The Thrill of It All (5 page)

“Yeah? How long ago was your last visit, then?”

“I haven’t actually lived in the house—in Half Palm, for that matter—since I started boarding school in Palm Springs. I was eleven years old.”

“That explains your wardrobe.”

“What? No.” She tugged on the hem of the too-short T-shirt. “I was even smaller at eleven than when I wore this.” Which had made her the designated fall guy in any con gone awry. To most, she’d looked too young and too innocent to bear the blame.

The sound of his car starting reminded her she was
supposed to be grilling
him.
“So…what about you?”

He glanced in the sideview mirror as he maneuvered onto the road, then down at his own T-shirt. “I think I found this last week in the freebie box at the Wild Side.”

“I wasn’t asking about—The wild side?” See, this was exactly what she was talking about. Wild side, freebie boxes. The man was a derelict, and it was her duty as the only discriminating member of her family, not to mention the member who wanted to run away from Half Palm with a free conscience, to discover just how much trouble he could cause the Charms.

“The Wild Side is where I’m taking you, dollface.”

She made a strangled noise and he grinned.

“Not to worry,” he said. “It’s a climbing store. We can ask about Ben there.”

That grin of his was displaying a bunch of white teeth and deepening the brackets around his mouth and the sun lines at the corners of his eyes. She crowded the car door, keeping clear of the thrillbanger rays it was beaming out.

“Where’s this climbing store?” she grumbled. Not far, she guessed, given that the national park known as Southern California’s uber-destination for rock climbing wasn’t far from Half Palm.

With her nose glued to the window, she catalogued the scenery outside. Barren lunar landscape: check. The occasional home, cobbled together with scrap wood and aluminum: check. A far cry from the luxury, prestige, and well-watered beauty of other desert communities: check, check, and check.

But as they neared the entrance to the national park, she spied signs of actual, civilized civilization. “Bed and breakfasts?” she wondered aloud. “A
day spa
?”

“Climbing’s attracting a well-heeled clientele these days. Very in with the high-tech set.” Magee glanced over, grinning at her again. “Or should I say ‘cool’?”

She pretended to ignore that stupid, lethal smile. “High-tech set?”

“You know, the digitheads and the geeks. It’s the angles they’re attracted to. The angles and the independence.”

The angles and the independence? She thought rock climbing was about throwing up a rope and then winching yourself to the top of something. “What attracts you?” she asked, curious.

There was a long pause, then he reached over and caressed her knee. “C’mon, dollface,” he said, his voice amused. “I don’t have to tell you, do I?”

She pushed his hand away. “You know what I’m talking about. Which is it you like about climbing, the angles or the independence?”

His face hardened as he pulled into a tidy little strip mall. “Neither. I don’t climb anymore.”

He didn’t say another word as they climbed out of the car and she trailed him toward a store that proclaimed itself in neon tubing as the Wild Side. She might have let the silence stand, but a worry nagged at her, despite the old clothes and the ball cap she was wearing. Before his hand clasped the metal handle of the plate-glass door, she grabbed his wrist.

He twitched. She kept her eyes on his sinewy forearm instead of looking at him. “Look, will you do me a favor?”

“Does it involve my clothes on or off this time?”

She wished she could ignore that, but thinking of him naked made
her
twitch. So she let out a long sigh and then looked up.

His face revealed nothing.

So, fine, she wouldn’t let
him
know that he was working his thrillbanger trickery again and that there was a needy little urge bubbling through her bloodstream. Letting out another breath, she let go of him.

“Would you please, uh, not mention me by name in there?” She nodded toward the shop.

He just looked at her.

“Because, well, believe it or not, I get stopped on the street. People recognize me. Probably not dressed like this.” She pulled the hat lower over her eyes. “Especially if you don’t use my name. But you see, Felicity Charm, she…she…”

Felicity Charm couldn’t afford to let anyone find out about her real relatives. The public loved and approved of the fictionalized Charm family, which was part of their love and approval of
her
.

His eyebrows lifted. “Felicity wouldn’t be seen with a man like me?”

She made an offhand gesture that encompassed everything from his untamed hair to that telling T-shirt. “Well, of course she wouldn’t, but—”

Hearing what she’d said, she tripped over her own
tongue. “
No,
that didn’t come out right. It wasn’t about you. I meant, I mean…”

“I get you.” Magee pulled open the door then reached around to shove her through with his palm on her behind. “No real names, right, sweet cheeks?”

Two minutes later, she realized she might as well have saved her breath. Because not one of the dozen or more young men and women in the store spared her a glance. The best she got was an elbow, as the climbers browsing in the store gathered near Magee.

She found herself on the outer circle and unable to decipher a word of their conversation. Bemused, she took the opportunity to check out the store. The truth was, she knew little about brick-and-mortar retailing, other than that the merchandise was left to speak for itself. On GetTV, that’s what she did—speak for the merchandise—giving it an image that customers wanted to identify with…and own.

But there was image at work here, too, she decided, spinning in a slow circle. The bins of metal clips and straps and lethal-looking tools, the stacks of dried food and racks of backpacks, the shelves of color-coordinated clothing, didn’t dominate the store as much as the bigger-than-life color photographs hanging high on the walls—photographs of climbers caught in improbable conditions and positions.

One of the photos commanded her attention and wouldn’t let go. A golden-skinned, buffed, and bare-backed man was stretched over a rock wall, hanging by nothing but crimped fingers at the end of one
bulging arm. His other hand reached impossibly higher.

It was an image that captured pure, physical strength. It was raw male power.

It was Magee.

And it was the female in her that responded to it with such a hot, weakening rush. Her gaze jumped across the room to make sure he hadn’t noticed, but wouldn’t you know, his eyes met hers over the knot of people around him. A shiver burned down her back as that connection she’d felt with him the night before rebuilt, stretched taut. In a rush, her nipples tightened, too, and her inner thigh muscles clenched.

No, no
. She already knew this about him.
Those thrillbanger tricks
. Her feet shuffled back and then her body bumped a countertop, scattering a stack of magazines and papers and cutting the link between them.

Felicity dropped down to gather up the mess.

“Can I help you?” a female voice asked. A pair of hiking boots entered her field of vision.

She shook her head, stacking up flyers for climbing classes, adventure vacations, and the National Outdoor Products Trade Show taking place at the Palm Springs Convention Center the following week. Then she piled up a selection of magazines:
Climbing, Climber, Outdoorsman, Rock & Ice
.

When she replaced them on the counter, her fingertips slid across a glossy cover. On a whim she flipped through the pages, noting the colorful clothes,
shoes, and gear. “Very in with the high-tech set,” she murmured to herself, and then picked up another magazine.

This time the merchandise caught her eye, and so did Magee. Not only was he featured in ads for a company named Mountain Logic, but she found him mentioned in an interview with an up-and-coming climber. According to what she was reading, Magee wasn’t just your average guy who liked heights—in his world he was a legend.

An out-and-out rock god. A rock star.

Felicity cast him a sidelong look, but found it intercepted by a young woman instead.

“Did you need something?” she said.

It was the voice from a moment ago, and it belonged to a sales clerk dressed like Magee in jeans, T-shirt, and boots. Her strawberry blond hair was fashioned into more than a dozen braids, each fastened with a different colored rubber band. There wasn’t a smidgen of mascara on her pale lashes, and though she wore lip gloss, her nose was peeling.

“Did you need something?” the girl asked again.

Felicity tugged on the brim of her hat. “Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.” She nodded toward Magee. “I’m with him.”

The girl’s eyes rounded. “You’re with the Lucky Bastard?” Her freckles disappeared into a flush on her cheeks. “Magee?”

Felicity cleared her throat. “Well, uh, yes.”

“Then you
are
fine,” the salesgirl muttered. She
frowned, and her gaze ran over Felicity, as if seeking out flaws. “He tells me I’m too young for him.”

“Hmm, well…” She supposed it was comforting to discover he wasn’t into jailbait, because the girl looked approximately fifteen years old. “But you see, we’re not exactly—”

“There you are, angel thighs!” Magee’s hard arm wrapped around Felicity’s waist and squeezed. “Now, don’t you be corrupting my little friend Gwen.”

“Corrupting? I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t telling her how we spent last night, were you?” He spun Felicity so that they were face-to-face. Then he leaned over her so that the brim of her hat and the fall of his too-long hair curtained their faces. “Follow my lead,” he whispered.

Oh, no. Hadn’t she already cautioned herself about his Pied Piper talents? “Wait…”

But he was already mashing his lips against hers. She stiffened at the outrage of it all—Lucky Bastard? Presumptuous Bastard!—but then he gentled the kiss and she found herself moving closer, as if he were reeling her in with that invisible cord he kept spinning between them. She went on tiptoe, her tightening nipples brushing against his chest.

He lifted his head, giving her a wry smile before he turned her in front of his body to face the salesgirl. “Did you two get introduced?” he asked, his big hands kneading Felicity’s shoulders.

“No,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “Who is she?”

“This is Lissie,” Magee said, still massaging.
“The one who’s been keeping me so busy lately. And Lissie, my sugar lady, this is my little friend Gwen.”

Little Friend Gwen looked as if she wanted to grind the sugar lady into little tiny granules. “Just exactly how many can she hang?” the girl asked Magee.

“Hang?” Felicity turned to glance up at Magee. She had no idea what that meant, but she knew who deserved a noose around his neck. “Yes, exactly how many, studly hips,
can
I hang?”

“I’ll bet she can’t do five pull-ups,” the girl scoffed, a challenge in her eyes. Without waiting for an answer, she headed toward an office doorway where there was a chin-up bar installed.

Felicity whirled on Magee in panic. “I’ll bet I can’t do
one
.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, then raised his voice. “Gwen, we don’t spend our time together working on our climbing techniques. We do more…adult things, do you understand?”

The girl turned, her face bright red. “Oh. Oh, I guess.”

Felicity felt Gwen’s misery and tried to smooth the moment over. “Yeah, you know,” she said. “We go to the theater, opera, out for drinks….”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “So the two of you will be at the Bivy tonight?”

Magee’s grip tightened on Felicity’s shoulders. “Sure, it’s my shift.”

“So she’ll be there with you?” Gwen asked, gestur
ing with a belligerent chin. “Since the two of you are so tight and all.”

“Of course,” Magee replied, his voice light. “She’ll be there.”

Once they were out of the store, it took him two minutes’ worth of curt sentences to explain the situation with Gwen. The girl—the little sister of a long-time friend of his—had been making plays for him for years and seemed immune to the usual discouragement. It had only gotten worse since she turned twenty-one. In hopes that the girl would finally look for someone her own age, he’d tried to pass off Felicity as the new woman in his life.

“But the mention of opera made her suspicious, damn it.” He shot Felicity a disgusted look. “As if I’d go to the
opera
.”

She was out of sympathy and patience. “How was I to know? I like the opera. I like men who go to the opera. Let me tell you, one ‘sweet thighs’ does not a whole explanation make.”

“I didn’t plan it,” he muttered. “It just occurred to me as you were standing there that I could throw Gwen off the scent.”

“What’s the Bivy, anyway?”

“A bar.”

“Ah.” So it appeared he did have employment of sorts. At a
bar
. “Wait—that’s where Ashley works, too, right?”

He grunted, then started the car and pulled out of the parking place with a jerk. “She has some waitressing shifts and does the accounting.”

Thinking of her cousin brought to mind another murky point. Just how involved
was
he with the Charms? Aunt Vi said boyfriend, while Ashley claimed him as mere housemate.

She half-turned, pinning Magee with her gaze. “So why are you dragging me into this? Why don’t you use Ashley as your scent-thrower-offer? For goodness’ sake, you
live
with her.”

He mumbled something.

“What?” Felicity asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said I already tried that and Gwen didn’t buy it for a minute. She claims I could never be in love with Ashley.”

T
hat evening, Felicity drove Aunt Vi’s Dodge Dart to the Bivy. Not for Magee—she was going to stay away from him. His girl problem wasn’t hers. But there’d been no word of Ben at the Wild Side or anywhere else they’d stopped that afternoon, so she’d placated a fluttering Aunt Vi by promising to ask around the bar, purportedly a favorite hangout of her missing cousin’s.

Then there was her hope that the people, the noise, and a task to accomplish would put an end to the disquieting memories of the night before that kept popping up to plague her. She wanted to forget everything about it.

Following Aunt Vi’s directions, Felicity found the Bivy easily enough, but not a place to park. Though the plain stucco building was surrounded by a generous lot, the only space available was in a dark corner between a shed and a dilapidated truck topped by a camper shell covered in bumper stickers.

She paused to read a few.

MEAT IS DEAD

Boy Bands: Spawn of Satan

Frodo Has Left The Shire

CARPE GENITALIA

Oh-kay, that told her something about the clientele of the place. Glancing down at her dressy, scoop-necked minidress—a DKNY lycra-cotton in French blue—she second-guessed her earlier mad dash to Palm Desert, one of the more prominent desert communities.

But it had been an interesting trip down Memory Lane regardless, she consoled herself. Instead of hitting Saks Fifth Avenue or one of the trendy boutiques, she’d found herself combing the racks of the many consignment shops, replaying how she’d supplemented her wardrobe during her years at boarding school. When she’d found the DKNY dress—original price tag still in place—she’d experienced that old familiar mix of acquisition joy and secretive shame, too. It was a good reminder of how far she’d come since then…and why.

So, taking a deep breath, she slung the new—to her, anyway—Kate Spade purse over her shoulder and, in matching pumps, strode to the bar’s door.

It opened just as she reached for the odd, axelike device that served as a handle. Barraged by the notes of an old Stones’ song, “Brown Sugar,” she froze, leaving her easy pickings for one of the two scruffy young men on their way out.

“Look!” he said, lifting her up by the waist to bring her face level with his. His sun-streaked dreadlocks stood out from his head like a scrub brush. “Look who it is!”

Felicity’s stomach dipped, even though her earlier experiences in the day had made it obvious that her face was as unfamiliar to the climber crowd as its members were to decent haircuts and quality styling products.

He grinned. “It’s the bluebird of happiness!”

As pickup lines went, it was original, Felicity admitted, but she felt compelled to object to the manhandling part, especially when the first guy handed her off to the second. “Hey,” she said, trying to appear authoritative while staring down at this one’s crocheted beanie. “I, um, like standing on my own two feet.”

He blinked up at her. “I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“She wants to come to me,” a new voice called out over the music.

Crocheted Beanie instantly dropped her. The soles of her shoes hit the inches of sawdust covering the floor, sending up a small cloud. His buddy groaned. “Jeez, Banger, can’t we have just
one
of them first?”

As the two young men continued on their way out the door, Felicity gathered her dignity and then raised her chin to meet the unreadable gaze of her would-be protector.

Magee lifted a brow. “Something the matter? You look ticked off.”

“I can’t think why you’d say that,
Banger
,” she retorted, sweeping past him. “Your friend told me I’m the bluebird of happiness.”

“Wait.” He caught her elbow and hauled her back, jamming her shoulder blade against his chest. “Stick by me tonight.”

As if
. Turning her head to say it aloud, she sucked in a breath—and then wished she hadn’t. This close, the scent of him invaded her lungs and invaded her head with flashbacks of the night before. This was exactly what she didn’t want! But it was there anyway, the rain, the heat, the silky slide of his hair through her fingers. The weight of his body on hers and how she’d wanted to cradle him between her thighs so he could fill the emptiness inside her.

Aah!
She wanted to stamp her feet and scream in frustration. The man was at it again. Trickery. Thrillbanger trickery. She tried stepping away, but his grasp only let her get so far.

“Let me go, Magee,” she said. “Your romantic trouble is your own.”

“
You’re
trouble, walking in here looking like that.”

She glanced toward the crowded barroom floor, noting that the women were wearing jeans, jeans, or jeans. A colored bandanna twisted and tied around the neck appeared to be the accessory of choice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Some will take it as an invitation. The men in here aren’t the well-behaved clubby types I’m sure you’re accustomed to.”

“We women have learned to say no, Magee. It’s our evolutionary edge.” She glared at him.

His hand slid up her arm and hauled her closer. “Damn it. You’re still blaming this on me, aren’t you? That’s why you’re giving me the Ice Queen eyes.”

She held herself very still. He couldn’t know, could he, that every tender place on her body was throbbing—her wrists, her throat, her armpits, even! And she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how well his deviltry worked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This.” Two of the fingers holding her upper arm uncurled. “I’m talking about this.” They stroked along the outer curve of her breast.

Her breath caught. Her nipples tightened into hard points.

His gaze seemed to burn them. “Now go ahead, dollface,” he said softly, his fingers moving in yet another secret caress. “Say no.”

It took everything she had to wrench away from him. “
No
. No, I will not fall for your chicanery again.”

He blinked. “My ‘chicanery’?”

“It means wiles, tricks, shenanigans,” she explained. “This game that you play.”

He had the nerve to look insulted. “You really don’t think much of me, do you?”

“I think you’re good at this…this…” She waved her hand. “Thrill business. And that you enjoy how you can make me…respond.”

“I guess that’s something—being good at the thrill
business.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But if you’re so smart—and you must be, knowing big words like
chicanery
and all—how come
your
response is
my
fault?”

“Because.” She turned to stalk away from him, but he clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not
that
dumb, dollface. Because why?”

“Because it’s obvious you’re doing something to mess me up.” She spun back to confront him, angry at how susceptible he made her. “My head rules my hormones. My brain commands my body. The fact is, I have a strict, short list of qualities that interest me in a man, and nothing about
you,
Magee, is on it.”

Without giving him a chance to reply, she whirled away and marched toward the bar. Ashley stood at one end, in conversation with the bartender.

The man looked over as she slid onto a stool beside her cousin. “Hello, there,” he said, giving her a friendly smile. “You a friend of Magee’s?”

The curiosity in the bartender’s eyes made it clear he’d witnessed at least some of the little scene by the door. Her cheeks heated. “Actually, I’m a friend of Ashley’s.”

“She’s my cousin,” Ashley corrected. “Felicity, meet Peter.”

Though there wasn’t even a hint of rebuke in the other woman’s voice, Felicity felt her flush burn hotter. “Nice to meet you, Peter.” Like Magee, he had that outdoorsy look, too, though with lighter brown hair streaked with gold, tanned skin, and those wide climber shoulders and ropy arms.

“What can I get you?”

Not until she’d ordered a glass of wine did she realize that Peter was in a wheelchair. In a practiced move, he pivoted for the bottle, pivoted back to pour her glass. There had to be a raised floor on the other side of the bar, because he moved at eye-level, easily handling her order and then rolling on to help a customer sitting farther down the row of stools.

Someone in the crowd of tables shouted Ashley’s name, and she made a face. “Sorry, Felicity. It’s going to be busy night. We probably won’t have a lot of time to talk.”

“Don’t mind me.” Now that she’d made it through the Magee gauntlet, nothing could mar the evening. “I’m fine on my own. Really.”

“Ashley!” came from the tables again, and with that her cousin was gone.

Leaving Felicity by herself for, oh, something like two seconds. Before she had a chance to even sip and swallow, the empty seat beside her was filled by a very polite young man. His just-as-polite friend hung at her shoulder. Faces as scrubbed and fresh as missionaries, they watched a snowboarding competition on the TV over the bar, explaining to her some of the finer points in a friendly, harmless manner.

A few minutes later, she found herself requesting the Bivy’s world-famous cheese fries. In the time it took her order to arrive—and her stomach was growling at the prospect, thanks to their effusive recommendation—they entertained her with their life stories. Both of them were college students on sabbat
ical, they told her, taking some time to travel around the U.S. in order to narrow their career focus.

Translation, Felicity thought, grinning to herself: They’d flunked out of school and were bumming around the country until their money ran out or their parents found out, whichever came first. Amused by their air of exuberant innocence, she bought them a couple of beers that arrived just as her cheese fries were placed in front of her.

“Let me get you some napkins,” one of the missionary-faced boys said helpfully, then thrust a handful toward her, knocking her little Kate Spade purse to the floor. “Oh, sorry!”

“It’s okay.” Felicity slid off the stool to retrieve the purse, and when she came back up, both boys were gone.

Along with their beers, her wine, and the order of cheese fries. She scanned the room for them, even though the obvious was obvious. She’d been scammed.

“The Olson twins get you?” Peter rolled up and quickly poured her another glass of wine.

“They looked so sweet…” And a Charm should have known better! The knocked-over purse had been classic misdirection and she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. “I feel like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it. I usually chase them away from newcomers, but Magee had sent them over.”

“What?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess he wanted you kept busy. He said they were the lesser of the evils in the room.”

“
What?
” He thought she needed a babysitter, and
he’d sent those two…two…petty criminals to do the job? She gulped down the wine, trying to cool off her temper.

“You and Magee…” Peter rolled closer. “You seem pretty…chummy.”

She shook her head. “I just met him.”

“Last night. He told me about it.”

“He did?” If she hadn’t wanted to avoid further contact with him, she would have gone after Magee and removed every hair from his head, follicle by follicle. “Exactly
what
did he tell you?”

“That you were in a car accident. Finding you like that shook him up, you know.”

The fire went out of her. “I know,” she heard herself answer. And then, though she’d been assuring herself all day that it hadn’t happened, that it
couldn’t
have happened, that tape in her mind restarted. From high above, she saw herself, she saw him. “His voice brought me back,” she murmured. His voice and his despair.

“Brought you back?”

Felicity was still caught up in the memory. “I had a choice, and because of him, I decided to—” Then, horrified at what she’d revealed aloud, she quickly glanced at Peter.

He stared back at her, his eyes steady. “I lost the use of my legs in a crevasse fall almost three years ago. My partner had to go for help to get me out. I spent the night alone. I knew it was bad. I couldn’t feel my legs and the temperature dropped until I was so cold I couldn’t feel anything.”

“I’m…sorry.”

“Then I had an NDE—a near-death experience.” He topped off the wine glass in her nerveless fingers. “It was just like people say. I was above my body, looking down on it, when help arrived. They were working to get me out, and I was surprised by all their desperate efforts. I wanted to tell them I was okay, not to worry about that broken shell in the crevasse.”

Felicity’s hands shook as she took a gulp from her glass. “And then what happened?”

“I was turning toward this light, a beautiful light more warm and accepting than anything I’d ever seen or imagined, when I heard my climbing partner screaming my name. I knew if I kept going toward the light, he’d always believe he failed me. And I still wanted to go. So damn much. But I saw how careless, how selfish that would be. How careless and selfish I’d been for most of my life. And though it hurt like hell to go back into that broken body, I was certain I had more to do here. Amends to make.”

A beat or two of silence passed. “Did something like that happen to you?” he asked softly. “Did you see the light?”

“Of course not!” The idea terrified her. Not just because it was weird, but because…“I have to go.” She slid off the stool and stumbled away, wondering if what had—and hadn’t!—happened the night before would ever leave her in peace.

“What did you say to my cousin?”

Peter didn’t look up from the beer mug he was filling. “What’s that, Ash?”

“My cousin. She jumped up from her seat like it scalded her. Did you—did you make a pass at her or something?”

Surprised by the note of truculence in her voice, he lifted his gaze to hers and raised his eyebrows. “Would that be so shocking?”

“No!” She swallowed. “No. Of course it wouldn’t. I’m sure you, uh…” Her beautiful face flushed red and she fumbled with her pad. “I need three drafts and a bottle of Miller Lite.”

Peter went about filling the order, moving with extra care because he had a sudden sense of sands shifting beneath him.
What’s going on here?
He glanced up, and kept his voice casual. “What does Magee think of Felicity?”