Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous (6 page)

The man had at least half a dozen failed marriages to his dubious credit. He’d been estranged for years from his only sibling, and had no family now but his nephews – who wouldn’t even shake his hand. Their reaction to him would probably help Molly’s own case when she asked for custody of them, but she didn’t want victory that way.

“You’re too tender-hearted,”
Steve used to say – a joke since Steve’s own heart was a big fluffy marshmallow.
“I believe if you could, Molly, you’d wrap the whole world in a baby blanket and try to kiss away all its woes.”

But she couldn’t, of course. All she could do right then was stretch up on her toes, anchor his face between her hands, and kiss Tyler James.

-------

Wham!

Tyler’s breath hitched as the sweetest mouth he’d ever tasted connected with his. He’d never even seen the kiss coming. Now that it was here, he stood frozen under its force, hanging on to the banister with a white-knuckled grip, afraid that if he moved he’d be playing Rhett Butler in
Gone With the Wind
and hauling Scarlett up the stairs to bed.

What had he wanted to talk to her about?

Oh, yeah…marriage.

But he’d already rethought that idea in the seconds it took to cross the ballroom. Barry was right, as always; marriage was no doubt a dumb move. With the mood Tyler had been in, everything had seemed dumb. His mood had changed quickly though, and
dumb
was starting to look pretty smart again.

Molly’s lips glided over his like hot honey. Her breasts pressed against his chest.
Why?
Did she have any idea how close she was to being ravished? Hell, she was the one kissing him. Maybe she wanted to be ravished. Maybe he should drag her down beneath him right here and—

With a small gasp, she broke the contact and stepped back, her face flushed, her blue-green eyes clouded with confusion. “I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

She what?

Shit.

Tyler was only sorry she regretted it. Still clutching the banister, he fisted his other hand inside his pocket, hoping the bulge it made would disguise the larger bulge near it. His voice came out harsher than he intended. “So why did you do it?”

“For comfort. You looked like you needed some. I wanted to help, that’s all.” Her eyes lowered with the words.

His widened. A
mercy
kiss? Women usually kissed him in a passion of greed, because they wanted his money. The lustier ones were happy to have his body along with it. The icing on the cake. Sometimes, for brief periods – very brief – they even claimed to love him. But no one had ever kissed him out of
pity
before. The concept was as titillating as a bucket of ice water down the front of his pants. His pocket ripped at the corner as he yanked his fist out of it and let go of the banister, leaning against it instead, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I see. And am I supposed to thank you for your
help
?”

She flinched at his tone and glanced up, then quickly looked down again, unwilling or simply unable to meet his gaze. A small woman, delicate, almost a foot shorter than his six-foot-four frame. An embarrassed woman.

Tyler began to feel a bit like a bastard.

“No. Because I haven’t helped anything.” She said that last more to herself than him. Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh.

Bare shoulders, smooth and pale as cream. He’d bet his fortune they’d feel like sun-warmed silk under his hands. He was worse than a bastard. He was a fool. A billion-dollar business he’d built by grabbing opportunities as they appeared, and here he stood letting a beautiful one slip away. He’d better fix that.

“Look, Mr. James, I said I was sorry. You obviously want to be alone right now, so I’ll leave you to it.” Her skirt swirling about her hips with the pivot, she turned to go.

Tyler reached out and won his bet. She did feel like warm silk. Better. She felt like heaven. Savoring the softness of her skin, he ran his hands down her arms and turned her about to face him. She froze like a deer caught in headlights, giving him the second he needed to shift his grip to her waist, lift, and set her feet on the bottom step, bringing her head more on level with his.

His arms slid around her, drawing her flush against him. “Now you’re the one who looks like she needs some
comfort
.”

Molly gave a strangled gasp and flattened her hands on his chest, trying to push away – though not with much conviction, Tyler noticed.

“Mr. James, I—”

His hold tightened, cutting off the protest. “Please. Can we lose the ‘Mister’? My name is Tyler.” He pulled her closer, till he could feel her heart hammering into his, feel her breath on his face. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Tyler…”

The two syllables sounded husky and hoarse, and sexy as sin to his ears. His eyes drifted shut as he grazed his lips over hers like the passing flutter of moth wings.

Just a beginning…

A low moan escaped her. She fisted her hands in his shirt as though she didn’t trust what she might do with them otherwise. Her body pressed into his even as she struggled for control.

Screw control.

“Tyler, I…I don’t think—”

“Good. Then don’t think. Just kiss.”

His mouth claimed hers.

Chapter 4

Just
kiss?

There was no “just” about it. The man’s lips ought to be licensed as lethal weapons. And his lips were only the first assault.

Molly knees nearly buckled when his tongue teased her mouth open to a hot, hungry probing. She grabbed at his shoulders for support and felt the muscles in them tense as his hands raked down her back to her hips, pulling her tight into him, grinding their pelvises together.

Someone groaned. Her, echoed by Tyler, and she felt another part of him tense. Suddenly a steel rod dug lengthwise into her abdomen. A big rod. Her body responded with an electric shiver and wet warmth between her thighs.

No!

This was too fast, too much, and way too soon. They were both acting nuts. Molly did a mental scramble, searching for a shred of sanity in herself, and twisted her face to the side, dragging her mouth off his. Tyler simply continued the kissing over her jaw line and down her throat, nipping and nuzzling, turning the protest on her lips into another groan. She grappled to hang onto her wits and find her voice.

“Wh-what happened to that meeting we’re supposed to be having?” she strained out.

“Don’t look now, but I think we’re having it,” he murmured against her neck, then punctuated the statement by running the tip of his tongue up to her ear and sucking on her lobe.

Raw heat spiraled down her spine and into her groin. Molly gasped. She seemed to be doing a lot of that, didn’t she?

“Tyler…we’ve just met…we hardly know each other…”

“Can you think of a better way to get acquainted?”

Her answer caught in her throat as cool air touched the backs of her knees. Then her thighs. Then…

Oh, no.

Molly favored loose clothing. Pajama-style pants, long skirts like this one. Underwear, she hated. Too constricting. It chafed, it bound. Consequently, she avoided it whenever possible.

She groaned when Tyler discovered she wasn’t wearing any now. A dangerous mistake, like pouring alcohol on flames, his bare hands on her bare bottom. Deep shudders racked through her as he manually explored the area.

Tyler sucked in his breath and let it out in a low growl. “Okay, that’s it!” Without warning, he smoothed her skirt back down and, in one quick move, hoisted her over his shoulder. “Bed.
Now
. Or I’m going to bend you over the banister and screw your lights out right here.”

Molly squealed as he started up the stairs. When had she lost control?

The second she’d seen him, that’s when.

Help…

She kicked and pounded her fists on his back, trying to wriggle free, but not nearly as hard as she could have, and she knew it. Anger at her own weakness, came out as anger at him. “Hey, wait a minute! I don’t think I care for your language. And I sure don’t—”

“You might not like how I say it, but you’ll love how I do it.” His chuckle rumbled against her.

She was not amused. “Listen,
mister
, I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to, but
I’m
not one of them. I don’t like caveman tactics. I don’t like arrogance, period. And right now, I damn sure don’t like
you
!”

“Fine. Go ahead and hate me. Most people do. But you still want me, baby.”

To prove the point, he stopped at the head of the stairs, which opened into a wide hallway, swung her down to her feet, and yanked her close. His mouth swooped down on hers like a bird of prey. One fast, hard steamroller of a kiss, flattening resistance.

She hung limp as a rag doll in his arms when it was over, battling for breath, feeling the heat of his body scorching into her, hearing his husky voice through a smoky haze.

“You want me, Molly. Deny it, and we’ll both know you’re a liar.”

Not waiting for an answer, he lifted her again, more gently this time, with one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. Cradling her high against his chest, he strode down the hall and kicked open a door at the end.

Carved wood snapped back against a tapestry-hung wall with a muffled thud. Molly flinched at the sound, then gasped as she hit a mattress with a soft splat. No bounce, just a slight swaying feeling of seasickness.

A waterbed? Figured. It was large and round, and dripping with satins and velvet – the perfect centerpiece for the red and gilt chamber’s “French Bordello” décor.

Egads…

She stared up through kiss-clouded eyes and was relieved to not see herself staring back.

“What? No mirrors on the ceiling?” Her gaze flashed to Tyler, who stood grinning down at her, like a shark eyeing bait.

“I don’t need mirrors to do my tricks. But I’ll have one installed if it’s a turn-on for you.”

“It’s not. I was being facetious.”

“Um, yeah, I realized that.” Chuckling, he crossed the room to close the door, then returned to the bedside, slowly peeling off his shirt and belt and laying them neatly on a Louis XVI chair along the way. Shoes and socks, he placed under a marble-topped table beside the chair.

The guy was a neat-freak? One more reason he shouldn’t have kids.

Her pulse racing, Molly focused on the clothes’ dispersal to avoid thinking of the body they’d covered. A lost cause. The body was impossible to ignore. All golden tan muscle, deadly masculine and rippling with power.

The rasp of a zipper sounded, and he stepped out of his slacks and briefs together. Where they ended up, Molly never noticed. A naked and sexually aroused Tyler James climbing onto the bed demanded full attention. That and trying to breathe in a room suddenly gone airless.

She shouldn’t be here. Not with him, not like this. She should move. Now. He’d closed the door, but he hadn’t locked it. She was dressed. He wasn’t. She could walk out this moment, and he wouldn’t be able to follow.

Why didn’t she?

The mattress beneath her undulated with gentle waves as he stretched out on his side, facing her. Bigger waves, sizzling and stormy, crashed through her at the sight and scent of him, spicy clean and utterly male. Nearly an arm’s length of space separated them, but she felt his presence along her whole body. Raw heat radiated off him.

Raw sex.

Paralyzed, Molly stared.

Tyler rose up on an elbow, not reaching for her, not trying to touch, holding her with nothing but his gaze. Piercing midnight blue eyes drilled deep into her, nailing her in place.

“Last chance,” he said, as though reading her thoughts. “You’ll notice I’ve given you plenty of time to escape. The door’s that way” – he indicated the direction with a slight wave of his free hand – “if you want to use it.” His hand dropped to rest palm down on the mattress a few inches from her arm. “But we both know you don’t want to leave. Don’t we.”

A statement, not a question.

Slowly, still giving her time to move away, he slid forward, closing the gap between them. Molly’s breath hitched as his body snugged up against hers.

“I wish you’d stop saying what we
both
know.
You
don’t know anything about me.” Her voice sounded scratchy as sandpaper to her own ears.

His sounded like crushed velvet, rich and sensual. “I know you’re still here.”

“Oh sure, throw that in my face.” Molly gritted her teeth to keep from groaning as his arms snaked around her. Then he rolled to his back, pulling her flat on top of him, crushing her breasts against his chest. Like they had a mind of their own, her legs fell open, straddling him.
Bad legs.
Her hands roved over his biceps and shoulders, drinking in by touch the smooth hard feel of him. She couldn’t help it. Her body had turned traitor. Bad her, bad him. A very wicked man, Tyler James.