by Gigi Blume
But then there she was. A vision of watercolor on an acrylic backdrop. All soft lines and diffused radiance. Everything else fell out of focus. Why? Why was she there? Surely some demented Cupid had it in for me.
And then that comment she made. Pumpkin pie. She was taunting me. Teasing me. I really loved pie.
I told myself I could keep my distance. Let Fitz show her a good time while I sulked in the corner watching dancers do a lyrical rendition of twister in plastic bodysuits. But then she bolted. Something upset her. What the blazes did Fitz do?
She ran into the gardens, hiding away under the archway of star jasmine vines. She looked like a sprite in a magical dream surrounded by moonlight and white twinkle lights. My heart leapt to my throat.
When she saw me approach, her eyes widened, and she recoiled.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She answered with cold civility. “Peachy.”
This was new territory for me. Her eyes were leaking. I had no idea how to deal with that.
“Have you been crying?”
Real smooth.
She shot me a severe stare and walked away finding a small amphitheater shaded by billowy canvas sails. It was a creative breezy place to sit in the summer but now on a chilly winter night, it was quiet and still.
“Elizabeth,” I called softly. “Wait.”
She halted her steps but didn’t turn to face me, hugging her arms. She was cold.
“Take my coat.” I rid myself of my tuxedo jacket and offered it to her, but she shook her head vehemently.
“No,” she said in clipped tones. “Thank you.”
She wasn’t a shy woman. Until that moment, I’d never known her to be short on words. Usually the words were laced with pithy and quick-witted banter. Was this another side of Beth? Could it be she had the same paralyzingly fears as I did, afraid to face this intense attraction? Did she feel for me what I felt for her?
My whole body was charged with an unquenchable magnetic energy. She was the central force drawing me in. I could hardly stand it. But I knew my words were inadequate to share that with her. How could I? If I learned anything over my encounters with her over the past few weeks, it was that I was particularly adept in shoving my foot directly in my mouth. So I didn’t speak at all. There was enough noise from the friction in the air between us. It crackled. It popped. It snap, crackle, popped? Eh, okay, a little less breakfast cereal and a little more lightning and thunder. We were in a charged sphere. If we were in a sci-fi movie, you’d see a glowy dome surround us, sparks flying around the edges, and possible levitation.
The far-off voices of party guests counting in unison down from ten assaulted the electric cocoon Beth and I had formed. She turned her head slightly toward the ballroom to listen to the countdown into the new year. Ten seconds suspended in a single breath I was holding. Then she cast her glistening eyes to meet mine. The goddess deigning to acknowledge me. My pulse quickened as she opened her lovely mouth to speak.
“It’s midnight,” she whispered. “You’ll be a frog forever.”
A frog. Doomed to a curse without the kiss of his princess. It wouldn’t do. There was mischief in her expression—a dare. She didn’t think I would follow through. But I was never one to hold back on what I wanted. And I wanted her. I’d wanted her for several weeks but was too full of myself to accept it. Now I was done running from it.
I closed the gap between us, allowing my feet to carry me. I couldn’t have resisted if I’d wanted to. Full disclosure: I didn’t want to. I cupped my hand behind her head; she was so petite, my thumb could reach around to graze her chin. She lifted her gaze to meet mine, hot and cold, and rimmed with a question. I answered with the caress of my lips to hers, slow and savoring. The skin of her lips was soft and pliant, so very dainty and tasted slightly of salt from her tears. I wanted to erase all her tears with my kisses, hold her and shield her from whatever grieved her. Everything within me was charged and culminated in her. In that kiss. Her delicate hands traced the edges of my collar, inching their way up to thread her fingers through my hair.
And then—she yanked, severing her lips from mine, and probably taking a few strands of my hair in her fists.
“Mother Abbess!” I cried reaching to the back of my head. It was stinging from the attack. Her face was flushed with rage and, clenching her teeth, she screamed, “What is wrong with you?”
Wrong with me? Wrong with me?
“You,” I snapped. “You are wrong with me.”
“Me?”
“I have been fighting against my better judgement for weeks. I tell myself that it’s a bad idea, me and you—but I keep coming back for more in spite of myself.”
She stared at me, color rising in her cheeks and was silent. Was it doubt in her expression? I found it excessively difficult to read.
“I shouldn’t let myself get involved with a girl like you, but I find myself unable to stay away, despite the warning bells going off in my head.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A girl like me? What exactly does that mean?”
Foot in mouth.
“A distraction,” I said. “A siren, crashing my ship into the rocks.”
She shook her head with astonishment—or maybe amusement. Crashing my ship into the rocks? Even I thought I was a moron.
“Elizabeth,” I softly bade. I didn’t want to talk. I lost all cognitive ability to speak around her. All I wanted was to kiss her again. One kiss wasn’t enough. Twenty kisses wouldn’t be enough. My desire for her was insatiable.
I reached for her, needing to convince her with a gesture I found lacking in the encumbrance of words. Pesky words. But she recoiled hastily, violently opposed to my touches.
“I can’t sleep at night. I can’t eat, can’t concentrate on anything,” I pleaded, appealing the best I could to her sense of compassion.
Note to self: This is not an effective tactic when it comes to strong-willed women. But I didn’t know better at the time.
“You are not the kind of woman I usually date,” I said. My foot was halfway down my throat by this time, so why not shove it down further? “But I’m willing to take a chance with you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lucky me.”
This was going all wrong. Where were my lines? Where was the script? Even so, I had the feeling if there was a script, this scene would go off-book anyway.
“Should I be grateful the amazing Will Darcy has condescended to bestow his glory upon me? I suppose you expect me thank you for the unique honor of your attention, oh Great One.”
“I never said—”
“I’m not impressed by you,” she spat. “I never asked to be singled out by you, and I don’t care what kind of girl you usually date. I’m obviously not your type, and if you get over yourself for three seconds, you’ll realize you’re not my type either. I’m sure after all the flattering and warmhearted compliments you’ve paid me, you’ll survive. That last bit was sarcasm in case you were wondering.”
She was putting up her dukes. It was war with this woman.
“May I ask,” I said as calmly as I could, “what is it you have against me?”
“Oh, where should I begin? Ah, here’s one. After you basically insulted me, you still want to go out with me, even if it goes against everything you stand for. Charming. Real charming.”
She turned her back to me as if to walk away but thought better of it and spun back around to point her forefinger into my chest.
“But that’s not even why I’m mad at you,” she snapped. “I have every reason to be peeved with you right now—after what you did to separate Bing from my friend.”
Ah snap.
“Nothing you can say will excuse you in my mind from what you did.”
Her finger was poking me repeatedly.
“The damage you have done in playing with Jane’s emotions, ruining her happiness on a whim, just because you can—because it’s fun and easy to impose your influence on impressionable men like Bing. And no
w they’re both miserable. Congratulations. You must be so proud.”
A lump formed in the pit of my stomach. She had no idea what the truth of it was. How could I explain it in such a way to prevent her from strangling me?
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to deny what you did?”
I had to assume some sort of dignity and so I rolled my shoulders back and proudly responded, “I have no desire to deny anything. Yes, I convinced Bing to stay away from Jane. But he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t think I was right. Guess what? I was right. And I’m happy he ended it before making the biggest mistake of his career.”
If only I could follow my own advice.
Bing was a stronger man than I. My attraction for Beth was too intense. She didn’t seem to be listening, though. She went on.
“And what about Jorge?” she said. “What do you have to say about what you did to him?”
My ears rang at the mention of that name. I noticed my hands clench into fists, and it took everything in me not to growl like one of those orcs from Lord of the Rings.
“You,” I said through clenched teeth, “concern yourself too much with Jorge Wickham.”
“Anybody with a heart would be concerned for that poor man.”
“That poor man?” I repeated with contempt. “Oh yeah. He’s poor, all right.” It was such an absurd notion, it made me laugh.
“Because of you,” she cried. “You have taken away everything he had a right to—reduced him to nothing, cut him off, turned people against him. Ruined his career. You did all this. And you think it’s funny. It’s all a joke to you.”
“Is that the way you see me?” I spat. “That’s your opinion of me?”
I paced the space like a caged lion. This wasn’t the New Year’s kiss I imagined.
“I’m the bad guy according to you. But maybe, just maybe your skewed opinion of me is clouded by your insecurity.”
“Whaaat?”
“You heard me.”
I was that caged lion. But I had a thorn in my paw, and the only thing I knew to do was roar.
“You got your feelings hurt because I didn’t flatter you. Because I was honest. Maybe if I sugarcoated things and puffed up your ego, you wouldn’t be so offended. Maybe I should have congratulated myself for falling for someone so far below me. Or if I had held back my true feelings leading you to believe a relationship between us would be easy. But I didn’t because I’m not a liar. I’m not ashamed of what I said to you. I meant it. Every. Single. Word.”
Her jaw dropped about a thousand feet without a parachute. HA! Take that.
She clenched her teeth and did that thing with her chin when trying to appear taller.
“If you think for one second that nice words would make me forget what you’ve done, you not only don’t have a soul, you don’t have a brain. From the very first moment you walked into the theatre, your surly attitude, your arrogance, your…”
She waved her hand in a circle in front of me.
“…the way you walk.”
The way I walk? She nodded, like she was answering a question I didn’t ask aloud.
“You are a misanthrope, Mr. Darcy.”
She said my name like it was a dirty word.
I winced. “A misanthrope?”
“Yes.” She smiled menacingly. “Look it up.”
“I know what a misanthrope is.”
“Good,” she exclaimed. “Because if you searched misanthrope on the internet, your photo would be on the Wikipedia page.”
Her features were a glow of red-hot fury, but then something changed in her eyes. It was a mixture of regret and extreme disappointment. When she spoke again, it was hardly audible.
“And to think…” Her fingers touched her lips, tracing the delicate skin where I branded her with my kiss. I instinctively took a step towards her.
“To think what?”
She shot her gaze into me and whatever tenderness had come over her, it was gone.
“Nothing.” Her tone was clipped, laced with poison. It was super-hot.
“You like me,” I said, inching closer. Her eyes grew wide.
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
I wrapped my fingers over the tiny wrist of her left hand to draw her into a kiss. She gasped, and her small form easily gave in to my gentle coaxing. I could feel her warm breath through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“Admit it, Elizabeth. You want me to kiss you again.”
In my peripheral vision, I noticed her right palm swinging towards my face. It happened in slow motion, like I had Jedi reflexes, and I caught her other wrist before she could slap me.
“Admit it.”
She opened her mouth to refute my words, but as her beautiful lips moved to form her reply, I claimed them, finding myself unable to resist their allure a moment longer. Her breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered shut. I wasn’t asking permission anymore. I was the Pirate King, virile and magnificent. She melted into me like a marshmallow over the fire, and all I wanted to do was wrap her into my arms forever. I loosened the hold on her wrists and trailed my fingertips delicately up the length of her arms. But it wasn’t enough. My thirst for her was insatiable, and I couldn’t get close enough. Drawing her flush against me, I deepened the kiss. Desperate for more. I demanded more.
Big mistake.
Because she bit me. A cold wetness throbbed from my lower lip, and the metallic taste of blood reached my tongue. Mood ruined.
“Would it kill you to act like a gentleman?” she cried.
“Gentleman?” I huffed, dabbing the blood on my lips. “Honey, this is real life, not Downton Abbey. If you want a book boyfriend, go look somewhere else.”
“I don’t want any boyfriend at all, you egomaniac,” she screamed. “Even if you were the last man on earth and the existence of the human race was hinged upon my liking you, our poor species would fade quite spectacularly into extinction.”
She was breathing heavily, and I feared if I didn’t leave her alone and soon, I’d be strapped to a guillotine.
“Okay,” I said in a defeated whisper. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”
In a matter of minutes, I managed to make a complete fool of myself. I felt so ashamed of my feelings, handing them to her so she could chop them to bits. I wanted to sink into the ground. But I straightened, regarded her with a nod and bade, “I hope you have a wonderful new year. Please drive home safely.”
And then I left her, knowing it would be extremely awkward when we returned to the theatre. I had to console myself with the idea that things might boil over by then. Perhaps it would all be forgotten—at least mended. So I went home determined to set the record straight with the girl who rejected me.
21
Will with A Quill
Beth
That was bananas. One minute, I was planning Will’s demise, the next, his lips were on mine. Will Darcy was the type of guy to get what he wanted. All the time. I just didn’t realize he wanted me. But he couldn’t want me. Could he? That kiss. The way his lips encompassed my mouth, the way his breath mingled with mine, the way he held me, making me lose all thought. It seemed sincere. For that moment it didn’t matter.
But what was I doing? Kissing him back as though I wanted to. As though everything he’d done wasn’t an abomination to me. I supposed I wasn’t any different than those idiotic female leads who can’t seem to stay away from the villain in the play. Mina came to mind. She had the funky vampire hots for Dracula even though he was like a thousand years old and ate babies. She couldn’t help herself. I think the sexy Transylvanian accent had something to do with it. Maybe if I’d sung Please Don’t Make Me Love You, Will would have stabbed himself with a stake. A girl can wish.
I went home immediately, without a word to Charlotte. Without a word to Fitz. Text messages lit up my phone so much, it was like a nightclub in my purse. So I shut it off. I had to process what happened with Will. I still hadn’t fully c
omprehended all the things Fitz said before I was assaulted by those confusing feelings when Will kissed me. I was playing with fire with that one. Still, that pit of despair in my stomach entertained the butterflies with a nightcap. No, no, no, no! The butterflies didn’t get to stay. The butterflies weren’t welcome.
The house was (thankfully) quiet when I arrived. The last thing I wanted to do was answer questions about how my evening went. Also, my head felt like a lowrider’s subwoofer. The pounding was relentless. And lucky me. I had the morning shift at the lodge.
When sleep finally came to me, I dreamt of Paris. Will was there dressed in his Pirate King costume, but he was just out of reach. And he was wet. Completely wet from head to toe. He was drowning. But right before I could help him (I didn’t have a plan for that but just roll with it because it was a dream) Caroline threw herself all over him. And I felt jealous. Needless to say, I awoke furious with myself.
I frowned at my coffee maker. Nothing that could possibly have come out of that ten-dollar Walmart appliance was strong enough for my needs. I stopped for a triple americano at the drive-thru Coffee Bean, and I hoped for an easy day at work. Charlotte had the day off. I didn’t even realize my phone was still shut off until she called the restaurant after the breakfast crowd dispersed. I made up some lame excuse for leaving the party, imputing my swift departure to a headache—which was partially true. The headache’s name was Will.
She was on her way to Disneyland with Colin when she called but said she would have no fun at all if she didn’t check on me. I could just picture Charlotte worrying herself sick while she watched the Holiday Parade. Not even the tin soldiers would cheer her up. Poor Charlotte.
I wished I could go to Disneyland. Only a couple more hours until my shift was over. I’d have to content myself with watching videos when I got home. That would do for a mediocre substitute.
I was deciding upon a comforting stack of carbolicious pancakes to soothe my woes when the air around me was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of Will Darcy. He looked horrible. Like he hadn’t slept. In fact, I don’t think he had slept. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked like small birds could make it their home. I gave him kudos for changing out of his tux at least. He didn’t go to his usual table. Instead, he made a straight line in my direction and stopped an arm’s length from where I stood. He looked at me with his sad eyes and unshaven face like a deflated balloon. It was depressing.