Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1) (14 page)

“While true, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then, what
did
you mean?”

The ghost drew something small from the folds of her gown and handed it to Vanessa. The object was ice-cold and felt like a playing card. Shining the light on its face, she got a start. The card, to Vanessa’s astonishment, was the
Knight of Wands
.

Stupefied, she looked from the card to the ghost’s shimmering aspect. “Why did you give this to me?”

“I think you know.”

“Look here,” Vanessa said with rising indignation. “I like Callum, quite a lot for somebody I’ve only just met, but that’s as far as it’s going to go. I’m not the sort of woman who needs a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue. Those fantasies are for women who can’t take care of themselves, which isn’t me. I’m my own person, damn it, and plan to keep it that way.”

“That being the case,” the ghost said, fading away, “I suggest you find your own way out of the dungeon.”

The apparition was gone, but the tarot card remained in Vanessa’s hand. Flustered, but also relieved not to be in any immediate danger, she sat down, back against the cold stone wall, to contemplate what she’d been told. What she was looking for was right in front of her. Did the ghost mean the vampire or Callum? The
Knight of Wands
suggested she meant the latter, which pleased Vanessa more than she was willing to admit.

Chapter 7

That afternoon, Callum took Vanessa to Wick to fulfill his promise to take her shopping for naughty lingerie. The shop, named
Indecent,
had a
diva-chic aesthetic with pale pink walls and a checkerboard marble floor. In the center, a beaded chandelier hung over a circular table stacked with lacey underwear. In the back, near the draperied dressing rooms, a French-looking settee and matching pair of chairs flanked a magazine-strewn table.

Callum took her hand as they entered, which she liked, especially when the salesclerk, a dark-haired beauty with striking blue eyes, glanced their way. The look she gave Vanessa was both envious and appraising, as if she was sizing up her competition.

“Can I help you find something special?”

Vanessa offered her a cool smile that said, “Back off, bitch. He’s mine.” Only he wasn’t, was he? In another two days, she’d be long gone and he’d be fair game. For some reason, the idea bothered her. Tamping down the unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling, she said, “No thanks. We’d just like to look around for now, if that’s all right.”

“Be my guest.”

She proceeded to look around, towing Callum along by the hand. Floor racks and wall-mounted hooks displayed a wide assortment of bras, panties, corsets, garters, merry widows, teddies, baby-doll nighties, and everything in between. A line of mannequins by the front window exhibited elegant silk nightgowns and peignoirs. Molded plastic female torsos modeled more bras and bustiers from atop rounds and tables.

Squeezing his hand, Vanessa said, “Tell me if you see something you like.”

“It might be quicker to point out the things I don’t.” He gave her an adorably boyish grin.

“In that case, tell me if you see anything you’d like me to try on.”

Both golden eyebrows shot up. “Will you model for me?”

“Will you get hard if I do?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“If I don’t, we won’t be buying it,” he whispered with a salacious grin. “I can tell you that much.”

She couldn’t help smiling at his playfulness. He looked like a kid in a candy shop with a penny burning a hole in his pocket. Shit, she was really starting to like him. They hadn’t talked about trying to work something out once the fling was over, but maybe she should bring it up and see what he said. On second thought, that was a terrible idea. Much as she disliked the thought of walking away, she couldn’t she see herself juggling her career and a long-distance relationship.

Callum stopped before a mannequin modeling a pink bra and panties trimmed with black lace. A matching garter-belt held up thigh-high fishnets. The grin he gave her was rakishly appealing. “How about this?”

She ran an approving eye over the ensemble. At least he had good taste in lingerie. Not that she was surprised, given the way he dressed and decorated his castle. “I’m game. But let’s keep looking.”

The next mannequin he stopped before displayed a full corset over a frilly, pale pink crinoline. It was pretty, though a bit too Little Bo Peepish for her taste.

“Get me a crook and a lamb and I’m all set.” Her tone dripped sarcasm.

His smile slumped. “You don’t fancy it?”

She leaned close and, keeping her voice low, said out of the corner of her mouth, “Would you seriously want to fuck me in that?”

“Oh, aye.”

The fire in his eyes shot a thunderbolt straight to her sex. She turned round to look for the dark-haired clerk who’d greeted them. Catching the woman’s eye, Vanessa called out, pointing at the mannequins in turn, “Could I try this on? And that pink set over there.”

“By all means.” The woman came right over. “I’m Monique, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.” Vanessa forced herself to smile. For some reason, Monique rubbed her the wrong way.

Callum very affably offered the salesgirl his hand and introduced himself.

“Oh, I know who you are,” Monique purred, keeping hold of Callum’s hand while unabashedly ogling him.

Possessiveness crashed down on Vanessa like a Malibu mudslide. He might not be hers for the long haul, but he was hers for now.

Monique met her “back off” glare with a look that said “may the best woman win” as she solicitously asked, “What sizes do you need, honey?”

“I’m a thirty-six D,” Vanessa said proudly.

Vanessa watched with venom in her heart as Monique gathered the things she’d asked to try on. Then, with a seductive smile at her prey, she ushered her rival into one of the draperied cubicles at the back of the store. Callum parked himself in one of the chairs, crossed his leg over his knee, and selected a magazine from the assortment on the table.

Vanessa had chosen something easy to slip on and off for their shopping trip: a simple floral dress and strappy high-heeled sandals. Once alone, she undressed and tried on the pink-and-black set with the corset-style garter belt. As she wrestled with the hooks and eyes on the lingerie, her jealousy rode the escalator to the next floor as she overheard the saleswoman blatantly flirting with Callum. How dare that scheming bitch hit on him while she was getting changed! Not that Vanessa could blame her for trying. Callum was amazing. If he didn’t live in Scotland, she’d be thinking seriously about keeping him around.

Good God. Was she falling for him? To do so would be incredibly stupid under the circumstances. First of all, she’d come here to do a job, not to find a boyfriend. Secondly, Mr. Armstrong didn’t like Callum Lyon. If they continued to see each other, she’d have to sneak around behind her boss’s back, which would only complicate her life. Plus, she didn’t feel comfortable being dishonest—here or at home—and was a terrible liar. Mr. Armstrong would see through her deceptions as quickly as Callum had.

She checked herself in the mirror, trying to imagine what Callum could have done to give her boss such a low opinion of him. Should she ask what happened between them? Deciding she would—eventually—she drew aside the dressing-room curtain and stepped out into the shop.

Monique was perched on the settee facing Callum, her overly familiar body language making her intentions glaringly obvious. A sudden, strong compulsion to scratch out her pretty blue eyes blasted through Vanessa. Swallowing the urge, she ventured forth and inserted herself between the two.

“Well…what do you think?” Faking a sunny smile, she turned to and fro to give him a view of all angles.

As he checked her out, a grin hitched up one side of his mouth. “You look good enough to eat.” Peeking around her to Monique, he added, “Can you get her some stockings to try?”

“What kind?”

He flicked his thumb toward the first mannequin. “That kind.”

“Fishnets?”

“Aye, and some plain black ones, too. With seams up the backs.”

When Monique set off on her errand, Vanessa stepped up to him and bent over to give him an eyeful of cleavage. Slipping a hand inside the bra, he rubbed his thumb across her nipple, shooting a flaming arrow of lust straight to her sex.

She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Is it making you hard?”

Before he could answer, she reached between his legs and gave his package a squeeze, finding the answer she wanted. He removed his hand from her bra and moved it between her legs. As he teased her through the crotch of her panties, she felt an onrush of moisture the shop would doubtless not appreciate.

“Do you think they’d let me have my way with you in the changing room?” He cleared his throat. “Purely to test the efficacy of the merchandise, of course.”

“I somehow doubt it.” She bent to kiss him. “Though I wouldn’t put you out if they agreed.”

As Monique returned, Vanessa straightened up and turned to take the stockings. Monique, pretty features pinched, kept hold of the packages. “I’m afraid I can’t let you try them on unless you’re planning to buy them.”

“If she wants them, I’ll buy them,” Callum inserted. “I would buy her the moon and stars if she wanted me to.”

Glowing triumphantly, Vanessa snatched the stockings from Monique’s hands and returned to the dressing room. As she slipped into the Bo Peep ensemble, she heard Monique say, “Independent lingerie shops are becoming going concern, and I’m thinking of opening a second one down in Inverness…but could really use an investor.”

Outrage crackled through Vanessa. Maybe she couldn’t have Callum, but he deserved better than a gold-digger like Monique—not that she had room to talk, since she’d set out to use him, too. But not for his money. Nor was she using him anymore. She genuinely liked him. Much more than was sensible when they were no more than two passing ships.

Or were they…?

Give your Knight of Wands a chance to change your mind about love.

The ghost, too, had shown her the
Knight of Wands
and urged her to give Callum a chance. Powerful forces, it would appear, were pushing them together. While she couldn’t see staying with him in Scotland, maybe she ought to lower the shields she’d built against him—and love.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Only heartbreak, which she would get over…or experience anyway if she never saw him again.

Monique was still jabbering to him about investing in her new shop. Clearing her throat, Vanessa stepped out of the dressing room and did a little twirl beside his chair, fanning out the crinoline to show off the black lace garters underneath.

“Well?” She was eager for his reaction and to put the clerk in her place.

The lust that darkened his eyes made words unnecessary. Victory sang in Vanessa’s heart as she returned to the dressing room to try on the last outfit.

Last and least
, she thought with a devilish smile as she held up the skimpy black T-shirt and garters combination. After slipping it on, she felt too exposed to leave the dressing room, so she stuck her head through the crack in the curtains and looked his way. “Callum, baby…could you come here for a minute?”

Okay, maybe calling him
baby
was laying it on a bit thick, but it was better than peeing on his leg to mark her territory. He was in front of her in a flash, smiling as she modeled the skimpy get-up from inside the cubicle.

Making a lustful noise deep in his throat, he swept through the curtain and snapped it closed behind him. In a blink, she was up against the mirror with his mouth on hers and his hands exploring her body.

“If I could take you right here without getting arrested, I so bloody would.”

She couldn’t contain the laugh that burst forth. “I gather from your reaction this one’s a keeper?”

“Oh, aye.” He flicked his tongue against her lips. “In fact, why don’t you keep it on under your clothes while we do a bit more shopping?”

* * * *

Backlit by the vivid vermillion sunset, Callum and Vanessa walked arm-in-arm back toward the car loaded down with packages, from
Indecent
as well as the other boutiques they’d patronized that afternoon. He’d bought her some earrings, a scarf, a silver trinket box, and everything else she fancied. He’d meant it when he’d told that overly solicitous shopgirl he would buy his bonny butterfly the moon and stars if she wished to have them.

While money might not buy happiness, it sure as hell could buy pleasure. Buying her things was like giving her an orgasm wrapped up in a box or bag—an orgasm she could keep long after the thrill subsided.

How long she could keep her baubles, however, remained to be seen.

For the moment, though, the simple knowledge of what she had on underneath her clothes kept him hard under his. What was it about garters that lit his wick like a torch? As far as he could figure, it had to do with the times in which he’d been born.