by Julie Kenner
“Bella’s going to be with me all day,” she said, bringing up her undergraduate roommate the way a Civil War officer might have raised a white flag. “We’re going to shop, have lunch, shop more, then do drinks and the theater. So I won’t be out in the big, bad city on my own.” She shrugged. “That’s the best deal I can offer.”
“It’s not—”
Jenna put a hand on his shoulder, effectively silencing her husband. “Promise us you’ll be careful?”
“I already have,” Darcy said. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll promise again. If you have any of those old family documents that Reg is always digging up, I’ll even swear on those. I’ll do whatever you want to make you believe I’ll be safe—except spend the day locked up in here with you,” she added, as Cam started to open his mouth.
“At least stay for breakfast,” Jenna said. “You brought the bagels. I can scramble some eggs, fry up some sausage.”
Darcy shook her head. “No, thanks. I want to get going. I just—” She cut herself off. She couldn’t exactly admit that she’d done this on purpose, coming here today, knowing that he’d spend the long hours worried about her. She’d come, because it would have that much more impact when she survived the day unscathed. Afterward, it’s just a story. Knowing before had meant her brother would be involved, too. And maybe this would finally convince him.
Maybe, she thought. But as she glanced ruefully at his raised ankle, she had to admit she doubted that he’d ever become a non-believer.
It took another twenty minutes for Darcy to extricate herself from her brother and sister-in-law, and that included fifteen for more arguing and five to search for her driver’s license, even though she could have sworn she’d put it back in her pocket. She finally found it in the cushions of a nearby armchair that she didn’t even remember sitting in. She took two long gulps of the now cold coffee, dribbled enough on her white shirt that she had to beg a replacement from Jenna and finally managed to get out the door and breathe a sigh of relief that at nine forty-five, her day was about to begin.
And, dammit, it was a day that promised to be curse-free, carefree and fun.
The elevator did not stick as she descended to the lobby from Cameron’s apartment. She didn’t slip on the newly waxed floor, and no armed thug rushed the building, prepared to take everyone in the lobby hostage. In fact, the first few moments away from her big brother were so uniquely dull and uneventful that she half considered calling him from the house phone and telling him that a flock of angry penguins had stormed the building, knocked her over and now her picture was going to be splashed all over the front page of the Post with a decadent headline about how an MIT Ph.D. candidate was caught in a torrid penguin lovefest in the lobby of one of Manhattan’s most exclusive apartment buildings.
Or maybe not.
She shifted, intending to swing her purse over her arm, then realized she didn’t have a purse. She patted her back pocket, feeling her driver’s license and the fifty-dollar bill that Cam had handed her. She didn’t even realize she’d been glancing down as she stepped past the doorman until she glanced back up and felt the sharp stab to her heart. Not the bad you’ve-been-mugged-on-the-streets-of-Manhattan kind of stab, but the good man-of-your-fantasies-staring-right-at-you kind of stab. The kind that’s hot and cold at the same time and makes your skin go all prickly and your knees go week and your mouth go dry.
The kind of stab that Darcy got whenever she looked at Evan Olsen—and this time, he was looking right back.
He stood for a moment—and for one exquisite instant it seemed that he was as desperate for her as she was for him—then a wide grin broke out across his face, and the desire she’d imagined shifted into the familiar, friendly expression she’d seen so many times on her big brother’s best friend’s face. “Darcy! Hey! I’m so glad I caught you.”
Hope fluttered through her, and she took a step toward him, intending to speak, but no words coming out because her mouth was suddenly full of cotton. Or sandpaper. Or sandpaper wrapped in cotton.
“Darcy?”
She coughed. “Sorry. Thinking. I’ve been working on this algorithm, and—”
“And suddenly the blank expression makes tons of sense.”
She laughed. “I swear it’s a really fascinating algorithm.”
“Aren’t they all?” he asked, completely deadpan.
“Are you here to see Cam?” she asked, which was a totally inane thing to say since—duh—he was standing right outside Cam’s apartment and they’d been best friends for years. He sure as hell wasn’t there to see her.
“Actually, I was on my way to see you.”
And there it was—the last prime number, all the digits of pi, the nirvana to end all nirvanas.
This was the man she’d had fantasies about since her first day of high school. The guy who’d been at the center of so much female attention during school. She smiled to herself, remembering how the girls had flocked around him, the hero of the town.
They’d all been jealous of her, being the sister to Evan’s best friend. At first, she’d never had the guts to talk to him when she saw him at the house. Then they’d started talking, about math or politics or whatever. Stupid stuff. Nothing personal, nothing intimate.
But in her imagination…
Oh, my.
She’d imagined his face during long, slow soaks in the tub. She’d replayed their conversations, twisting their arguments around and analyzing his point of view. She rarely shifted off her own opinion, but she liked the way he thought.
And then she’d let the imaginary conversation drift away in favor of the magical illusion of his hands on her as she lay naked between cool, crisp sheets.
He’d filled her mind for years, even though he’d never once filled her bed.
Wow.
The guy. This was that guy—and he was right there, smiling at her.
Forget the curse—April Fools’ Day should be gold-plated and set up on the mantle.
She realized she was gaping, played the conversation back in her head, and said the first—albeit idiotic—thing that came to mind. “You’re here to see me? Um, why?”
He laughed. “Can’t I just want to see you?”
“No.” The word came out fast, and she backtracked. “I mean, why would you even expect me to be here? I don’t live in New York, remember?”
His smile was soft and his eyes intense. “Yeah. I know.”
“So?”
“So Cam said you were coming over, and I wanted—”
“Yes?” She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself not to take a step forward, not to react at all, at least not until he said the words.
“I wanted to talk to you about the curse.”
“Oh.” Can a person deflate? Right then, she was certain she’d be living proof of that particular hypothesis. “What about the curse?”
“I’m, uh, doing an article—a feature piece on superstitions, that kind of stuff. And I had the idea of doing an article on your family’s curse.”
Suddenly, the allure of Evan was fading. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You realize I don’t believe in that stuff?”
“That’s why I was hoping to spend the day with you. I know Cam’s story, and I know how frustrated he is with your stand—”
“Do you believe?”
He held his hands out to his sides. “I’m a reporter. That makes me part lawyer. I follow the evidence.”
“Follow me, and all you’ll get is nothing. There won’t be evidence. There’ll be the absence of evidence. It’s not the same thing.”
“We’re living in Reporter World now, not Math Land. Just go with me here.” He cocked his head. “Unless you don’t want me to come with you.”
“No!” she said, then blushed because she’d said it way too hastily. “I mean, if you want to write an article, then that’s fine. I’ve got plans with a friend today, but—”
His quick smile lit up his face, making him see
m even more delectable—and making her heart stutter in her chest. “No worries. You two go on about your day. I can be completely unobtrusive.”
“Right. Sure.” She drew in a breath, wishing she could reach out and touch him. And, yeah, wishing she could kick herself for sounding like such a dope. He was just a guy; she talked to guys all the time.
But he’s not just a guy. He’s Evan. And the idea of spending the entire day with him was enough to make the concrete streets of the city sprout with daisies and lilies and forget-me-nots.
He tilted his head, then crooked his arm for her to take. She hesitated only a second, then slid her arm through his. He was right there, only inches away, their bodies slightly touching, even if that touch was hampered by his cotton shirt and her long-sleeve T-shirt. Yet despite all that, the contact was as sensual—as soft, as arousing—as if bare skin were brushing against bare skin.
Dear Lord, she needed to stop this.
“Taxi?” he said.
She turned to look at him, still feeling off center. “What?”
“You said you were spending the day with a friend. Do we need a taxi?”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Bella’s apartment was only ten minutes away by cab, and it made sense that they’d go there first, and then hit the bank branch near Bella’s place so that Darcy could get some more cash.
She edged near the curb, watching Evan as he lifted his arm to hail a cab. Only half watching, really. Mostly, she was lost in the delicious fantasies about this man who’d come here today to see her.
Wonder of wonders…
And that wonder swept her forward into the street—
“Darcy!”
—and right in front of a taxi that was violently swerving toward the curb.
“Darcy!” This time the scream was accompanied by a yank on her arm, and as she rocketed toward Evan, her mind processed a whirr of motion and the screech of tires. It was a blur, a mess.
And then suddenly it wasn’t. Suddenly she was pressed against him. His body right there, holding her tight. His breath coming hard and fast. “Darcy. Darcy. Holy shit, Darcy, you—”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she wasn’t. She was shaking now, scared of what had almost happened, and overwhelmed by what was happening now. Evan. The way his body felt pressed tight against her. The beat of his heart, the warmth of his hands…
And the sweet tingle of anticipation that swept through her as she realized his mouth was right there, hovering just above hers.
3
TIME STOPPED AS EVAN’S heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear—he’d been terrified, but that had passed once he recognized that she was safe. And not from adrenalin, although he had a hell of a lot flowing through his veins.
Not from any of that—but from the sweet pressure of Darcy in his arms.She was softer than he’d imagined, her curves fitting against him as intimately as if they were in bed. And, as if they were in bed, her lips were there for him, parted sweetly, red and plump and ready for his kiss.
It was enticing. Overwhelming. And he bent closer, intending to claim the prize.
She’d enticed him from the first moment he’d seen her, and each and every time he’d been with her since—at Cam’s birthday parties or his wedding or any one of a dozen seemingly haphazard meetings—she’d gotten into his head. Got his blood going, his senses burning.
She made him laugh, and her analytical way of looking at the world made him think. And damned if she didn’t make him hard all over, as if the effort of holding back was turning him to stone, as if he would die if she didn’t touch him. Melt against him. Let her lose herself in him.
He wasn’t living his life as a monk, that was for damn sure, but it wasn’t until this moment—this spontaneous press of her in his arms—that he’d truly understood why the women he dated seemed so inadequate. How could they be anything but inadequate when compared to Darcy?
He leaned closer, and saw her lips part, and for a moment he wondered if she felt it, too. If the air between them was zinging as much for her as it was for him.
He could kiss her.
Right then, right there, he knew with absolute, utter certainty that he could press his lips to hers, fold her into his arms, and lose himself utterly.
Except he couldn’t.
This was Darcy. The woman of his fantasies, yes, but also his best friend’s little sister.
And maybe that didn’t matter any longer. He was a grown-up, after all, and so was she. But damned if he was going to push himself on her when she was shook up and vulnerable, in his arms only because an idiot taxi driver couldn’t keep his eyes on the road.
And she was vulnerable. He could see it. Hell, she was staring at him with wide eyes that probably wondered what the hell he was doing holding on to her so tight now that the danger had passed.
Danger from the traffic, anyway. The danger from him? That still existed.
He backed away, releasing her, steadying her. “Sorry.”
Her smile was like sunshine. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. And then she lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him.
NEVER, NEVER, NEVER would Darcy have calculated odds that would have her standing on a busy street with her arms around the one man in all the world for whom she’d held a consistent crush. And not just arms. No, there was some serious lip action going. Dreamy action. The kind of action that was making it hard for her to think, and it was when she wasn’t thinking that she got nervous, because that’s who she was—the girl who thought. The girl who calculated. Who examined the options and flowcharted the results.
This time, she’d gone with her gut.She’d seen his eyes, and for one moment—one freakish, hopeful, wonderful moment—she’d imagined that he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him.
And for the first time in her life she hadn’t thought. She’d simply reacted.
And man, oh man, oh man she was glad she had.
His mouth on hers tasted like ambrosia, minty and male and as hungry for her as she was for him. At first, she’d felt him stiffen, but then he’d softened, his arms going around her, his palms on her rear, pulling her toward him. She ran her fingers through his short, coarse hair, then stifled a moan as he pulled even tighter, the physical evidence that proved he was as much into the kiss as she was hard against her.
They were on a sidewalk surrounded by suits pushing past them, tourists gawking and blue-collar workers sneaking peeks as they hurried, heads down, to their jobs. And yet even though they were so blatantly on display, Darcy’s body was reacting as if they were in a candlelit bedroom. And despite the fact that so far she’d had only coffee, her blood seemed to pump with alcohol, as if she’d spent hours leisurely sipping wine and staring into this man’s eyes.
A curse? No way.
This was her best day yet, and that was an indisputable fact.
He pulled away, his breath hard, his face flushed. “Darcy.”
She smiled.
“You shouldn’t—I mean, we shouldn’t—”
“Are you kidding?” she retorted with a grin. “Of course we should. You saved me, right? Doesn’t that make you the hero and me the damsel in distress?”
She’d spoken lightly, but he stiffened, then took a step back, breaking the contact between them and making her insides go cold. She didn’t know what had just happened, what had changed.
“Evan?”
He smiled, but it looked pasted on. “We should probably catch that cab.”
“Dammit, Evan, what did I say?”
His smile wavered, and he brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. She shivered at the touch, realizing how hopeful it made her. It didn’t matter; he shattered the hopes without delay.
“I just—We shouldn’t.”
“Why?” She wanted to kick herself for pushing, but she didn’t have a choice. It was either stand and argue, or sink into tears on the sidewalk.
No way was she letting him see her cry.
“Why shouldn’t we?” she repeated,
forcing herself to look at him, and ignore the passersby who seemed to be there only to witness her utter mortification. And then, despite all her intentions not to lay herself out to be flayed, she heard those horrible words leave her mouth, “I thought you wanted to.”
“I do,” he said quickly. He drew in a breath and looked at her, the sunlight sparking the gold flecks that highlighted his brown irises. The lines of his face tightened as if he was holding something in. Then the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly, but enough to soften his expression.
“Then why not?”
“Cam,” he said, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “You’re his little sister, Darcy.”
He didn’t give her any time to process that smack to the gut. Instead, he turned and started walking down the sidewalk, heading downtown toward Bella’s apartment.
A HERO.
That was what this was—that was why she’d looked at him with such desire. Looked at him exactly the way all those girls had looked at him in high school. No. Not at him. At some imagined hero who’d stepped up to the plate and rescued Cameron Franklin.What a joke.
And now the woman he’d actually wanted all those years ago had finally caught up to the punchline. But he didn’t want her like that. Didn’t want to be the embodiment of some childhood hero-worship fantasy.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame backing away on Cam, but what else could he say? He didn’t want her? That was a lie. He wanted her desperately. So desperately, in fact, that it was taking all of his will not to tell her he’d made a mistake and pull her into his arms again.
Dammit.
He hailed the taxi they’d tried to get earlier, and they rode in silence to Bella’s apartment, Darcy shooting him the occasional confused glance. She had a crease between her brows, which appeared when she frowned.
It was there now, and he wanted to kiss it. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to touch her and forget about Cam and play the goddammned hero if that was what she needed.