Free Wilde Magic (Wilde Women Book 3) by Suzanne Halliday Page A

trouble handing her the pole position. He wasn’t a take directions or follow along kind of a guy. That’s not how you sustained a ride or got to the top of your game. But with her, he couldn’t deny the appeal of giving the sweet girl a chance to run the show. Lead the field, so to speak. His dick agreed. As usual, his fucking brain fired up with an erotic montage of possibilities. Most of them involved being naked.
    When she relaxed a bit and sat back in her chair, he saw the winner’s circle come into view. Part of him was happy dancing inside his head that she wasn’t going to shut his lame attempt to lure her in down, without giving him a chance. The other part was deciding how difficult getting into her tights was gonna be.
    Watching her legs cross in the other direction, Cal had a hundred fantasies crowding his thoughts about her and those thigh high suede boots. Her and nothing but those suede boots, wide legged and bent over the hood of his vintage 1970 SS 454 Chevelle.
    Jesus. Where the hell did that thought come from? The Chevy was in his parent’s garage and would stay there until or if, he ever decided it was time to go home. Go home and be Caleb Merrill again.
    “Is there a case of Skippy in your web, Mr. Tyler?”
    She asked the question with such an air of innocence that his brain briefly short-circuited. Ignoring the warning lights flashing on his mental dashboard, he bit off a smirk as he went and stood directly in front of her realizing belatedly that his arms crossed posture more or less shoved a blatantly obvious erection in her face.
    “Case of Skippy. Twelve-pack of Diet Coke. Box of Nutter Butter cookies.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Standard web items. Now, if we’re talking about what’s stashed in my bedroom,” he drawled. “That’s where the good stuff is. M & M’s. Peanut butter cups. Beefy Jerky,” he said with an eyebrow waggle.
    “Impressive, um … supplies.” She crossed her arms just like his and smiled so sweetly his teeth hurt just watching her.
    “I aim to please.”
    She colored to a deep rosy blush but didn’t look away.
    “Is that so?” she quipped with a starchy sniff. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
    Why did he feel like the tables just turned on him?

    Fiddling with the ends of her purple scarf, the one she’d unwound from her neck and draped around her shoulders, Charlie carefully considered the best way to put Mr. Sexy Pants and his know-all, see-all eyes in his place.
    She’d never survive an entire day with him if he kept up with the clever innuendos and obvious seduction campaign. Swatting back and staying one step ahead of that sort of shit was Rhi’s forte. Not hers.
    On reflex, her hand swung to touch, then clasp, the crystal necklace. A hippie girl through and through, crystals and hand-strung beads were her signature wardrobe and stylistic go-to since she could remember. She had a case brimming with crystal and gemstone jewelry that she switched out and changed up according to her mood. The stone she chose today was an amethyst, which she swore vibrated when negativity or evil invaded her aura.
    Did she consider Cal Tyler some sort of threat? No. Not in the classic sense of what danger meant. Being a natural blonde didn’t mean she was entirely daft. Even without a lot of experience in this area, she knew that for all intents and purposes, she was in way over her head with a man like him. Best come armed with whatever would keep him from just plowing her over from the sheer force of his overwhelming masculinity. Masculinity that at times scrambled her thought processes. Having him looming so big right in front of her face threw her off balance. The sly smirk on his face told her he knew damn well he was rattling her cage.
    Men. So friggin’ cocky. It’s like they think they own that crap or something. Sighing, Charlie gave the purple stone one last squeeze before meeting his eyes.
    “Just so we’re clear, Mr. Tyler,” she informed him in