He was leaning across her to buckle the seatbelt when he felt her arms wrap around his back and her face snuggle into his neck. “You’re so warm!”
This was becoming more difficult by the minute. Apparently, a drunken Elizabeth was an affectionate Elizabeth. For a moment, he considered the possibilities: one brief snog. It wouldn’t be like he was groping her breasts or shagging her rotten. It would be just a kiss, probably the only kiss he’d get from her—ever—she already hates me! How much worse could it get than that?
He couldn’t do it. “I’ll turn the heat on,” he replied as he slowly pulled away, savoring every retreating inch of contact and silently cursing the fact that he was a gentleman. Sometimes being a gentleman is the pits.
“Spoil sport,” she muttered as he gently closed the car door.
He stood outside the car for a moment, allowing the cool air and the momentary distance from Elizabeth to clear his mind. By the time he climbed behind the steering wheel, Elizabeth’s eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep.
Grateful for the reprieve, he started the trip back. Everything was quiet but for the hum of the engine. Darcy had convinced himself that the remainder of the drive would be easy, when Elizabeth’s voice cut through the silence. “Not that I’m complaining, because it was really, really, really . . .” She seemed to fumble for the right word.
“Good?” he offered.
“No.”
“Kind?”
“No, no, no.”
“Ridiculous?”
She laughed again. “Yes, it is ridiculous, but that’s not it either. It was really nice of you to pick me up. But why didn’t Chuck or Jane come?”
“They drank too much celebrating. They’re engaged.”
“Oh, yeah. Chuck said something about that when I called. Then he apologized about six times for not calling me right away to let me know. He and Jane are so much alike, never wanting to upset anyone.”
Darcy agreed. “They are always apologizing to each other. Yesterday she was chopping onions and Bingley’s eyes began to water. Jane was horrified that she’d poisoned him while Bingley was doing his best to beg forgiveness for having eyes in the first place.”
Elizabeth laughed. “God, I can’t imagine those two having sex. ‘Jane, darling, I’m sorry. Did I squeeze your nipple too hard?’ ‘Oh, Charles, sweetheart, do forgive me! It appears that in all the excitement, I’ve left dainty, little teeth marks on your bicep.’”
Now they were both laughing, and every time it would begin to quiet down, Elizabeth would do another impression. “‘Dearest, I fear I have drooled into your navel.’ ‘My love, I suspect I’ve pierced your eardrum while screaming your name in ecstasy.’”
Then, to his surprise, Darcy joined in. “Oh, babe, allow me to make it up to you for staining the sheets.”
To his great satisfaction, Elizabeth found his contribution exceptionally funny. He loved her laugh. It was no giddy, girlish giggle, but a deep, full laugh.
“We are awful,” she said when she’d calmed down, “but I suppose for me, it’s because I’m a little jealous.”
“You fancy Bingley?”
“No, no, no! All that apologizing would drive me crazy. When a man makes love, I don’t want him to be sorry. I want him to mean every single thing he does with a ferocity that takes my breath away.”
There was no more laughter, and the temperature inside the car felt like it increased twenty degrees. Darcy knew he would do just that. He’d mark her skin, drown in her body, and rock the entire bed with each thrust until she came. Then he’d shout his orgasm to the rooftops and not care who heard. When they were finally sated, he’d leave her sweaty, body quivering, only to do it all again. And he’d never apologize for it. Never!
His entire body hummed, and his blood pounded in his ears. God, he needed to change the subject before he humiliated himself.
“So, if you’re not jealous over our friend Charles, what are you jealous of?”
“Jane has found the one thing every red-blooded woman wants: someone who makes her feel—every day—like she is the most beautiful, most sexy, most cherished and most appreciated person on the face of the planet. It’s not difficult for Chuck, of course, because Jane is the most beautiful—”
“She is not,” he said.
“Why do you have to be such a cantankerous, contemptible shit? What did Jane ever do to you?”
“She’s not the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Really! Name one, just one, who’s more beautiful, and don’t you dare say Heidi Klum!”
“Screw Heidi Klum. It’s you, damn it! You!”
“Now you’re joking.”
“You look in the mirror every day. You know how beautiful you are.”
“Ha! You said I wasn’t hot enough to waste your time.”
“I was an arse that night. I didn’t take the time to even look at you, but later, when I did . . . And your mind is so bloody quick—even now when you’re drunk.”
“But everyone says Jane . . .”
He recognized that he was too distracted to drive, so he pulled over to the side of the road. Once the car stopped, he faced Elizabeth. “For months, I’ve listened to you, your mother, your aunt, and half of Meryton talk about her ‘boundless beauty.’ Yes, Jane’s a great girl, but they’re wrong. I know you don’t want to hear this from me, but, Elizabeth Bennet, you walk into a room and I am so blown away, I can’t breathe.”
Her eyes were huge, and he suspected he scared her, but he refused to apologize. Instead he faced forward and stared out the window. There, he’d said it. Quite frankly, he was surprised he’d held out that long.
“Well, well, well, well, well!” Elizabeth sounded quite surprised. “Imagine that. You think I’m hot.”
“Of course.”
“Really hot.”
“Obviously.”
“You finally went and did it.”
“Did what?”
“Made me like you.”
He hesitated a moment before responding. “That’s the gin talking.” He then pulled back into traffic.
She had been silent for about five miles; consequently, Darcy was startled when she said, “I don’t believe alcohol makes you say things you don’t feel. It just makes you voice thoughts that a rational mind would tell you are best kept silent.” She was quiet another moment before she laughed. “I’m being ridiculous—telling you that it’s not rational to admit I like you. I sound like you did last week.” In an amusing imitation of his accent, she said, “I’ve tried for months to forget about you. I’ve reminded myself daily of how my family will react to your mother, your youngest sister—”
“I was wrong to say that. I thought to be open and honest—to lay all my cards on the table.”
“Why is it so important for you to point out other people’s shortcomings? I know my mother can be a nightmare. I know Lydia was a disaster waiting to happen long before she spilled company secrets to George Wickham. I know you could have Heidi Klum if you really wanted to. I don’t need you to remind me!”
“Heidi Klum? Now you really are being ridiculous.”
“There! See what I mean? I know I’m being ridiculous. How would you like it if I ticked off everything about you that’s wrong?”
“I thought your list was fairly comprehensive last week. You mean to say there’s more?”
“You bet your excellent ass there is. For one”—she turned in her seat to look at him—“you have the best lips ever born on a man’s face. I can’t look at you without wanting to reach out and trace their outline. I bet they’re soft too. Soft and strong.”
Whoa! Where the hell had that come from?
“And your hair is so shiny.” Elizabeth reached up, apparently to brush a few strands back from his forehead, but instead her fingers first went in his ear, then brushed his cheek before hitting his nose.
“Elizabeth,” he warned. It would be a shame to wreck the car and die a fiery death just when things we
re becoming interesting, so he took her hand and held it on the console between them.
“And don’t get me started on your voice. How is a woman supposed to think when everything that comes out of your mouth sounds so . . . sexy?”
“And these are my faults?”
“Damn straight. It ought to be illegal for any man to be as blessed by Mother Nature as you are. Why couldn’t you have a gimpy leg or big wart on your nose? Your nasty disposition was your only saving grace until you showed up tonight and proved you’re a nice guy after all. You are too perfect. It’s intimidating.”
“Wow.” He was speechless.
“So, I suggest you dispense with the honest criticism and get back to the sincere flattery if you want me to have my wicked way with you tonight.”
Dear Lord, if only! If only he didn’t have principles, he’d take her up on her offer at the next rest stop. Sometimes having principles is bloody inconvenient.
Her hand slipped out from his, found its way to his thigh, and squeezed.
“Holy hell! Do you live at the gym?”
The past six months he’d been attempting to burn off his feelings for Elizabeth with a punishing exercise regimen. He was flattered that she noticed the only success from the effort. “I try to take care of myself.”
“I’d like to take care of you.” Her fingers drew little circles on his thigh. “Every amazing inch of you.”
Good Lord, he was tempted. He could just imagine all the naughty things her fingers could take care of for him. But she was drunk, and he was a decent human being. Sometimes being a decent human being is torture.
He took her hand back to the console. “So, tell me about your date tonight. Anyone I know?”
“Bill Collins.”
“The new reverend?” A picture of the man came to mind. He looked a great deal like Colin Farrell with thinning hair and a paunch. Darcy’s aunt, who lived in a neighboring town, had headed the committee who hired him, and it was clear the man was just her type of minister—far more sheep than shepherd.
“The very same. My mom was so excited when he asked me out that she interrupted our conversation and accepted on my behalf. I didn’t want to go—knew it was a huge mistake.” Elizabeth stretched her hands far apart to demonstrate how huge, nearly blinding Darcy in the process. “But what could I do? I’m a lady. Sometimes being a lady bites ass.”
On this of all nights he could sympathize. “So, did he hit on you?”
“You’re jumping ahead, handsome. Let me tell the story. The man was taking me to dinner so the least I could do was look nice and attempt to get to know him better. Perhaps there was more to him than meets the eye, and I was willing to make the best of the situation. So, I made an effort. If I have to say so myself, I look pretty damn good.”
“You look phenomenal.”
“I’m glad someone else thinks so.”
“I think we’ve already covered my thoughts on how you look—all the time.”
She glanced over at him with those big eyes and smiled. He loved her smile. Even through the alcohol haze, she was stunning. “Thank you. You know, when you want to be, you’re quite the charmer.”
Her hand was wandering again, and Darcy had to swerve to avoid sideswiping an exit sign. “So, your date?”
“When Bill picked me up, he was so worried we would be late for our reservation. I don’t think he noticed how I looked at all. He didn’t open my car door, and when we got to the restaurant he walked in before me and didn’t even bother to hold the door open until I could catch it behind him. It shut in my face. He didn’t pull out my chair, he didn’t offer me something to drink, he didn’t ask what I wanted to eat. I know this is the modern age of equality of the sexes but traditions need to be upheld.”
“He’s a wanker.”
“You’re a quick study, Ace. Now, it took all of five minutes for me to realize that a single glass of cabernet was not going to get me through that dinner without my inflicting bodily injury on the man sitting across from me. So, I ordered a gin & tonic. When Bill began a lecture on the evils of alcohol, I changed it to a martini.”
“Sounds perfectly logical to me.”
“Bill talked for three hours straight. I heard all about where he went to school, how your aunt got him the job at the church, and his future plans. I swear, I should have dropped my napkin so I could take a quick peek under the table and see if he had a year’s supply of oxygen being piped directly into his lungs, because I swear, he never took a breath. The man must be a freak of nature.”
Darcy couldn’t help but chuckle. “He would make one hell of a swimmer.”
“Doesn’t swim. He walks. Not regular walking, but that stuff they do in the Olympics that looks like ducks waddling.”
“Racewalking?”
“That’s it.” She gave him a critical once-over. “You don’t racewalk, do you? Because I don’t care how difficult it is—and believe me, after this evening I know exactly how difficult it is—that is not sexy.”
“No!” he defended immediately. “I run. At least five miles a day.” When he saw her look of appreciation, he felt compelled to add, “Usually more.”
“What else?”
“Else?”
“You don’t get guns like these”—she squeezed his bicep—“from just running. Wow! Have these gotten bigger in the last two minutes?”
“I lift a bit—free weights.” Her hand moved up and down his arm, using just enough pressure to make his blood boil. He took her hand to the console once more. “Back to your date?”
“Yeah. Where was I?”
“Racewalking.”
“So not sexy.”
“Agreed. So, what happened next?”
She sucked in a big breath and blew it out in a gin-saturated huff. “I was only permitted to order broiled chicken or fish with steamed broccoli. No butter. No sour cream. No sauce. No salt. No carbs. Nothing.”
He laughed. “Sounds awful.”
“You should have seen the waiter. He made a face that reminded me of Caroline Bingley the night she saw the Target bag in my parent’s hallway.”
“That bad?”
“Oh, yeah. Bill repeated your aunt’s strictures on why he should eat a salt-, fat-, and sugar-free diet, and therefore, I must do the same. He also insisted that each bite be chewed thirty times. So, I ate a three-hour dinner more appropriate for a ninety-year old suffering from diverticulitis, but halfway through the second martini, it didn’t taste too bad.”
“Nothing would.”
“Still, I figured things could be worse. Eventually the guy would want to take me home, and the date would end. But about the third, or was it the fourth martini, he started talking about our future. He told me to speak to my mom about the level of sodium in her cooking. He wanted to make sure she fed him properly on Christmas Day.”
“But Christmas isn’t for months. And why would he be eating at your parents’ house?”
“Because we’d be married.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Married?”
“Now you get the picture, Sherlock. Good ole Bill made a lot of assumptions tonight. Like the one where he knew my hormones were raging out of control, but that I needed to rein in my impulses until our wedding night. I must admit, I’ve never before seen a man his age wear a purity ring. Which is no problem, really. If abstinence is his thing, more power to him. But to assume I couldn’t control myself with him, now that was crazy talk. Then”—she paused dramatically—“he informed me that because my martinis were fifteen dollars a pop, I’d be paying my own tab. That was the only thing he’d said all night that made perfect sense to me.”
Darcy couldn’t believe any man would treat a woman in the manner she described. Darcy would hold the door for Elizabeth. He’d place his hand on the small of her back as she walked in front of him to their table. He’d pull out her chair, and while gently easing her to the table, he’d lean close to her ear and ask if she’d like champagne. He’d pay atten
tion to every word she spoke, encourage her to eat whatever she liked, and never assume she’d pick up the check. He’d drive her home. He’d walk her to her door. He’d ask if he could come in, and if he was damn lucky, he’d get to undress her slowly, make her body tremble with desire, and he’d make damn sure she came not only first, but second too. After all, he was a gentleman with principles. Sometimes, being a gentleman with principles rocked.
Speaking of being a gentleman . . . “Why didn’t Collins take you home?”
“Oh, he planned to, but I’m afraid this is the point in the story where alcohol overrode reason. As we were leaving the restaurant, he described to me the appropriate amount of tongue to be used during our—as yet—unscheduled first-date kiss. I told him to take his tongue and shove it up his ass. I’m afraid that by then I’d forgotten all about being a lady, and apparently, the limits of human anatomy. I stormed off and was six or seven blocks away before I realized that he was my ride home.”
Darcy couldn’t believe anyone could be so socially inept. “He’s a complete shite.”
“Thank you. On an evening when I was doubting my ability to judge people, it’s nice to know I had at least one person pegged from the get-go.”
“Only one person?”
“Yeah.” She hesitated before continuing, and he could tell the alcohol was finally making her drowsy. “I learned . . . I really screwed up. I mean, you can be a first-class jerk, but you’re not—you’re not malevolent, heavy-handed, insufferable, unbearable, domineering, or any of those other words I threw at you last week. Well, maybe just a little. So, yeah, anyone who can convince your aunt not to prosecute Lydia over the Wickham debacle deserves Heidi Klum.”
He frowned and stared straight ahead for several minutes until he could no longer keep his disappointment quiet. “What I did, I did in confidence. I don’t want to insult your sister further, but I had hoped that Lydia had learned to keep her mouth shut.”
The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words Page 48