Page 64 of Charmed

She whirled on him, pinning him to his chair by his shoulders and shoving her face in his. "I'm a gifted witch with immense powers. I understand you're worried, so I'm going to ignore your little tirade because I know you know I can handle myself. But so help me, you're walking a very fine line and I'm reaching my limit. You do not want to piss me off."

Despite the rampant fear for her and the idiocy of the plan, and the rage inside him threatening to break its cage, he got turned-on. Fire blazed in her turquoise eyes and defiance curled her plush lips. By God, there was nothing sexier than her riled up. He had to fight the urge to drag her upstairs by her hair to his proverbial cave like a Neanderthal.

"We need to talk." He filled his lungs, but calm was too far out of reach.

"No. You need a nap and I need distance from you." She went to pull away, but he grabbed her wrists and held her firm.

"This isn't up for debate. We're going to talk, babe. About last night, the task, and everything in between."

"Why? Because you backed me into a corner and I refused to heel? You tried that once today and it didn't work. Forfeit the loss. When and if I decide to have that conversation, it'll be on my terms." She yanked from his hold. "Let's go, Ceara."

He shot to his feet. "Fiona—"

She flicked her fingers over her shoulder, and wind blasted him back into his seat without her bothering to turn around.

Seething, he watched her leave and gripped the chair arms with enough force that his knuckles popped. Next time he got his hands on her, he was going to throttle her, screw her brains out, and... Well, and he couldn't think beyond those two scenarios. They'd have to do.

In the engulfing silence, he could feel the others looking at him, but he stayed put, staring at the space Fiona had vacated. Mad at her. Concerned for her. And, damn it, missing her.

"I'll, um, set the table." Kaida rose and moved to the china cabinet.

Brady scooted his chair back. "I'll help."

"I guess that leaves me with making finger sandwiches and Bloody Marys." Tristan shook his head. "Nice going, man."

A hearty sigh, and Riley dug his fingers into his eye sockets. Eventually, when the tension released its choke-hold, he stood and paced. He glanced around, truly taking in the details of the room for the first time in ages.

The space was still as ostentatious as when he'd been a boy. Walnut wainscot paneling made the dim interior moody except for the elaborate chandelier over the ten-seater Palais Royale and the bay window facing the eastern side of the grounds. Monet on the walls and Baroque silverware. Even the French Rocco-style table with its carved cabriole legs and leaf swirl motif were ridiculous. The whole room belonged in a castle, not a house.

They used to dread coming in here as children. Meals were fraught with strain and he walked on eggshells just by picking up a fork. Uncle Greg had expected silence while eating. Afterward, he’d stretch out his time drinking cognac in order to berate Riley and his brothers for whatever they’d done to screw up.

Distracted, he watched Kaida set the table with their Copenhagen china pattern. It was frilly and too dainty for a princess’s tea party. Why the hell they used the crap was beyond him.

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. The extravagance, the wealth, their childhood. He was sick to death of being told his place, of being scared of stepping out of line. He picked up a plate and threw it against the wall, making sure it cleared Kaida. The delicate porcelain shattered and fell to the floor in pieces.

Yep. That felt as good as he figured it would.

She froze, eyes wide. "Um..."

He picked up another and threw that one, too.

"Christ, Riley." Brady dropped his hands on his hips. "That's a ten-thousand dollar set of dishes."

"Not anymore. And do you really care?"

Tristan rushed into the room, glancing everywhere at once. After a beat, he must've figured out what was going on because two brows knitted into one and his mouth flatlined in disapproval.

"I didn't like the pattern." Riley shrugged and, without looking in any particular direction, tossed yet another plate over his shoulder. Glass exploded in several directions. "That is very therapeutic."

"Uh-huh," Brady muttered. "Meditation's therapeutic, too. How about you try that?"

"Tell me you don't look at this and recall eating every meal in terror." Riley grabbed a serving platter. "Belittled, scorned, manipulated. Told we weren't good enough, would never amount to anything. Scared out of our minds we'd be beaten for the smallest infraction. Tell me you don't remember any of that, and I'll stop."

Neither brother responded.

Kaida, however, took the platter from him. She raised it high overhead and, with gumption, heaved it. It crashed against the far wall. "I wasn't there when you were young, but the memory of Brady telling me about his childhood will live with me forever. That's for him." She reached for the teapot. It sailed through the air and landed in shards.

"Atta girl." Riley strode to the cabinet and held up a dessert plate. "This is for the B in Sophomore Algebra instead of an A." Smash. He replenished the plate with another. "Third place in the Senior swim meet." Smash. "Crying when Dad died." Smash. "Daring to pause when asked a rhetorical question." Smash. "Blinking too loudly." Smash.

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