4
“HE’S GORGEOUS,” BELLA said, holding a tissue over her face.
“I can’t believe you lost the tickets!” Darcy was on her hands and knees, searching under Bella’s bed.
“Will you forget it? I’ve done that.” Bella blew her nose hard and flopped on the bed. “Come on. Take pity on a dying woman. Tell me what’s going on.”
Darcy scowled. “Nothing’s going on. Except that I kissed him. And he kissed me back.” She made a face.
“And—”
“And it was amazing.”
Bella’s brows lifted. “Either I’m sicker than I thought, or I’ve forgotten what the after-effects of an amazing kiss look like. Because honey, I’m not seeing the excitement.”
“He blew me off,” Darcy said, her throat thick. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry.
“Oh, sweetie. That’s horrible. After all this time, and when your dream finally comes true—”
“Please. Don’t rub it in.”
“Did he say why?”
“That’s the really horrible part. He said it was because of Cam.”
“Cam?”
“Because he’s my brother’s best friend.”
“That’s it?” Bella asked.
Darcy shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
Bella hugged a pillow to her chest, her expression thoughtful.
“Do you believe him? Or do you think that was just an excuse because he doesn’t feel the same way you do?”
Her wounded pride made her want to say yes. But the memory of that kiss made her speak honestly. “No,” she said. “I think he wants me, too. I can’t believe he’s stepping back because of my big brother—it’s not like we’re in junior high any more. But what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Force the issue,” Bella said, her grin wicked.
“What? Say I don’t believe him about Cam?”
“You could,” Bella said. “Or you could just play on the fact that he’s a man. Push until he falls, and make sure there’s a mattress when he hits the ground.”
“I’M SORRY ABOUT YOUR PLAY,” Evan said as they maneuvered down the stairs. Darcy and Bella had spent a good half-hour tearing the apartment apart with no luck. “We could call around—maybe we could find a few seats for tonight.”
She looked at him, her smile so sweet that he wanted to pull her close and hold her. “It’s okay. The show’s completely sold out. Besides,” she added with a smile, “now I’ve got you for the whole evening.” She took a step closer to him, making the air sizzle and his self-control falter. “Maybe you could buy me a drink later?”
“Be happy to,” he said. “What do you want to do now? Shopping? That was your original plan, right?” He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of traipsing through Bloomingdales, but if that’s what she wanted, he’d survive.
She tilted her head to the side, her finger pressed to her lower lip as she looked him up and down, her scan slow and deliberate. And although it was probably his imagination, he had the distinct feeling that her gaze halted—ever so briefly—at his crotch.
Whether true or not, his crotch preened under the attention, and he shifted, turning away from her and continuing down the stairs so that she wouldn’t notice the way his body had decided to stand up and salute.
“Not shopping,” she said, when they’d reached the foyer. “You have the look of a guy who’d rather eat nails than poke through sale racks.”
“But if you want—”
“There’s something I want to do more,” she said, the tone of her voice making him swallow.
“Darcy…” He could barely speak through the lump in his throat, and his entire body was firing simply from the casual way she moved close to him. The tip of her nose was red, and he remembered with a sudden pang that that was the way she blushed. Not her cheeks. Her nose—and right then he wanted nothing more than to reach out and kiss it.
He forced himself not to close his eyes.
He forced himself not to groan.
He forced himself to look straight at her and pretend that he didn’t want to reach out, grab her and pull her close to him.
“Don’t you want to know what?” she asked.
“Huh?”
The corner of her mouth curled up, and he had the impression she was being deliberately seductive. God help him.
“What I would rather do,” she clarified. “The thing I want to do more than shop.”
“I…um…no. I think maybe I don’t want to know.”
“I think you do,” she said, and before he could even draw a breath, she’d grabbed onto the front of his shirt and pulled herself toward him. Her lips pressed over his, and she kissed him, long and hard and thoroughly, and even though he knew better—even though he didn’t want to be just Evan-the-Hero to her—his body, his damnable male body, sprang to attention and got with the program. Because this was Darcy, and this was what he’d wanted for so very long. Was he really so stupid or principled or whatever, that he was going to push her away?