Just Fooling Around: Darcy's Dark Day/Reg's Rescue\Cam's Catastrophe/Devon's Dilemma (6 page)

T
IME STOPPED AS
E
VAN’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.

N
EVER, 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.

Except that he’d hated being that person in school. Hated the guilt that had filled him whenever he’d looked in those girls’ eyes. Hated the fact that they were infatuated with a man who didn’t really exist.

The buzz of his thoughts filled his head for the short cab ride, and he dutifully followed Darcy up the stairs to Bella’s apartment.

After the rattle of locks and chains, the door opened and Bella stood there, wrapped in a fuzzy robe that matched the color of her red nose. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her hair bedraggled, and her hands and pockets stuffed full of tissue.

“Don’t come in,” she said, her voice as thick as cotton. “I have the plague.”

“Bella!” Darcy took a step forward, only to find her way blocked by the door that her friend half-closed in her face.

“Seriously, I think I’m contagious.” She managed a wavering smile. “It’s your stupid curse—me getting sick when you’re coming into town.”

“It’s not my curse,” Darcy said stiffly. “And if it were,
I’d
be the one who’s sick.” She started to reach for Bella’s hand, then pulled away, knowing she’d get slapped down. “Can I get you anything? A doctor? Mass quantities of drugs?”

“We could run down to the deli,” Evan added. “Chicken soup?”

“Thanks,” Bella said as she turned to him. She looked like she was going to say more, but she stopped, her eyes going wide and her mouth dropping open, just a little. “Aren’t you—?”

“We need to get going,” Darcy said.

“No, wait,” Bella said, then sneezed loudly into a tissue.

“Aren’t I who?”

“The guy. Evan. From that newspaper photo you have framed. The one with you and Cam after that river accident you told me about.”

Darcy kept her face stoically forward, wondering if she could kill her best friend and blame it on the flu. The picture Bella referred to was from the newspaper article telling about Evan’s rescue of Cam from the river. Evan been at the house, being doted on by her mother, and the local news photographer had come by. He’d snapped a shot of Darcy putting an afghan around Evan’s chilled shoulders. It was the only photo of the two of them together, and since Cam was in the picture, too, she’d never felt strange about having it framed.

She’d told Bella the truth about it, though. A fact that she was now regretting.

Evan, she realized, hadn’t said another word. He was looking at her with an odd expression. Like sadness. Or resignation.

“It is him,” Bella pressed. “Isn’t it?”

Darcy ignored Bella, opening her mouth instead to ask Evan if he was okay.

He got the words out before her, though. “Yes,” he said to Bella. “That’s me in the picture.”

“Well, color my world,” Bella said, laughing. She turned from him to Darcy. “So much for that curse, huh? You’re just oozing with good luck.”

Darcy bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself not to look at Evan.

“Although, maybe not so lucky after all,” Bella added.

“What?” Darcy asked, alarm bells ringing. “What do you mean?”

“The tickets,” Bella said. “For the show. For tonight.” She licked her lips and took a step backward, as if she was preparing to slam the door against the threat of an onslaught. “I know how much we spent and how much you wanted to go, but Darcy, I can’t find them anywhere.”

“H
E’S GORGEOUS
,” B
ELLA
said, holding a tissue over her face.

“I can’t believe you lost the tickets!” Darcy was on her hands and knees, searching under Bella’s bed.

“Will you forget it? I’ve done that.” Bella blew her nose hard and flopped on the bed. “Come on. Take pity on a dying woman. Tell me what’s going on.”

Darcy scowled. “Nothing’s going on. Except that I kissed him. And he kissed me back.” She made a face.

“And—”

“And it was amazing.”

Bella’s brows lifted. “Either I’m sicker than I thought, or I’ve forgotten what the after-effects of an amazing kiss look like. Because honey, I’m not seeing the excitement.”

“He blew me off,” Darcy said, her throat thick. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry.

“Oh, sweetie. That’s horrible. After all this time, and when your dream finally comes true—”

“Please. Don’t rub it in.”

“Did he say why?”

“That’s the really horrible part. He said it was because of Cam.”

“Cam?”

“Because he’s my brother’s best friend.”

“That’s it?” Bella asked.

Darcy shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

Bella hugged a pillow to her chest, her expression thoughtful.

“Do you believe him? Or do you think that was just an excuse because he doesn’t feel the same way you do?”

Her wounded pride made her want to say yes. But the memory of that kiss made her speak honestly. “No,” she said. “I think he wants me, too. I can’t believe he’s stepping back because of my big brother—it’s not like we’re in junior high any more. But what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Force the issue,” Bella said, her grin wicked.

“What? Say I don’t believe him about Cam?”

“You could,” Bella said. “Or you could just play on the fact that he’s a man. Push until he falls, and make sure there’s a mattress when he hits the ground.”

“I’
M SORRY ABOUT YOUR PLAY
,” Evan said as they maneuvered down the stairs. Darcy and Bella had spent a good half-hour tearing the apartment apart with no luck. “We could call around—maybe we could find a few seats for tonight.”

She looked at him, her smile so sweet that he wanted to pull her close and hold her. “It’s okay. The show’s completely sold out. Besides,” she added with a smile, “now I’ve got you for the whole evening.” She took a step closer to him, making the air sizzle and his self-control falter. “Maybe you could buy me a drink later?”

“Be happy to,” he said. “What do you want to do
now? Shopping? That was your original plan, right?” He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of traipsing through Bloomingdales, but if that’s what she wanted, he’d survive.

She tilted her head to the side, her finger pressed to her lower lip as she looked him up and down, her scan slow and deliberate. And although it was probably his imagination, he had the distinct feeling that her gaze halted—ever so briefly—at his crotch.

Whether true or not, his crotch preened under the attention, and he shifted, turning away from her and continuing down the stairs so that she wouldn’t notice the way his body had decided to stand up and salute.

“Not shopping,” she said, when they’d reached the foyer. “You have the look of a guy who’d rather eat nails than poke through sale racks.”

“But if you want—”

“There’s something I want to do more,” she said, the tone of her voice making him swallow.

“Darcy…” He could barely speak through the lump in his throat, and his entire body was firing simply from the casual way she moved close to him. The tip of her nose was red, and he remembered with a sudden pang that that was the way she blushed. Not her cheeks. Her nose—and right then he wanted nothing more than to reach out and kiss it.

He forced himself not to close his eyes.

He forced himself not to groan.

He forced himself to look straight at her and pretend that he didn’t want to reach out, grab her and pull her close to him.

“Don’t you want to know what?” she asked.

“Huh?”

The corner of her mouth curled up, and he had the impression she was being deliberately seductive. God help him.

“What I would rather do,” she clarified. “The thing I want to do more than shop.”

“I…um…no. I think maybe I don’t want to know.”

“I think you do,” she said, and before he could even draw a breath, she’d grabbed onto the front of his shirt and pulled herself toward him. Her lips pressed over his, and she kissed him, long and hard and thoroughly, and even though he knew better—even though he didn’t want to be just Evan-the-Hero to her—his body, his damnable male body, sprang to attention and got with the program. Because this was Darcy, and this was what he’d wanted for so very long. Was he really so stupid or principled or
whatever,
that he was going to push her away?

No. He wasn’t that much of a fool.

Or maybe he was a fool. Either way, he wasn’t letting go, and as soon as his mind got to that point, his body shifted into full throttle, and he pressed tight against her, the world seeming to sparkle with sunshine and sweetness despite the shabby surroundings, the battered mailboxes and the peeling paint.

The dusty air blanketed them, crackling with a raw energy that was surrounding them and penetrating them and pressing them together. With one hand, he pulled her close at the small of her back, bringing her hips up against him, wanting her to feel his erection. Wanting her to know how much he wanted—had always wanted—her.

His other hand tangled in her curls, keeping her head firmly in the palm of his hand. She was right there, and
he didn’t want to let go, afraid that if he did—if he stopped kissing her or touching her—she’d disappear. Or worse, he’d find his pride again and change his mind.

Pride, however, was nothing next to the power of this woman. He’d wanted her for years. And now—false pretenses though they might be—she wanted him, too.

He was going for it.

She made a sweet, desperate noise—a cross between a moan and a cry—and the sound of it made him harder, if that were even possible. Because he recognized that sound. It was the aural representation of need, and it was washing over both of them, filling them and teasing them, the sound both a plea and a promise.

It was, however, another sound that startled him. A harsh, gutteral sound—the clearing of a male throat—and he reluctantly broke the kiss long enough to turn his head and stare up into the pockmarked face of an elderly man with kindly eyes. “You should perhaps get a room, eh? The hall, it is not so comfortable for what I think you two have in mind.”

“My apartment,” he said, barely able to get the words out past his need.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He touched her face, then drew his thumb across her lower lip. Her mouth, once so off-limits to him, now felt familiar. Like home. Like sweetness and perfection and danger and delight all rolled up in one package.

Part of him wanted to rip off her clothes and drive himself into her, claiming her, making her his and only his.

Another part wanted nothing more than to keep this moment safe in his heart forever. He was desperately afraid that reality would come shattering around him all
too soon, and he would have to face the fact that it wasn’t him she wanted, but the illusion of the high-school hero. That was why she’d kept the photo, after all. Because he’d rescued her brother.

To Darcy, that made him a true hero, and damn him all to hell for not walking away despite realizing that.

But he wasn’t walking. Instead, he was taking. Taking her to his apartment. Taking her in his arms.

Taking her.

Lord help him, he didn’t have a choice. How could he, when his body and soul were demanding, shutting out the protests of his mind?

They caught a taxi to his place, and it jerked as the driver pulled to a stop, then rattled off the fare. They paid and got out of the cab on the proper side, thus avoiding being mowed down by traffic. No one mugged them, and Darcy didn’t fall on her face while exiting the vehicle.

Neither of them tripped on slick stones or stepped in dog dirt as they entered the building.

“See?” she said, her smile wide with promise. “I told you there was nothing cursed about this day.” She squeezed his hand. “In fact, I’d say it’s all about good luck, just like Bella said.”

Right then, he had to agree.

He pulled her close again, his hands sliding over her waist, his mouth angling over hers, and his body tightening in such a way that he knew he needed to get inside right then, or get kicked out of the building for improper conduct in the hallways.

“Inside,” he said, his voice as rough as gravel as he stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the fifth floor.

“Hurry,” she said, following him from the elevator to his door. The fact that she wasn’t even trying to hide her desperation made him even more crazily desperate for her than he’d been half a moment before.

“I am,” he said, shoving his hand into his right pocket. He frowned, then released her hand to free his left, and shoved that in deep, too.

“What?” she asked, her voice shifting from dreamy to alarmed.

“Bad luck after all,” he said, slamming his palm flat against the wood of the door, his body tight with protest at the knowledge that they weren’t going to be tumbling inside, tangled up with each other. Not anytime soon. “I’ve lost my damn keys.”

D
ARCY PEERED THROUGH
the window at the end of the hallway, looking down at the metal grating of the fire escape. No way—
no way
—was she letting something as ridiculous as being locked out destroy what she’d managed so far.

And manage it, she had. Never once would she have believed she had it in her to go after a man the way she had, but this was Evan, the man she’d wanted beyond all others. Once she saw it in his eyes—once she knew that at least a little, he wanted her, too—she found the courage to do what needed to be done, despite Cam, despite curses, despite Evan’s own loyalty to the fraternal boys’ order of best friends.

She was a seductress, she thought with a smile. Only this seductress was currently without a place to seduce, and that simply wouldn’t do.

The fire escape looked solid enough. But it also
looked entirely unconnected to the interlocking pieces of scaffoldlike grating that formed the fire escape leading from the various apartments. “How are we supposed to get from here to your place?” It was an important question. Because right then, she wanted nothing more than to be inside his apartment. Specifically, she wanted to be inside his bedroom. And barring that, she might just have to jump him on the fire escape.

Frankly, that iron grating didn’t look all that comfortable…

He squeezed in beside her, his proximity making her feel warm and gooey, and she realized that she was smiling.
This
was luck. Heck, it was more than luck—it was perfection. The one man she’d wanted for as long as she could remember, and she was actually going to have him. In bed. Soon.

Hopefully.

She frowned at the fire escape. “Maybe we should go to a hotel,” she suggested.

“It’s a thought,” he said. “But we’re here, and odds are good my window’s not locked.”

He climbed past her onto the grating, then held out a hand to help her. She followed eagerly, slowing only when she felt a tug near her butt and heard the distinctive
rrrriiiiipppp
of tearing denim.

“Nail,” she said.

His grin flashed. “There you go. More evidence of bad luck for my article.”

She crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him, making her expression purposefully haughty. “Is that a fact? I’d think you’d see it as good news.” She turned so that her rear was aimed at him, then bent over a bit so the
material stretched, opening the newly created hole and revealing the elastic leg-hole of her panty and the curve of her butt. “After all, it’s one more way into my pants.”

The air between them sizzled. “Darcy?” he said, his voice rough.

“Yeah?”

“We need to get into my apartment. Now.”

Her breath shook as she tried to steady herself. “There?” she said, nodding at the grating to her left, about three feet over and a few feet higher than the grating on which they stood. “That’s it,” he said. “Easy.”

She glanced at the concrete ledge that protruded from the building, then watched as he stepped onto a milk crate someone had left on the fire escape as a seat. He stepped onto the ledge, held on to a steel pin that protruded from the brick and took one long step over to his own fire escape landing.

He was right. It looked damn easy.

“As soon as you’re on the ledge,” he said, “I can take your hand.”

“Right. No problem.”

She was wearing black boots with a narrow heel—she’d splurged on them since she’d thought she’d be going to the theater—and she had to admit they weren’t the best for scaling buildings. But she was only going up and over—not any more involved than climbing a set of stairs.

After a quick mental pep talk, she climbed onto the milk crate, then lifted her left leg to the ledge.

“Other leg,” he said. “You’re facing the wrong direction.”

“Oh.”

She hadn’t been paying attention, but now that she
looked, she saw what he meant. “No problem.” She tried to turn, got her heel caught on an indentation in the ledge, felt the heel break, and then caught that protruding steel bar in the nick of time as her body went sliding off the ledge. Evan’s shout filling the air.

“Evan!” She realized she was screaming, but wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it. Dangling five floors above the apartment courtyard was plenty scream-worthy.

She didn’t, however, have to scream for long. Because just as she was wondering how on earth she was going to manage to hang on to that tiny little steel rod, Evan’s warm arm wrapped around her.

“I’ve got you,” he said. He was clutching tight to his fire escape with one hand, while the other held her tight. “I won’t ever let go,” he added, and she believed him. More than anyone in her life, she believed that he’d always be there to catch her.