by Leigh Riker
“No.” Dylan cleared his throat. “I thought I could do it—not push you any further—but I got tired of waiting for you to come get me.”
“You wasted the trip to Sydney. I was going to track you down tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with today?”
“Not a thing. Now.”
With a whoop that sent his Akubra flying, he swung her around and around, panties falling from his shoulders, a bra snagged on his belt, hanging over his fly. He kissed her, his mouth soft then hot, moving on hers, until she felt dizzy from his taste as much as from the motion.
“Down,” she said.
“Or what? Chunder?”
“On the Paramatta.”
After letting her slide down to solid ground, slide against his body the entire way, he folded his arms over his impressive chest and cocked his head. “I know you have to make decisions for yourself—”
“I just did.”
Someone handed him the Akubra and he clamped it on his head. He kept staring while the crowd of shoppers milled and flowed around them and finally, with the jangle of the closing bell, drifted back into the hallway toward the mall exits.
Darcie didn’t notice them. Or Walt and Rachel herding people out. She just stood there while the place emptied.
Go your own way, Darcie, Merrick had told her.
Claire had said, You can have it all, just not like you—we—expected.
Soul mates, Annie had said. Next door or half the world away.
And what had Gran advised? Take happiness where you find it. Life is short. She’d said something else, months ago, but Darcie couldn’t recall what it was right now.
“Your store,” Dylan said, looking around at the mostly bare shelves, the now empty checkout counter and the dry soda pitchers, the crumbs of cookies, the empty red licorice container. “It’s great. Good on ya.”
“Good for me?”
“Good for you,” he agreed.
Darcie smiled. “I may never learn to speak your language.”
“Oh, you speak my language just fine.”
He had that dark look in his eyes and her pulse lurched. What was he saying? That he accepted her need to have this career, to be her own person? She swallowed, hard. She could tell him this, the words she’d denied him until now. One reason—a big reason—why she had flown back to Australia. To him.
“I love you, Dylan.”
Startled, he stepped back, then came forward again. He put his arms around her and held her tight. “I love you, too. Matilda.”
He kissed her again, took another step, then another, edging her backward across the floor, as if they were two-stepping in some Texas bar.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
Darcie looked around. “This is a store.”
“It’s closed.” Turning his head toward the register, he called out, “Thanks, Rachel. I appreciate your help. Any time you need a stand-in here, let me know.”
She snickered, gave them both a wave, and went out the door, ready to lock it behind her. “My pleasure.” She was dragging Walt with her, which made Darcie smile. “Come on,” Rachel told him, “I’ll buy you a drink.” She called back, “We’re celebrating. The total our first day topped any store in Wunderthings’ chain.”
Darcie heard that—and part of her rejoiced—but the rest simply didn’t care. Not now, anyway. The important thing was to be with Dylan. Wherever. It didn’t make a lick of sense. It didn’t have to.
In the nearest dressing room with Darcie, Dylan pressed her against the mirrored wall. “I have fond memories of this,” he murmured, lowering his head to hers again. “Our first night at the Westin.”
How could she forget? Maybe his traditional views not only weren’t that much like her parents’; maybe they weren’t a complete obstacle to change. Maybe she needn’t fight against her upbringing so hard. Or her own until-now elusive happiness.
Love isn’t logical. Life isn’t rational. They’re not meant to be.
And suddenly, Darcie remembered the rest. Gran was right. Any man who could make her laugh until she cried, until her ribs hurt, until her heart spun, had to be a keeper.
Darcie didn’t know whether they could work things out, but she was no longer naive enough to think things could be fixed in stone. No longer as uncertain of her place as a woman. She would try—she suspected Dylan would, too. For now, Down Under and deep in Darcie’s heart, he was the one. For her. But, “Dylan, we need to talk.”
“First we make love,” he said against her mouth, and Darcie subsided.
“Then we negotiate.”
STRAPLESS
A Red Dress Ink novel
ISBN: 978-1-4592-4855-7
© 2002 Leigh Riker.
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