Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) (29 page)

“I’m just tired, that’s all. Too much walking I guess.”

Too much? Yeah, nice try. She was in motion the minute her eyes opened every morning. Their jaunt through the market square was a fucking stroll in the park for her. Shit. Now what did he do?

Cal took her hand and held it with both of his. He felt her fingers tremble slightly. At least she wasn’t closed off to him. As long as she was even a little receptive, he knew there was a chance.

“Tesoro, please. I’ve hurt you in some way. It’s in your voice so don’t bother denying. Tell me.” He kissed her hand and held it tighter. “Tell me, ‘tessa.”

She resisted and he most certainly did not enjoy the way her response made him feel. What the hell was he supposed to do?

His hand went to her neck and took hold. It was an act of control—one that played on a weakness he knew she struggled with. Took a few, but the ploy worked. She gave up pretending he was invisible and looked at him.

As usual, she got straight to the point. “Is there some reason why you don’t want to be seen with me?”

Was this a joke? Had to be. What the hell was she talking about?

“I don’t know what you mean.” He had more to say but she was down his throat in record time and what she laid out stunned him.

“You don’t want pictures of us together. When you introduced me to your housekeeper, you didn’t use my real name. Nobody is stupid as you pointed out. The word girlfriend is a euphemism for fuck buddy and you know it. Then there’s all that hardy-har-har joking about bloody sheets and showing everyone what you did. And you won’t let me, well … whatever! Am I missing something, Ty?”

He believed what just happened was referred to as a bulls-eye. He was guilty of all those things, only not for the reason she concocted in her fertile imagination. And what the hell with the stop-on-a-dime moodiness?

“So what you’re saying is I suck at this. You’re probably right but baby, I’m not that big of an asshole to have ulterior motives. Of any kind.” He tugged on her hand and held it against his chest. “Okay?”

She pursed her lips, there was still confusion and a touch of anger in her eyes, but she nodded. “Okay.”

“My only worry with the paparazzi pictures was for you. It’s a game they play.” He shrugged dismissively. “It’s me they fuck with and the best way to get a reaction is to slut shame whoever I’m with.”

“Oh.”

“You have me dead-to-rights though on the name thing but honestly baby. ‘tessa is who you are. Andriotti knows your name, fuck—he even said it a dozen times in our meeting but it didn’t stick in here.” He pointed to his head. “I didn’t know it bothered you. Hell, I’ll call you Fred if that’s what you want.”

A small smile softened her face.

“But just so we’re clear, you’ll always be my ‘tessa. Or, when you’re all fired up, the Baroness. That wild thing works for me.” The fingers he held to his chest pressed slightly. “And the kidding about the bloody sheet? Fuck. There was nothing in the guy manual about how to deal with something like that.” All of a sudden the whole thing seemed ridiculously funny. “I mean, come on. For real. How many dudes do you think get to do an actual deflowering? What’s the damn protocol? Is there a list of acceptable reactions?”

He had her laughing now. Quietly, but it still had to count for something, although he wanted to smack the driver for laughing too. Shit. How often do you get a taxi in Rome with a driver who understands English? Just his damn luck.

She started, as if words were about to rush from her mouth, but just as quickly shut down. Whatever it was, she wasn’t sharing. Cal released his hold on her hand when she pulled away. It wasn’t a withdrawal but it also wasn’t a hug. Damn. He was dancing as fast as he could, but still had no clue what was really going on.

Silent for long minutes, he watched her carefully hoping for a sign. Nothing like navigating blindly. Reading her eyes was easy but if she refused to look at him or pulled the hooded blank stare, he was fucked.

Sweeping her hair behind both ears, ‘tessa took a big breath, let it out and finally looked his way.

“My name is Charlize, okay?”

Um, sure. “Do you want to be called …”

“No, no,” she quickly interrupted. “Just thought you should know. I kinda like ‘tessa. It’s … different. And cute.”

Whew! Looks like some of the moodiness was waning. Thank God.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m not usually so … emotional.”

Right. Emotional. Hmmm. Emotional. Isn’t “emotional” another way of saying hormonal? Jesus. Once again … protocol? How the fuck do guys maneuver through the minefield of a woman’s cycle?

C
HARLIE STRETCHED AND ROLLED BACK
and forth on the bed in a pool of sunlight filtering in through the partially open curtains. Pointing her toes and throwing her arms above her head, she lay flat and stared at the elaborate carvings on the posts of the bed. She just wanted to lie there and veg out for a bit, but an aching twinge low in her belly had her up and moving with haste.

Shit, shit, shit. Where’s my bag? Hurrying into the large walk-in closet, she rummaged around until she found the floppy carry-all. Making short work of the zip, she reached around inside the bag and withdrew a toiletry pouch. Checking to be sure there was a stash of tampons inside, she grabbed a fresh towel from a stack on a shelf and moved into the bathroom.

Ty left the bedroom well over an hour ago saying he had to sit in on a conference call. The reluctance in his voice left no doubt how serious he was about leaving the team.

They were in a self-made bubble, which neither of them seemed all that interested in bursting. But that didn’t mean the outside world wasn’t trying to pierce the cocoon. As usual, she was half ignoring and half avoiding the half dozen messages on her phone.
Pfft.
She hadn’t even listened to any of them. Just her sisters, and they knew damn well how much she loathed the technology. Charlie didn’t care how connected all this crap made everyone. Far as she was concerned, it was invasive and the ultimate expression of narcissism. If she ever lost her shit and started posting duck-lip snapshots, she really hoped someone would stage an intervention.

Gathering her long hair into a manageable tail, she stuffed it into a shower cap covered with garish yellow rubber duckies and turned on the shower. The sensation of movement behind Charlie made her look up but it was only her reflection in the mirror.

Turning, she studied her appearance, noting the love bites scattered across her chest. They looked like markers on a road map that tracked her passionate lover’s desires. He worshipped her breasts. When he teased her and admitted bestowing a hashtag on her assets, she’d rolled with laughter at the Twin Beauts tag. In fact, she couldn’t wait to tell that one to Rhi. She’d find it deliciously hilarious too.

What her sister would find curious however was that Charlie encouraged and completely lost herself in his fascination with her boobs. Until Ty blew into her life, her lady lumps were off limits; the ultimate deal breaker and the one thing that until now was her line in the sand. She was not her body and had her wise parents to thank for instilling the message in all their girls.

But oh my dear sweet baby Jesus. His reaction anytime her tits were out and about was the absolute shit and made her feel powerful and desired.

She smirked at the blingy navel jewelry. Admitting she’d gotten her belly button pierced in college had fired him up. Big time. On a one-man mission to mark her even further as his—like the fucking hickeys didn’t do it—he’d dragged her into a jewelry store and made a huge production out of gifting her with a delicate dragonfly belly ring made of blue and clear crystals.

A dark smudgy bruise on her hip was all the reminder she needed to spur an instant replay in her head of what they’d done last night. Shuddering at the memory, Charlie stepped beneath the spray of steamy water and let the warmth soothe her frazzled nerves and aching muscles.

Reigning her hormones the best she could, Charlie made sure they had a nice dinner and managed to get him to play a rousing game of Twister that ended with them in a heap of limbs as they howled with laughter. Now that he wasn’t trying to be big bad Cal Tyler, speed racer extraordinaire all the damn time, he was a shit load of fun to hang out with.

He’d cajoled, begged, bargained and manipulated her into an Internet cruise across a dozen free porn sites searching for a good reverse cowgirl video. She’d wanted to smack the macho pig out of him until a couple of short video snippets in, she elbowed him out of the way to get a better look.

My goodness but Tumbler is like the wild wild west of kinky. Before she knew it, they were critiquing performance, perseverance, energy and technique like the judging panel at a porn convention.

By the time they took all that curiosity to the bedroom, she was wet, aching and willing to try anything if it satisfied the thundering lust driving both of them. He’d had to grip her hips to keep her from gyrating off him, which must explain the bruising. And he was right. They went through a bunch of condoms. They eventually fell into an exhausted sleep with her body pulled tight to his as he spooned them into dreamland.

Running the shower poof, overflowing with suds all over, Charlie moaned when another achy twinge invaded her mood. She was getting her period. No more sexy times for now. Damn.

Well, but that was okay too. They were way too compatible sexually. He was always ready and she was more than eager making it so, so easy to forget about the other stuff, the outside the bubble stuff. Taking a breather and doing some heavy duty communicating wouldn’t hurt at all. She still wanted to get into it with him about the decisions he was making and what all of that would mean for them.

Them.
Hmph.
Was there a them or was this a case of fuck-love and nothing more? Phoeey. She didn’t like that idea one little bit.

Didn’t take long to finish her bathroom business and dress. Her appetite was set to medium high and what she really needed was some pain tablets and a huge glass of OJ so Charlie raced through, opting for comfort rather than fashion. Pulling on a pair of stretchy yoga-type pants, she rolled over the waistband—might as well show off the dragonfly bling—and a short, strappy tank top. No bra.

Bounding up the stairs in bare feet, she tripped but quickly righted at the sound of angry voices in the midst of a heated encounter. Beside Angela, the housekeeper, no one had access to the private side of Ty’s life. At least that’s what he said, and she’d seen nothing to suggest otherwise. So who the hell was barking at him in his own home?

Fifteen minutes earlier …

He had a headache. No surprise. Keeping his temper through the conference call hadn’t been easy. Cal couldn’t blame the team for collectively losing their shit over his departure, but management? The ones who’d all along bent over sideways to placate their superstar and do whatever it took to keep him happy? Yeah. Those assholes imagined they were going to play dirty with him but boy did they ever have another thing coming. He didn’t give a righteous-god-damn about their empty threats because frankly, he no longer gave a shit about being Cal Tyler.