Undressing Mr. Darcy

by Karen Doornebos

  “Thank you,” Vanessa said. “I’ll bring it to the signing table for him.”

  The coordinator sighed. “Well. Last event of the festival! Hard to believe it’s almost all over.”

  “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 11

  The only thing better than picturing Julian in British-flag briefs was actually being with him on Oak Street Beach in Chicago, lying on the sand. They were steps away from the Drake Hotel, where everything had been arranged for the party, thanks to the combined efforts of Vanessa’s and Lexi’s connections. Chase, too, had helped out, and he would be there tonight.

  They were also just hours away from the party and a day away from Julian’s departure. Tomorrow he would be flying on to New York for the last leg of his tour and then back to England.

  She didn’t want to think of him in the hands—literally or figuratively—of another PR girl.

  He had already complimented the beauty of the beach against the skyscrapers, and she’d treated him to Chicago-style pizza and a tour of the city, and they’d had conversations about art, literature, politics, and the campaign to raise more money for his estate. She’d done a very good job of sticking to her work and successfully avoiding being alone with him these last few days. She had also avoided having the car keys discussion with her aunt and, instead, asked Paul if he could take the lead in driving until she had a chance to broach the subject.

  To avoid getting too close to Julian, she’d made sure not to learn his middle name or his favorite color, and she’d cut him off as soon as he started talking about his horses. She didn’t want to hear about his pets.

  But the truth was, even as he sat beside her, she missed him, as if he were already gone. He had packed his leather trunks.

  His hot, if rather pale, body glowed in the glare of the midday sun as he read his stack of newspapers. He wore a British blue Speedo swimsuit, gold-rimmed steampunk sunglasses with round green lenses, and—nothing else.

  She wore the sexiest bikini she owned.

  “Still taking care of work on your tablet?” he asked.

  “No, I’m finished now, until tomorrow,” she said.

  He folded his newspaper and peered onto her screen. “Hm, eBelieve? Whatever is that?”

  “If you must know, it’s an online matchmaking service. They’ve provided me with quite a few interesting matches.”

  “Are any of these suitors worthy?”

  “They’re not really suitors—I haven’t even met them.”

  “You haven’t met any of these men, yet you ‘eBelieve’ they might be interesting matches for you?”

  “Yes. We share common interests, the same hobbies and life goals.”

  “I see.”

  She knew more about these online men than she did about Julian. “I can meet them if I want. Anytime! One in five relationships starts online, I’ll have you know.”

  “Charming,” he said with a half smile.

  “It’s smart,” Vanessa said. “Saves time.”

  “Have you ever considered that you live a virtual half life by sifting through men on your computer? I believe in serendipity. That’s what I believe in. A chance encounter, a smile across a crowded room. I believe in chemistry that is palpable. I believe—”

  “I believe we should consider putting some sunblock on,” she interrupted. He was leaving tomorrow and she didn’t want to start anything with him now. “And let’s finish up our discussion about how you can build on the momentum you’ve stirred up here with your show and your book.”

  “I suppose we should finalize our business together,” he said.

  “Finalize” sounded so—final.

  Buff, tanned, and nearly naked beach bodies were piled up like beautiful, shimmering carnage all around them on this hot and gorgeous September afternoon. People had ditched work because it was fall and this could be the last summerlike day until May.

  She pulled a tube of SPF 30 out of her bag. She handed it to him, but he refused to take it.

  “No need.”

  “It’s going to be awfully hard to wriggle out of those breeches in New York if your legs are sunburned.”

  He watched, unabashedly, while she smoothed the lotion on her legs, including over the tattoo near her ankle, the heart wrapped in barbed wire.

  He sat up. “You’re right. You do care for me, don’t you?”

  He’d called her on it. What could she say? What should she say at the eleventh hour?

  “Of course I care. I wouldn’t be here with you, making sure you aren’t getting sunburned, if I didn’t. I worked hard to be able to take time off to be with you right now.”

  “Thank you.” He slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and looked her in the eyes. “I’d like to kiss you right now.”

  “To what end?”

  “Must everything have an end goal? Are there results that need measuring? Does every feeling have to be backed by a mission statement?”

  What could she possibly do with this man-client?

  Letting it go, he picked up the tube and handed it to her. “Perhaps you would oblige?”

  She stood up and then knelt behind him, her knees touching his ass, as she rubbed the sunblock on his shoulders, neck, and back. Skin-on-skin contact. It felt good; it felt right. Her mind wandered as the lotion glistened on his back and a coconut aroma filled the beach air. Maybe he was right—not everything needed to be backed by a mission statement. Maybe she could give in to her attraction to him and not expect or want a relationship.

  He leaned into her hands as she slathered his rock-solid biceps then moved seductively from his prominent shoulder blades down, slowly, to the small of his back and the line of his swimsuit. She snapped his swimsuit waistband playfully, and it was as if it were the first time all summer she’d relaxed enough to want, to crave, to hunger for someone, to hunger for . . . him.

  Undeniably, she was tempted to kiss him, too, or maybe even devour him, there, starting with the back of his neck, and she very nearly did so, because he tilted his head back, with his thick black hair, and turned just enough for her to see his square-cut sideburns, which she had wanted to touch ever since she’d first seen him at the airport. He even let out a slight groan and readjusted himself on his towel.

  But, as her luck would have it, just at that moment, a throng of loud little boys ran up, with a spray of sand, and plopped down beside them. They were all dressed as pirates, in plastic tricorn hats and wielding plastic swords. A very tanned pirate mom with a bandanna tied around her head and wearing a slinky bustier pirate blouse and shredded black miniskirt hauled a cooler decorated to look like a pirate chest.

  Pirate chest. She sure had one!

  “Guys, I have some treasure here,” she shouted.

  Okay, that ruined the moment. Although Vanessa stayed behind Julian, her knees had now sort of locked on his sides, and, for some reason, she couldn’t wrench her hands from his shoulders.

  “Anybody want a juice box?” asked the pirate mom. “Oh, look! There’s Captain Jack Sparrow now!”

  She pointed to the frothy waves, and there, as if rising out of the surf itself, like a male form of Aphrodite, Chase appeared, in his Jack Sparrow costume, doing a funny Jack Sparrow walk right toward the kids, who all squealed and ran toward him.

  “Captain Jack! Jack Sparrow! Cool! Super cool!”

  Chase sauntered up, with boys hanging all over him, and caught a glimpse of Vanessa with her hands on Julian.

  “Why, fancy meeting you here, Elizabeth Swann,” he said to Vanessa.

  One of the boys piped up. “She’s not Elizabeth Swann!”

  “Perhaps not.” He raised an eyebrow at her hands on Julian’s shoulders.

  She took her hands off Julian and stood. “Hello, Jack.” She couldn’t hold back a smile. Chase had to be slightly nuts.

  He tipped his hat at Julian. “But her friend sure looks like Davy Jones, doesn’t he, mateys?”

  “Yeah!” The boys all jumped up
and down, swinging their plastic swords, as if they were readying to do some damage.

  But Chase diverted the pint-sized mob. “And who’s this swashbuckling beauty?” He bowed to the pirate mom.

  “That’s my mom!” one of the boys said.

  “Then you, my first mate, must be the birthday boy. How old are you now? Sixteen? What are you drinking here? Rum?”

  The boys laughed. The pirate mom laughed, too, and got her camera out and started taking pictures of Chase with her son.

  He had a way, a way with everyone.

  “He’s not sixteen!” one of the boys said.

  “He’s six, Captain Jack!” said another.

  “And that’s a juice box!” said another boy.

  Vanessa bent down and picked up Julian’s wrist to check the time on his watch. Vanessa felt comfortable around Julian—perhaps even more comfortable since in less than twenty-four hours he’d be gone.

  It gave him a certain cachet.

  “Three o’clock?” she asked out loud and looked over toward Chase with her hands on her bikini hips. “Captain Jack, shouldn’t you be at work?” She smiled at the kids, then at Chase. “I—I mean at work pillaging and looking for treasure—and, you know, all those things pirates do during working hours?”

  Chase laughed and initiated swordplay with the boys. “I might ask you the same. What brings you to the beach during working hours?”

  “It’s Julian’s last day. He’s flying out tomorrow.”

  “I see,” said Chase. He fended off the boys for a moment and leaned in toward Vanessa to whisper, “And this little birthday boy has leukemia, so that’s why I’m here.” And then in a louder voice he asked, “Savvy?”

  Vanessa skipped a breath. “Yes—savvy.” Her hand fluttered up to her chest. “I had no idea. Wow.” She stepped back in the warm sand. “How cool of you.”

  Now that she felt like a complete idiot, she moved her towel and sat on the opposite side of Julian.

  Chase lifted the birthday boy and ran around with him, pretending to hoist him into the lake. The boy’s hat fell off, revealing a bald head with a red bandanna wrapped around it.

  Julian leaned back and closed his eyes, but Vanessa couldn’t stop watching Chase, thinking how easily he added meaning, deep meaning, to his life and his work.

  After a few minutes he made his way back, with kids trailing behind him. “Since it’s Mr. Darcy’s last night, why don’t you both join me for a boat ride after your aunt’s party? I have a few friends coming. Around nine o’clock? DuSable Harbor?”

  “Thank you, Chase, but I don’t think—” Vanessa said just as Julian, without so much as sitting up, said, “Absolutely.”

  “Good,” Chase said to Julian. “It’ll be fun.” With that he led the boys along the beach, pretending to fumble with and unfold a big treasure map.

  “What did you do that for?” Vanessa asked.

  “I did it for you. You’re smitten with him.”

  “Really? How do you figure that?”

  “It’s obvious.”

  “Well, you’re way off base.” And just in case he didn’t get that baseball reference since they played cricket in England, she clarified. “You’re wrong.”

  How could he not see—anything?

  “Regardless, I fancy a boat ride to see the city lights.”

  So that was what he wanted to see.

  He sat up. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something. It’s something important.”

  She sat up and propped herself on her locked arms, showing herself in her bikini to her best advantage—just in case.

  But he looked her in the eye. “I’ve written down the perfect Jane Austen quote for you to incorporate into your speech tonight for your aunt. Remind me to give it to you at the dinner.”

  “Oh. Oh, thank you.” She leaned back on her elbows.

  He opened his newspaper with a distinct ruffle. “Being at the beach like this reminds me of a quote from Pride and Prejudice,” he continued. “It was Mrs. Bennet who said, ‘A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever.’”

  Was he a method actor or something? Because he’d just switched back into his Mr. Darcy mode. It was all Vanessa could do to keep from screaming. And not in a good way, either.

  * * *

  That evening, when Julian entered the room in his Regency best, all the ladies turned their heads, and Aunt Ella beamed when he took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor.

  Vanessa had told her aunt of the party, so she wouldn’t be too surprised, and informed her just enough so she’d enjoy it and wear what she wanted to be seen in most.

  Her aunt and Julian danced two slow waltzes together, even though the waltz, according to Julian, had just been introduced during the Regency and was considered very risqué due to hand-on-shoulder and hand-on-waist contact, but this only added to his appeal in the crowd.

  The middle of the second waltz was Paul’s cue to cut in, which he did, and then Julian acted as if he were truly affronted. That wasn’t part of Vanessa’s direction, but it sure got a laugh from the crowd. And he really started improvising when he asked her to dance while Aunt Ella and Paul were dancing. They were supposed to have the floor all to themselves.

  “No, thank you, Julian,” she said.

  But he didn’t give up and, instead, kept standing at her chair, holding out his gloved hand. Her eyes darted across the room, where Chase held court with an entire table of older women, all of them laughing and smiling. He did clean up well. He had swapped his usual pirate look for a white button-down and an off-white linen suit that really showcased his tan.

  “Is your dance card full?” Julian asked.

  She smiled. “Hardly.”

  “Go on,” said one of Aunt Ella’s friends at Vanessa’s table. The entire room was ninety percent female. She nudged Vanessa with her elbow.

  “I know,” Vanessa said. “Men are a hot commodity around here, but—”

  “It’ll make your aunt happy to see you dancing with ‘Mr. Darcy.’”

  Vanessa took Julian’s hand and stood. “Well, okay, but I must warn you, Mr. Darcy, I don’t know how to waltz.”

  “I will gladly be your teacher,” Julian said. “I think you’re smart enough to catch on.”

  With that, Vanessa acquiesced.

  She and Aunt Ella smiled at each other across the dance floor, and even though the party had been a resounding success so far, Vanessa couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that by the end of the month her aunt would be married and moving to the northern suburbs to live with Paul—without her car keys.

  When Julian clasped his hand in hers and settled his other hand on her shoulder blade as she rested her hand on his shoulder, it took the edge off, almost as if she’d guzzled a strong cocktail.

  Yet she didn’t want to call him intoxicating and she didn’t let herself get drawn in by a false sense of—anything—just because he had an arm around her.

  It was a dance. With a boy. A boy who would be gone and out of her life tomorrow. Yes, they had chemistry; yes, they had a thing for each other; but no, she couldn’t risk it; it wouldn’t be smart.

  She realized, as she followed his lead, counting to three, doing the box step with him, that just having to talk herself out of him meant that she was a little more vulnerable than she’d originally thought.

  She’d danced with a lot of guys in her lifetime. Why was this so different?

  He was looking at her and smiling.

  The room twinkled with chandelier lights, and, as more couples joined them on the floor, Julian drew her closer in until their cheeks nearly touched. She felt him against her, the warmth of him, his hard body moving so slowly and smoothly to the music.

  This drove her “mad,” as he would say. She tried to push herself away as the dance ended, but he resisted. Nonetheless, she knew it was best for the success of the party that he mingle, entertain, and dance with Aunt Ella’s friends. Chase, too, asked as many older women as he could to dance. />
  As the evening progressed and Julian floated around the room, talking and dancing and falling in and out of her line of sight while she took video and pictures, she felt as if she were watching him in a movie dance with other women. Other white-haired women, but still.

  The last thing she felt like doing was sharing him tonight. The only “sharing” she liked to do was on social media!

  Which reminded her. She reached for her phone and scrolled through her texts, e-mails, and posts, looking for “urgent” or “emergency.” How did she ever get through all this crap on a daily basis and still do her job? The sheer volume of it astounded her.

  And then there was another message from an eBelieve prospect.

  Could Julian be right? Maybe, maybe she didn’t eBelieve anymore.

  As far as she could tell, in Jane Austen’s time you’d be limited to meeting the local eligible bachelors at the village dance, and maybe there was some merit to that.

  “Coffee or tea?” asked the waiter.

  “Tea, please.”

  Did she just say that?

  It occurred to her she needed more tea parties in her life. More dancing. More gowns. Less cell phones and computers. More Mr. Darcy.

  In fact, Julian had called it on the very first day he’d met her.

  Everybody needs a little Mr. Darcy in their lives.

  While the quintet took a break, she caught a glimpse of him again, across the room, entertaining a semicircle of women and men, too. Their eyes met and she smiled, then she raised her teacup to him. He beamed and bowed, reached for a cup of tea himself, and toasted her from across the dance floor. Then he started clinking his cup of tea with a spoon. Others chimed in.

  It reminded her of the clinking of car keys.

  Oh, shit—she’d almost forgotten to give her little speech!

  Soon the whole roomful of people were clinking their glasses.

  Vanessa stood up and smiled and pulled two index cards from her bag. The first one had her speech outlined on it, and the second had the quote Julian had recommended she use.

  “I had a little something I wrote a while ago here, but”—she tucked the first index card back in her bag— “things have changed since then. For the better.”