The Harder They Fall (20 page)

A delicious thrill jolted through Darcy and she nearly moaned. At the moment her body felt like it had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler sometime recently. She wouldn’t have traded one wonderful ache for anything in the world.

She felt light as a cloud, and just as high in the sky. The night before would be one she treasured for the rest of her life.

She’d never felt more like a woman. Well-loved. Worshipped. Cherished. They’d hardly slept, as each took turns awakening the other to kiss, caress, make love. Sometimes they just held each other, whispering love words that made her heart soar and her body catch fire.

She was in love. Deeply, hopelessly in love.

Michael didn’t want it to end. Ever. He’d said so. He wasn’t running away from her as other men had, but instead wanted to hold on to her and never let her go.

At dawn Michael had kissed her awake, then picked her up and carried her to her bathroom. He’d laid her gently into a perfectly heated bathtub full of bubbly water, then used a washcloth to soap every inch of her skin.

“This is paradise,” she’d whispered sleepily, as the heat from the water seeped into her sore muscles and his hands massaged her gently.

He’d smiled that heart-melting smile she’d grown to adore, his hair rumpled like a little boy’s. “I see a lot more paradise in our future, love.”

Now, as she filled a vat with freshly made creamy garlic dressing, Darcy couldn’t help but smile. Paradise. She’d found paradise.

Wendy Walker sidled up to her. “You seem awfully chipper today.”

Darcy shrugged noncommittally. “How’d it go last night?”

Wendy tossed her head. “How’d what go?”

“Last I heard, you had big plans for a certain tall, dark and handsome executive type.”

Wendy clucked, snapping stiff. “The jerk’s gay.” Then she walked away.

Darcy kept her hands moving, performing tasks. She kept her lips pressed together, silent. Because if she didn’t, she was going to jump fifty feet in the air and scream with joy.

“Davidson.”

“Stella here, boss.”

“Holding down the fort?” Michael asked his no-nonsense secretary.

“Trying. It’s not easy with London breathing down my neck.”

Michael’s smile faded. Dick London was his boss. And his boss was not happy with Michael at the moment. He called almost daily to check on the Welham acquisition, and since Michael had little progress to report, the man was getting more and more strident.

“I’m sorry, Stell. He shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“You don’t happen to have any good news I can pass along to the blowhard, do you?”

Michael sighed, propping his crossed ankles on Tom’s desk. “Nope. The owner’s daughter’s still holding out.”

“I have a suggestion.”

“Shoot.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“Shoot her. Put us all out of our misery.”

Michael laughed. “Can I let you in on a little secret, Stella?”

“Uh-oh. Why don’t I think I’m going to like this?”

“I don’t think I want this acquisition any longer.”

There was a long pause. “It’s worse than I thought. Why not?”

“Because the owner’s daughter is proving to be a formidable opponent. I hate the idea of her losing.”

“May I remind you of a couple of facts?”

“No.”

“One, you’re a barracuda,” she went on, ignoring him.

“Flattery is good.”

“We’ve climbed the ladder at a dizzying pace by you remembering that.”

“I remember that.”

“You’re not acting barracuda-ish at the moment. Where’s my hero who told me a few weeks ago that he’d have this woman on her knees in a matter of days?”

Michael winced. He’d brought Darcy to her knees all right. In
ways Stella could never imagine. “I misjudged her.”

“Two, you never misjudge people.”

“There’s always a first for everything.”

“Three, this is not the time for firsts.”

Oh, yes it was. This was a time of plenty of firsts. “So my timing is off.”

“Four, your timing is never off.”

“Stella—”

“Five, couldn’t you have waited to fall in love with her until after the papers were signed?”

Michael sat in stunned silence. Stella had always known him better than anyone save his mother and sister. She’d been with him since his first job as project supervisor, and had been—as far as he was concerned—as much a part of his success as he was.

But she was wrong this time. Michael wasn’t in love with Darcy. He couldn’t afford to be.

Stella sighed loudly into his ear. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

He snorted. “Not hardly. I just find her . . .” What did he find Darcy? Attractive, certainly. Intriguing, definitely. Alluring, most assuredly. “Fascinating,” he finished lamely.

“Michael, Michael, Michael. We’ve been together ten years. In that time I’ve seen hundreds of young ladies wiggle past you, trying to get even a speck of your attention. You never even noticed. I let you out of my sight for a few weeks, and look what you go and do.”

“It’s under control,” he defended. “Jeez, I just sort of like her!”

“Shall I mention this little glitch to London?”

“If you want to get me fired, sure,” he said mildly.

“Are you kidding? You’re my meal ticket.” She sighed again. “So what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to broach the topic to Darcy one more time, and if she still says no, that’s that.”

“Darcy, is it?”

“It is.”

“You don’t strike me as the Darcy type.”

“I’m definitely the Darcy type.”

“You always went through Penelopes and Julianas and Moniques here in New York.”

“In Washington, I go for Darcys.”

“Do Darcys go for you?”

“In a big way,” he boasted, feeling a swell of pride sweep through him.

“Maybe we can use this.”

“No!” he barked swiftly, forgetting for the moment that this was his original plan. “I’m not using our personal relationship to get to her. No way.”

“You’re hooked like a catfish, buddy.”

“No, I’m not. I just like her. I’m in control, I promise.”

Stella grunted her disgust. “If you say so.”

“Is there anything else, or are you going to lecture me some more?”

“Hmm. You’ve got about a million messages, but I’ll take care of them here.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, by the way, your sister called. She wants you to call her as soon as possible.”

Darcy was floating.
Love had a profound effect, she decided. She hadn’t made one mistake her entire shift—not one broken plate, not one spilled drink. She felt graceful and poised, happy and competent. Michael had given this to her. She would love him into eternity for that.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” she asked two businessmen, smiling.

They looked up from a ledger and both smiled back. She wanted to hug them. “What have you got, sweetheart?” the fat one asked, winking.

Darcy was too happy to take offense. “Anything on the menu, and whatever’s behind that bar.”

She felt, rather than saw, Michael approach. He took her arm. Looking at the customers, he said, “Please excuse us a moment,” then nearly hauled her into the alcove where clean tableware was kept for the busboys.

She wondered if he’d heard the customer’s suggestive question, but the expression on his face wasn’t anger when she looked up at him. He appeared to be in pain.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a whisper.

“I have to fly back to New York, first thing in the morning.”

“Why?”

“My mother’s sick. I have to go see her.”

“Oh, Michael, I’m sorry! Is it serious?”

He heaved a breath. “I don’t know. She’s been in the hospital for three days, and neither she nor my sister bothered to tell me. My sister said my mother didn’t want me to worry. God, I’m going to kill them both when I get home.’

“Well, maybe that’s good. If she were really sick, your sister would have called right away.”

“I don’t care. They should have told me.” He brushed a stray strand of her hair back over her shoulder. “I have to leave as
soon as possible.”

“Of course.”

He took her arms. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I want you with me, Darcy. I need you with me. Please.”

“I’ll just be in the way.”

“No, you won’t. Besides, I want her to meet you.” His eyes pleaded with her. His hands squeezed her, coaxing her. “Please.”

Darcy had never been to New York City before, and truthfully, she didn’t much care for it. Although overall the skyline was quite impressive, when one took in the scenery in small chunks, the city was absolutely squalid.

Since Michael grew up here, though, she didn’t want to insult him. Therefore, as the taxi carted them from La Guardia to his town house, which he’d told her was located on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, she kept her opinion to herself.

They’d accomplished the trip north in relative silence, although they’d held hands for most of the plane ride. Michael seemed deep in thought, and Darcy decided to allow him his privacy, wanting just to be there if he needed her.

Somehow, by the way he looked at her occasionally, she sensed he appreciated it.

Darcy had never felt needed like this before. She hated the circumstances, but she loved that he wanted her near him for support. She looked over at him. He was writing on a large, yellow legal pad, a bouquet of flowers he’d bought from a vendor at La Guardia beside him. Feeling a little guilty, Darcy let her curiosity get the better of her, reading his bold, handwritten notes. Jeez, even his handwriting was sexy.

Suddenly she felt his eyes on her, and she looked up, a guilty flush inching up her throat. But he just smiled at her and took her hand.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.

“For what?” She felt like she could drown in the blue of his eyes.

“For being here.”

“There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.”

His smile was so gentle, Darcy felt weepy. But then it vanished, and a worried light came into his eyes. “Darcy, since I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t what we’re going to encounter. It may not be pretty.”

“Illness never is.” She threaded their fingers. “It must be awful when it’s someone you love.”