He could kiss her.
Right then, right there, he knew with absolute, utter certainty that he could press his lips to hers, fold her into his arms, and lose himself utterly.
Except he couldn’t.
This was Darcy. The woman of his fantasies, yes, but also his best friend’s little sister.
And maybe that didn’t matter any longer. He was a grown-up, after all, and so was she. But damned if he was going to push himself on her when she was shook up and vulnerable, in his arms only because an idiot taxi driver couldn’t keep his eyes on the road.
And she was vulnerable. He could see it. Hell, she was staring at him with wide eyes that probably wondered what the hell he was doing holding on to her so tight now that the danger had passed.
Danger from the traffic, anyway. The danger from him? That still existed.
He backed away, releasing her, steadying her. “Sorry.”
Her smile was like sunshine. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. And then she lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him.
NEVER, NEVER, NEVER would Darcy have calculated odds that would have her standing on a busy street with her arms around the one man in all the world for whom she’d held a consistent crush. And not just arms. No, there was some serious lip action going. Dreamy action. The kind of action that was making it hard for her to think, and it was when she wasn’t thinking that she got nervous, because that’s who she was—the girl who thought. The girl who calculated. Who examined the options and flowcharted the results.
This time, she’d gone with her gut.
She’d seen his eyes, and for one moment—one freakish, hopeful, wonderful moment—she’d imagined that he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him.
And for the first time in her life she hadn’t thought. She’d simply reacted.
And man, oh man, oh man she was glad she had.
His mouth on hers tasted like ambrosia, minty and male and as hungry for her as she was for him. At first, she’d felt him stiffen, but then he’d softened, his arms going around her, his palms on her rear, pulling her toward him. She ran her fingers through his short, coarse hair, then stifled a moan as he pulled even tighter, the physical evidence that proved he was as much into the kiss as she was hard against her.
They were on a sidewalk surrounded by suits pushing past them, tourists gawking and blue-collar workers sneaking peeks as they hurried, heads down, to their jobs. And yet even though they were so blatantly on display, Darcy’s body was reacting as if they were in a candlelit bedroom. And despite the fact that so far she’d had only coffee, her blood seemed to pump with alcohol, as if she’d spent hours leisurely sipping wine and staring into this man’s eyes.
A curse? No way.
This was her best day yet, and that was an indisputable fact.
He pulled away, his breath hard, his face flushed. “Darcy.”
She smiled.
“You shouldn’t—I mean, we shouldn’t—”
“Are you kidding?” she retorted with a grin. “Of course we should. You saved me, right? Doesn’t that make you the hero and me the damsel in distress?”
She’d spoken lightly, but he stiffened, then took a step back, breaking the contact between them and making her insides go cold. She didn’t know what had just happened, what had changed.
“Evan?”
He smiled, but it looked pasted on. “We should probably catch that cab.”
“Dammit, Evan, what did I say?”
His smile wavered, and he brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. She shivered at the touch, realizing how hopeful it made her. It didn’t matter; he shattered the hopes without delay.
“I just—We shouldn’t.”
“Why?” She wanted to kick herself for pushing, but she didn’t have a choice. It was either stand and argue, or sink into tears on the sidewalk.
No way was she letting him see her cry.
“Why shouldn’t we?” she repeated, forcing herself to look at him, and ignore the passersby who seemed to be there only to witness her utter mortification. And then, despite all her intentions not to lay herself out to be flayed, she heard those horrible words leave her mouth, “I thought you wanted to.”
“I do,” he said quickly. He drew in a breath and looked at her, the sunlight sparking the gold flecks that highlighted his brown irises. The lines of his face tightened as if he was holding something in. Then the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly, but enough to soften his expression.
“Then why not?”
“Cam,” he said, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “You’re his little sister, Darcy.”
He didn’t give her any time to process that smack to the gut. Instead, he turned and started walking down the sidewalk, heading downtown toward Bella’s apartment.