Chapter Nineteen
Hayden
Chronic stress and dehydration. According to the doctor, that was the cause of Darcy’s kidney stone. Thankfully, he passed it due to the apple cider vinegar and ample amounts of water the nurses (and I) kept forcing down his throat.
Eight hours and countless awkward bathroom situations later, we sit on opposite sides of a private jet and refuse to acknowledge each other’s existence.
After the first show in the hospital bathroom, I can never look at Darcy Marshall the same.
I would say it was highly unpleasant, seeing him so sickly.
But the reality? The man is fine wine. An eleven-year difference between the two of us doesn’t amount to much when he has a body that looks like it stepped out of a fitness magazine.
He’s lean but has muscles in all the right places.
And he can rock a hospital gown like it’s nobody’s business.
And that backside of his. Mm. Good heavens. Lord, have mercy!
“Gah, Hayden. Shut up. Quit lusting after your husband,” I chastise myself under my breath. I would lust away if he was truly mine, but this whole marriage is a sham, regardless of what the law says.
I sneak a peek at him across the aisle. When I see he is safely gazing out the window, I allow myself to fully turn my head in his direction.
He’s back in a suit—a lighter navy blue that complements his complexion well—with his blond hair gelled back in a way that screams, “Run your hands through me.” I mean, we are married.
I could simply flip a switch in my brain and act on my intrusive wifely impulses.
I could make us real. Two months is long enough, right?
No. “He’s annoying. He’s rude. He’s dirty words you shouldn’t say.
He’s prickly. He’s incorrigible. He’s your opposite.
He’s sour and vexing,” I whisper, listing all the reasons I can’t continue to entertain the thought of Darcy as mine.
We would never work on an emotional level together, and that’s why this marriage has to stay strictly platonic even if I think we'd make beautiful children together.
Whoa. Never thought I’d string those two words together in a sentence.
I guess it’s okay to think of my strictly platonic husband as hot, right?
But I’d be lying to myself if I said I hadn’t fully noticed lovely, hidden qualities that almost outweigh his broodiness.
Qualities I once took for granted, but as his housemate, I finally see the full picture.
Like how he genuinely cares about his constituents.
He isn’t another politician out to manipulate the masses.
Or how he works into the wee hours to make sure he is pulling his weight for the team.
He never leaves us hanging or stuck with an unmanageable amount of work.
And who could forget to mention the fact that he spends his free time with orphans?
I was an orphan. I understand the significance of that weekly Wednesday hangout and just how much those kids love him for it.
“Mr. Marshall, can I get you a drink?” a flight attendant asks. Darcy turns to face her but instead catches me gawking at him. Raising my chin and pasting a smile on my face, I refuse to look away. My face may be burning hot right now, but thankfully, the plane is on the darker side.
Like my hormonal settings at the moment. Dark mode.
“Will you bring two glasses of red?” he asks her, still not taking his eyes off me. My intuition beckons me to turn away, to duck under the plane seat and disappear. The look in his eyes is no-good.
He’s up to no good.
I’m thinking no-good thoughts.
Abort mission.
I look away.
“You shouldn’t drink wine after a kidney stone and grueling hospital visit,” I say, gazing out of the plane window into the dark abyss of the night sky. Seconds pass before he responds.
“Or maybe I should reward myself for making it through.”
Shudders ripple through my body, originating at the nape of my neck where his breath touches my skin. My soul screams at me to lean back and into him. No, that’s probably just the flesh talking.
“Uh… Darcy?” I take a deep breath to settle my flesh and resist turning my head to face the phantom in the dark who suddenly appeared next to me. “Why did you move?”
He reaches around my body and clasps my hand with his. The heat of his breath tickles my neck again. “Wouldn’t a newlywed couple sit together on a plane?”
I try to yank my hand away, but his grip is firm, a cage around my fingers. “Maybe a real one,” I whisper through a shaky breath. He still doesn’t budge.
“The flight attendants are unaware it’s not real.”
“Sitting next to me doesn’t indicate anything other than you’re a clingy husband.
” I try—it’s a grand endeavor—to maintain a steady, sure voice.
But somehow the word “husband” rolls off my tongue with a sigh that sounds loaded with longing.
Maybe I should take talking off the schedule for the duration of this flight.
Darcy’s hand tightens around mine. “I also would like to further know your thoughts about me. So far, I’ve learned I am incorrigible, rude, sour, vexing, and dirty words that that mouth of yours is too good to speak.”
I’m stone cold, but his breath is still hot against my neck. Too hot. If only he knew I repeated the negative trait mantra to restrain my mind from dwelling too long on all his wonderful qualities. Ones that I’ve grown to admire.
“Your wine, sir,” the flight attendant graciously interrupts. Darcy releases my hand and leans away from me. I want to move, but I’m still frozen solid. How did he hear me? I don’t talk that loud, do I?
“Turn around, Hayden.”
I feel like the Tin Man, like I need to oil every joint to make them cooperate and move.
Darcy releases a long and dramatic sigh and holds a glass of wine over my shoulder. “We are going to talk. I’ll wait in this plane all night if I have to.”
What is with him? He’s being his usual direct and demanding self, but it’s giving… sexy demanding. Hot directness. Flirting with fire and preparing to go up in flames.
I take the glass and sip it, hoping it will give me an ounce of courage to face him. The wine burns going down my throat, and I realize I’m halfway finished with the glass by the time I’m ready.
Inch by inch, I turn until I am face to face with him. Darcy’s eyes smolder; his lips twitch as if on the precipice of an amused grin.
“Finally.” He clinks his full glass to mine. “You know, you really shouldn’t be speaking about your husband that way in public. Someone could overhear.”
I cast my gaze away, feeling ashamed of what I said. “I really am sorry.”
“I’m not that easily offended.” He snorts, and it signifies to my body that it can officially loosen up. “You may be right with one or two of your observations.”
“That still doesn’t warrant a vocalization of them.”
He nods, contemplative. “Maybe put your frustrations in a journal next time?”
My hand flies to my mouth to cover a hiccup. “Already have one.” I wonder what he would think of it? It’s currently a hodgepodge of hating him and respecting him all at the same time.
Hiccup.
“You don’t drink much wine, do you?”
“No,” I confess. “My choice of beverage on the occasion I do drink is an Old Fashioned.”
“Hmm.” He taps his fingers on his thigh. I shift my eyes back to his face. “I never would have pegged you as an Old Fashioned woman.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me.”
Hiccup.
I slap my hand over my mouth again for two reasons. The obvious reason is because of the hiccupping. Not attractive. Reason number two is so that I don’t speak more unintentionally flirty words.
“You’re right. There are many things I still need to learn about you.” With that, he hands his still full glass of wine back to the flight attendant.
“Was there a problem with your drink, sir?”
He stares at me as he speaks to her. “No, I realized my wife was right. It’s probably best not to drink right now.”
I choke on my last sip of wine and hand the empty glass to the attendant.
“Would you like another glass?”
I wave my hand. “No, I’m good. Thank you. Maybe some water.”
She nods and disappears.
Silence stretches between us as the distance closes between us. I’m not sure who’s leaning in more, but I know it’s a team effort.
Just like everything between me and Darcy.
Because we are a team.
He’s inches from my face, and I let my eyelids wrap me in darkness, preparing to experience his kiss for the first time with every sense but sight. We are wrapped in the dim glow of the plane light while the night sky zips by us through the windows. Cozy. Soft. Inviting.
“Hayden.” My name is rumbly on his lips as his mint breath caresses my face.
“Darcy.” His name is a plea on my lips. I don’t know if it’s me or the wine taking charge, but…
No. I do know.
It’s me.
Just with the confidence of wine.
Because if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve wanted this to happen for a while.
With every demand rolling off his tongue, every snarky remark on my end, and every unmasked moment between the two of us, I’ve fallen for Darcy Marshall.
“What are we doing?” His fingers find the small of my back, and I arch into his shaky touch.
“Nothing right now,” I whisper against his ear, intentionally blowing softly before taking his lobe between my teeth. He gasps and his body stiffens. “But we are about to be kissing.”
His fingers splay across my back, pulling my body into his as if he is gluing us together. The kind of glue that requires high amounts of pressing to stay combined.
I let out a noise I’m not proud of when his lips press against my neck, blazing a trail up the side, across my collarbone, and landing at the corner of my lips.
“I’ve wondered what you taste like since the paintball game,” he murmurs, hovering over my mouth.
Probably like wine right now, I think, but my thoughts are too scattered to form words. Not from the alcohol but from my husband.
I make another whimpered noise, begging him to put me out of my misery. I want to taste him, too.
A throat clears. “Your water, Mrs. Marshall.”
I expect Darcy to jump like a skittish cat.
He doesn’t. While we both open our eyes, molten lava pours from his gaze as I look over his shoulder at the flight attendant, preparing to take the water from her to be polite.
But Darcy moves his hand from my back to the back of my neck, gently tugging my hair down and angling my face to the perfect kissing position. I snap my eyes back to his as he says, “Come back later, please.” His voice is husky and hungry and hot. The sound of the women's heels fade.
And then Darcy drags my lips to his in a kiss that should be banned in all one-hundred and ninety-five recognized countries. His soft lips are explorative as he controls the kiss, coaxing my mouth to fall into tune with his. He tugs at my hair again, eliciting a moan from the depths of my soul.
He growls in return, and I didn’t realize men actually did that sort of thing. The passion pouring out of Darcy as our lips dance opens a well of feelings within me, and I match him stride for stride.
I admire this man. Respect him. Trust him. Cherish him. I—
The L-word is on the brink of my thoughts, but I’m not ready to jump off that edge just yet. Not even as he slows the kiss and wraps both arms around me as if I’m his lifeline of safety out in the ocean of wild waters.
I really, really like him.
The taste of salt registers in my senses, and we both part for air.
Is he crying?
Lifting my good hand, I cup his cheek and wipe at the water running down his cheek. His hand mimics mine just as he asks, “Why are you crying, Hayden?”
I touch my face, realizing it’s damp with liquid. “You’re crying, too.”
This should be funny, a hitched-for-convenience husband and wife crying as they share their first real kiss, not the quick pecks in front of a camera. But nothing is funny about this moment.
It’s real and raw.
It’s two souls connecting.
“I like you, Divine Princess.” Darcy uses the nickname with utmost reverence, taking me by surprise. “I don’t know what these feelings mean, but, I know I like you. And I’d like to date you.”