“And because it actually was your last night, you agreed.”
“After all the years of saying no and doing the right thing, I couldn’t resist. I thought I had it all figured out. I was done with work. I wasn’t going to be around for any unwanted attention. You seemed safe enough—plus you seemed smart enough not to dump me in a ditch after six hundred video cameras captured us leaving the casino together.”
The way her brain worked. He both loved and hated it.
“So I figured, what was the harm? It seemed safe. No risk. Just a night of fun.”
Her mouth pulled to the side and her eyes went to some faraway place it made him feel good to think he might be with her in.
“It was fun. It was great,” he said, appreciative for what she was sharing, but still not any closer to understanding why she’d taken off without so much as a goodbye.
“When I fell into bed with you, I thought I could handle it. We were both adults. You made me feel things I never feel. And I wanted more of it.”
The next breath she took was unsteady.
“I wanted more of your eyes on me, looking like you couldn’t look away.” She peered back at him and lifted one shoulder. “I know that wasn’t really the way it was. What we were doing was about a physical release. It was about sex. And I was okay with it. It’s just—I don’t know, it had been so long since I’d been intimate with someone—I wasn’t prepared for how it would make me feel. And I knew the kinds of things running through my head didn’t belong there.”
He shouldn’t ask. But, hell, he wanted to know. “What things?”
Darcy turned to the window, hiding her eyes from his, but not the pink stain infusing her cheeks.
“That being in your arms made me feel like I never wanted to leave. It was something I could get used to too fast. Something I might hope for more of.”
“Then why the hell did you leave?”
This time the laughter that passed her lips had a bitter sound to it. A sharp edge to warn him from getting too close.
“Because that’s not what either of us had been looking for. You didn’t pick me up looking for a new girlfriend or someone to settle down with. You picked me up looking for the kind of good time that happens in Vegas and stays in Vegas. A few hours of fun, remember? No broken hearts in the street. But the time we shared meant something to me, and I wasn’t willing to risk tainting the memory of it with some awkward dismissal where you handed me my panties and thanked me for the great time.”
“You didn’t know it was going to go that way.”
“I didn’t. But that’s the point, Jeff. I couldn’t stand the idea of waiting around to find out. I didn’t want to be the cocktail waitress tucked into your bed hoping you weren’t going to kick her out before morning.”
So she’d bolted. Taken the drastic, undoable action before he’d even had a chance to give her another alternative. It wasn’t the same as what happened with Margo. Not even close to the betrayal he’d never seen coming. And yet that sense of somehow being cheated lingered in the back of his mind, prompting him to come back with the different ways it could have gone.
“You could have gotten dressed and waited for me to come back. You could have been the one to say goodbye.”
“Except then I’d still have been standing there hoping.” The vulnerability in her eyes was like a blow to the chest, momentarily knocking the wind from his lungs.
What kind of life had she had that a little hope was such a bad thing?
He caught her chin in the crook of his finger. “I wanted to see you again. I wanted—” He broke off and shook his head. “Before I realized our protection failed, I was going to tell you I wanted to see you again.”
But then the moment he saw what had happened everything changed. If Darcy had been there when he’d come out of the bathroom, yes, he’d have been able to explain about the protection. They’d have exchanged information. He’d have promised to get in touch within a few weeks. But he wouldn’t have asked her to stay. He wouldn’t have tried to convince her to give him the next day or night or anything else. Because he’d have been too worried about the rest of his life.
Only now the worst-case scenario that had eaten at his gut for months was a reality and it didn’t feel like the worst of anything. It was just...not what he’d expected. Yes, it had turned his life upside down. Disrupted plans for the both of them. But he wouldn’t take it back. He was going to be a father. With months yet before he would be able to lay eyes on his child, the connection was already there.
“I know I shouldn’t have left, Jeff. And I’m sorry. But I was out of my depth. And the truth is, even if everything had been different, if you’d asked me for more than a single night, I still wouldn’t have been able to take you up on it. I was moving. That day.”
“I have a helicopter, cars, money. I could have met you. Anywhere.”
What was he doing, trying to convince her of the possibility of a scenario he knew wouldn’t have come to fruition? Unless, what he wanted was for her to start believing in the potential of what might have been—because he wanted her to believe in what still could be.
Her head tipped back, and Jeff found his eyes drifting over the slender extended column of her neck, the soft spill of blond down her back and the small smile playing across her lips. Hell, was that what he was doing there? Had he started to believe?
* * *
Darcy, closed her eyes. “Hmm. You would have buzzed over to San Francisco for a night out on the Wharf with your Vegas cocktail waitress?”
“Probably would have skipped the Wharf unless it was where the woman I met in Vegas wanted to go.” There was no missing the emphasis on his clarification or the hard look he gave her when he made it. But then the amusement was back as he leaned in conspiratorially closer.
“I would have booked the first trip around business. Made it look like I was playing it cool. Like meeting up just happened to work out.”
What if? was a dangerous game to play. One Darcy had made it a life habit to avoid. But as with so many things, all Jeff had to do was flash a dimple and there she was, playing along. Flirting around a road not taken.
If things had gone like this...which they didn’t...it could have been like that.
And why not? It wouldn’t lead anywhere.
“Just look that way?” she teased.
But then Jeff was looking into her eyes, the small concentrated furrow between his brows giving her pause, drawing her attention to the way that invisible thing she could feel but couldn’t see shifted in the air between them.
To a slow spreading warmth skimming the surface of her skin.
To one beat of time blending into another, until Jeff answered, “Yes.”
With Jeff’s eyes locked on hers and his make-believe admission still hovering in the air between them, suddenly giving in to this flirtation once removed seemed far from harmless. Like it had become a dangerous thing with the potential to destroy something important to her.
And Darcy wasn’t going to let that happen.
So clearing her throat, she made a show of screwing up her face and pushing a wry note into her voice. “Hmm, sounds nice. But if you really want to know, I have an aversion to Pretty Woman fantasies.” Then quickly added, “Not that I see myself as a prostitute.”
Jeff laughed. “Geez, Darcy, what kind of childhood did you have? Cinderella ring a bell? Hardworking-maiden, working her fingers to the bone serving the wealthy-but-cruel stepsisters, sneaks off to meet a hot prince who doesn’t want to let her go and then moves heaven and earth to find her.”
The slender arch of her brow pushed high. “Truth?”
“Always.”
Well he’d asked for it. “I’ve never seen Cinderella. Of course, I know the gist of the story. It’s the one with the shoe where the prince sends
some lackey out to do his dirty work because he can’t be bothered and doesn’t even remember the face of the woman he’s decided he wants to spend his life with. I’m way more familiar with Julia Roberts being pulled out of her low income life by the wealthy, romantic Richard Gere. It was my mom’s favorite. We had it on VHS and at the end, it was so worn the thing would barely play anymore.”
For a moment she could feel the oppressive heat and stale air within the old trailer coating her skin. “I used to hate seeing my mother’s rapt expression as she stared at the screen, that same infuriating combination of hope and hopelessness in her eyes.
“The thing is, Jeff, I was never really into the idea of some Charming sweeping in to rescue me from my life. My fantasy, from as far back as I can remember, has always been to take care of myself. To be dependent on no one.” She sighed, giving him one of those lopsided little grins that did things to him he wasn’t used to. “So much for fantasies, huh?”
“What’s wrong with letting someone with the means and desire take care of you? I know your independence is important to you...but, Darcy, we made this baby together. You’re giving it your body, your very lifeblood. At this stage the only thing I have to give is support to you in whatever form you need. Emotional. Financial.”
Darcy looked at the man who had been nothing but generous with her from the start and wondered if she’d ever trust him enough to explain. If she could make herself vulnerable enough to share why she was the way she was. If coming from this life of love and privilege, he could even begin to comprehend what it had been like to feel hungry, trapped, afraid. Hopeless. To have such a keen awareness of how precarious the only existence you knew was. To watch the man between you and a fate too terrifying to contemplate, count out one bill after another with his grimy hands, wondering if, when he was done with the sick game he played, he would give up a bill to her mother to buy food, or if he’d make them wait another day. Or more.
She could still hear her mother’s nervous pleading. “Earl, don’t make me beg.”
And the answering sneer, “Why not? Why the hell should I give you anything? Or that brat of yours.”
Then those yellowed eyes searching her out across the cramped space, and her mother’s sudden desperate agreement. The sight of her mother on her knees, laughing like it was all a game, but the humiliation and desperation evident in every forced breath.
“Hey,” Jeff asked, his brows drawn together. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she answered quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. I know how lucky I am in all this. And I’m very grateful for your support.”
Jeff stared at her a moment more, but whatever he was thinking she couldn’t quite tell. And then, “I don’t want your gratitude, Darcy. I want you to feel secure.”
FIFTEEN
Within the walls of his modern L.A. apartment, Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and tried not to crush the phone at his ear with the other. Only Jim Huang wasn’t doing anything more than delivering the news that the two weeks Jeff had just spent in Melbourne nailing down a new deal with Lexington Construction had been a success. The contracts were in hand and everything was a go. But after fourteen fifteen-hour days, a seventeen-hour international flight, customs, a trip home only to shower and change, then a four-hour meeting at the L.A. office, Jeff was shot. And this verbal confirmation of what he’d already ascertained through email was his limit.
“Jim, that’s fantastic news. Get in touch if anything critical comes up. Otherwise, I’ll talk to you guys Monday. Round of drinks on me tonight.”
Disconnecting, he looked at the clean lines and open space of his apartment and let the silence settle over him. A half-eaten microwave dinner sat in front of him. The beer he’d cracked, down a single swallow. It was only seven, but for the number of hours he’d been running, it was definitely late enough to go to bed.
Only he kept thinking about Darcy.
He’d talked to her a handful of times while he’d been gone, and texted daily. But after having gotten in the habit of heading over to the house a couple of times a week, going this long without seeing her was making him itch.
He’d checked in with her earlier. Said he’d drive out tomorrow after he’d gotten some sleep and might make company worth having. But now...
Hell. He ought to just go to bed. In fact, forget the bed.
He flopped back on the couch and stretched completely out for the first time in he couldn’t remember. Felt the ache and creak of a body running on fumes.
And didn’t go to sleep.
Because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
His arm slung out from the couch, fumbling across the coffee table until he found his phone.
He’d just check in. And then he’d be able to sleep.
Punching in a few numbers, he waited for the line to pick up. “I need a car.”
* * *
The house was mostly dark by the time Jeff arrived, the downstairs deserted, no sounds of activity filtering through from the floors above. Maybe he should have called ahead, but he hadn’t wanted to risk Darcy telling him to stay put and get some sleep...because he hadn’t wanted to explain he didn’t think he’d be able to until he saw her. Only, yeah, looked like that’s how it was going to have to go.
At least he’d see her first thing tomorrow.
On leaden legs he took the first flight of stairs, his brain zeroing in on the bed a few yards away. Except then he heard it. A noise from Darcy’s end of the hall.
She was awake. Shaking off his fatigue he strode toward her room, his heart starting to pound at the sliver of light leaking out from beneath her door. Raising a hand to knock, he stopped short at the sound of a muffled sniff from within.
Then another, followed by some kind of low growl.
What the hell?
He rapped twice. “Darcy?”
A thud.
Then a squeaked, “Jeff?”
“Yeah, you okay?”
Some shuffling sounded and he waited for the door to open. Then more shuffling, this time farther from the door. And finally she answered.
“I’m really tired tonight. How about we talk in the morning, okay?”
He stared at the door, his hand already on the knob. Because, no, it wasn’t okay. He could hear in her voice something was wrong.
“I’m coming in,” he said giving her a second’s warning to cover up if she needed to before turning the knob and stepping into the room.
“Aww hell, Darce,” he said, crossing to the little heap of a woman crumpled at the edge of her bed, like the hundred or so tissues littering the end table and spilling onto the floor. “What happened?”
“It’s hormones,” she sniffed, trying to pull herself together as she waved him off with one hand. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. Go to bed. Please.”
Right. Not happening. Instead he gathered her up against him, so her head rested at his chest and his arms closed around her.
“Talk to me, honey. Tell me what’s going on.”
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. But he waited her out, stroking a palm over that soft spill of blond down her back, giving in to the impulse to let his fingers play at the ends. And then it was as if the fight and resistance simply drained away as a ragged sob escaped her.
“I’m so tired,” she admitted in a defeated, broken voice. “I’m t-tired of getting sick. I’m tired of f-feeling like every minute my body becomes a little less m-my own. I’m tired of being d-disgusting and weepy and wiped out and confused. I keep telling myself to hang in there, that things will turn around and I’m going to feel better, but I don’t. I feel worse. I’m still sick. Instead of my body getting round, i-it’s lumpy. And—and—I don’t have anything to wear.”
That last one she finished on a sob so tragic it was like a knife t
o Jeff’s gut. “Wait, what? Anything to wear where?”
“Anywhere. Nothing fits me. Everything is—” she broke off with another wretched sob.
Okay, he was tired. Really tired. But something didn’t compute.
“Honey, why didn’t you get some new clothes?”
She had a credit card and an account his mother had finally gotten her to let him fund. There was plenty of money.
* * *
“These fit fine two days ago! And today I didn’t feel well, and I didn’t want to ask your mom because I figured I’d just go tomorrow.... Only now, everything I put on is all bunchy and rough and tight and scratching and—” the face she made was utter, tortured frustration “—I can’t stand the feel of it touching my stomach. Not. For. One. More. Second.”
Her last words were punctuated by her hands fumbling around at the closures, jerking at the offending garments as she—holy hell—started stripping them off.
Jeff looked behind him at the door, then back at the woman in front of him who was huffing and puffing with outraged indignation over the way her clothes were touching her.
Hormones.
That’s what she’d said.
He’d heard tales about the havoc they wreaked. The kind of lows they’d brought men to when trying to appease the women caught in their violent, unpredictable sway.
Hell one of his buddies’ wives had actually called a divorce lawyer at his suggestion they stop for something healthier than fast food when she was in her eighth month of pregnancy. The guy had laughed when his wife told the story, but there’d been a haunted look in his eyes that said the fear never truly went away.
Which meant the decisions he made in the next critical moments could be the difference between his simply knowing to fear and respect the hormones and being left with that haunted look himself.
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