The Harder They Fall (14 page)

She gave him a tremulous smile, then turned abruptly.

“Darcy, wait!” he cried, sitting up. Vertigo overwhelmed him, and he had to grip his head to try to ease the nauseating dizziness. When he finally got it under control, he looked up. Darcy was gone.

A devastating, not to mention surprising, sense of loss made him fall back on the pillow, holding his head.

“This isn’t over, Darcy,” he said to the empty room. “Not by a long shot.”

Darcy found the number she needed from the phone book and jabbed it into her cordless.

“Country Village Nursing Home,” a woman answered on the first ring.

“Yes,” Darcy said, glancing around her apartment and scowling. “I was wondering. Do you take donations?”

“Monetary donations?”

“Not exactly.” She scowled again. “More like donations of plants, flowers, that kind of thing.”

“Well, now, that’s a rather . . . unusual question.”

Darcy batted aside a palm as she paced her living room. “I have an . . . abundance of plants at the moment. I thought it would be nice if someone else enjoyed them.”

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? If you bring them by, I’m
sure our residents will enjoy them.”

“Good. I’ll get them there soon.” She looked into her dining room. “I don’t suppose anyone would want a few helium balloons?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

The doorbell rang. Again.

Sighing, Darcy hung up the phone and went to the door, looking through the peephole. Sure enough, another delivery boy. This one was dressed as a bellhop. She pulled a couple of one-dollar bills from her jeans pocket—money she’d learned to have at the ready at all times lately—and opened the door.

A goofy-looking young man with big ears grinned up at her. Darcy cocked her head. The kid had nothing but an envelope in his hand.

To her simultaneous astonishment and embarrassment, he dropped dramatically to one knee, whipped a card from the envelope, then placed a hand over his heart as he read the message.

“A message from Michael Davidson. ‘Darcy—I lost you before I had a chance to win you. Please give me one more chance. Listen carefully to the words of this song. Please, Darcy, let it be.’”

Then, to her utter mortification, the kid started belting out a particularly bad rendition of the old Beatles tune.

Doors started popping open up and down the hall, as her neighbors tried to determine the source of the caterwauling. If there was any possible way Darcy could make herself disappear, she’d have done it there and then.

Somewhere to her right, a dog howled.

She’d never realized before just how very long the song was. Either that, or the kid was milking it, now that he had an audience. She hated to tell him, but she didn’t think this audition would win him any additional jobs.

About a decade later, the boy finally wrapped up the song with a flourish, standing and bowing deeply. Darcy plastered a smile on her face and forced herself to clap, all the while plotting Michael Davidson’s imminent demise.

She started to hand the boy his tip, but suddenly an arm—a suit-coat-covered arm—reached out from somewhere to the left of the door and handed the kid a twenty. The kid looked at the bill, eyes wide. His face split in a crooked grin, he snatched the bill and disappeared.

Hands on hips, she waited for the rest of the body attached to that arm to appear. She didn’t have to wait long.

He stepped in front of her, a determined scowl on his face that did nothing to detract from his breath-stealing good looks. She steeled herself. His scowl gave way to a smile as he looked her over.

She never should have admitted to him that she was affected by smiles. He’d taken to gracing her with his every time their eyes met these days. She had the feeling that it was his way of apologizing for calling her a coward last week.

But all of the gifts were for a different purpose altogether. He was trying to get her to change her mind about dating him. And she had to admit, he was doing a darn fine job of slowly chipping away at her defenses. That was, until he’d hired a young man with a voice that could peel paint to serenade her.

“Hi.”

“Are you nuts?” she asked.

His smile faded slowly, and Darcy immediately regretted her harsh tone of voice.

He plowed both hands through his hair. “Probably.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but—”

“What’s it going to take, Darcy?” he asked, sounding a little desperate.

“I’m doing this for you!” she cried. Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t he realize that her fondest wish would be to have an affair with him? Didn’t he know she was protecting him?

“Don’t do me any favors,” he said harshly.

“Stop sending me flowers.”

“Stop being such a stubborn idiot,” he shot back.

Well now, those weren’t exactly wooing words. Darcy stepped back, grasped the door and slammed it in his handsome face.

Romancing her isn’t working,
Michael scribbled glumly.

One damn frustrating female was Ms. Darcy Lynn Welham. Michael didn’t think he’d ever had so much trouble trying to convince a woman to go out with him.

He knew she wanted to. He saw the need in her eyes whenever their gazes locked. He saw the regret whenever he approached her and she forced herself to back away from him. He saw the glum expression that crossed her face whenever one of the other girls flirted with him.

She was ruining his life for his own good.

Michael shook his head, feeling a vigorous urge to punch a few holes in the walls of Tom’s office.

He glanced down at his list and scowled. So far, nothing had worked. And he’d run out of ideas. What the hell could he do to sway her? None of the normal channels were getting him anywhere. Short of kidnapping her and flying her to some remote island, he couldn’t think of another tactic to try.

Slamming down the clipboard, he got to his feet and stalked out of Tom’s office. Maybe if he strangled her, she might begin to listen to reason. Of course, she wouldn’t be much fun dead. But at least she wouldn’t be constantly in front of him, tormenting him, reminding him of something he wanted desperately but couldn’t have.

Stomping through the kitchen, he didn’t see Darcy. He nodded curtly to the employees who greeted him. He had the feeling his recent foul mood had them all a little puzzled but, frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

He found Darcy in the break room. Since there were two other waitresses in there with her, he didn’t instantly confront her. Needing some excuse for loitering, he took his time pouring himself some coffee and mixing cream into it.

Wendy Walker, the little flirt, sidled up to him. He had the feeling she had decided to make it her personal mission to convert him to heterosexuality. And she didn’t give up easily, something Michael could relate to at the moment.

“Howdy, cute thing,” she said, batting her china-blue eyes at him.

“Hello.”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Quite possibly abducting a certain stubborn blonde,
he thought. “I haven’t decided,” he answered politely. If he remembered correctly, Wendy Walker had asked him that same question every Friday since he’d been in D.C.

She laid a hand on his forearm, then rubbed it up and down his sleeve. He resisted the urge to throw it off.

“We’re all going to George’s Pub later. Want to come?”

Michael
was about to refuse when he happened to glance over Wendy’s auburn head and catch Darcy glaring at her. Specifically, glaring at the hand that massaged his arm in what Wendy apparently felt was a seductive manner.

Hmm
,
he thought, noting Darcy’s narrowed look. He’d been so single-mindedly focused on pursuing Darcy, he hadn’t considered winning her over by pushing her away. Or, more appropriately, by showing even cursory interest in someone else.

Well, nothing else had worked. He supposed he was desperate enough to put up with some overly flirtatious females who didn’t do a thing for him. He shot Wendy the smile he’d until now reserved for Darcy alone. Since he heard a strangled hiss coming from the general direction of Darcy, he had the feeling she’d noticed.

“George’s, huh?”

Wendy had probably been so prepared for another rejection, her mouth popped open a little as she gaped up at him. “Uh-huh,” she answered, apparently rendered speechless.

“Sounds good. What time?”

It took her about six or seven seconds to locate her voice. “We all drop in as we get off work. Whoever gets off first goes over and holds a large table.”

Michael fully planned to be the first to “get off.” With Darcy.

“That’s around ten,” Wendy said.

He looked at Darcy. “Are you going?”

Darcy nodded mutely, her gaze still fixed on Wendy’s hand.

Michael forced himself to return his attention to Wendy. He smiled again. “Okay, well, I think I’ll stop at my hotel room and change clothes before heading over there. I’d hate to scare anyone off dressed like a Fed.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Cool.”

“See you then,” he said, taking a sip of coffee before strolling out of the room, giving Darcy a wide, innocent smile as he passed her. She glared at him.

He could swear he heard her mutter, “Jerk.”

Jealousy works
,
he thought, resisting the urge to laugh out loud.

JEALOUSY WAS WORKING all right. At the moment Michael was consumed with it. If the guy sitting beside Darcy at the large table at George’s touched her one more time, Michael was going to deck the creep.

The man didn’t work at Welham’s. He was a stranger who’d had the nerve to take one look at Darcy and place her at the top of his acquisitions list. Darcy seemed a little unnerved by the attention. Michael was so busy keeping an eye on her, he hadn’t had time to do any flirting of his own.

The son of a bitch leaned toward Darcy and whispered in her ear. Her eyes went wide and her hands fluttered. Michael had to choke back laughter when she bumped her mug of beer, dumping it directly into the overly eager jerk’s lap.

Michael jumped up and headed to Darcy, before she took it into her head to try and dry the man’s crotch.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, probably for about the twelfth time by now. She stared helplessly at the man, who was drying himself off with a cocktail napkin.

Michael held out his hand to Darcy. She stared up at him, hopeless, numbing horror on her face. He’d do just about anything to wipe the pain and embarrassment from her eyes.

The man who’d been trying to pick her up smiled tightly. “No problem.”

Drawing Darcy to her feet, Michael grinned down at the guy. “That’s Darcy’s way of saying no.”

“It was an accident!” Darcy protested.

Michael gave the guy a conspiratorial wink, before pulling Darcy from the table and out onto the dance floor. Cold Play was singing something slow and sexy and, before Darcy could complain, Michael pulled her into his arms.