Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
It was dark when Elizabeth awoke to the sound of her buzzing phone.
Her eyes adjusted gradually to the dim light edging in from the kitchen and the low flames in the fireplace.
Her phone buzzed again. Jane! She pulled it from under the blanket and looked at the screen.
The first message, now two hours old, read: “Car died. Waiting for the tow truck. Don’t wait up.
” The newest one was simple: “We’re at a motel. Home first thing in the a.m. XO”
What happened? Elizabeth sat up on the sofa and, feeling a twinge in her leg, slid back down among the cushions.
She sensed she wasn’t alone and looked around.
Darcy’s dog was curled up in front of the fireplace, so she knew he must be close by.
She looked down and found him next to her, asleep on the floor, glasses on his nose, and a Kindle sitting atop his chest. The reader rose and fell as he took deep breaths.
Elizabeth rolled onto her side, reached over, and gently took the Kindle.
She peered closely at his face. It was different: softer than before, framed by messy hair and tortoiseshell.
She thought she should remove the glasses in case he rolled over.
As she leaned down, her fingers brushed his forehead.
Darcy’s eyes blinked open and, slowly adapting to the dim light, settled on her.
“Hi.”
“Hi. You fell asleep reading.”
“Did I?”
“You and Princess Coconut kept me company. I think I fell asleep while we were talking or something.”
He pulled off his glasses and nodded. “Or something.”
Elizabeth blushed. “I kissed you, didn’t I?”
He nodded again and sat up, turning to face her.
“Sorry. Vicodin makes me a bit loose.”
“It’s fine. You were funny. I didn’t mind.”
“No?” I was funny? Cripes.
“No.”
“Well, the show goes on. The Vicodin lasts eight hours, and I took it about four hours ago.”
“You read the chemists’ labels.” He gave her a crooked smile.
“I speak from experience. So,” she said softly and slightly mortified, “did I fall asleep right after I kissed you?”
“More or less.”
“I’m an idiot,” she murmured.
“What do you mean? I didn’t take it personally. It was nice.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “You don’t say.” She leaned in and gently pressed her lips to his.
He moaned and lifted his hand to cup her cheek.
His lips were firm and slightly chapped, but softened under her gentle probing. Elizabeth’s hand drifted to his neck, and she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. She tentatively ran her tongue across his lips and into his mouth.
Darcy groaned, but suddenly pulled away, grasping her shoulder.
“Are you sure?” he asked, panting. “Your leg?” She nodded and ran her hand down his arm, tugging him onto the sofa.
“Jane and Charles aren’t coming back tonight,” she murmured.
She wiggled aside and pulled back the covers, making room for him
“What? Why?” Darcy lay down on his side, his legs carefully avoiding hers, and sank into her with another deep kiss.
Elizabeth shifted, sliding her hands up under his sweater through the fine hair on his chest. He sighed and fell on top of her, ravaging her with his mouth.
“Why are you always in black? I want to see your skin,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. She succeeded in pulling up Darcy’s sweater, trapping his arms. He sat up on his knees and yanked it over his head, then hesitated.
“Where exactly are Jane and Charles?”
“It’s raining. Car trouble. Cute motel.”
Darcy nodded and tossed his sweater onto a chair. He pulled her up, lifting her sweater and T-shirt over her head. Elizabeth didn’t make it easy; she kept her hands busy on his chest, eliciting a moan and a deep hard kiss from him.
His whiskers scraped her cheeks. He gently cupped her breast through her sports bra and started pushing down a strap. When the elastic proved resistant, he paused and stared at it, looking bewildered.
Elizabeth unsnapped the concealed front clasp. As the sides fell away, his eyes were drawn to her breasts. He cupped one in his hand and rolled his thumb across its swell. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful…” She reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth down to hers.
He kissed her back and rolled her to her side. “Your leg?” he mumbled.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.”
His lips teased hers apart, and she again felt the tip of his tongue on hers as their mouths created their own rhythm.
Elizabeth ran one hand through his hair; the other glided across his shoulder blade and traveled lower until she felt more than skin and muscle.
There were welts and scar tissue. He slowly raised himself up to look at her.
“Are you okay? What happened?” she asked.
Darcy just stared at her, breathing heavily.
“You have scars too?”
“The accident,” he mumbled. His eyes were wary.
Elizabeth paused, trying to remember what he’d said earlier about an accident, but her head was a little fuzzy.
“Were you there too?”
He looked at her, his face a mixture of lust and confusion. “Please…not now,” he said roughly, drawing closer and dropping kisses on her neck.
“Oh God…” she moaned, pulling him closer. She opened her eyes and, in the dim light, caught sight of his shoulder. Thick scars, some bearing stitch markings, crisscrossed it. His left arm also bore faded marks. Don’t think…
She ran her hand down his chest and reached between them to stroke the hard swelling there. He moaned and suddenly froze. “Uh…no, wait…” he whispered.
She couldn’t. She started fumbling with his zipper.
“Wait, wait. I don’t have any protection.”
“I’m on the pill; it’s fine.”
“No,” he said firmly. “It’s not.” Darcy pulled back and rolled away from her. “Oh God,” he sighed shakily. “This is wrong. We can’t do this.”
What! Elizabeth sat up, stunned and embarrassed, and pulled a pillow over herself to hide her chest. “No,” she said, “bad idea. Big mistake.”
“No…it could be, though.” Darcy sat up, put his head in his hands, and sighed.
He didn’t appear to notice Elizabeth’s anxiety but saw her looking around for her sweater.
He picked it up from the floor, handed it to her, and pulled on his own.
He said nothing but suddenly wrinkled his nose and jumped up. “Dammit.”
He ran off to the kitchen, and Elizabeth could hear the clatter of drawers being flung open and the oven door being slammed. She stood gingerly, adjusted her clothing, and began picking up pillows and cushions. A minute later, Darcy returned.
“The lasagna’s baked hard as a rock but at least we didn’t burn down the house. Good thing I set it to auto-timed cook.” He glanced around the room before looking at her.
“Good catch. They say timing is everything.”
“Elizabeth—”
“Better clean this all up.” She briskly gathered the cashmere throws and blankets from the floor and sofa and began folding them as he watched.
“Are you all right? How is your leg?”
“Better. Thanks for helping me. I appreciate it.” She stacked the blankets and leaned over to pick up her boots. “I’m heading to bed. Can you get the rest of it?” She gestured at the water-filled plastic bag, dishes, and glasses.
Darcy nodded. “Do you need help getting there?”
“No, thanks. I feel about ninety-percent better.”
“Are you sure? We should, um, talk—”
“Nope,” she said crisply. “You were smart for both of us.”
“I wasn’t trying to be smart, but—” Darcy’s words faltered as he watched her slowly walk out of the room, waiting to see whether she was limping.
He fell onto the sofa and leaned his head back.
His head was a muddle. Smart? He’d been a gentleman, hadn’t he?
He hadn’t surrendered to his basest impulses.
She’d taken a prescription painkiller. He’d poured her wine.
She was woozy; he couldn’t take advantage of her.
At least, not any more advantage than he already had.
He scowled. Besides, she had a boyfriend, and he had no condoms. She’d regret it in the morning.
It would have been fine—fantastic—under better circumstances.
He was sure of it. But what of her boyfriend?
Even if she was feeling a bit off from the painkillers and wine, how could she come on to him when she had a boyfriend?
Damn. She was so beautiful lying there in the firelight. Teasing him and making him talk. He’d become lightheaded merely talking to her, and that was even before all the blood had pooled in his groin.
He hadn’t wanted a woman so much in months. Years. Maybe ever. Why did he have to start thinking in the middle of everything? Because it was the right thing to do? Because she wasn’t thinking? He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He could still taste her on his lips. Now what?
What was I thinking?
What was I thinking? I let a little wine and a Vicodin go to my head, and I jump him? Him!
Elizabeth looked around the rustic bedroom, and her stomach lurched at the room’s sweet domesticity.
She pulled off her clothes, threw on her flannel pajamas, and brushed her teeth.
The pain in her leg had dulled and was replaced by a throbbing ache of regret and unfulfilled need.
She felt stupid and base, and however polite the man had been about it, he clearly didn’t want what she had offered.