by Jody Klaire
“Yep. Best we keep that between us.” Zoë winked and looked Kate up and down. “The rules are different for us; our body language is not the same, and neither is our flirting.” She smiled at the camera. “So, listen up ‘cause this is how to pull in the ladies.”
Kate leaned her hand on her fist. She didn’t want to pull any lady. All she wanted to do was run after Darcy and stop her. Gregory Hampton. She knew of him from tabloids. He was some rich business guy who looked…slimy. Yuck.
“Honey, I need your focus,” Zoë muttered and tapped her on the hand. “We’ll spend the evening working on your flirting skills.” She winked at the camera. “Which you can catch on the next show, but here’s the quick rundown of how to get ladies—”
“I can’t.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I can’t… I like her.” She couldn’t be fake, and she didn’t care that it was on camera. The realisation swirled up, and she rubbed at her neck. “I…I can’t.”
Zoë flashed a warning look at her. Darcy didn’t need pushing, she got that.
“I really like her…” She glanced at Susannah, who beamed at her. At least one McGregor didn’t want to beat her. “Darcy hasn’t done anything.” Anything much, if she didn’t count the kissing bit. “I think I freaked her out.” She turned to the camera. “I didn’t mean to, but…I…I love her.”
“And cut, move to the credits.” Marge stared at her and blew out a breath. Her phone rang. She looked down at it, then shoved it to the side.
Zoë cocked her head, her focus on Kate, then slumped her shoulders and let through a gentle smile. “So let’s find you a lady who won’t freak out.”
“I don’t want that.” She didn’t know what Darcy had told Zoë or why, but she couldn’t lie. She couldn’t be fake. “I don’t even know her, and I love her.”
Marge leaned on her fist. “Yes, you just told prime-time television.”
Susannah got up and hurried over to Kate’s chair. “Then please go and find her.” She pulled out her phone. “The driver will know where.” Kate stood, and Susannah slumped down and fixed on Zoë. “You can teach me instead. I don’t know how to attract anyone.”
Brave kid.
“We’ve got tweets coming in like crazy.” Marge gave her a thumbs up.
The camera’s red light blinked on, and Zoë pulled over her tablet. “Tweet question: Jane from Hereford is asking how to know when a woman is interested.”
Susannah smiled. “She makes a lot of eye contact?”
Zoë nodded and waved at Kate. “Go.” She turned to the camera. “Yes. Eye contact crosses all boundaries…”
Kate hurried from the table out into the evening air. The car was waiting. He was quick. She pulled open the passenger-side door and jumped in.
“You should sit in the back, Ms Bonvilston,” the driver said with a smile.
“That’s for posh people.” She winked at him. “Don’t suppose you know where Gregory Hampton lives?”
“Yes, but if you’re looking for Ms McGregor, she’s in her Kensington house.” He roared them off through the traffic. “I believe she may be watching the show.”
Kate lay her head back into the seat. “Oh dear… Wait, what house?”
“Her private residence. The apartment is for the show.” He smiled. “Ms Windermere knows a lot about her, ma’am. Trust her to help.” He zipped through an impossible gap and around the waiting traffic at a red light.
“Guess I’ll have to,” she mumbled and looked out at the clear, orangey glow of the sky overhead. “I only hope Darcy isn’t going to punch me.”
He chuckled. “She reserves that for actors, ma’am.”
Her laugh came out a snort, and she smiled at him. Yeah, hopefully her elite role as a pencil security guard would win favour… Hopefully.
Chapter 27
Darcy poured herself a glass of wine. She’d panicked, completely panicked, in the bathroom. A long, sobbing phone call with Zoë had only sent her running to Gregory Hampton, who, thankfully, wasn’t home—knee-jerk reaction. She was terrible for them. Now she’d had a tweet and short video from Zoë, showing she was with Susannah and teaching her all kinds of flirting tips that were completely ridiculous. Who attracted a woman by sliding her arm around the back of the chair? She frowned. Okay, it was quite sexy when Zoë did it, but then Zoë was sexy. Being attracted to her had never been an issue. She shook her head and downed the wine. Better to forget that.
Someone knocked on the door, and she poured another glass. She’d sent Gladys home for the night for peace and quiet. Yes, whoever it was could go away, especially Gregory. She felt sick enough as it was. How could being in love with someone she didn’t know make her feel so…acutely? How could she and Kate ever work anyway? Regardless of the simple statement that Kate wasn’t into men—her stomach swirled again—or the sweet way Kate said she liked her, all the while covering for her—her stomach clenched. Kate had said she loved her—her heart thudded—oh, how did she ignore that?
Someone knocked the door again.
She sighed and wandered to it. Maybe it was Gregory and she could put him right? She yanked open the door, ready to yell, only for Kate to be there.
“Hi.”
Darcy’s stomach ached…along with every single pore. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“No.” Kate held her gaze with determination, confidence, not a trace of uncertainty.
Her heart thumped, the cold air tickled her cheeks, and desire trickled through her stomach. That look, that sultry, sexy, cheeky, irritating look. Intense, too intense. Heart pounded, making it hard to catch her breath. No, she needed, she shouldn’t… It was stupid. Should send her away. Had to send her away. Had to resist…find control.
Kate’s eyes twinkled. Her lips glistened in the light from the streetlamp. “I’m not leaving.”
The words soaked in, breath sharp to her ears. It was torture. Kate was there, there for her. How… She needed… Her pulse pounded… She should… “I should send you away.”
Heartbeat heavier, straining.
“‘Should’ means you won’t.” Kate leaned one hand on the doorjamb. “Ask me in.”
Heavy, hard-pounding, heart… Needed… She needed… Oh, pure, sweet need…
“No.” She went to shut the door.
Kate caught her hand and pulled her outside. The touch. That soft, warm touch. Need… Oh, how she needed…
She growled and yanked Kate to her, wrapped her arms around Kate’s bare shoulders, threaded her hands into her soft, glossy hair. She sank into soft, waiting lips, her heart faster, heavier—her kiss intense. The ache in her stomach radiated out, rippled through her—deeper, more frantic.
Need. Desperate, tear-filled need.
Kate gripped her waist, slid a hand to the middle of her back, and eased closer, the kiss growing, building momentum—more, fervent. Needed more. She fed the sheer thrill pounding through her body. Too good. Kissing her was too good.
“In.” She dragged Kate inside, slammed the door, and shoved her against it. When had she ever been this crazy? This desperate just to get closer? Zoë had come close…yes…but never this, never complete overload with a kiss.
Kate yanked at her shirt, slid her hands up, the feel of her fingertips tickling over her sides and up her ribcage, eased over her breasts. Building, aching need—more, needed more.
She growled and shoved herself backward, panting like she’d jogged the London Marathon.
Kate searched her eyes, her hair completely in a mess, lipstick tracking each messy kiss, each move of her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes beckoning, and her showpiece necklace rose and fell like a magnet.
“How dare you tell everyone you love me.” She yanked off her shirt. Was she mad? Was she desperate? Crazed, whatever it was, it was… She couldn’t take it anymore.
“I love you.” Kate said it w
ith such force her eyes sparkled. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I just do. I love you.”
“Stop saying that.” She yanked off her bra, dropped her trousers, and stepped out of them.
Kate smiled a half-smile, gaze running up and down her. “Why? It’s making you strip.”
“Yes.” She turned and headed to the stairs. “Move.”
“I love it when you’re bossy.” Kate caught her halfway up. Pulled her close. She’d undressed. Soft warm skin against her own thighs, against her buttocks, against her back. Warm hands slid over her hips, sending aching ripples through her. Sharp breath. She closed her eyes. “You get that, right?”
“Shut up and kiss me.” She arched back, captured Kate’s lips, and eased into a slow, rolling kiss, a kiss that teased, if Kate’s whimper was anything to go by. Yes, she loved that sound.
Kate shoved her up the few remaining stairs. “I’ll give you ‘shut up and kiss me.’” Kate yanked her around and hoisted her up until she had to wrap her thighs around Kate’s slender hips. “You thought I liked men. How could you think I liked men?”
“You dated someone called Bennie. Your mother did not give details.” She smothered Kate’s elegant cheekbones with kisses, smothered her neck. She grazed her teeth over the side of the smooth skin beneath Kate’s ear.
“I love you, you hear me?” Kate slid a strong hand in her hair and eased her back, holding them inches apart. “And you are so not a bloke.”
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. It sounded half delighted, half like she was going to claw at her. She sank into Kate’s lips, tugged at them, trailed her fingernails over Kate’s back. “Say it again.”
“Which part?” Kate gasped and stumbled to the left. “Where is your room, woman?”
“There are five. As long as it’s not the one on your left, I really don’t care.” She half groaned, half roared as Kate raked her shorter nails over her thighs. “Say it.”
“I love you.” Kate rammed her into the wall, then grunted.
“That’s the wall, idiot.” She hauled them through the doorway, gripping the doorjamb. “Keep saying it.”
“I love you,” Kate whispered, throwing her onto the bed. The dim glow from the streetlight beyond the window illuminated her figure, her soft skin, her smile. “You’re a bitch, but I love you.” She climbed onto her, grabbed her hands, and placed them behind her head. “I love you.”
She pulled free, eased Kate down, and groaned—much like Kate—as soft, strong warmth wrapped around her. “I am a bitch.”
“Yes.” Kate nipped at her earlobe, her neck, her collarbone. “I love you for it.”
She lay back and closed her eyes with a smile. “Good. I’m sick of pretending.”
Chapter 28
Kate rolled out of bed, feeling like she’d been beaten. Good beaten, as in Darcy was in a whole other league from any woman she’d ever been near. Beaten as in she was aching everywhere and pretty sure she could have scars on her back. Beaten as in somehow she’d fallen asleep in the morning—and only when Darcy had let her—and beaten because Darcy hadn’t slept in the same room.
Clothes were folded up on a chair for her, including a pair of boxers, but it was past noon and the house was quiet. She sighed and dressed—felt like an intruder somehow. Could she still be done for trespassing if she showed the bruises? Then again, maybe Darcy would just claim self-defence.
She wandered out onto the landing. Staring back was a huge picture of that iconic moment with Darcy and Zoë in high contrast black and white—yeah, trespassing.
“Don’t look so glum,” Darcy whispered from the stairs. She had a tray with toast and more orange juice. “It’s there because Susannah wanted me to keep it.”
She tried to shove her hands in her pockets, then frowned down at the fitted jeans. Where were the pockets?
“On the front,” Darcy said with a soft smile on her face—must have been up a while. The energy that people had who loved mornings buzzed around her.
“Oh.” Kate shoved her hands in the pockets. Yeah, that was not as comfortable. “You sleep alright?” Awkward much?
“I didn’t sleep.” Darcy smiled and took her by the hand, leading her back to bed. “I rarely sleep more than a few hours at a time.”
“Then how do you have the energy to stand upright?” Why was Darcy in gym clothes? How had she needed more of a workout?
“Practice.” Darcy placed the tray on the bedside table and pushed her down. “Hopefully you’ll find the toast more palatable.” She shoved a piece in her mouth. Kate chewed on it as Darcy sat beside her and curled one leg up under the other. “I shouldn’t have invited you in…or let you stay over. You understand that?”
“This where you tell me to keep quiet, or you’ll make me wear puffy pink?” She chomped on the toast. Not bad. Better than the cardboard cornflakes.
“This is where I ask you to respect that I’ve let you in and…you have a massive amount on me right now.” She sighed and flicked back her blonde hair. “And I hope you don’t get offended that I’m having this conversation with you.”
“You think I’ll sell out?” Offended, that was an understatement. Ouch.
“I need to hear you won’t.” Darcy met her eyes, gentle, resolute. “I feel as vulnerable as you. I don’t know you.” She hugged herself. “Kate, if you talk to anyone, I lose my career and…Susannah. I know she thinks in idealistic ways, but…” She picked at Kate’s jeans. “Zoë lost a massive amount of professional friends. Personally, they don’t care; publicly, she doesn’t exist anymore.”
“But she’s doing alright.” Had Darcy missed the slick look, the designing career, the billboard wife?
“No, she was asked not to attend London Fashion Week.” She rubbed her palm over Kate’s knee. “Several stars turned down wearing her clothes to the premieres, and…” She leaned in and kissed her. “Blanche is only on the billboard because the designer is a personal friend of mine and he stuck his neck out.”
“Aren’t most of the designers gay?” Was it her, or wasn’t fashion pretty camp on a good day?
“The male ones.” Darcy kissed her again and sat back. “They’ll all accept her again, but when you break a mould, you get punished. Rumours fly around, and it takes years to claw back.” She stroked her fingernail over Kate’s forearm. “It probably doesn’t mean a lot to you, but it’s our livelihood.”
She chomped more toast. Were there rumours about Zoë? Who listened to the rumours? “There’s plenty of gay people on TV, in the arts.”
“Any that you see working?” Darcy peered under her eyebrows. “They as successful as they were before they opened their mouth?”
“I dunno. I don’t pay attention to it.” She finished up her toast and placed it on the table.
“Yes, because it’s just gossip about someone you don’t know.” Darcy sighed and pulled out her phone. She handed it over. “Read it.”
Kate took it then frowned. Some young model was saying that she had a steamy affair with Zoë and how kind and gentle Zoë was. “She did?”
“No. Do you know why I know, why Blanche is less bothered about this little issue?” Darcy leaned onto one hand. The light from the snowy sky bathed her in a white, high-contrast light.
“Not sure I want to ask…?” She glanced through the doorway at the picture of the catwalk.
“Zoë is very much a product of the fashion scene. This girl is too short, has hips wider than a twig, and her teeth are not perfect.” She took the phone back. “She’d rather date a man.”
Okay, Zoë was really superficial. “That’s…shallow.”
“No, that’s what she likes, what attracts her…as in to completely dismantle what career she has left, to lose that twig she enjoys the attention of…” And it sounded like Darcy was angry about it. “Plus risk her family’s irritation, along with mine and Susannah’
s… The girl would need to be something Zoë couldn’t resist.”
Darcy flicked through the phone and handed it over again. “Read this one.”
Kate sighed and took it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She liked Zoë; she didn’t want to think of her looking at someone like that. She scowled. It was a story about Darcy this time. A young man, no more than twenty, saying that he was Darcy’s lover and she’d lured him in and had been very sweet.
She laughed. “Oh, I know that one isn’t true. I’ve got scars to prove it.”
Darcy winked. “Yes, but if you were John, in charge of allowing the programme to go ahead, or a school inviting me in to talk about women in fashion…?” She took the phone back. “Would you want me on an advert for your product, risking that this could be true and I did this?”
“No.” Oh. She took her orange juice and downed it, ready for the bits to make her gag. She didn’t. It was smooth. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“But you could change your mind at any time. Do you think John would hesitate in removing me from the air if he thought for a second that we were lovers?” She smiled and stroked Kate’s cheek. “I have women in my house for the show. I break you down to build you up. You’re vulnerable.”
“I’m not dense most of the time.” She frowned and gripped the glass. “I don’t think you do this with every…patient.”
“Maybe you don’t, but you don’t control if I have a job.” Darcy flicked her gaze to the doorway. “Mine depends on me being a brand. A brand people trust.”
“I can’t take back that I said I love you, and I won’t.” She handed the glass back. “You took the bits out.”
“Yes. You prefer it that way.” Darcy leaned in and kissed her, fleeting, teasing. “I like that you said you love me, but I cannot respond to it on camera.”
“Is that a permanent decision?” And could she hack that?
“Yes. My job depends on it, and it secures a home for Susannah.” Darcy sighed and got up, flexing her calves. “She comes first.”