by Desiree Holt
“You’re naked!” the pixie screeched at him.
“So are you,” he pointed out as he limped over to his dresser.
He yanked open a drawer, took out a pair of sweat pants and pulled them on. When he turned around the pixie was out of his bed, backing towards a corner, and wrapped in a sheet. There was so much fabric for such a small person she looked as if she was about to be mummified. Her cheeks were a bright red and she was clutching the sheet in a death grip.
“I’m sorry for yelling,” she said.
“Okay, so am I.” He studied her. “Just who the hell are you?”
The flush staining her face deepened. “You don’t remember? Anything? Last night? None of it?”
He frowned. “Last night? What about it?”
She sighed and backed even further away from him. “Eli’s? Your birthday? One drink or five too many?”
Then it clicked into place. All of it. Everything. Passing out at Eli’s. The pixie driving him home. Somehow getting him into his house. And all the rest of it. The shower. The very hot sex…
Holy fucking shit!
“I, um, that is…” What did you say to someone under these circumstances?
“Darcy.” She glared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“My name. It’s Darcy. In case you’ve forgotten that along with everything else.”
“Darcy.” He tried it on for size. He’d taken a woman named Darcy home with him? He shook his head.
“Yes,” she said insistently. “Darcy. That is my name. O’Connor. You never bothered to ask what the last name is.”
Hell and damnation. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Shake hands?
“Jack Manning,” he told her.
She stamped a small foot. “I know what your name is, you idiot. What I’d like to do is forget it.”
“Listen.” He scratched his head. “I, um, want to thank you.”
She tilted her head. “For what? The ride home or the sex?”
Oh. Right. The sex. His body suddenly got hot all over as he remembered just how outstanding the sex had been. And with this woman who was so far from his type—his dream girl—it was not to be believed. He wished he could remember exactly how much he’d had to drink. And what stupid things he might have said.
That aside, he now had this particular situation to deal with. What was the proper etiquette here?
“Would you, um, like a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee?” She looked as if she’d rather have a pickaxe to bury in his head. Then, as if she’d thought better of it, “Yes. Black. You can fix it while I get dressed.”
That was his cue to exit. He moved hastily into the kitchen. Mr Big, who apparently had more sense than he did, came in from the screened porch where he’d been waiting for the day’s action to begin. Usually he was up on Jack’s chest doing his ecstatic kneading and meowing for breakfast. Today he’d somehow known enough to stay out of the way.
Jack reached down and petted him, then filled his food and water bowls. Then he fumbled in the kitchen grinding beans, pouring water and waiting for the coffee to brew. Should he fill a cup for her? Find a travel mug?
Well, Manning, you’ve certainly got yourself in a spot here. Too bad I can’t blink my eyes and make her disappear.
Thank god it was Saturday morning and he didn’t have to work. Oh, wait. He worked from home, running his many financial services operations. But at least he had nothing critical simmering on the front burner at the moment.
He listened for sounds from the bathroom, wondering if she’d shower first or wait until she got home. The image of her naked under the water spray as she’d been the night before hit him with the punch of a fist. Remembering the little droplets of water on her silken skin, beading on her pert breasts and her dusky nipples, glistening on the curls covering her mound made his cock instantly stand at attention.
Shit, shit, shit.
While he was trying to get his body to behave and figure out the next order of business he heard steps behind him and there was Darcy, wearing the tight jeans, the sweater in the strange shade of green and the high shiny boots with the killer heels. He didn’t know if she’d tried to do anything with her hair and failed or if it was supposed to stick up the way it did. Over one shoulder she carried a very large tote.
“I followed the smell of the coffee,” she said, unsmiling.
“Oh, ah, yes. Right. It’s ready. I didn’t know if you wanted to drink it here or if you wanted it to go.”
“Do you have a Styrofoam cup? If you do I’ll take it to go. I’m sure you want me out of here as much as I want to leave.”
While he dug through his pantry closet for a cup she said, “You’ll have to drive me to Eli’s.”
Jack nearly dropped the coffee carafe. Drive her? In his car? She wasn’t just leaving?
“I brought you home in your car last night,” she reminded him. “I can do a lot of things but driving two cars at once isn’t one of them.” She raked her eyes over him when he handed her the Styrofoam cup. “You might want to put on something a little more appropriate than that. Unless you don’t mind advertising your morning hard-on.”
His face heated and he turned away from her. “Nothing you haven’t already seen,” he muttered.
“And don’t intend to ever see again,” she snapped back. “So how about it? Can we get going any time soon?”
“Five minutes and we’ll be good to go.”
In his bedroom he tossed the sweats over the rumpled bed, found some jeans and a T-shirt, shoved his feet into deck shoes and grabbed his wallet and keys. The faster he got this female out of his life, the better. Why couldn’t she have been the slender blonde with masses of golden hair and sultry blue eyes he’d been waiting for all his life?
Not that he hadn’t managed to find one now then and date her. But somehow he always felt as if he was in bed with a cardboard cut-out. Or maybe Barbie come to life. Surely there was one who looked just like that who also had brains and personality out there waiting for him?
“Your five minutes are up,” Darcy called from the kitchen.
“Coming, coming,” he yelled, hurrying out of the room.
“I certainly hope not,” she said as she met him in the hall.
“Hope not what?” he asked. Then bit back a retort as he realised what she meant. “Let’s go.” He opened the front door and practically shoved her on to the porch.
Dead silence filled the car on the ride to Eli’s. Jack wondered if she was as acutely conscious of his presence as he was of hers. Every so often he’d sneak a quick glance sideways at her, taking in her rigid posture and the tight lines of her face. He wasn’t any happier about this whole thing than she was, especially with the knowledge that she’d seen him drunk and had to haul his ass home.
But he had to admit the sex had been spectacular. What he remembered of it. Couldn’t she at least admit he was good in bed?
“You were okay.” Her voice had a slight edge of amusement.
Jack nearly drove up on the kerb. Had he said it out loud or was she reading his mind?
“Hey! Take it easy. I wasn’t criticising your manhood or anything.” She wriggled in her seat and put her booted feet up on the dash. “It wasn’t the worst I’ve ever had. Especially considering how blasted you were.”
“Well, don’t give yourself any awards.” Damn, but this female irritated him.
She actually laughed. “I’m surprised you can even remember anything.”
“I can remember that you have a smart mouth, so how about keeping it shut for the rest of the ride?”
He sensed she wanted to come back with some snappy retort but she just crossed her feet at the ankles, clunking them against the dashboard as she did, and folded her arms.
“And get your damn feet off my dash.”
“Nice way to talk to a lady.” But she dropped her feet. “So what exactly is it you do for a living? I noticed the other bedroom is set up like an office.�
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“I’m in financial services.” He ground out the words.
“Wow. Très exciting.”
“Don’t knock it.” He gripped the steering wheel. “I make good money at it.”
More silence.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I do?”
“The small functioning part of my brain seems to remember you told me all about it last night. Anyway, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do. When I leave you at your car I don’t expect we’ll ever see each other again.”
“Good riddance, right?”
“Right.”
“Fine. Me, too.”
He blew out a breath of relief when Eli’s finally came into sight. The car park surrounding the adobe building with the mission-style architecture was empty except for Eli’s truck parked by the side door and a purple compact car glittering in the sun.
“You drive that?” He pulled up next to it, staring.
“Something wrong with it?” She unsnapped her seat belt and reached down for her tote.
“It’s… It’s…purple. Who the hell drives a purple car?”
“I do, Mr Smartass. It suits my personality.” She slid out of the car. “Try to stay sober, okay? I won’t always be around.”
“Thank god,” he muttered, watching her climb into the purple monstrosity. She roared out of the car park, leaving him with a monstrous headache and a vague feeling of unease.
He looked at the dashboard clock. Ten-thirty. Eli’s truck was there and the side door was open, which meant he’d be getting the bar ready to open for lunch. The bar had a simple menu—appetisers for happy hour and a limited list of sandwiches and salads for lunch and dinner. Not to mention some of the best chilli Jack had ever eaten. Eli believed in feeding the people who drank to help absorb the alcohol.
He had coffee waiting at home but by now it probably tasted like burnt rubber. Maybe he could beg a cup from Eli and find out just how much he’d embarrassed himself the night before. He pulled up next to the building, parked the truck and walked in through the side door, which was propped open.
Eli was behind the bar, checking the beer taps. He looked up when he heard Jack’s footsteps.
“Hell, I didn’t think you’d be able to stand daylight at least until Monday,” he said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, well, it’s your fault,” Jack grumbled.
“My fault? I wasn’t even tending bar. Hank’s the one who cut you off, but if he’d realised you hadn’t eaten anything he’d have shut the door on you earlier.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it was your birthday so I cut you a little slack.”
“And sent me home with a maniac.”
“Didn’t she take good care of you?”
“Yeah. Just great.”
Eli paused in what he was doing and leaned on the bar. “Someone had to get your ass home and getting a taxi was next to impossible. Too many conventions in town. You should be thanking me instead of complaining.”
“It was fine, okay?” He dropped his gaze as he hitched himself on to a bar stool.
Eli took a long look at Jack. “So that’s how it was. What class. I should kick your ass.”
“I don’t want to discuss it, okay?” Jack snapped.
“Okay, okay.” Eli turned to the coffee machine behind him, filled a mug and plunked it on the bar. “Here. You probably need a gallon of this. Along with a bottle of aspirin.”
Jack sipped quietly at the coffee for a few moments, letting the hot liquid course through his system and settle it. Eli dropped two aspirin next to him and he tossed them back, washing them down with the dark brew.
“So how drunk was I exactly?” he asked finally.
Eli shrugged. “Enough to fall on your ass and need someone to take you home.”
“But Jesus, Eli. Couldn’t you send me home with an adult?”
Eli wiped the taps one last time, poured a cup of coffee for himself and set it on the bar. While he took a swallow he watched Jack.
“I get that Darcy O’Connor doesn’t fit the image of your ideal woman,” he said slowly. “But I’ve known her for a long time. She’s bright, clever, and would be a great package for some man if she’d slow down long enough for one to look at her.”
“She’s sarcastic, defensive and definitely would be a pain in someone’s ass,” Jack objected. “On top of that she’s not even the size of a real adult.”
Eli took another swallow of coffee. “Darcy’s almost like a fixture here. She comes in here a lot, usually to unwind after a tough day.”
“Yeah? So how come I never met her before if she’s such a regular?”
“Because she keeps crazy hours and you’re always gone before she gets here. She works her ass off in a competitive business and regardless of her size I’d take her over any of those plastic women you seem to think are so appealing. I have no idea what it is you like about them. And keep in mind, it’s not like you’re six feet tall.”
Jack felt the hot flush creeping up his cheeks. He had a very clear idea of the image he presented. Some might call him stocky, but at just under five-ten he was solid muscle. Fit and strong. Not an ounce of fat on him, thanks to a rigid workout schedule at the gym. When he looked at himself in the mirror he saw a compact man with broad shoulders, a square-cut jaw, and very male features. He would never have called himself handsome by any means. For one thing, it bothered him that all his male friends were so much taller than he was and he always felt it was his height that short-changed him with women. All his adult life he had bought into the theory that women went for the six-foot-plus alpha males with exciting professions and big dicks.
Jack felt his only comparable characteristic was the big dick.
“Are you saying if I was taller I’d find the right woman?” he challenged.
“I’m saying that you’re forty years old and it’s time to stop chasing a fantasy. And that’s exactly what it is. You’ve got some cockamamie image in your head of the perfect woman yet every time you find one it lasts about twenty seconds. Maybe you’re looking for love in all the wrong places, boychuk.”
“I know what I want,” he insisted stubbornly.
“But did you ever think that what you want is not what you need? Not what’s right for you? That you’re missing some great women right under your nose?”
“Like Darcy?” he snorted.
“You could do a lot worse. She’d keep you in line and entertained. Don’t you think it’s time you settled down like all your friends?””
“Jesus, you sound like my mother.” He drained his cup. “Thanks for all the great advice, Eli.”
* * * *
Darcy O’Connor, you are so dumb you have shit for brains. How could you let yourself be conned into taking that man home last night? How could you fall into bed with him like that? He’s every single thing you hate in a man. Arrogant. Superficial. Condescending.
But, her other self said, he’s incredible in the sack.
So he was, but you had to get out of bed sometime. And when they had this morning it had been a disaster. He’d looked at her as if she was an alien and couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. Well, fine. She’d been in a hurry to get away from him, too.
Why oh why did her rotten luck with men follow her around like an evil pet? She was sick to death of the macho culture. Of men flexing their muscles and their cocks, keeping their brains in cold storage. They all wanted what Jack ‘Asshole’ Manning apparently did—someone stupid and skinny who made perfect arm candy and stroked their egos.
Not for her. No way, Jose.
She put up with enough shit at work. Hugh Rodgers, her boss, was apparently convinced that because he had a penis he knew more than she did. Even though she actually directed all the videos, he refused to give her the title.
“I’m executive producer and director,” he always said whenever she tried to force the issue.
“You don’t know one end of the camera from another,” she pointed out. “What makes you the director?”
“I put up all the money,” he pointed out. “You don’t like it? Leave.”
But he kept her in place by paying her more than she could make anyplace else locally. And she didn’t want to leave San Antonio. She loved it here. So she put up with the lack of respect, the short jokes, all of it, by turning herself into an extreme character. It gave her satisfaction to shock people that way. She loved the stunned looks in the eyes of all the suits the first time they walked into the studio.
She could almost hear them saying it—Is she going to direct this? Is she even old enough to know what she’s doing? She was so sick and tired of the short jokes. The plump jokes were even worse. She was far from fat, but being as short as she was her weight was usually more obvious. She chose not to starve herself, just to eat healthily. If they didn’t like it they could go fuck themselves.
She showed them. All of them. And soon she’d have enough credits under her belt to apply for a business loan and open her own place. And bury Hugh Rodgers.
She sighed as she pulled into her driveway and let herself into the little craftsman bungalow she’d bought last year on a foreclosure. Someone else’s sad misfortune had been her good luck. Otherwise she’d never have been able to afford it.
Darcy tossed her keys in the pewter plate on the little hall table and dragged herself into her bedroom. She needed a shower, right now. A long hot one to wash away all traces of Jack Manning.
She had just stripped off her clothes and dumped them in the hamper when her phone rang.
I’ll let it ring. There’s no one I want to talk to on a Saturday. Certainly not today.
She waited to see if whoever it was left a message when the answering machine picked up, but when all she heard was a dial tone she headed for the bathroom. Then her cell phone jingled in her tote and she cursed as she dug through everything in there to pull it out.
“What?” She hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID but it had to be connected to business. “It’s Saturday. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Same like any other day,” Hugh said. “Someone wants to pay, we want to work.”
The ‘we’ was totally euphemistic. Hugh spent all his time schmoozing the PR people who came with the clients of a sponsor if it was a commercial, while Darcy, the camera crew and the people in the control room did the real work. She always wanted to ask Hugh, “You mean you and the frog in your pants?”