by Rosie Praks
“Don’t make that face in front of me,” Whitney warned, eyes glaring fire. “Do you think I’ll feel sorry for you? You’re a man. So man up and stop whining like a child.”
“Sheesh! You’re a tyrant, Whitney, even outside the office.” Darcy moaned as he pulled the blanket back and got out, feet already on the floor, mumbling to himself about the unfairness of being a man and how he had to respect the female species.
“What are you mumbling about? I can hear you.”
“Nothing. I was just saying if we were married for real, I’d be dead before I turned thirty.”
“It’s good we’re not a real married couple, then. Who knows? If we were married for real, I might even hack little Johnny if you pissed me off.”
“Now, now. You can demand me to do anything, but don’t start talking about hacking little Johnny. He’s precious to me.”
Whitney rolled her eyes. “Yes, very precious, Darcy. Now, are you going to just sit there all night and moan, or do you want me to kick your ass off this bed? Because you’re starting to piss me off.”
“I’m going. No need to act all cavewoman on me.” Darcy gave his boss an evil glare, before reluctantly getting off the bed and pulling the extra-thick duvet along with him. Whitney screeched when she realized what he’d done.
“Darcy, what the hell are you doing?” She wrestled the blanket back. “Are you trying to take revenge on me?”
Darcy turned to stare at his boss and gave her the most heartbreaking, earthshattering, soul-searching, and tear-inducing speech. “Are you really an evil witch, Whitney? Don’t you have any compassion for poor little me who can’t even sleep on a proper bed? Do you really expect poor little me to sleep on the floor with no mattress? What happens if poor little me gets a sore back and can’t work? Who’s going to pay for my rent? Will you not cry for me? I’ll be living on the streets. I’ll be homeless. I’ll be—Ow, that hurts.”
Whitney threw a pillow in Darcy’s face. With a blunt facial expression, she said, “That’s enough, Darcy. There’s no need. There’s an extra blanket in the closet. Get that one.”
Darcy slumped his shoulders, complaining silently again, but drudged forward anyway, dragging his feet to the closet.
God knows why he didn’t just go to sleep in the lounge. There was a big, long couch that was suitable just for this occasion, but somehow, he just found the idea of sleeping in the same room as his boss more appealing.
Once the thick blanket was all spread out on the floor like a mattress, Darcy lay on it, with a thin sheet to cover himself. It was so damn hot inside the room he sure as hell didn’t need an extra blanket to cover himself.
Resting one arm behind his head like a man deep in thought, Darcy decided to ask the most boggling question brewing in his mind. Except his question was anything but intelligent.
“Whitney, when was the last time you had sex?”
Smack!
“Ow! What was that for?” Darcy shoved the pillow aside and climbed onto the bed again to confront his boss. Seriously, he’d had enough of the pillow throwing.
“None of your concern,” Whitney said, face going red with annoyance. “And didn’t I say not to talk about the sex from last night?”
“I was just curious,” Darcy mumbled meekly, head down, playing at the loose thread design on the pillowcase.
“You know curiosity killed the cat.” Whitney lifted Darcy’s chin to inspect him. “You don’t want to get killed by me now, do you?”
“No. Of course not.” Darcy blinked, staring into those green irises when Whitney’s face moved closer.
He gulped in extra air. This time it was he who was pulled into a trance, like that time in the pool.
“Good.” Whitney poked him in the forehead. “Now shut up and go to sleep like a good boy.”
Darcy grumbled, still sitting on the edge of the bed like a wounded child, shoulders hunched. “You know I don’t like you calling me little boy. You know I’m not a little boy. Not after what you’ve seen and done with me last night.”
“Jesus, Darcy.” Whitney got up from bed again and looked at his hunched back. “Would you shut up and stop speaking in sexual innuendos?”
“No can do.” Darcy turned to face his boss. “I need to get my message across.” He then shifted his body until he was facing her again. “I really don’t like it that you call me little boy all the time. It hurts. Even that little tiny bit in my heart aches.” He placed his palm on his chest. Then, when it wasn’t enough to convince Whitney of his pain, he snatched her hand unexpectedly and placed it on his chest, too. “See, can you feel my pain? It’s throbbing. It hurts.”
Whitney felt the rhythmic beat of Darcy’s heart vibrating into her palm. She didn’t like this sensation, being so close to him. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but boy was he strong? He gripped her hand firmly, as if there were no tomorrow. And when she tried to retract again, Darcy just put in more force, which made her heart sprint in synch with his.
Whitney looked up at his face. And saw his sad, solemn expression. Maybe she was a little harsh when she was in her boss persona. Sighing heavily, she said, “All right. When we get back to work, I won’t use that phrase again. No more little boy. Happy now?”
Darcy beamed, flashing his bright, white teeth, almost blinding Whitney. And it kind of made her heart somersault again.
Whitney swallowed her nerves. Releasing her hand, she dug herself in the blanket again and covered herself entirely, until only her head was exposed. Somehow she felt vulnerable being close to Darcy. She really needed to keep her distance.
“I’m turning off the light now,” she announced, just for something to say, since her heart was beating nonstop. “Why don’t you go to sleep? It’s late.”
“Sure.” Darcy smiled, getting back into his bed on the floor. “Go ahead. You can turn off the light now. I’m all nestled in.”
Whitney turned off the light and was about to close her eyes when Darcy spoke again. “Whitney?”
“Mmm,” she said, fingers clutching the blanket around her just to calm her breathing.
“Can I ask you one more question before bed?”
Whitney bit her lip, unsure whether she was brave enough to answer any more ridiculous questions. “Sure. What is it?”
“How did you get that Australian mole on your bot—”
Smack!
“Ow!” Darcy cringed when a pillow landed perfectly on his face.
“I said go to sleep.” Whitney glowered, dumping herself on the bed and forcing herself to close her eyes again.
God, what was she thinking? Stupid Darcy. Asking her stupid questions. And stupid heart. Stop thumping right now. All this stupid sex talk was really affecting her.
“You didn’t need to throw me another pillow.” Darcy moaned. “I’ve got plenty here. Plus, I was only meaning to—”
“Say one more word and I’ll throw another pillow in your face.” Whitney threatened. “Now say good night.”
“Fine. Good night,” Darcy grumbled, tossing and turning his body like a squirmy worm. He was trying to find a comfortable position, but even with the thick blanket acting as his mattress, it still wasn’t comfortable for him.
For the next couple hours, Darcy lay awake, listening to the sound of the woman sleeping in bed above him, breathing lightly in her sleep. A little thought ran through his mind as he was lulled into the land of slumber.
If only I could sleep next to Whitney on that bed, I’d be as comfortable and cozy as a little ducky.
It was bright and early and the sun hadn’t even raised its orange head over the ocean yet, but Max was an early bird. He’d planned this mission since the day Clarice had announced she would be getting married in Queenstown.
Max chuckled. It was only a few days before his cousin’s wedding, but he wanted to surprise them by showing up unannounced in their hotel suite. Oh, it’d be so much fun. Just the thought was already making him giddy inside.
Max had an overni
ght bag slung over his back. Not much was in there except a few changes of clothes. He was one of the groomsmen after all. The wedding attire would be handled by the wedding planner.
As soon as he got inside the hotel foyer, not a soul was in sight. What was he expecting? He had arrived at the hotel at the ungodly hour of five in the morning.
But still, where was the receptionist when he needed one? Suddenly, he saw a woman with a ginger head bobbing up and down behind the counter.
What the hell is going on behind there? Max thought.
“Oi, sister, service here.”
Harley was ravenous. She was starving after that episode when Mr. and Mrs. Hunter came down, and Mr. Woods, all arguing. It was good she’d clarified everything and diffused the situation. Even after lunch, she was still starving. And now she was on early shift. Since there weren’t many patrons checking in at this hour, she thought she’d take a quick bite. But now this. A patron. How embarrassing.
Harley looked up from her fruit bar when she heard the patron call her. “Oh, sorry, just having a little break.”
Harley quickly wiped her mouth, then looked at the teenage boy with mousy brown hair and dusty freckles all over his nose. Somehow he looked familiar.
“Checking in, sir?” she asked politely
“Checking in, sister,” Max replied coolly.
Something that boy said hit her. Harley tightened her fist and asked politely, “Your name please, sir?” She forced a smile. God, if that boy used the word sister to address her again, she’d hit the roof. She was no one’s sister. Let alone this boy who was younger than her.
“Hunter Silverton!”
Harley almost spewed her heart out. “What? What did you say?”
“Ha-ha-ha,” Max laughed, throwing his thick, moppy brown hair back. “I was only joking. I’m Max. Maximilian Mason. I’m Clarice’s cousin.”
“Clarice?” Oh. For a minute there, she thought she was going to have a heart attack. “I’m sorry. We don’t have anyone by the name of Clarice checking in.”
“Ah? Didn’t Clarice and Hunter check in yesterday?”
“Oh, do you mean Mrs. Hunter?”
“Hey? Mrs. Hunter?” Max asked, scratching his head. “Is that what Clarice called herself?”
“Clarice?” Harley wanted to scratch her head, too. As she recalled, Mrs. Hunter called herself Whitney. Maybe that was her middle name.
“They’re in their suite,” Harley concluded.
“Good. Could you take me to them? I want to surprise them.”
“They may be asleep, though.”
“Nah! They love me. I’m sure they’ll be in for a massive heart attack when they see me. Plus, Conrad loves me.”
“Conrad?” This time Harley was starting to feel cold, like a nervous shivering. She had to ask Max to double-check. “Who’s Conrad? Is that Mr. Hunter’s middle name?”
“Conrad’s my little nephew.” Max rested his elbow on the counter, conversing casually with Harley, his chest thrust forward at the important information he was about to impart. “He’s only eleven months old. The wee bub loves me. I made him, you see. I was the one who orchestrated this whole event. That’s why this wedding is taking place here.”
“Umm.” Harley was starting to panic again. She had a strong feeling the couple upstairs assuming the identity of Mr. and Mrs. Hunter was not the true couple. She bit her lip, a habit when she was nervous. “I don’t remember seeing a little baby checking in with Mr. and Mrs. Hunter.”
“Hey?” Max wedged his face closer to Harley, until he was only inches away. “You mean Conrad didn’t come with the couple?”
“No. No. I didn’t see a baby.” Harley shook her head, even recalling the strange event when each checked in at different times.
Max watched Harley under his stare and then burst out laughing like a mad man. “Ha-ha-ha.”
Harley was starting to freak out. Something was seriously wrong. And she had a part to play in it.
“Don’t worry, sister. I’m sure aunty took Conrad. But that couple.” Max rubbed his hands together, an evil look on his face. “God, they just love to spend time smooching each other.” Max turned to Harley again. “Sister. Lead me to them. I want to surprise them.”
“I… I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Harley knew something bad was going to happen. She could feel it in her little toes.
“Oh, I think it’s a good idea.”
Harley reluctantly gave Max the key card and followed the taller teen at a sluggish pace.
As soon as they were in front of the door of the supposedly married couple, Max smirked. “Watch me. I’ll give them a heart attack for sure.”
Harley wasn’t sure if it would be the couple in bed that would get a heart attack. She was sure the first person would be her.
And then Max opened the door and entered the suite. Harley could hear everything. The humming of the heat pump, the stillness of the night. And then…
“Oh my God! Whitney, did you elope with a man? What are you doing in Hunter and Clarice’s suite?”
Harley heard Max’s shout. And she knew right then who’d had the heart attack. Max, herself, and the supposedly deceptive couple, Whitney and Darcy, as they were found in bed like two lovers cocooned in a honey jar.
Chapter 15
“Who’s eloping with me? And who’s in my bed?” Whitney asked groggily, eyes peeling open to see Max’s large brown eyes staring back at her.
“Whitney, it’s you?” Max said, face full of worry and questions. “What are you doing with a man in bed?”
“Ahh…” Whitney yawned, burrowing her head farther into the soft, comfy pillow. “Shut up, Max. You’re disturbing my sleep.” She shoved Max’s face away.
That boy was always disturbing her sleep. Every time Clarice, Elise, and she hung out together, late at night or after school, Max would never bother to knock on any of their doors and just came barging in. Whitney, in her dream, had thought this was what happened, until she felt her palm landing smack onto something… like a face.
“Get up, Whitney. Stop feeling his face.” Whitney heard Max saying, shaking her awake.
“Shut up, Max.” Her voice increased another octave.
Whitney wasn’t the type to wake up with a bright smile on her face. She loved her morning snooze. And this morning just might prove she was the ultimate witch, as Max liked to call her.
“You, witch. I knew you were up to something bad,” Max commented, still trying to shake her awake. “Saying you’re staying a spinster forever, and now look. You’ve bought a man to sleep with you.”
“Would you shut up, Max?” Whitney had had enough and jerked forward like a zombie come to life, still neglecting to notice that male sleeping beside her, arms and legs clinging to her like a vine. She glared at Max, still thinking she was in Auckland, in Clarice’s house. “Stop barging into our rooms uninvited. I should really kick your ass.”
“Whitney, I’m not joking with you. We’re not in Clarice’s house. And you have a man sleeping next to you.”
“Hey?” Whitney opened her eyes again, the cloud beginning to clear. And then she saw Max’s distressed face. She blinked, trying to comprehend what he was saying. And then she turned to her side and saw…
“Ahh! Darcy, what the fudge?” Her heart collapsed and she screamed. “I told you not to sleep on my bed. What are you doing winding your legs around my body? Get up! Get up!”
“Huh! Huh! What’s going on?” Darcy rubbed his eyes, face still smothered between Whitney’s breasts, limbs wound tight around her body. “Ah?” When Darcy opened his eyes and saw his surroundings, Max looking like he was about to perform a death stunt at any minute and Harley shivering in the corner of the room, he jumped on top of Whitney and clung to her neck like a scared child. “My God, Whitney, we’ve been found out. We’ve been found out. What do we do? What do we do?”
Max didn’t like the look of this man strangling Whitney’s neck. Although he and Whitney didn’t get al
ong sometimes, he felt a sense of obligation to protect her. Anyone who was a friend of his cousin was also a friend to him. And there was no way he was letting this guy loose, what with his body all plastered to Whitney like this.
“Who are you? What did you do to the witch?” Max shouted at Darcy, hauling him up by his collar to threaten the guy. “Answer me, or you’ll get a taste of my knuckle sandwich.”
“Hey, little dude. Calm down.” Darcy restrained Max, who was about to combust, rolling his sleeves to reveal miniscule bicep muscles. “We’re only sleeping in bed together.”
“Sleeping in bed together?” Whitney just realized what Darcy had implied. They were in bed together, Darcy’s body stuck to her like glue. Whitney screeched. “Darcy, you dork! Who told you to sleep on my bed? Get off. Get off.”
Whitney shoved him, trying to kick him off the bed. Except Darcy was a big man. That shove was only transferred to the little man beside him, Max. And now Max was head over heels hanging off the bed, head on the floor and heels on the bed.
Max was dizzy. His world was spinning. But thankfully, his head landed on a soft lap. He opened his eyes and saw the brightest blue eyes and a mop of red, curly hair.
“Sister, thanks for the catch,” Max said, smiling at Harley, before he felt his feet being dragged upward and onto the bed again.
It was Whitney who had jumped over Darcy to try and pull Max upright again. “Oh, Max, I didn’t mean to shove you off the bed. I’m sorry.”
“Whitney,” Max snapped once he got his bearings again. “I was just trying to help. What a way to thank me, shoving me off the bed. Just you wait. I’ll curse you two to be lovers forever.”
“I said I’m sorry.” Whitney apologized again.
“I forgive you. Since I’m kind,” Max said, folding his arms across his chest, his nose thrust high into the air. “But what’s the deal with you and the dude?” His eyes flicked to Darcy. “Why are you in Clarice and Hunter’s suite?”