The Harder They Fall (15 page)

She tossed back her head and glared up at him. “Why did you make him think I did it on purpose?”

“Because I wanted to make damn sure he forgot whatever disgusting little suggestions he whispered in your ear.”

“Why?”

“If anyone’s going to make suggestions to you, it’s going to be me.”

He realized he sounded like a possessive, domineering, chauvinistic jerk, and he was way beyond caring. He’d had to sit and watch Darcy interacting with another man, and he hadn’t liked it. Not one bit.

She stared up at him. “Forgive me for being so obtuse, Mr. Davidson, but last time I checked, that was my choice to make.”

“So, I made it for you.”

Her perfume wafted up to him, and Michael inhaled it deeply. He was far too happy to have Darcy in his arms again. Surprisingly, she danced rather fluidly.

“Next time I want you to make decisions for me, I’ll let you know. I suggest you don’t hold your breath while you wait.”

God, she looked beautiful angry. “I was just trying to save you the trouble of letting the guy know you weren’t interested.”

“Who says I wasn’t interested?”

Trying to tamp down his rising anger, he said, through gritted teeth, “He’s not your type.”

She gazed up at him in astonishment. God, she looked beautiful astonished. “How would you know what my type is?”

I’m
your type
,
he wanted to say. But he didn’t, too afraid she’d find several reasons to disabuse him of that notion. “I just do.”

Her look told him how intelligent she considered that comeback. “Go ahead,” she said, eyes glowing with humor. “Describe my type.”

God, she looked beautiful when she was laughing at him. He grasped her waist and pressed her body to his. That felt really, really good. For her too, if the small sound she made in
her throat was any indication. “You like a man who makes you feel . . . feminine.”

Her eyes went wide and she swallowed. Michael started enjoying this verbal assault on her senses. He lowered his head . . . just a little. “You like a man who finds you sexy as hell, and shows you that in a million different little ways.”

His hands started roaming her back. He sure did like the way she was built, all slender and curvy.

The Cold Play song had long since ended, and Pink was now rasping out a pounding rock song. Still they slow-danced, oblivious to the writhing bodies around them.

Darcy shook her head, more to clear it than to indicate her denial, Michael thought. “I don’t know if you’re right or not.”

“Why not?”

“I . . . I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Think about it now.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Do you like the way I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like the way I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like the way I look at you?”

“When you’re not mad at me, yes.”

“Do you like
me
,
Darcy?” he asked, his heart hammering. Her answer mattered to him. Too much.

“I’m almost certain I do.”

He’d take that as a yes. “Are you attracted to me?”

“You know I am.”

“Then I guess I’m your type, aren’t I?”

“I guess you are.”

“Not that turkey back at the table, but me.”

“Can’t women be attracted to more than one man at the same time?”

“No,” he lied boldly, hoping she’d just take his word for it.

She digested that for a moment. “You’re making that up.”

“Women get reputations when they’re attracted to more than one man at a time.”

She clucked in disgust. “How dumb do you think I am, Davidson? I may not have much practice, but I grew up in the same generation you did. That kind of thinking went out with Donna Reed.”

Michael had felt pretty certain he wouldn’t get away with that, but he thought he’d give it a shot, anyway. He shrugged. “Okay, so sue me because I want you to be attracted to me exclusively.”

She sighed. “I told you that wouldn’t be wise. Who knows what will happen to—”

Just then Wendy Walker strolled up and interrupted them. “Come on, Darcy, don’t hog him all to yourself!”

Thoroughly irritated by the interruption, Michael dropped his arms.

Darcy smiled at Wendy, a smile that didn’t make it any higher than her teeth. “Oh, sure.”

Wendy tried to turn him toward her. “Come on, you sexy thing, show me what you’ve got.”

He turned back once to look at Darcy. She wasn’t just frowning, she was actually glaring. She rose up and whispered in his ear, “You show her what you’ve got and I’ll make sure to cut it off you.”

His mouth dropped open. He stared at her as she marched off the dance floor. Yes, indeed, jealousy was working.

By the time Darcy returned
from dancing with Michael, Luke, the guy she’d spilled beer on, had moved on to another of her co-workers. Darcy was relieved. She hadn’t been comfortable with him, especially when he’d whispered in her ear that he’d like to take her home.

She wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but she’d actually been grateful to Michael for rescuing her. For some reason, she felt comfortable with him. Well, not exactly comfortable, seeing as he made her nerves jump and her spine sizzle whenever he was near her. But still, he made her more relaxed, more at ease in her own skin. Why, she had no idea.

She sat down beside Anthony, who handed her a new beer. Smiling her thanks, she took a sip. Unconsciously, her eyes strayed back to the dance floor, seeking Michael’s tall form.

She spotted him immediately. He stood out in a crowd like no man she’d ever met. It seemed as if a spotlight shone on him, highlighting him, making him the center of the universe.

Tonight he had on a pair of khaki pants and a snow-white oxford shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked preppy and gorgeous and . . . like he was enjoying Wendy’s company.

The two of them gyrated around the floor, both of them at ease with the rhythm of the song. Michael smiled down at Wendy, accepting her occasional hand on him without protest, it seemed.

Darcy saw green.

She didn’t want him presenting other women with his high-voltage smile. She didn’t want that errant lock of ebony hair gracing his forehead while another woman fawned over him. She didn’t want his deep, growly voice and his sexy laughter directed at anyone but her.

She’d never felt this possessive streak before, had never known she was capable of jealousy. But apparently, she had it in her. Because as she watched Wendy wiggle her little body in front of him, Darcy wanted to rush over there and knock her away.

She took some comfort in the memory of his possessiveness earlier. At least her feelings weren’t entirely one-sided.

“You’ve got it bad, Darcy.”

Darcy dragged her gaze from the dance floor. “What?”

Anthony grinned. “I’ve never seen a pair of more lovesick eyes in my life.”

“L-lovesick? Me?”

After a long swallow of beer, Anthony said, “I think it might be a lost cause, Darcy.” He hugged her briefly. “I’m sorry, but I’ve heard rumors.”

Darcy bit back a denial. After all, it wasn’t her place to explain Michael’s sexuality. Besides, she rather enjoyed the idea that the females at the table thought Michael was a lost cause.

All except Wendy, she thought waspishly, as she watched the woman try to engage Michael in a slow dance. Michael shook his head politely and clutched his throat as if he were dying of thirst. He swaggered back to the table, Wendy hot on his heels.

Darcy really liked the way he walked. He had a masculine grace and a long-limbed stride that made her stomach flutter. As did the deep blue gaze he bestowed on her.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and Darcy wondered why. She followed his gaze that had drifted slightly to her left. That was when she noticed that Anthony had draped an arm casually along the back of her chair. Darcy leaned forward to prove to Michael that Anthony was just using her chair as an armrest.

Michael sat down directly across from her, and Wendy quickly took the chair beside him, scooting it so close to Michael that Darcy couldn’t have wedged a ruler between them.

Darcy drank deeply from her mug, trying to keep from tossing its contents onto the other woman. Wendy practically gushed as she looped her arm through Michael’s and pressed her chest against him.

To his credit, he looked irritated. Not to his credit, he didn’t disengage.

“You are such a good dancer,” Wendy cooed.

“Thank you,” Michael mumbled, then waved over the waiter. He ordered a round for everyone.

When the beers arrived, Michael drank half of his in one sip, then leaned toward Darcy, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. “What happened to Mr. Macho?” he murmured, for her ears alone.

It took Darcy a moment to remember who he meant. Especially since his eyes were gazing into hers, his lips were quirked in a half grin, and that damnable lock of hair had fallen forward again.

Not only that, but his skin had just a tiny bit of sheen to it, and it looked ruddy and tasty against the white of his shirt.

Her gaze dropped to his open collar. No hair peeked out near his throat, which Darcy should have expected, since she knew the exact spot on his chest where hair started growing.

As far as she was concerned, Michael Davidson was the only macho man in the bar. She forced her gaze back up to meet his. The amusement gleaming in his eyes told her she’d been looking him over a little too closely. Not only that, but she felt certain he’d asked her a question a long, long time ago, and she couldn’t, for the life of her, remember what it had been.

“Excuse me. What?”

“I asked where the pickup artist went.”

She opened her mouth, but a pouting Wendy interrupted her. “Mikey, honey, this is my
favorite
song in the whole wide world. You wouldn’t refuse to dance with me to my favorite song, would you?”

A tic started in his jaw. “I don’t dance with anyone who calls me Mikey, darlin’,” he said, though he hadn’t even turned to look at Wendy.

Wendy’s pout doubled in size. “Michael, then.”

“I’m sorry, Wendy, but I need to use the rest room,” Michael said, untangling himself from the woman. “Maybe later,” he added, smiling down at her as he stood.

Wendy hungrily followed his progress across the bar, before turning back to Darcy. “Tonight that man learns what it’s like to be with a real woman.”

Darcy kept a bland expression on her face, even as she pictured Wendy bald, once Darcy had finished pulling every artless auburn strand of hair from Wendy’s head. “I thought you said he wasn’t . . . inclined toward women.”

Wendy studied her manicure. “I don’t like to brag, but there isn’t a man in this world I can’t persuade to be inclined toward women, once I get him in bed.”

Good thing for Wendy Darcy didn’t carry weapons with her.

Wendy leaned forward and winked conspiratorially. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really think he’s gay, after all. I just think he needed to get out of his stuffy suits.” She giggled. “I plan to get him out of a lot more, tonight.”

That declaration made Darcy’s blood run cold. In the
couple of months she’d been in Washington, she’d watched Wendy conquer man after man, leaving every one of them panting for more. Darcy didn’t know if she could handle knowing Michael was just one more of Wendy’s conquests.