Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous (12 page)

Sudden fear knifed down his spine. There were too many people milling around, not just the models having their pre-work fun, but the technical crew pouring in and out of the area, getting things ready for the shoot. How could he be sure they were all on the level? Where was his security team? Shouldn’t they be here keeping an eye on things? Didn’t they know a billionaire’s nephews would be prime targets for kidnappers?

“Beanpole, where are the boys?” He said it quietly so as not to alarm Barry. Although, Barry should be alarmed. If anything had happened to those kids, Tyler would personally kill him. “You were supposed to be watching
them
, damn it, not the cheesecake parade.”

“Ty, don’t go paranoid on me, man. You are such a worry-wort. The kids are fine. They’re at the shallow end of the pool with a couple of athletically inclined lovelies named Leila and Piper. The girls are teaching the twins how to swim, and Stevie is helping. It’s a great opportunity for them. Piper is a champion diver, and Leila used to be a lifeguard. They’ve both got a fantastic breaststroke.” Barry pantomimed it, but not a swimming motion exactly, more like he was drawing mountains in the air in front of his chest.

Tyler’s fear subsided, but he still wanted to kill him, just on general principle.

“Leila and Piper are going to teach me how to swim next,” Barry added.

“You already know how to swim.” Tyler glowered.

Barry held a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell them that.”

Rolling his eyes, Tyler swung away from him and skirted the edge of the hustle and bustle around to the shallow end – a separate, more private area shielded from view by the waterfall that cut the pool into two portions, large and small, like a curtain dropped between them. There, the human noise was muted by the rushing sound of the water, and the only figures on the scene were the three boys, their two smiling “athletically inclined” swimming instructors, and Fluffy, sprawled out panting on the white sand like a big shaggy throw rug.

Spread beside the dog was a striped beach towel littered with little T-shirts, socks and tennis shoes. The boys were swimming in the cutoffs they’d arrived in. Their uncle mentally added swim trunks to the list of things he planned on buying for them. Shit, he’d be buying them entirely new wardrobes regularly. Boys that age grew fast. He had.

Tyler hung back in the shade of some flowering bushes, watching, unwilling to intrude lest his presence spoil whatever fun the kids were having. He’d never admit it to him, but Barry had made a smart move.
Right again, buddy.
It was better to have the boys here, away from the crush of activity. Not just safer, but less stressful for them. They didn’t need to be surrounded by all that New York hype.

The twins certainly seemed to be enjoying their lesson, and the girls looked like they knew how to teach it. They had that way with children that most females seemed to have. And Tyler didn’t. Maybe that was because he’d never really been a child himself. To him, being a kid had meant feeling victimized, helpless. He hated feeling helpless, so he’d grabbed his own reins by the age of ten and hadn’t let go since.

Unfortunately, he’d grabbed Steve’s reins, too, and hung on just as hard. He’d only wanted to spare his little brother the knocks he’d had to take, make things easier for him. He’d never meant to squeeze so hard he drove him away.

Or was the real problem that he hadn’t squeezed enough?

“You’re becoming just as big a bastard as Dad was, Ty. I won’t let you ruin my life like you’re ruining yours.”

Steve just hadn’t understood that only the tough survived. Maybe Tyler had made things too easy for him, softened too many blows. But who could have guessed back then what would happen? He never should have let him go, that was what Tyler knew now. Instead of loosening his grip, he should have tightened it. If he had, maybe Steve would still be alive.

He sure as hell wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The lesson was simple. To keep someone safe, you had to keep them close. And he would from now on. Very close. No more letting people slip through his fingers. Brothers…wives… What you wanted,
who
you wanted, you had to hang on to – with an iron grip if necessary.

There were three boys now who needed Tyler’s protection just like their father had. He’d failed Steve. He wouldn’t fail Steve’s family. And that included Molly. Her, he’d keep the closest of all. If she didn’t like it…

Hell, she’d like it, all right. He’d see to that. He’d bind her to him so tightly, she’d never break free. She wouldn’t even want to try.

He stared at the pool, the boys paddling and splashing, and the two girls – one with black hair, the other with light brown – standing in water up to their waists. Each one supported a twin from underneath while the boys practiced floating and kicking. Which was Leila and which was Piper? Did it matter? The better question was which twin was which? They looked like carbon copies of each other, two freckle-faced imps with hair like bright copper pennies.

The girls obviously found them cute as the dickens. So did Tyler, but the sensation they stirred in him hurt – that tight, tender feeling in his chest. It pinched even harder when he looked at ten-year-old Stevie, blond like his dad and with the same clear gray eyes. The same face that stared out of the small gold frame. Almost. The face in the photo was smiling. A merry lad, Steven James, Sr. had been. A serious little old man, seemed his son.

Tyler’s throat constricted. Older Brother Stevie reminded him more of Older Brother Ty than the fellow whose face he wore. The poor kid.

The fresh memory of Stevie standing up to the Big Bad Uncle juxtaposed with images of himself facing down a heavy-handed father.

He blinked suddenly stinging eyes – must have gotten sand in them – turned and left the scene as quietly as he’d entered it. He was nearly to a back stairway, which led to a second-story balcony ringing the inside of the courtyard, when he noticed he’d picked up an escort. Fluffy pushed up against his right side and, from somewhere, a small tiger or the boys’ very large tom had appeared to weave about his feet. The feline switched sides with every step. Why did cats always do that?

Tyler paused to pat the dog and have a word with Fang. “Hey, pal, you spray me again, and I’ll have you neutered. Are we clear on that?”

Fang sat down, pointed his hind toes straight up in the air, ballet-fashion, and washed under his tail, which Tyler took to be cat-talk for
“Kiss my ass.”

“Same to you,” he replied.

“Cats were worshipped as gods by the ancient Egyptians.” The soft voice drifted down from above. “I think Fang knows that and expects everyone else to follow suit.”

Everyone else could go take a flying—

His breath caught. Everyone else disappeared from sight and mind as Tyler glanced up to see Molly on the balcony, looking like a piece of night sky in a black silk sheath embroidered from shoulder to hem with a sweep of silver stars.

Witchy and bewitching.

Was this the same lady who’d glared daggers at him before and said he made pond scum look good? The one who’d charged out of the bedroom leaving one slipper behind, like Cinderella fleeing the ball? Fleeing him.

The eyes of an enchantress sizzled into him now, exotically accented with kohl and blue-green shadow the same sultry shade as her irises. She’d painted her lips a luscious deep red and pinned up her hair into a cluster of curls that escaped in teasing gold tendrils at the nape of her neck.

Warning bells went off in him. What was she up to? Besides trying to drive him crazy. She was succeeding in that, by the way. Not that he was complaining. He’d expected her to come around to his way of thinking. Just not quite this fast or this…um, aggressively.

His mouth went dry as she turned away from the railing and glided down the spiral staircase, trailing perfume and sexual allure.

Oh, screw the warning.

She stopped on the second to last step, a few feet in front of him, and smiled. Seductively. Tyler’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Black magic woman…

Maybe Gladys Patton had been right. Maybe Molly really was dabbling in some sort of sinful dark sorceries.

One could only hope.

He returned the smile.

Chapter 8

Molly’s legs turned to jelly at the open hunger in those midnight blue eyes. The high heels she wore suddenly felt treacherous, unstable. She locked her knees to keep from falling off the stairs.

Carlotta’s lesson in seduction had been hurried, but she’d said that since Tyler was already hooked, it wouldn’t take much to reel him in. Carlotta had been right. Tyler looked willing enough to agree to anything, to sign a deal with the devil if need be. And all Molly needed him to sign was a prenuptial agreement.

An icy chill prickled her nape, even as the heat in his gaze slow roasted her down to her toes. How could she feel so hot and so cold at once? So full of longing and so sick with dread. The two sensations went hand in hand, didn’t they? She dreaded him
because
she wanted him, hated the idea he had any power over her, especially that kind of power. A loss of pride and dignity went with it. He’d turned her into a weak woman, indeed, where matters of the flesh were concerned, and he’d done it in the blink of an eye.

That was the scariest part, how fast she’d fallen for him. Who had hooked whom? And the fact that this sort of thing was obviously old hat for him made it so much worse. It was a new thing for her. Very new and very daunting. Unless she could treat the attraction between them as casually as he did, she was risking more than her pride in this game.

Would walking away from him when he tired of her really be as easy as Carlotta said? She’d gotten over Steve, hadn’t she? Eventually. But that had been a very different situation, and she’d never felt for Steve what she now felt for his brother.

“Believe me, you’ll tire of Tyler’s game as quickly as he does,”
Carlotta had promised.
“Three months at the most. Never have I known the passion to last longer than that, not with anyone.”
This from someone who had, apparently, known a lot of passion with a lot of men. The voice of experience, sounding to Molly’s ears like the voice of doom.