The Harder They Fall (16 page)

She knew Michael had probably gone to bed with many, many women in his life. That knowledge bothered her a little, but not much. She couldn’t expect a man as attractive as he was to stay celibate. Besides, she’d been secretly glad that if and when they had sex, at least one of them would know what they were doing.

But if Michael ended up going to bed with Wendy, she knew she’d never sleep with him herself. She couldn’t handle the thought of standing in some kind of sexual line for him.

In fact, she couldn’t stand the thought that he’d been with
any
other women since he’d met her. That was asking a lot, she knew. There had been many, many nights in the last month that Michael didn’t come into the restaurant at all. She couldn’t imagine him just sitting alone and lonely in his hotel room. Not when he could come to a place like this and probably have his pick of women—women who’d have no qualms about climbing into bed at one crook of his long, elegant finger.

Darcy suddenly realized Wendy was still talking to her, and she hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Not when her head was filled with images of Michael undressed, undressing the vivacious, man-eating woman in front of her.

Darcy shook her head. “What?”

“I
said, I’m going to ask you to give me a ride home tonight. You refuse, okay? Make up some excuse, I don’t care what. Then if he doesn’t take the hint and offer me a ride, I’ll just ask him outright.”

Darcy wanted to help Wendy manipulate Michael about as much as she wanted to walk naked down Constitution Avenue. But to refuse would mean admitting she had an interest in Michael herself. And right now she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She was too afraid Wendy would laugh uproariously.

At that moment Michael returned, and Darcy felt an irrational irritation at the rat for being so damn appealing to all of womankind.

Michael sat down, and Wendy immediately draped herself all over him. The snake did nothing to stop her. Not one damn thing.

Darcy stood abruptly, bumping the table. Beer sloshed out of several nearby mugs, but thank God none of them spilled completely.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked.

Darcy dug through her purse to keep from having to face him. “Home,” she muttered. Slapping a tip down on the rough wood table, she finally met his gaze. Big mistake. He was frowning. “I’m tired,” she added.

“Oh, Darcy, do you think you could give me a ride home?” Wendy asked with saccharine sweetness.

Darcy wanted to scream, “Yes, you twit!” Instead, she sighed dramatically. “Do you think you could find someone who lives closer to McLean? I’m really tired, Wendy.” She matched Wendy’s sweet smile watt for watt as she let her gaze slide to Michael. “Didn’t you say you’re staying at the Ritz Carlton at Tyson’s Corner? Why, you and Wendy are practically neighbors!”

His eyes narrowed, causing sexy little lines to form close to his temples. He didn’t say a word until Wendy turned to him in breathless anticipation. He smiled, but Darcy noticed the tightness in his jaw. She got a little thrill of pleasure from the thought that he wasn’t exactly happy playing chauffeur. “I’d be happy to give you a ride,” he said, between closed teeth.

Darcy waved goodbye to the group in general, avoiding Michael’s glare. She was happy that he wasn’t happy, but that didn’t mean much. Once Wendy got him alone, Darcy had little doubt she’d manage to change his attitude. After all, he was a man. Just a man.

As she whirled and made her way to the door, a thought just wouldn’t stop pounding through her head.

He should have been
her
man
.

Darcy wandered her apartment-turned-florist- shop, miserable. In the back of her mind she’d been praying that Michael would set land-speed records taking Wendy home, then race right over to her place.

She should have known better than to allow even a glimmer of hope to seep into her. She’d just set herself up to be disappointed.

Again.

Why had she allowed Wendy to manipulate her into handing Michael over on a silver platter? Why didn’t she have the backbone to fight for him? The answer was simple, really. Because she knew if she were Michael, she’d rather be with petite, adorable, flirtatious Wendy than tall, gangly, klutzy Darcy.

Darcy inhaled the scent of the fading roses, then checked her watch. It had been two and a half hours since she’d left George’s Pub. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out images of Wendy in Michael’s arms, his chiseled lips roaming over her skin, his fingers exploring her feminine charms.

With a groan of disgust, Darcy stomped into her bedroom and threw off her clothes. Michael wasn’t coming. She might as well try to get some sleep. Darcy changed into her favorite sleep attire—a huge, comfortable, flannel Seattle Seahawks nightshirt.

In the middle of brushing her teeth, she thought she heard a
knock on her door. She stopped for a moment and turned off the water. Nothing. Shaking her head, she continued to rinse out her mouth. Pipe dreams.

The sound came again. This time Darcy was certain of it. She couldn’t think of a single person who would knock on her door at two o’clock in the morning.

Except . . .

Darcy grabbed a hand towel and wiped her mouth as she raced out of the bathroom, down the hall to her door. She took a quick peek through the peephole, but no one was there. Disappointment raced through her, and her head hung low. She must have imagined it after all.

Then she suddenly felt and heard the sound of heavy footsteps approach. They stopped in front of her door and Darcy froze, half in fear, half in anticipation.

“To hell with it,” she heard a voice mutter. An unmistakable voice. “I’m waking her up if I have to blow the building down to do it.”

The big bad wolf outside her door was Michael.

Without thinking, she yanked the door open. And nearly got punched in the nose by Michael’s fist. He grabbed his hand back just in time.

They stared at each other for an eternity. Then Michael’s eyes made a long, slow sweep over her body. That’s when Darcy realized she’d pulled open the door while nearly half-naked.

Well, actually she was exposing less skin than she had in her bathing suit. The nightshirt fell to mid-thigh, and covered her arms to her wrists.

Still, when she saw his eyes catch blue fire, Darcy started taking unconscious, shallow breaths.

She was acutely aware, suddenly, that she had nothing on under the nightshirt except a pair of skimpy panties. Her breasts—her unbound breasts—tightened almost painfully.

Michael visibly swallowed. “May I,” he coughed “—come in?”

Darcy backed up a step, mute with burgeoning joy. He’d come after all!

He didn’t immediately follow her inside. In fact, his gaze dropped to her bare legs and he swallowed again, twice.

Darcy was torn between the desire to inch her nightshirt up higher to give him a better view, or to run into her bedroom and wrap her ankle-length terry robe around her.

In point of fact, she did neither. She just stood still as a statue and watched him fight some emotion she couldn’t identify.

Finally he took a step into her apartment. And pulled a bunch of daffodils from behind his back.

Darcy took them automatically, burying her nose in them. The man had a flower fetish. She liked that about him.

“I picked them out front. Hope nobody minds.”

That news jolted Darcy out of her Michael-induced lethargy. “You picked Mrs. Wisonhurst’s daffodils?”

“Uh-oh. Big mistake, huh?”

Darcy laughed softly. “Only if she caught you. And I doubt even Mrs. Wisonhurst would be snooping out her front window at two o’clock in the morning.”

She headed for the kitchen to look for something to put the daffodils in.

“I’m sorry I stopped over so late,” Michael said from behind her.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she returned, glancing over her shoulder. Michael’s eyes were glued to the back of her legs, so he didn’t stop when she did. He bumped right into her.

Darcy lurched forward, but Michael’s arms came around her to stop her fall. Only problem was, his hand landed directly on Darcy’s left breast. They both froze.

His palm was a searing brand even through the flannel. Darcy was embarrassed to feel her breast respond to his touch. It seemed to swell and tighten at once. He couldn’t help but notice.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was over far too soon, he removed his hand from her breast, managing to brush his fingertips over her beaded nipple while his hand moved to her shoulder.

Mortified at the rush of heat and moisture that pooled between her legs, Darcy stood stiff, her back to him.

“Darcy,” he whispered, turning her inexorably around to face the music. To face him.

Knowing her cheeks were flaming, she kept her head down, hoping her loose hair would hide the raging blush.

“Darcy, look at me.”

He grasped her chin and raised her head. But he couldn’t control her eyes, which she kept trained on his chest.

“Please, look at me.”

Her gaze crept up his chest to his jaw and stopped at his nose.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t do that on purpose. I’m not the kind of guy to try and cop a cheap feel.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. Was he calling her cheap? No, not with that half worried, half passionate blaze in his eyes. “I know,” she squeaked finally.

He hissed a swearword, tore the flowers from her hand and threw them on the kitchen floor, then crushed her against him. His mouth covered hers feverishly and his hands left her shoulders to plow through her hair.

Darcy’s knees turned to jelly, and her heart leapt into a gallop. She put her arms around his waist, relishing the pleasure gushing through her.

Michael’s tongue invaded her mouth, and she met it thrust for thrust. Just like the last time, her response made him growl in his throat. She loved it.

Darcy allowed her hands to roam over his waist and back. She even let them slip down to wander over his trim hips. Then she returned to his back, loving the way his muscles responded to her touch.

Michael broke the kiss, trailing his lips across her cheek to her ear. Darcy gasped as his tongue traced its shell, then he moved to nibble her lobe gently.

She’d been so caught up in the tactile sensations he evoked, her other senses had taken temporary leave. But as his jaw brushed over her chin, suddenly her sense of smell returned.

Perfume.
The man smelled like cheap perfume. Wendy Walker’s cheap perfume.

Darcy reacted instinctively. She pushed at his chest and he let her go. Before she could think things through, her palm cracked against his jaw.

Dazed and confused and still consumed with lust, Michael took a step back, his hand lifting to his burning face.

Darcy’s eyes blazed with anger. Why, he had no idea. Was it a delayed reaction to his accidentally grabbing her breast? “What the hell? I told you I was sorry!”

She started jabbing a finger in his chest, and Michael continued to stumble backward toward the living room as she stalked him.

“You no-good snake!”

“Darcy—”

“How dare you come over here after being with her?”

“Darcy—”

“What were you trying to do, see how many women you could conquer in one night?”

“No. Listen, Darcy—”

“No,
you
listen. If you think I’m just going to fall blithely into bed with you, hours, maybe minutes, after you’ve been with another woman, you are sadly ill-informed.”

“But I haven’t—”

“Now get out of my home and don’t ever come back!”

Michael backed into a potted palm, and its fronds engulfed him. He batted his way out, then grabbed her rigid shoulders. “Listen to me!” he growled, giving her a tiny shake to get her attention. “I was never with her! I took her home, that was all.”