by Jill Shalvis
“I’m not most people.” He waited until she looked at him. “I didn’t think you were taking the meds or you’d be a lot more mellow. I just wanted to be sure.”
“Whatever.”
“You going to stick with the story that the elevator kiss was pretend?”
“Yep,” she said, popping the P sound, her eyes flashing with a dare.
His brain shut down and his body took over. He strode close, put his hands on her arms, and hauled her up to her toes with some harebrained idea that kissing her again was going to fix this.
It was not.
Not even close.
Nose to nose she stared at him, her eyes both challenging and wary at the same time.
“Fuck,” he said and let go of her, backing away, not quite trusting himself. “My point is—”
“Oh, goodie. There’s a point.”
Okay, that was it. He yanked her back in, hard. It was a selfish, asshole move, but then she sort of melted against him and he felt like he’d just won the lottery. Fisting his hands in her hair, he kissed her until she was letting out little, sexy-as-hell, panting whimpers and trying to crawl up his body. “Pretend though, right?” he murmured against her lips.
She shoved free. “Forget it. Let’s go home.”
He walked to her window and pulled open the shades.
Snow fell in heavy white lines, slashing through the night, and her mouth fell open.
“They’re calling for at least six inches,” he said. “The pass is closed until morning.”
She stared at him.
Feeling guilty as shit and having no idea why, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Christ, now he needed a drink.
“Fine,” she said. “So we’re stuck until morning. Doesn’t mean we have to be stuck together. Let yourself out.” And then she turned her back on him.
Any words he might have uttered backed up in his throat because, casual as you please, she dropped her towel and bent to her bag. Jesus. He was still tongue-tied when she pulled on a big T-shirt and a pair of panties before facing him, one brow arched.
Right. She wanted him gone. Good idea. Great idea. He headed to the door, paused, had a mini argument with himself and lost. Or maybe won. In either case, he left her room and was striding toward the elevator when he heard his name. Turning around, he saw Trent in the hallway, carrying an ice bucket.
“You out to get that lovely lady of yours something?” Trent asked.
AJ’s mind froze. “Uh …”
“Ice?”
AJ recovered. “Right. Yes. Ice.” He looked down at his empty hands. Shit. “Forgot the bucket.”
Trent grinned. “Going to be tricky without it. But I’m glad I caught you. I was just telling my wife about you and Darcy. Summer was too shy to come down tonight, but once she found out that you and Darcy were a couple, she got excited. She wants to have breakfast with you two before you head out.”
AJ pictured trying to talk Darcy into breakfast and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We’re going to get an early start so—”
“Summer wants to meet you,” Trent said and moved closer, speaking in a conspirator’s tone. “And to be honest, AJ, I always get her whatever she wants.”
Hell. “I understand but we have a long drive and both of us have work to get back to.”
“Let me repeat,” Trent said, still smiling but speaking firmly. “Whatever she wants, AJ.”
“Sure,” he said, thinking what the hell, this was Darcy’s fault anyway. “Okay.”
Trent clapped him on the shoulder and smiled approvingly, and … didn’t go away. AJ finally realized the guy was waiting for him to go back into Darcy’s room—their room—for the ice bucket.
This just got more and more fun. AJ returned Trent’s smile and walked back to Darcy’s room. Staring at the door, he blew out a breath, lifted a hand and knocked once.
It took her a painfully long moment to answer, which was better than what he’d feared—that she wouldn’t answer at all.
When she pulled open the door, she stared at him. “Sorry,” she said. “I already gave at the office.”
AJ barely got his foot in the door before she tried to slam it.
“Seriously?” she asked when he pushed his way in. “What if I’d screamed?”
“Then you’d have ruined all your hard work lying at dinner tonight,” he said, and turned back to wave good night to Trent.
Trent returned the wave and went into his own room.
Finally. AJ shut the door and thunked his head against it.
“You’re going to knock something loose,” Darcy said. “And you’re on the wrong side of the door.”
He thunked his head a few more times.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Darcy asked.
“Many, many things.” He turned to face her. “Trent told his wife about us and Summer wants to meet you. We’re having breakfast with them in the morning before they head off to their first team-building event.”
She just gaped at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Okay,” she finally said. “Here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to leave and I’m going to pretend you didn’t come back.”
“We’ve got to do this, Darcy.”
“We? We’re not a we!”
“You let them think we’re a we,” he said. “So, for better or worse, we’re a we.”
“Oh my God.” She walked over to the door and thunked her head on it.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if this works.” She straightened, her hand to her head. “It doesn’t, by the way. You should’ve told Trent I’ve maxed out on the amount of time I can be in your presence and be nice.”
“Yeah, that was on the tip of my tongue.” He shook his head. “You’re right, this is impossible. Forget it. I’ll just tell him it was all a lie and—”
“Wait.” She hesitated, her eyes suddenly worried. “Do you think that’ll change his mind about you?”
“No one wants to invest in a liar, Darcy.”
“Dammit!” She shoved her fingers into her hair, making the curls a little crazier than usual, and that was saying something. “Okay, whatever,” she said. “Breakfast. But I want real bacon, AJ. None of this fake shit you’re always trying to push on me.”
“Turkey bacon isn’t fake,” he said. “It’s just healthier.”
“Well, I want unhealthy bacon, okay? And you’re buying. We eat, then we go.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” She pointed to the door. “See you in the morning.” Without waiting for him to leave, she moved to the dresser and picked up a tube of some sort of ointment.
When it slipped from her fingers, he scooped it up for her and looked at it. It was what you used on a new tattoo. “Where is it?”
“What?”
He gave her a get real look.
“My back.”
He pointed to the bed. “Sit,” he said, and nudged her to the bed. “I didn’t notice it when you dropped your towel.”
“Because that’s not what you were looking at.”
True. Sitting behind her, he lifted her shirt and took in the new tattoo.
I am the hero of my story, I don’t need to be saved.
The words ran in a perfectly straight, beautifully scripted line alongside her spine. Not on her surgery scar, but alongside it. “Xander’s work,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied stiffly, clearly braced for something but hell if he knew what.
“Why not right on the scar?” he asked, feeling a little tense himself.
He couldn’t help it. He had a history with scars and the mental anguish they could cause. He’d been in love with Kayla for three years during his stint in the military. They’d gotten lucky to be stationed together and he’d thought they’d spend the rest of their lives together.
Halfway through their tour of duty, she’d nearly been killed in an explosion that had rocked her Humvee halfway to Mars. She’d
been one of the lucky ones and had survived, though she’d suffered burns to her throat and chest. They’d left scars.
Battle scars, he’d thought at the time. Proof that she was still alive. At least that’s how he’d seen them.
Not Kayla. She’d always been beautiful, model beautiful, and as it turned out, she’d believed her beauty was only skin-deep. When her first reconstructive surgery didn’t eradicate the scars, and the second and third surgeries didn’t either, she’d gone off the deep end and dumped him. She refused to be loved.
Especially by a man who’d fallen in love with her when she’d still been stunning—even though he’d thought her all the more beautiful for the imperfections. She’d been unable to believe him. Unable and unwilling.
And their relationship had detonated.
It had been five years now, and he’d be the first to admit that for at least half of that time he’d stayed out of relationships with other women in the hopes that Kayla would let him back in.
She had, but it had been a disaster of such epic proportions that he’d been the one to walk away that time.
Which was a big part of what held him back from Darcy, if he was being honest with himself. Darcy didn’t see herself as lovable either, though with her it had little to do with the visible scars on the outside and everything to do with her scars on the inside.
Her fucking parents, of course, who’d taught her that she wasn’t worth a thing.
“I wasn’t trying to erase my scars,” Darcy said now. “I didn’t get the tattoo over them on purpose.”
He lifted his gaze and found her twisted around to look at him. “Why?” he asked, hearing that his voice sounded tight. Grim.
She looked forward again and when she didn’t immediately answer he figured she wasn’t going to answer at all, but then she spoke.
“Just before the accident, I’d … lost myself a little bit,” she said softly. “And then … after I plowed my car into a tree, I had a big wake-up call. I guess I just don’t feel the need to hide that, or the scars.”
He stared at her proud, squared shoulders and realized what she was braced for—his judgment. Which was never going to happen, especially since both her words and her inner strength completely undid him. “You’re shaking.”
“You know that happens when I’m tired,” she said.
He squeezed some of the ointment onto a finger and carefully stroked it over the tattoo.
She shivered and goose bumps rose on her gorgeous skin.
He had to clear his throat twice to speak. “Cold?”
“No.”
He went still for a beat and then capped the ointment, tossing it aside. “It’s beautiful,” he said. You’re beautiful …
How many times had he said that to Kayla? It wasn’t the package that made a woman beautiful, not even close, and yet she had been.
So was Darcy.
And now he was the one braced for Darcy to break down over his words. But she didn’t.
In fact, she laughed.
And like everything else Darcy did, she went big and uninhibited. She tossed back her head and gave that throaty laugh that always went straight through him, lighting him up, warming him from the inside out even though he hadn’t been aware of feeling cold.
“You’re just saying that because you feel bad you saw me naked,” she finally said.
“Actually, bad is just about the last thing I’m feeling.” He could close his eyes and still see her walking out of that bathroom in nothing but steam.
She craned her neck to look at him. “What do you feel?”
“More than you want to know,” he said, and because being on the bed with her was a temptation he didn’t need, he rose and went straight to the minibar to grab a scotch for himself. And then on second thought he took a second so that he had one for each fist.
“What happened to that stuff being too expensive?” Darcy asked.
He snorted. “Like everything when it comes to you—out the window.” He opened both bottles and, with a sigh, handed her one.
“So,” she said, clinking hers to his in a toast. “Here’s to what happens in Boise stays in Boise?”
“Works for me.”
Twelve
Darcy hadn’t meant to lighten the mood or make things easy between them. She was already in way over her head and she certainly didn’t want to make matters worse by letting AJ think she was enjoying anything about this.
And plus the relaxed air gave far too much importance to the night. She didn’t want to give importance to anything involving tonight. Tonight should’ve been just about doing AJ a favor.
But then there’d been that kiss.
AJ took life pretty damn seriously, and whatever he did he tended to excel at. He most definitely excelled at kissing.
God only knew what he could do between the sheets. But that’s not what she kept thinking about. Nope, she was thinking about when they’d gone to dinner and she’d watched him talk passionately to Trent about his work, about the people who needed him …
It had been humbling, and she’d realized exactly how much he had on the line tonight, and how much he deserved the opportunity, how many others could benefit. “AJ?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you do it?”
“Put up with you?” He shook his head. “No idea.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, why are you a PT? What made you start Sunshine Wellness Center?”
He met her gaze. “Pretty deep question.”
“I figure there’s a deep answer. You don’t do anything lightly, or just for the hell of it.”
He looked at her for a long minute. “It’s for my mom.”
Darcy didn’t know much about his mom other than she’d passed away a lot of years ago. “She had rheumatoid arthritis, right?”
“She had a bunch of health problems but the RA is what she suffered from the most. She did a lot of PT, especially in the end. I was just a little kid,” he said quietly. “But I hated that I couldn’t save her.”
She let out a long breath and softened to him when she hadn’t intended to. “So you save others. You help others.”
He shrugged those broad shoulders, and at his modesty she softened even more.
He finished his drink, set the bottles down, and stood. Without his jacket and tie, he looked a little disheveled and a lot badass.
He kicked off his shoes and her heart rate. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m exhausted. I’m getting ready for bed.”
Some of her happy scotch buzz drained. “Here?”
“Yep, and you can thank your little stunt for that.” They both eyed the bed.
The sole bed.
“Well,” she managed. “I hope you like to sleep in bathtubs.”
“I’m not sleeping in the bathtub, Darcy.”