The Thrill of It All (9 page)

You make us believe you have exactly what we need
.

He’d said that, like it was a bad thing!

And he’d said it out of frustration with their inexplicable, ongoing sexual chemistry. How could she be blamed for the old adage about opposites attracting? But instead of slapping him over it like she wanted to, she’d decided against defending herself. That would have given him the impression she cared a hoot about what he thought.

Which she didn’t. He didn’t know her or anything about her.

So she’d vowed never to give the scruffy, thrillbanging, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted cretin the satisfaction of another cheap shot at her.

Feeling righteous, she glared at his back and the classy sentiment on today’s T-shirt choice:
I’m Not Feeling Myself Today…May I Feel You?
Then she licked her forefinger to scoop up some of the salt crystals in the bottom of the basket and brought her finger to her mouth to suck them off.

Just then he glanced up, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. His back stiffened and his eyes narrowed. She thought she saw steam billowing from his ears.

Magee in a slow boil…but why?

As he continued giving her the evil eye, and she continued sucking on her finger, it hit her.
He thinks what I’m doing is sexy! He thinks I’m doing it on purpose
.

Hah!
This was much more gratifying than slapping the scruffy, thrillbanging, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted cretin. She could torture him instead!

Moving lazily, she withdrew her wet finger from her mouth and dipped it back inside the basket. Without breaking his gaze, she slid it inside her mouth again, all the way inside, then slowly slid it back out. Letting her mouth drop open, she rubbed the wet pad back and forth across the inner dampness of her lower lip.

One of his hands jerked, knocking over a bottle, causing Peter, at the other end of the bar, to glance around.

Magee instantly ducked his head. “Peter, get Felicity some more pretzels,” he barked out.

At the rough order, Peter’s expression hardened. “What?” The angry note in his voice prickled the hairs on the back of Felicity’s neck. Ashley, walking toward the bar with a tray filled with dirty glasses, froze as Peter spoke again. “What did you say to me?”

Magee either didn’t hear or didn’t choose to heed the warning in his friend’s tone. “Felicity. Get her pretzels,” he repeated.

Peter slung the rag in his hand against the counter with a
thwap
and pivoted his chair to address Magee’s back. “What the hell’s wrong with you doing it?” he spit out. “Is there something wrong with
your
legs?”

A tense silence descended. The only two other pa
trons still left in the bar jumped to their feet and hurried out.

When the door shut behind them, Magee turned to face Peter. “All right, what’s your beef?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “For the last few days you’ve been a royal pain in the ass.”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You—”

“Don’t.” Glass rattled as Ashley, her face pale, dumped her tray on top of the bar.

Peter’s jaw clenched and he glanced over at her. “This is between Magee and me, Ash.”

“No, it’s not.” Her hands clutched each other at her waist. “This has nothing to do with you, Peter.”

“Ashley—”

“We’ve been friends for seven years.” She was backing toward the exit, her gaze flicking from one man to the other. “All of us. Please, Peter, please, don’t spoil…things.”

He was wheeling his chair to follow her, but she held out her hand to stop him. Felicity saw it was trembling.

“I can’t bear it,” Ashley said, looking as alone and painful as heartbreak. “I can’t bear for something else to go wrong.” She whipped around and fled through the door.

Felicity slid off her stool. “I’ll go after her.”

“No. I will.” Peter’s biceps bunched as he sped the wheelchair toward the door.

Uncertain, Felicity looked over at Magee. He was slumped against the back counter, his expression unreadable. As the front door slammed shut behind Peter, she found herself walking around the bar.

Magee didn’t appear to notice, even when she stopped in front of him. “Are…are you all right?” she asked.

His gaze flicked over her face. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” He blindly reached to the side, grabbing a bottle from the dozens of call liquors shelved behind him. With his other hand he scooped up a shot glass, poured, swallowed the liquid down. He poured another and swallowed that, too, grimacing in obvious disgust.

“What are you drinking?”

“Well, it ain’t no salsa shooter, that’s for sure, dollface.” He lifted the bottle and squinted at the label. “Peppermint schnapps. But it’ll do.” He tossed back another shot, grimaced again.

She put her hand on his forearm, halting him mid-pour. “What’s the matter?”

His brows rose. “What’s the matter with what—with Ashley or with the whole stinkin’ world?”

“With you.”

“What could be the matter with me?” The hand with the half-filled shot glass gestured impatiently, and an arc of schnapps flew through the air. He didn’t seem to notice. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m the one who made it back, right?”

She didn’t know if it was the booze or the late hour and the almost-argument that was responsible for his blackening mood. Wrapping her hand around the bottle, she tried freeing it from his grasp. “Give me this.”

He wrenched it away and poured himself another drink. “You won’t like it. It tastes like crap.”

“I don’t want to drink it, and if you don’t like the taste, then you shouldn’t have any more, either.” She reached for it again.

Shaking his head, he cradled the bottle to his chest. “I’ve decided that I need to get drunk, ugly-dog-drunk.”

She sighed. “What if I told you you’re already an ugly dog?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I wouldn’t believe it. You’ve got the jones for me, dollface, I can tell. Hell of a thing, because I’ve got the jones for you, too.”

“The ‘jones’? Personally, I call it the liepshitz, but hey, that’s just me.”

He toasted her with the liqueur. “Liepshitz, jones. But I have a purpose now, so I’m ignoring the whatever-you-want-to-call-it. Ignoring the whatever-you-want-to-call-it, that is, not the purpose.” Bringing the bottle to his mouth, he bit down on the cork-lined pourer, pulled it out with his teeth, then let it drop to the floor. With the bottle halfway back to his lips, he paused, looking down at her and frowning. “Wait…what is the purpose again?”

She shrugged, humoring the idiot. “You tell me.”

He blinked at her, his puzzled expression clearing. “Of life, that’s it. The purpose of life. The reason why I lived and Simon didn’t.”

That errant memory: warmth, light, knowledge, blossomed in her mind, but Felicity quickly shut it away. “Don’t ask me, Michael.”

“We’re two of a kind, then. I’m no navel-gazer, either.” He looked away. “Lissie, go home.”

“Lissie keeps trying to, but—”

“
Felicity
tries to leave,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “It’s my Lissie who likes to stay and play.”

Oh, he had a definite buzz on now. “Well, neither one of us can leave you here. Come on, let me drive you home.”

He gave her a smile. “I’ll take a cab.”

“Hah, hah.” Felicity reached for the bottle of peppermint schnapps again, but he was too fast for her.

“Nuh-uh-uh.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. Since you seem to have all the company you need, if you promise not to drive yourself anywhere I’ll go find Ashley and make sure she’s okay.”

“Oh, come on, dollface.” Settling his elbows on the counter behind him, he lifted one of his dark eyebrows, a sardonic gesture that sent a sexy shiver down Felicity’s back. Even half-drunk, he remained one hundred percent dangerous. “Why set a new precedent?”

She blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Simon died eighteen months ago. You weren’t worried if Ashley was ‘okay’ then.” His gaze didn’t leave hers as he took a drink from the bottle.

“Of course I—”

“Didn’t see you at the memorial service, dollface. And I was there, in all my ankles-screwed-together glory.”

“It’s just that—”

“You would have had to take time off work to do
something for the family that raised you? A day without a rubber glove sale is a day without sunshine, is that it?”

Irritated at his tone, she took a step back. He was hammering at her because he was in a foul mood. Because he missed his friend Simon and because there was tension between him and Ashley and Peter. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t deserve it, but she didn’t need to defend herself, either.

Remember? That would only give Magee the impression she gave a hoot about what he thought. Which she didn’t.

He didn’t know her. He didn’t know anything about her.

“So I’ve been thinking, how
are
you going to get rid of your Charm relatives?”

Her gaze jerked up to his. “What?”

“It’s obvious your pretty-boy producer has swallowed your fairy tale about the Charm wine cellar and the Charm sponsorship of the George Bernard Shaw Society.” His eyes were hard and most of the drunkenness had disappeared, leaving only the danger behind. “Just as it’s obvious you’re angling to become Mrs. Pretty Boy.”

Her face heated.
Don’t explain
.
Don’t defend
.
Magee doesn’t know you or anything about you
.

“He’s going to want to meet the clan, unless you take them out of the picture first, that is. I’d suggest something dramatic,” he went on. “It’ll be good for ratings, don’t you think? Kill ’em off in a fire. Or how
about an earthquake? One big rumble and you’re relative-free.”

Felicity stared at him.
How could you say such a thing?
she wanted to shout.

It was none of Magee’s business what went on between her and Drew. And it was none of his business that she hadn’t come clean about the family to her producer, either. The fictional Charms had been a part of her life for so long, since boarding school, that they
were
—nearly, anyway—real to her. She’d never given a thought to telling Drew the truth.

No man knew the truth about her.

Her heart jittered.

Except one.

Her heart jittered again.

She looked at him, at his faded jeans and his rude T-shirt, at his stubbled chin, too-long hair, and dark, inscrutable eyes. He lifted the bottle of schnapps with two fingers and chugged down another swallow, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

How could this have happened? Him?
Him?
She felt like crying.

Because facts were facts. The only man who truly knew Felicity Charm was the scruffy, thrillbanging, bar-owning, good-for-nothing-she-wanted Michael Magee.

A sob rose in her throat, and to escape it—and Magee—she ran for the door.

Magee slammed the bottle onto the countertop as Felicity rushed out of the bar. He was an ugly dog, all
right, picking on Felicity instead of picking at his own damn wounds.

A headache already pounding at his temples, he grabbed a mug and poured the last of the evening’s coffee inside it. Then he drained the mug, filled it with water, and drained that down, too.

Making his way toward the front door to lock it, he decided to spend the night on the couch in the office. He’d wake up with a crick in his neck, but just in case he bypassed the hangover he so richly deserved, at least it would be one punishment.

With his fingers on the door handle, he paused. Then he swung it open, just to check that Felicity’s car had started.

To his surprise, instead of tearing down the road away from the Bivy, she was tearing across the parking lot toward him.

He braced for another knee in the nuts. Instead, she leaped into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist.

T
he casino doors swung shut behind her, allowing Ashley her first full breath since running out of the Bivy. She closed her eyes for a moment, appreciating the sense of well-being already wrapping around her like a warm blanket. Though she’d promised herself a month ago not to return, after stepping into that brewing clash between Magee and Peter she deserved a little fun.

Making her way to the nearby cashier’s cage, she dug her tip money out of her jeans pocket. It had been a quiet night, so there wasn’t much. That was fine. Her tips would be her limit. Once she played through them, she’d leave.

The young woman behind the bars looked up and smiled as Ashley pushed her cash across the counter. “Hey! We’ve missed you. How’s your little girl?”

“She’s great. Keeping me busy.” Ashley smiled back. “Quarter tokens, please, Meg. How’s your mom’s carpal tunnel?”

Meg slid a yellow plastic cup with the Easy Money
Casino insignia to Ashley and grimaced. “She has to wear those wrist guards now. But she’ll tell you all about it herself. She has the shift after this one.”

“The next shift?” Ashley wrapped her hands around the plastic cup, assessing the heft of the tokens inside. “I don’t think these will last…oh, what the hey. Give me another forty dollars’ worth.”

As she reached inside her purse for her wallet, the other woman dragged her stool closer to the countertop. “And where’s your cute little brother Ben been hiding himself lately?”

Ashley’s mouth dried, and she grabbed an additional twenty from her wallet. “He’s somewhere around.” The second cup of shiny tokens made it easier to swallow.

With the tokens resting comfortably in the crook of her arm, she grabbed up her purse and rounded the corner toward her favorite slot machine. A little sigh of contentment escaped her when she saw that it was free. Lengthening her stride, she moved quickly to claim it.

“It’s me,” she whispered, patting the Silver Lady’s gleaming chrome side. “I’m back.”

She settled into a high-backed cushioned chair, as the Lady’s jewel-toned lights winked back at her. Then Ashley dug into one of the yellow cups. A token slid coolly through her fingers and into the machine.
Clickety-click-clack
. She lifted her hand to the Lady’s arm—she figured it burned a few more calories to pull the arm instead of pushing the roll button—and drew it down.

The Lady’s lights twinkled, her gears purred. A
melodic ping sounded as each tumbler halted. Cherry, cherry, orange, grapes. Ashley fished for another token.

Within minutes, the stranglehold that tension had on her neck eased. “Thank you,” she said, as the machine sipped another token from her fingers. She drew the Lady’s arm down gently, even as she reached her other hand for her favorite iced tea—with extra lemon—that the barmaid brought by without being asked.

“Thanks, Joanne.” Ashley passed over a tip just as the Lady lit up, beaming in all her glory like a woman for a lover.

Ten dollars in token credit ticked onto the digital counter.

Yes!
Ashley relaxed back into her seat. Every win meant a few more minutes in this peaceful paradise where nothing—no worries, no grief, no confrontations—intruded. She reached for another token.

Once down to the ice in her iced tea, Ashley admitted to herself she couldn’t put off a pit stop any longer. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered to the Lady, then looked over a couple of machines, relieved to see someone she knew.

“Ted!” When the older man glanced over, she smiled. “Watch my machine for a minute?”

He nodded in understanding, then turned back to his own play.

Ashley beelined for the restroom and hurried through the necessary activities. As she stepped back onto the casino floor, her gaze went immediately to her machine. A figure was sitting in front of it, backlit by the Lady’s bright lights.

“Wait a minute!” she muttered to herself. “That’s
my
machine.” She stalked toward the usurper, anger threatening to spoil her good mood.

Don’t let it,
she admonished herself, taking a deep breath.
Don’t let anything disturb your peace
.

It was then that she realized who the intruder was.

Peter.

He pivoted his wheelchair toward her as she approached. There was a cup of tokens in his lap.

She swallowed. “I didn’t know you, um, came here.”

“First time.”

Angling his chair, he gave her room to get back to her stool. She returned her token cups into the holders, then gestured toward the Lady. “I’m, uh, playing here.”

“I know. You were heading for the restroom when I
wheeled up. Your friend over there let me know this machine was taken.”

She nodded, dropping into her chair. “We do that for each other.”

“We?”

Instead of looking at Peter, she looked at the Lady. “People around here who know each other.” Her fingers itched to grab a token, to start her play again and let the lights, the sounds, the Lady herself, soothe the nerves that were starting to fray. But with him watching, she felt her usual helplessness.

What did he want? What if he wanted to talk about that kiss? She couldn’t do it, she just couldn’t, because that would lead to a confrontation between herself and Peter and probably another between Peter and Magee and—

To quiet the turmoil inside her, Ashley reached for a token and quickly fed it to the Lady.

From the corner of her eye, to her relief, she saw Peter position himself in front of the machine on her left. Without another word, he inserted his first token.

Relieved, Ashley blew out a silent sigh and dipped back into her own plastic cup.

Soon, the hypnotic sound began smoothing out all the edges that Peter had roughed up. As the silence between them continued, she was able to pretend it was a stranger beside her and she slouched down in her chair and lost herself in the gambling.

“Relaxed?”

At the sudden sound of Peter’s voice, Ashley bolted upright in her chair. Tokens rattled against plastic. “Huh? What?”

“You seemed upset when you left the Bivy. Feeling better now?”

“Yes.” She poured the last tokens from her first cup into one hand and rubbed them between her palms. “You know I don’t like arguments.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but she pretended she didn’t and slipped another coin into the slot. But the twinkle, the purr, the ping ping ping ping, none could take her away like she wanted when Peter was looking at her. Still, she deposited another token and reached for the Lady’s arm.

“I know a lot about you, Ash.”

The low, sexy note in his voice caused her hand to miss. It fell into her lap. She stared at it, remembering that when he’d kissed her it was the same hand that had curled behind his head to hold him close to her. She’d been helpless against the urge to keep him near.

Helpless.

The word shivered through her mind again and she
didn’t want to think about it, to think about the two of them together—certainly not
kissing
!

“We’ve known each other a long time.” Her hand rose toward the Lady again, but she didn’t have the strength to pull on the arm. Instead, Ashley pressed the roll button. The lights flashed, the cherries and oranges and grapes whizzed around. She hoped they would whisk her back to that insulated, peaceful place. “Seven years.”

It was her own words that kept her out now, though.
Seven years,
and suddenly she was recalling their first date. Peter had been the first climber she’d ever gone out with. The only climber before Simon, the only climber other than Simon. And though it was Simon she’d married five years ago, she’d always considered Peter as hers. Not in a romantic way, but in the way of…of…

She looked over at him. “You’re one of my best friends.”

He smiled. It was a roguish, boyish smile. In her mind’s eye she saw once again that roguish, boyish young man who’d had her briefly, then let her get away.

“Why didn’t you fight harder for me?” she asked, then clapped her hand to her mouth, astonished that she’d voiced the thought.

“Ah, Ash.” Peter’s smile died. “I—”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I said that, what I was thinking.” Reaching out, she stroked the cool, solid case of the Lady, trying to steady her nervous insides.

In desperation, she started feeding the Lady token
after token after token. She didn’t want to think of the past, the future, the present, anything.

“Ash, Ash. Stop, Ash.” Peter grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “Listen to me.”

Ashley couldn’t meet his eyes, so she stared down at their linked hands instead. He had climber’s hands, the fingers long and limber, the knuckles scarred. Simon’s had been similar, but bigger, so much bigger, that when he’d touched her she’d felt so safe.

Peter’s touch frightened her.

She tried to pull away, but he hung on. “Ashley, I was a screwup when we first met. My father had accused me of it since the day I was born, so I’d spent over twenty years proving him right.”

She shook her head. “You were never a screwup.”

His voice softened. “You’ve always been so damn loyal. It’s one of your very best qualities, you know. But if I wasn’t a screwup, I
was
careless. With the people around me, with what I wanted for my life, with my own physical safety. Magee and Simon knew that. It’s why they stopped climbing with me. It’s why I wasn’t with either of them when I had my accident.”

Now she was hanging on to him, because thinking of him in that crevasse, broken and alone, made her feel shivery and scared again.
Helpless
.

“So I don’t know if you got away because of my stupidity or if I never had a chance against Simon, Ash, but I know this. I know you loved him.”

She nodded. Grief over his death had knocked her to her knees. That’s when the casino had become her haven.

“But Ash…maybe our time is now.”

Her head jerked up. No, no. “
No
.”

“Whatever’s going on between you and Magee—”

“He makes me feel safe.” Like Simon. Magee didn’t need her. Magee didn’t need anything from her. So she couldn’t mess it up. She couldn’t fail him in any way.

“I don’t care. I won’t let you go so easily this time. I’ve changed, Ash.”

“Peter, you’ve got to understand. You
are
changed, and—” The expression that overtook his face halted her. He looked stunned. Hurt.

“Oh.”
Oh, Peter
. He thought she meant he was changed because of his paralysis.

His hand released hers. “I understand.”

“You don’t—”

“I do!” He rubbed his palms over his thighs, his voice tight. “What was I thinking? Why would you want to be with half a man?”

Oh, my God
. Her throat burning and her heart aching, she reached out to caress the Lady like a touch-stone. What she wouldn’t give to be so solid and so powerful. If she was, then it wouldn’t matter that Peter was half a man at all. She rattled the tokens in her cup, hoping that he would leave soon and that they and the Lady would be enough to deaden this new pain.

Because she knew who the real screwup was. It was her. She was a weak woman, so weak that she’d been prepared to deny the truth that Peter had seen.

But he was right. She could never be with Peter.

She could never be with half a man.

Magee’s arms automatically closed around Felicity’s back as she gripped his waist between her thighs. His heart slammed against his chest as he scanned the parking lot, looking for a threat. “What is it? What the hell is it?”

For an answer, she took his face between her hands. Something crackled beside his ear as she leaned in to buss him a big one on the mouth. “Ben’s okay!”

He shook his head to clear it. “What?”

It was a piece of paper that had crackled, and now she waved it in front his eyes. “A note! He left me a note on the windshield of the car.”

“What’s it say?”

She squirmed and Magee loosened his hold so she could slide to the ground. “He says he’s fine. ‘Tell Mom not to worry. Tell her I’ll be home in a few days after I take care of some business.’”

Magee narrowed his eyes. “What kind of business?”

Felicity waved the question away. “Doesn’t say. Doesn’t matter. I’m free! Free!” With a grin, she leaped back at him.

Her impetus sent him stumbling back, but he looped his arms around her again and blinked down at her exuberant smile. “Free, exactly, of what?”

“Conscience-free. Worry-free. Stress-free.” Her smile widened. “Take your pick. Tomorrow night, after my obligatory afternoon at the trade show, I’m outta here.”

The “for good” she didn’t say lingered in the air. It floated around them as she cupped Magee’s face once
more and moved in for another boisterous smooch. But instead of letting her have her brief, happy smack, he speared one hand in the hair at the back of her head and glued her mouth to his.

She’s outta here for good
.

The thought making him reckless, he commandeered the kiss. Not letting up, he moved his lips over hers until her mouth softened and he could thrust his tongue into the sweet heat inside. His tongue tangled with hers and then the kiss became reckless, too, each of them wildly angling their heads to find the most pleasurable fit. Sparklers burst in his vision and he broke away to drag in oxygen.

“God, God.” He rested his forehead against hers, not sure if he would live.

She replied by raggedly breathing against his mouth. The uneven, humid warmth made him desperate to kiss her all over again. Heat flashed over his skin.