging by his focus on her mouth, probably not.

  “Mr. Tyler,” Dan complained in a whiny voice as they made for the kitchen. “Mr. Tyler,” the moron begged.

  Cal Tyler didn’t so much as flinch. He just dragged her by the hand and walked away from the pantry scene. Charlie had to give it to him. He was impressive when he was being an arrogant ass. Maybe he knew the power of invoking the Goddess Ignora because holy cow, talk about a mental door slamming. Her sisters would nod their heads approvingly. Nothing like a bit of Ignora to drive home the point that he didn’t give a shit. And a man who didn’t give a shit? Oh. My. God, she shivered.

  Sweeping them through the kitchen with haste, he didn’t lessen his grip until directing her to grab a loaf of bread and a plate after dropping her shoes at her feet. While he tucked a spreading knife in his back pocket and picked up a honey pot, she hurriedly grabbed a banana from a bowl of fruit, slid the footwear on and scurried back to him.

  “Let’s take this someplace where my adoring fans can’t interrupt.”

  Charlie didn’t miss the hard edge in his voice. So, maybe this Cal Tyler wasn’t just another narcissistic celebrity. What a relief that would be. For the last couple of weeks, she’d been traveling around Europe with a professional rugby exhibition. Race drivers and a
thletes. Second only to movie stars and singers and my God, the amount of hand-holding and ego-stroking she did was exhausting. And pathetic.

  With a saucy wink and a smirking chuckle, she gave him a little bow. “Your house, your call.”

  “I know just the place,” he announced with a jerk of his head. “Ladies first, Baroness,” he teased. “Down the hallway and second door on the left.”

  Sidling past where he all but blocked her path, she warned, “Better not be your dungeon. That’d be an immediate no.”

  A bevy of twinkling fireflies lit up her soul when he released a deep chuckle and playfully swatted her butt as she passed. “You say that now, but then again … you haven’t experienced my personal dungeon. Not yet anyway.”

  Her laughter echoed off the walls as she went ahead of him. “I swear to God Tyler, if the second door on the left opens to a red room, you’re in for a bit of a surprise.”

  The door was closed and with the bread and plate keeping her hands busy she stopped and looked back. Expecting to find him still steps behind her, Charlie inhaled sharply when she realized he was right on top of her. When he reached for the doorknob, his hand briefly slid along her waist. Unintentional? Absolutely not.

  “Red,” he murmured close to her ear. “Lacks imagination.” She didn’t miss the snickering dismissal in his voice. “With your coloring?” The way he looked at her melted Charlie’s bones. Seriously. Like plastic held too close to a flame. “Sapphire blue. Dark. Luxurious.” He continued. “Something opulent and erotic.” She hissed at his words. “Befitting a Baroness…”

  The door opened, but her feet didn’t move. They couldn’t. She was trapped in his mesmerizing gaze.

  KNOW WHAT THIS SITUATION CALLED for? Cal’s overactive mind was already working up quite the imaginative scene. Oxygen masks. That’s what they needed. Oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling so each of them could catch their breath.

  Who was this girl and why was he so fiercely drawn to her? She wasn’t like any of the women cluttering his world. Most of the females flitting in and out of his bed tended to be pampered, selfish, professional pussy. The women who slept with whatever wallet paid the bills and supplied the gifts. Women who shopped at exclusive boutiques and spent incomprehensible time and money on spray tans, lip injections and spa treatments. Women who had purse pets and a closet just for shoes.

  And not a book anywhere in sight.

  But this one? Holy fuckballz. What he stumbled upon this evening was one hundred percent, grade A prime, All-American girl. And his dick had never been harder.

  When he’d heard sounds coming from the pantry and went to investigate, the last thing he expected was to find a fresh-faced beauty with a body so lush that it couldn’t possibly be natural, but was. Something he discovered when she’d been crushed along the length of him.

  Dressed in a casual summery style that reminded him of home, she wore a long gauzy dress with a muted floral print that did more to showcase her unbelievable curves than a thong bikini. Sometimes, less isn’t always better. A row of tiny pearlescent buttons ran from neck to hemline with the ones at the neckline undone to the top of her boobs. Boobs that even the gentleman inside him was having a hard time ignoring.

  Hard. Get it? Cal mentally rolled his eyes. Jesus, he was losing it.

  He counted five necklaces. A loosely woven collar of pale ribbons hung with a tiny star was around her neck. A delicate silver chain, holding a small charm he couldn’t make out was beneath. Hanging lower still was another chain and a half-moon pendant which dangled perfectly in the valley between the tits, making Cal’s mouth tingle. Two more necklaces hung down the front of her dress. One was a quartz crystal and the longest, a beautiful slice of turquoise with a knot of gold and silver chains hanging from the bottom.

  She smelled like vanilla and coconut. And sunshine and a spring meadow. Her long blonde hair gathered into a thick braid and hung over her shoulder drawing attention to the breast it covered.

  And her ass? Well, he knew how spectacular it was underneath the long dress because he’d mapped most of it with his hand.

  It was her face that made everything else just minor details. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

  And made no effort to hide that she was also full of mischief.

  His dick surged at the thought.

  “In you go,” he urged as his hand pushed the door behind her open. She didn’t move. The tiresome details he tried to ignore when he wasn’t on the track? Pfft. Good luck with that. He was hooked.

  Her eyes were huge and staring a hole through his head. Nibbling on her bottom lip, he noted the slight flare to her nostrils as she inhaled. The impulse to lick her neck scattered his thoughts.

  This girl was dangerous.

  “In you go,” she murmured. “So says the big bad wolf to the trembling innocent.”

  Now … innocent wasn’t a word he would have applied to this mystery woman, so it intrigued him that she used it.

  “I don’t bite,” he drawled. “Unless of course …”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish because she laughed right in his face and shoved him aside. “And here I was sure you were a vegetarian,” she teased.

  Amazed by how quickly she doused the fire building between them with a throaty laugh and cute comeback, Cal chuckled as she swept by.

  Quickly glancing up and down the hallway, satisfied that no curious eyes were watching and taking notes, he followed her in and shut the door to his private study. On impulse, he pushed the lock on the knob.

  When he turned around, she was standing in the center of the room with her back to him. Remembering the first time he walked into the enormous study, he wished he could see her reaction.

  He watched in silence as her arms hung at her sides. Her head angled upward and a slight gasp hung in the air.

  The room was a stunner. Dark, polished wood covered the floor and every wall. A plush handmade silk Persian defined the area between his huge desk and the marble fireplace. But the best part of the room? The part she was taking in as she looked upward. Something a designer’s mind went nuts for.

  In the back left corner near the fireplace, a beautiful wrought iron and wood spiral staircase led to a walkway that extended along three walls with windows and bookcases lining the unusual architectural embellishment. The two-story design left room for a dramatic chandelier hanging over her head.

  Cal laid the knife, peanut butter and honey pot on his desk and went to remove the bread, banana and plate from her hands.

  When he tugged on the plate, and she released it, her head turned, and a pair of eyes blazing with delight bored into him.

  “Can I live here? Please?” she giggled. “I swear you won’t even notice me! I’ll camp up there,” she pointed. “On that window seat.”

  The words were teasing, but that didn’t stop his dick from throbbing with approval. And interest. Interest that went way beyond getting into her panties.

  His mouth twitched and a corner lifted in a goofy smile. “Said the fly to the spider.”

  She threw back her head and let loose with a growling laugh. The sound instantly imprinted in his mind.

  Smacking her hand on his chest, she pushed him away like he was an over eager puppy and gave him a lopsided grin.

  “Who the hell are you, sir? And why the practiced charm? Really?” She shook her head and tut-tutted. “C’mon! American girl in Italy? Do I seem that easy?”

  Where the hell had this girl been all his life? Who the fucking fuck was she?

  As that thought swirled in his head, she shut him down completely with her charming drawl. “Besides, you had me at Skippy…”

  He had her at Skippy. Holy shit. Suddenly, nothing else in the whole wide world mattered except getting to know this enchanting female. Better. A whole lot better.

  Cal’s bellowing laugh filled the big room. Joy like he’d never felt before overwhelmed his senses.

  “All right, you cheeky wench. I know a peanut butter jones wh
en I see one so enough with the hints. Over to the desk Contessa and I’ll whip you up a Tyler Special.”

  “Ooh, Contessa? I like that.”

  “Yeah, well,” he quipped. “This is Italy.” He looked at her a moment and added, “I’ll call you ‘tessa for short. That way it’ll be our private wink-wink.”

  He liked the way her eyes sparkled with humor. She got how comical all this was and also understood the unspoken subtext. He could see it in how often she nibbled her lip. It occurred to him that playing along wasn’t the same thing as knowing what the hell you were doing. Her almost invisible hesitation let him know she was right on the edge of her comfort zone. Intriguing.

  Placing a couple of bread slices on the platter, she rearranged them like paintings in a gallery. “What am I the Contessa of?” she blurted out.

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “A girl’s got the right to choose. Right? Maybe I prefer Baroness. So, Contessa of what?”

  She was good. No way this girl wouldn’t hold her own at the dinner table along with his family.

  Laughing, he drawled, “Well, I don’t fucking know! What are you the Baroness of?”

  Twisting the stem at the top of the banana, she met his expression with dry humor. Without looking away, she began slowly peeling the banana by sections. He was the first to drop his eyes as he studied the way she handled the phallic fruit. No man should ever have to endure the sight of a sexy woman enjoying a banana—unless he could fuck her after. It just wasn’t fair.

  With a husky, knowing chuckle she politely informed him, “I am the Baroness of Wild, of course.”

  The Baroness of Wild. Who the fuck was she trying to kid?

  “You don’t seem all that wild to me.”

  The enigmatic look on her face piqued his curiosity. “You’d be surprised,” she murmured.

  Trying not to get peanut butter all over the place, Cal swirled big globs of the stuff on the bread while he contemplated their flirty banter. And then it hit him. Like, full-on, square between the eyes.

  “You would be the Contessa of Skippy. An old, exalted title reserved for those special ladies who appreciate and crave something thick and gooey on their tongue.”