Over You (A Mr. Darcy Valentine's Romance Novel)

by H. M. Ward

  “These doors are fabulous!”

  “Yeah, Anne did one thing right by finding these. She pulled them and several other pieces in this room from the demolition site of a deteriorated movie theater in Brooklyn. Do you know the time?”

  I pull out my cell phone and check the screen. “It’s almost seven.”

  “Crap! I'm meeting my editor for dinner in the city and need to dress quickly. Jane is inside the theater working already. I’m sure Cameron will join you once he finishes his call.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “By the way," she calls, already heading the opposite direction, "don’t mind my brother. He’s all bark.” Her feet slap against the floor as she jogs down the hall. “I think he likes you.”

  Yeah, right. I pull open the door and step inside.

  Fully inside the theater, I feel as if I've been transported back in time. My feet sink into the thick red carpet. I hesitate, lifting my boots and look under them, making sure I'm not tracking anything in that could ruin the pristine carpet. Certain it's safe, I begin to descend a winding staircase, openly gawking at the gold satin painted railing and gold-flecked stars on the ceiling and carpet.

  I pause at the last step, staring up at the gorgeous crystal chandelier in the center of the landing. Then I see something that makes me jump with delight—a full concession stand.

  “This is so cool!” The black marble counter is spotless, gleaming underneath pendant lights. On the counter are rows of penny candy jars filled to the brim with colorful jellybeans, gumdrops, and every hard candy I can imagine. Boxes of chocolates and licorice line the shelves below the counter. I’m in heaven!

  I inhale, and the delicious scent of fresh-popped popcorn makes my mouth water. Off to the side is a vintage popcorn machine, its polished red and silver outsides gleaming in the dim light. I squeal like a little girl and grab a small bag filling it to the brim with warm, buttery kernels.

  “Beth, is that you?” Jane’s voice comes from a dark corner of the room.

  “Yeah. I’m coming.” I quickly follow the direction of her voice, munching on popcorn. “Did you see all the candy? Mary would flip if she—oh!”

  I turn a corner and discover the viewing area. Five rows of red velvet upholstered chairs face a screen so huge it covers the entire wall. Matching floor-to-ceiling drapes pulled back with a thick gold cord frame the screen. The other three walls host blank sheetrock panels lit for display by track lighting—a vast blank canvas waiting for life.

  “OMG! This room is huge.” I look around the room in awe.

  “Told you so.” Paint supplies and wads of sketch paper litter the floor around her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Don’t worry, Jane. You can do this. What’s your plan?” I mumble around a mouthful of popcorn.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You must have some idea.”

  “Well...”

  Jane always doubted herself. Despite winning countless awards for her artwork, she lacks the necessary confidence in her talent to sell her skills. Volunteering to work on the mural at the children’s hospital for free gained her the opportunity to do something fun, but when the hospital board offered to pay her for her time on a job well done, she refused. Art isn't about money for Jane, so she doesn't know how to act when money is involved.

  “Is it that one?” I point to the sketch paper in her hand. “Let me see.”

  She looks at me warily. “Don’t laugh.”

  “When have I ever laughed at something you’ve designed?” Wiping my hands on my jeans, I reach for the paper. “Now, my stick figure drawings, that’s comedy." I take the large, thin paper gently into my hands, careful not to smudge any of her work. "Oh, wow, Jane! This idea is perfect!”

  Jane has an incredible imagination. She’s sketched the entire theater with each panel making up a piece of the mural. On one panel, there’s a colorful drawing of penny candy jars, an unmistakable curly-haired Shirley Temple using a chubby arm to retrieve some candy. On the second panel, two teenage girls wearing poodle skirts flirt with a young man behind an old-fashioned ticket booth.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Cameron calls, jogging down the stairs two at a time. “Did Gwen give you the grand tour?”

  “You have an incredible home, and this theater totally rocks,” I gush.

  “Thank you. I’m so glad you’ll be able to stay as my guest. And, please, eat all the popcorn you want.”

  I blush as he eyes the bag in my hand.

  “Seriously, I want you to make yourselves at home. Mi casa es su casa.” His green eyes gaze longingly at Jane. A delicate pink flushes her cheeks, and she busies herself with the supplies.

  Aw, he’s totally crushing on her.

  “So, have you made any progress, Jane?” His voice caresses her name.

  “I, uh, I—” Her eyes dart to me, pleading for help.

  “Actually, she has. Take a look at this.”

  He studies the drawing for a moment. Jane looks at him, biting her lower lip nervously. Then he breaks out into a smile, his dimples flashing. “It’s like you’re reading my mind. This is exactly what I’ve been looking for!”

  “Really?” Jane’s voice is breathless. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Your proposal complements the nostalgia I’ve been trying to create with this theater. I love how each of the panels represents a different era. You’re very talented, Jane.”

  Jane’s face lights up. “I can start right away if you want. I have some questions about the last panel. There are so many directions I can go with that one.”

  I sit on one of the red theater seats watching Jane and Cameron go over the plans. Just as I’m about to relax, my phone vibrates.

  MOM: Are you there, yet?

  ME: yes

  MOM: Good. Tell me you have the Jane situation under control.

  ME: Everything’s fine, Mother. She doesn't need me at all.

  MOM: Good. By the way, Catherine called. She said you were rude to Anne.

  What are we, in third grade? She tattled on me? I barely spoke to her at all!

  ME: I'm sure it was a misunderstanding.

  MOM: I hope so. Keep me posted.

  ME: K

  MOM: Also, tell Jane to wear the coral Missoni sundress tomorrow. It brings out the—

  I click off my phone not bothering to read the rest. The way Cameron looks at Jane, she doesn’t need a designer dress to hold his attention. Things would work out on their own if Mother would stop using Jane as billionaire bait. Anyone can see Cameron’s a good match for Jane. He’s sensible, easy going, and friendly to everyone he meets.

  The only thing I can't figure out is how someone like Cameron became such good friends with someone like Darcy.

  CHAPTER 9

  After Jane finally passes out, I slip from my bed and pull a sweatshirt over my head, covering my pajamas. I’ve not been here long, but dinner wasn’t my thing. Who hires a personal chef to cook three roasted Brussels sprouts in a light vinaigrette for dinner? No wonder rich people are grumpy—they're all hungry!

  There's an endless supply of candy in the theater, but I need protein. I wonder if I can get away with a run to Wendy’s. Screw it! I’m doing it. I need a Frosty. After tugging on my boots, I sneak down the hallway. It’s eerily quiet, and I’m a little spooked that I’ll get caught by a ghost—or, worse, Anne.

  Why is she here, anyway? I’m getting the distinct impression that no one likes her very much. She must be here at Darcy’s request.

  Speaking of the bastard who can’t keep his lips to himself, he’s all but snubbed me since my foot crossed the threshold. I think he’d rather snuggle poison oak than sit by me—which made dinner weird. Anne and I flanked him. I’m trying to be a nice guest, but Anne makes my eye twitch. She pretty much kept her talons dug into Darcy’s leg all night.

  I reach the kitchen, padding around back to the delivery entrance. If a door is still open somewhere in the house, it’ll
be this one. The kitchen staff is always here.

  Except for now.

  Damn it! I walk into the expansive empty kitchen and glance around. The alarm pad by the back door is glowing red, indicating that it’s armed.

  “Bloody hell! That's it. I’m going to starve to death.”

  “Yes," a voice behind me says, startling me enough to make me jump, "one Brussels sprout at a time.”

  I whirl around, clutching my chest. “Darcy! You asshat, don’t sneak up on me!”

  His brow lifts, making him appear mildly amused. “Asshat?”

  My heart is still pounding in my chest. I suck in a few jagged breaths. “Would you prefer I call you something else?”

  “Yes," he says with a nod, "something else entirely.”

  I shake my head, already knowing where he’s going with this. “Yeah, Darcy. I got it.”

  He stares at the side of my face until my stomach flutters out of my mouth and flies away. I glance over my shoulder at him, “What?”

  “Nothing, it’s just…” he clears his throat, reaches over my shoulder, and punches a few buttons on the keypad. The light on the panel turns green.

  I turn and look up at him. “You know the code!” I laugh lightly, sounding a little crazy. “I owe you a burger! Come with me.”

  It’s totally a whim. For some reason, I enjoy the sound of his voice, that deep monotone he uses to snap at me.

  Darcy’s eyes widen and his lips part. “You want me to follow you where?”

  “You’re not following me. I’m taking you. Come on.” I grab his wrist and pull him outside. We walk back to the garage, and I hold out my hand. “Tah dah! Jump on, dude. There’s a Wendy’s about a mile from here.”

  The night air is crisp, making me feel alive. I smile and inhale deeply.

  “You want me to ride on that?”

  I grab my helmet and shove it into his hands. “I bet girls say that to you all the time,” I say, giggling as I pull out the keys.

  He’s still gaping. “You’re serious?”

  I swing my leg over the side and straddle the bike, bringing it to life. It roars, thanks to the hugeass exhaust pipes Mary had custom added. Where she found a Harley Fat Boy, I’ll never know. It was probably compensation from PETA for freeing a pack of rabbits.

  I rev the engine and call out to Darcy. “Come on, it’s not far.”

  “You’re not properly dressed.”

  I make a face and look down at my bare legs. My PJ shorts stick out a few inches farther than the fitted hem of the sweatshirt. Mary's boots are icing. I shrug. “It’s Wendy’s, not the Met. I don’t need an evening gown, do you?”

  Darcy folds his arms over his chest and bumps the helmet against his stomach. Did I mention he’s wearing a clingy black shirt that looks so soft, and a pair of ass-hugging jeans? His hair is messy like he was doing something naughty. Ick, Anne.

  I start to drive away, thinking he’s not coming, but he reaches out for me. “Wait.”

  I stop and look back at him. He pulls the helmet on and tightens the strap under his chin before throwing his leg over the back of the bike. His hands slip around my waist, and he holds on loosely.

  “Don’t drop us. It’ll ruin my jeans.” His voice is deadpan. He doesn’t care at all that my skin will get ripped off should we fall, but heaven help us if we scuff his fancy jeans.

  I laugh darkly. “No problem, Darcy. No one is going down tonight.”

  Double entendre.

  Before he can speak, I rev the engine, and we take off. His grip increases as we fly down the highway. After a few turns, he leans with me and seems all right.

  At Wendy's, I treat him to a Baconator while I eat nuggets and suck down a shake. He lifts a fry, offering it to me. “I’ve never had someone in pajamas buy me dinner.”

  I smirk and take the fry. “I’m sure. They’re probably naked, right?”

  Darcy is biting his burger when I say it, and nearly chokes. A pickle falls from his lips as he gasps for air and tries to stop laughing. “You really think so highly of me?”

  “Asshat.”

  “Yes, I recall. The vernacular of today’s youth is very colorful.”

  I roll my eyes, pick up a fry, and chuck it at his face. It hits him right between the eyes on the bridge of his nose. “Your placid condescension speaks volumes, but your snobbery isn’t welcome in present company.”

  He wipes the grease off his face while I speak. When he puts the napkin down, he studies me. “Convention has its place. Your outright rejection of it, regardless of situation, makes me think your inexperience controls your life. Inept actions snowball into half-assed decisions that blow up in your face. Sound familiar?” He’s so cocky, so utterly arrogant.

  “Don’t be a bastard, too, or I’ll have to leave you here.”

  He deflates and when he lifts his gaze to mine, there’s sincerity in his voice. “Why must you defy everyone and everything?”

  I don’t look at him. I’m about to smile and blow off his question, but his voice drops to a whisper. “There’s a time to fight and a time to build alliances, Elizabeth.”

  Holy shit, he said my name! I drop my nugget. It plops in the ketchup, forgotten, and I stare at him. “With you, I suppose?”

  He doesn’t reply. Those blue eyes pin me in place, and I like it. Why? Why this guy? I haven’t felt this attracted to anyone ever. Why does it have to be Darcy?

  We finish our meals in silence. Darcy trails behind me as we walk back to the bike. It’s off to the side of the restaurant, in the shadows, parked underneath a massive tree on the corner of the property. The canopy is so vast that it dapples the ground in patches of black shadow from the back of the lot all the way to the street.

  Darcy stops behind me. I turn to see why and nearly fall over he’s so close. “Why did you kiss me the other night?”

  What? I make a face, and turn away. Yeah, I’m not answering that. Darcy grabs my elbow and gently turns me around until my back is to the bike. He releases me and stays close enough to touch, but he doesn’t. He lowers his face, making us close enough to kiss, but he doesn’t lean in the rest of the way. He lingers, breathing hard, and letting his scent fill my head.

  I want to kiss him, but I shouldn't. He’s not like me. He doesn’t value anything I do—this is wrong.

  “Tell me,” he commands an answer, but I’m unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

  Instead, I use my stupid youthful brain and press my lips to his. That’s all it takes for the attraction between us to ignite. His hands are on my face, in my hair, pulling me closer and kissing me deeper. His tongue sweeps the seam of my mouth greedily, wanting more. Before I’m aware of what’s happening, his hands reach down to cup my butt. My legs wrap around his waist, and in three steps we’re by the tree. He presses my back against the trunk and dips his head to my neck.

  I can’t think. I’m lost in emotion, in feelings so intense this doesn’t seem real. His mouth is hot as it moves down my throat and onto my shoulder. The sweatshirt I’m wearing seems too bulky, and I want it gone.

  I dip my head back, allowing him better access as my nails find the skin of his back. I want to run them along his skin and feel his body move into mine. I want him with me, inside me.

  “No. God, no," I gasp, not realizing I’ve spoken until Darcy’s grip loosens, and he steps away. His hair is hanging in his face, hiding those brilliant blue eyes from me. He looks around as his spine stiffens. I watch him turn to ice in front of me, the moment of heated pleasure is gone.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Bennet. Please forgive me.” Without another word, Darcy turns on his heel and walks away.

  CHAPTER 10

  Several days pass, and I can’t stop thinking about Darcy. The way he kissed me was so unlike him, so passionate and pure. The man taints everything he touches, how could he kiss like that? How could I let things get so carried away?

  Thank God Darcy's natural expression is placid. Who'd ever dream he pinned me to a tree and sucke
d on my neck until I lost control the other night?

  I did see him with a Frosty later, though. He brought them home for Gwen and Cameron. I pretended not to notice, but I did. The guys sucked down the drinks like they’d never had anything better. It was hilarious. Silly billionaires don’t know what’s good.

  As the mural progresses—and Cameron continues to adore Jane's ideas—she becomes increasingly more relaxed. Cameron frequently visits the theater to see her progress, even helping with the work where he's able. It shocks me how effectively Cameron coaxes Jane from her shell. I’ve never seen her so animated with people outside our family.

  He stands close to her, his lips by her ear, whispering. Jane smiles and blushes. I can tell she adores his attention and admiration.

  “Wow, I can’t believe how incredible these look,” Gwen coos as she walks into the theater. “OMG, Jane!” Her endless tanned legs move gracefully underneath a turquoise sarong, and her dark hair is wet like she just stepped out of the pool.

  “Jane’s brilliant. Don’t you think?” Cameron gives Jane a gentle smile.

  “Beyond brilliant. The mural looks extraordinary,” Gwen says, looking around in awe. “You have mad skills. William should hire you to do something for his penthouse in the city.”

  I snort. Darcy doesn't seem like the kind of guy to hire an artist so fresh from school.

  As if reading my mind, Gwen says, “My brother can be excessively discerning at times.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You think?”

  “Okay," Gwen admits, "he’s needlessly picky. But when he sees Jane’s work, I’m sure he'll love it. He’s by the pool. I’ll get him.”

  "Oh. That's cool," I say, busying myself cleaning paintbrushes. “We’ll be leaving in a few hours. I’m texting Mother to send us a car.” I can’t put Jane on the back of Mary’s bike. She has enough anxiety without feeling like she’s in a freefall down the Cross Island Expressway.