Color Me Wicked Page 3

  “Inside?” She vibrated with outrage.

  Obviously, she thought the park’s owner had just hired him to slap paint on the castle. Obviously, she thought she’d get to choose all the colors. Surprise, surprise. The evil in him rubbed its hands together and gleefully plunged onward. “Uh-huh. I like lime green and neon orange, too. So don’t worry, I won’t paint everything red.”

  “No.” The word was a breathy exhalation of defiance. “You will not use those colors. I’m the designer—”

  She got no further. At that moment the cat must’ve decided to take a closer look at this paint that was causing such a brouhaha, and leaped for the ladder where the small can rested.

  Con’s last coherent thought as he watched the cat scrabble for purchase with its front paws on the shelf holding the paint, was that he’d never seen such an uncoordinated animal in his life. Reflexively, he reached for the paint. Too late. Frantic to keep from falling to the ground, the cat hooked the can with one paw and brought it down on top him as he lost the battle with gravity.

  “Ohmigod!” Mandy’s wail of disbelief was echoed by the cat’s yowl of surprise.

  Red paint coated the cat from whiskers to tail. He was Dynamic-Red highlighted by gleaming yellow eyes. The cat expressed his general feelings with furious hisses and growls. He was one pissed kitty.

  “Get this crap off me now! I don’t have a freakin’ public humiliation clause in my contract.”

  Startled, Con glanced around. Someone talking in his head? Nah. He shrugged away the momentary weirdness and leaped into action.

  Before the cat had a chance to race away, he scooped it up like a fumble recovery and ran with it. The cat fought him as Mandy shouted advice, but he kept running until he reached the edge of the moat. Maintaining a secure grip on the cat, he knelt and then dipped it into the water.

  The cat screeched and clawed. Con was aware that Mandy had scrambled down beside him. He glanced at her. “I’ll hold him while you wash the paint off.”

  “Me?” She sounded horrified.

  Probably thought red hands didn’t make the right color statement for her. “Look, do you want to be the one to return him to Sparkle looking like a Texas Chain Saw Massacre survivor?”

  Mandy widened those big blue eyes, and for just a moment he was back on the beach all those years ago. There’d been a full moon reflecting off the Gulf that night. He’d parked his pickup high on the beach, and then they’d walked hand in hand down to the water. They’d knelt on the sand facing each other, and she’d looked at him out of those same eyes. But back then her eyes had shone with sensual hunger, and he’d been generating enough lust to power all of Texas.

  She broke the brief spell by glancing down at the struggling cat. “You’re right. I’ll rinse off the paint. Don’t let him go.”

  Easier said than done. Hanging on to the damned cat was like holding onto a greased pig with claws. The cat was still twisting and yowling. Someone had probably already called 911 to report a murder in progress.

  “Help! Cat drowner! Don’t even think about dunking my head. I can’t feel the bottom. I have to feel the bottom! I can’t swim, you jerk. Land. Put me on land before I turn you into a small ugly parasite.”

  It had to be the heat. He’d been painting in the sun for too long today. Once the cat was taken care of, he’d go into the castle, cool off, and eat lunch. So why hadn’t he heard voices on other days when he worked in the heat? He didn’t want to think about it. He had to believe it was the heat, or accept that the cat was talking to him. And that would spell certifiable with a capital C.

  Finally, between the two of them, the cat was clean. Con set it on the bank expecting it to race for home. Instead, it carefully shook each paw free of water and then glowered at them.

  Con frowned as he pulled a clean rag from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Dad’s a dog man, so we never had any cats at home, but I’d swear what we’re seeing here isn’t normal cat behavior. Look, it’s not running away. It’s just glaring at us.” He glanced at Mandy. Uh-oh. She was dabbing at red paint spots on her dress.

  “It’s not glaring at us. It’s glaring at that red trim. Cats have more sophisticated tastes than dogs. A dog would like red trim. A cat knows better.”

  Con didn’t try to hide his grin. She sounded ticked off, and ticked off could be a prelude to other emotions. Anything that got Mandy all passionate about something had to be an improvement over her Princess of Perfect persona. “I don’t know. Seems strange to me that he doesn’t act more frightened.” Absently, Con rubbed some paint splatters from his arms and chest.

  Mandy didn’t look any less furious, but her gaze never left his hand. He accommodated her by sliding the cloth over his skin more slowly, finding spots to touch low on his stomach. He would’ve found even more interesting places to rub if he felt she’d believe paint could’ve reached there.

  “My family did have cats, so I’ll clue you in on a cat fact. Cats get even. Deimos won’t forget that you dunked him in the water, and when you least expect it he’ll . . . well, just watch your back, Maguire.” There was a hint of gleeful satisfaction in her voice.

  “Deimos?” He laughed as he turned toward her. “What kind of cat name is Deimos?”

  The cat hissed at him, but he ignored Deimos as he looked at Mandy’s shoes. Great. Just great. Her shoes were spattered with Dynamic-Red, too. At least the color matched the temper he saw simmering in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry about your dress. Make sure I get the cleaning bill.” He sensed she felt he hadn’t offered nearly enough compensation. Maybe he should offer his head. Not a good idea. She might take him up on it. “Let’s go into the castle. I can at least clean up your shoes.”

  Her narrowed gaze said that Deimos wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t forget this. “Fine. But I don’t have time to change. How will I explain this to Mr. Holgarth?” She gestured at her paint-spattered dress.

  A polite cough drew their attention to the drawbridge and the man standing there.

  “You will simply explain that you always sweat blood for your employer. An admirable employee trait, I’m sure.” The man strode to them and offered his hand to an openmouthed Mandy. “I’m Holgarth, and you are Ms. Harcourt, I assume.”

  “Yes, I’m—”

  “You’re late, Ms. Harcourt. I do insist on punctuality. So if you must play in the water, please refrain from doing it on company time. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go inside where it’s cooler.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked toward the castle.

  From where Con stood, it seemed like Mandy’s eyes took up half her face as she turned to look at him.

  “Tell me he’s not dressed like a wizard.”

  CHAPTER ♦ TWO

  “A wizard with a law degree? Scary concept. What does he do if a jury doesn’t buy his closing argument?” Amanda stared at Holgarth’s back as he led them across the outer courtyard. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” She paused as Holgarth approached the massive castle doors. Con and Deimos stopped beside her.

  Amanda would keep concentrating on Holgarth. She would not think about Con’s explanation for what he’d done ten years ago. The past had to stay in the past.

  Con pulled his black T-shirt over his head, covering that yummy chest. “He’s a lawyer. He’s a wizard. He multitasks. What’s the big deal? Oh, and your jury question? I think we’re talking a sudden jump in the frog population.”

  She looked to see if Con was laughing. He wasn’t. “You’re kidding, right?” Amanda glanced down at the cat who looked back at her with a contemptuous unblinking stare. “And what’s with you, cat? Why’re you still here?” Deimos didn’t deign to answer.

  Con moved closer, touching her with heat and his remembered scent. Oooh yes, it was all coming back to her now, along with the wonder of his black rose. Taking a deep breath, she moved away from him. She didn’t need to be anywhere near the sexual force field he created so easily.

 
“Holgarth was wearing that blue robe and pointed hat the first time I met him. He said he was a wizard, and as long as he keeps paying me, he can be the tooth fairy for all I care. Hey, I’m open to all kinds of possibilities.” Con speared her with an intent stare. “See, we have something in common. We both agree it’s all about the money. But as far as possibilities go, you need to be way more flexible.”

  Amanda shrugged away a momentary twinge of guilt. She’d sort of lied about the money thing. If she were really honest with herself, she’d admit it was about acceptance. Everything in her life had been about acceptance. And coming back to her hometown to do a high profile job like this was the ultimate feel-good moment. She’d never admit that to anyone. Most of the time she didn’t even admit it to herself.

  “I’m not inflexible. I’m just focused on my goals. And wizards don’t fit into my career planning.” She narrowed her gaze on Holgarth, the walking stereotype. Sheesh, he even had glittery suns, moons, and stars on his tall conical hat. Amanda blinked as he pulled what looked like a wand from beneath the folds of his robe. “Is that a wand or a new kind of mosquito whacker?”

  Con didn’t have a chance to answer. Holgarth raised his wand and a crack of thunder shattered the perfectly sunny day. The castle doors swung open and Holgarth swept inside with a majestic swish of his robes. He didn’t glance behind him to see if they followed.

  Amanda did some mental eye-rolls. Give me a break. So the castle had a few neat special effects. Once inside, she turned in a slow circle, trying not to be impressed by what she assumed was the great hall. The vaulted ceiling, the huge fireplace, the raised platform for the lord’s table. Yes, the room had lots of potential. And thank the gods of good taste, there was no red, lime green, or neon orange anywhere in the room. Just pristine white walls. It was Con-free for the moment, and she intended to keep it that way.

  “I didn’t need the wand, you know,” Holgarth said.

  “What?” She turned to look at him.

  “I do so enjoy a dramatic moment, but I really didn’t need a wand to create the thunder or open the doors.” He slowly stroked his long pointed beard while he watched her.

  She’d just bet he practiced long and hard on his piercing stare. So many little kids to scare, so little time. Thin, short, and gray-haired, with lips that looked like they were perpetually pursed, Holgarth needed an Extreme Makeover to capture the now wizardy look.

  Con joined her. “Look, Holgarth, Mandy and I have to know the rules. I don’t think we share the same vision for this place. Who’s in charge of what? And why can’t we talk to the owner?”

  Holgarth looked down his long nose at both of them. This must be his you-are-dirt-beneath-my-platform-shoes stare. Amanda waited expectantly for his eyes to cross.

  “The owner wishes to remain anonymous. He, she, or possibly it has put me in charge of seeing that the readying of the castle runs smoothly.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I can’t be bothered with minor details. Work things out between you.” Once again, he glanced at his watch. “I’m interviewing candidates to manage the castle. The owner wants three of them—heaven knows why—and insists they be ‘more than men.’ Do you know how hard it is to get any good help nowadays let alone find ones who are ‘more than men?’ ”

  He offered a long-suffering sigh. “But I live to serve, so I’ll start interviewing. Oh, I have the key to your room. I’m so glad you chose to stay in the castle.” He searched beneath the folds of his robe.

  Was he for real? Amanda hoped not. “What choice do I have? You wrote it into the contract.”

  “A dedicated employee would always choose to be on call. Southeast tower, fourth floor. It’s the Sleeping Princess room. I’ll have someone get your luggage from your car and bring it up to you. The owner intends to rename all the rooms, but for now we must suffer. If you wish to purchase anything, Ms. Harcourt, you may charge it to the park.” He handed her a large old-fashioned-looking key. That would keep the bad guys out. Not.

  Turning his back on them, he hurried away leaving Amanda with her mouth open ready to ask the first of her, oh say, five hundred questions.

  Disbelieving, she turned to Con. “I don’t get it. Do you get it?” Amanda didn’t give him a chance to answer. “How can this work? We don’t even have the same tastes. In anything.” Well, maybe in one thing, but sexual compatibility wouldn’t help them agree on wall colors. She threw him a baleful glare. “I’m not even sure you have any taste. What kind of owner sits back and lets the employees engage in open warfare?”

  “One with a sense of humor?” The beginning of a smile tipped up the corners of his expressive mouth. “By the way, do you have any idea why our mysterious owner chose you for the job?” Laying his arm across her shoulders, he guided her toward a door on the other side of the room. “I assumed the owner chose me because the Maguires have a reputable name in Galveston.”

  Amanda’s breath escaped her in a small hiss at the unexpected touch of his arm. It had to be escaping steam, because she was definitely boiling on several levels. First off, she couldn’t use her decorating skills if a man who was in love with lime green was constantly undermining her.

  Secondly, Con was still summer heat lightning and distant thunder on her sensual horizon. If she spent too much time with him, she might be flattened by the storm. The collateral damage could be ugly. It would be hard to ignore the erotic connection she’d always felt when he was near. And here she’d thought she would outgrow Conleth Maguire. Silly her.

  She needed her anger. It was her shield. With it she could do her job and return to New York untouched. He’d dented her shield a little with his explanation of what happened ten years ago. But she could get mad again. He was attempting to interfere with her job. Yes, Conleth Maguire was the one man she couldn’t hook up with again. So she’d just stay mad at him.

  “When Holgarth contacted my office in New York, he said my work had impressed the owner, and I had Galveston roots. He was big on the Galveston roots. Holgarth sweetened the pot by offering me an obscene amount to take the job and promising my work would be promoted in the national media. I’m still building my reputation, and I need all the exposure I can get.” She tried to unobtrusively slip from under Con’s arm, but it was a no-go. The weight and heat of him remained Super-Glued to her shoulders, a small reminder of the weight and heat of other parts of him. He’d be surprised to know how much she did remember about his body.

  Con opened the door and led her to an elevator. “The castle has the prerequisite narrow winding stone steps, but I didn’t think you wanted to experience all that authenticity right now.” He waited for her to enter the elevator and then hit the button for the top floor of the tower.

  When the elevator doors slid open, she burst out ahead of him and exhaled the breath she’d been holding all the way up. It was tough not to breathe for three hours. At least that’s how long the ride had seemed crowded into a tiny space with Con and his army of sensual weapons. His pheromone attack had failed because she’d stopped breathing, but sexual awareness had squeezed her into a corner while superheated memories attacked her in waves.

  Each floor of the castle’s towers only had two rooms. Not much of a choice on this floor, Sleeping Princess or Brave Prince. Ugh. She was going to earn her money whipping this place into shape. Unlocking the Sleeping Princess door, she pushed it open and stepped inside. Behind her, she sensed Con waiting for her reaction.

  She didn’t disappoint. “Ack!” Bright pulsating pink and bleached-bones white. No wonder the princesses who stayed here slept so much.

  Con moved over to the white canopy bed with the gauzy pink hangings. “The two rooms on this floor are the only ones left from the castle’s previous incarnation. The owner hired Dad to do the renovations, and he’s gutted all of the other rooms.”

  “I want to marry your dad.” Weary, she looked for a chair. No chair. No way would she sit on the bed while Galveston’s sexual magnet was looming over it. All he’d ha
ve to do is lean close enough to draw her into his magnetic field and she’d be stuck to his delicious body for the rest of the night.

  Besides, sitting on a bed with Con in the room would invite memories—his powerful body, bare and poised above her, her cries of . . . nope, didn’t want to think of that. She sat down instead on the fuzzy white carpet. Slipping off her sandals, she stretched her legs out in front of her, wiggled her toes, and leaned back against the pink-striped wall.

  Turning her head, she came face-to-face with Deimos’s interested stare. “Where’d he come from?”

  “He must’ve run up the stairs and slipped in when you opened the door.” Con picked up her shoes and headed for what she assumed was the bathroom. He was silent for a moment, and all she heard was water running into the sink.

  “Have you noticed anything strange about Deimos?” he asked from the bathroom.

  She glanced into the cat’s yellow eyes. Nope, no demon lights there. “Seems like just a cat to me. Okay, a clumsy cat and maybe a little obsessed with human companionship, but nothing else out of the ordinary. Why?”

  “No reason.” His tone said there was a reason, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it. “What’re your plans for the castle?”

  “I want the place to have mellow old-world charm. Light-colored walls, dark wood furniture, and jewel-toned accessories. And of course authentic. It has to look authentic. I’ll need some ancient-looking weaponry and tapestries with a medieval flavor to enhance the authentic feel.” She narrowed her gaze on a white table where a sadly limp plant sat in a pale beam of sunlight. The table was pushed against the wall under an arrow slit that passed for a window. Poor droopy plant. It was a tiny island of green floating in a vast sea of putrid pink.

  “I don’t know about the walls.” He came out of the bathroom holding her now clean sandals. “This is the Castle of Dark Dreams. Remember? I’m thinking dark walls, gargoyles, fetid dungeons, maybe even a murder hole. One of the castle guardians can stand on the battlements and pour boiling oil down on guests who try to sneak off without paying their bills.”