The Harder They Fall (22 page)

Michael shrugged. “The subject never came up.” With good reason.

Annie gave him a quizzical look, but she knew better than to pursue the subject. “How’s Mom?”

Michael frowned. “She’s got a kidney infection, that’s how she is. And I should have been told about it immediately.”

“We didn’t want you to worry. The doctor said it was minor and could be treated with antibiotics.”

Michael’s scowl could turn wine into vinegar. Annie withstood it quite nicely, however. Her smile remained angelic. “Did you tell Mother that Darcy’s here?”

Michael nodded. “That perked her right up,” he said dryly.

“I had the feeling it would,” Annie chirped.

“Why?” Darcy asked.

Before Michael could stop her, Annie grabbed at the bit and ran with it. “Because Michael’s never brought a woman home to meet our mother in his life. Mom’s been fretting for years that he’d never get married because he didn’t care enough about any of his girlfriends to bring them home. She always says—”

“Enough, Annie.”

“—the first girl to walk through our front door would be the one who—”

“Annie!”

“—steals Michael’s heart,” Annie finished quickly.

Michael closed his eyes, sifting through his options for silencing his sister permanently. She didn’t realize the damage she was causing. He didn’t want Darcy getting false hopes. Although at the moment he couldn’t imagine not having Darcy in his life, he knew that eventually they’d part ways. He just wasn’t a permanent-type guy.

Okay, so in the afterglow of incredible lovemaking, he’d surprised himself by telling her he never wanted what they had to end. What he’d meant was the great sex they’d enjoyed together.

Hadn’t he?

He opened his eyes and glared at his sister, who smiled sweetly at him, then returned her attention to Darcy. “And believe me, I’ve double-dated with Michael a few times—”

“Annie.”

“You should see the mannequin types he’s considered acceptable dating material.”

“Annie.”

“Cool, sophisticated,
boring
.”

“Annie!”

Michael felt Darcy stiffen beside him.

“I’m certainly not cool or sophisticated,” she said glumly.

He resisted the urge to put a reassuring arm around her. Glaring his displeasure at his sister, who densely didn’t seem to realize she was hurting Darcy, not helping her, he squeezed Darcy’s leg.

“Exactly!” Annie cried triumphantly. “You’re real. Flesh and blood.”

Michael looked at Darcy, almost in a new light. His sister had known her for all of thirty minutes, and she’d actually pinpointed what
was
different about Darcy from his usual taste in women. She
was
real. She
was
all creamy
flesh and red-hot blood. And suddenly he realized his taste had undergone a drastic change. He couldn’t imagine, now, why he’d wasted so many nights with Diana Prescott, a woman who loved clothes, jewelry and herself, not necessarily in that order.

The only jewelry Darcy ever wore were earrings, an emerald ring and an occasional bracelet. Her clothes were nice, but casual. She looked good in them, but then again, she could look good in the proverbial burlap sack. And if Darcy had any problems, being in love with herself was not one of them.

Michael felt an intense rush of desire for the woman beside him. His hand tightened on her leg as he tried to fight it. No matter how enticing the prospect, dragging Darcy upstairs now would likely embarrass her.

Michael searched his brain for a subject that would cool off his raging hormones. None came to mind. All roads led to Darcy—in his arms, in his bed.

While images bloomed, Michael became vaguely aware that the conversation between Darcy and Annie had continued without him. He tried to concentrate on the words they uttered, but to no avail. He was too busy with his fantasies.

Darcy couldn’t quite figure out what was wrong with Michael. He seemed lost in thought. She supposed worry over his mother preoccupied him. She wished there was some way she could ease the strain, get his taut body to relax. Only one way came to mind. She blushed at the scandalous thought. Now was not the time to be thinking of sex.

Unfortunately, when she looked at Michael, she couldn’t think of much else. In two short nights, Michael had awakened something in her, and Darcy didn’t want it to go back to sleep. Ever.

“So he got a paper route and also worked for old Mrs. Whitley after school. Jeez, even back then he was taking care of us.”

Darcy dragged her attention back to Annie. If she assimilated this conversation correctly, Annie was listing Michael’s attributes. Annie didn’t really need to do that. Darcy already loved the man more than life. Still, she liked hearing confirmation that she’d fallen in love with Mr. Right.

She smiled. Michael was so lost in thought, she didn’t think he even realized they were discussing him unashamedly. “Who’s Diana Prescott?”

Even that didn’t yank him back to reality. One of his hands toyed with the rim of his glass, the other rhythmically squeezed and released her thigh.

Annie waved. “Don’t worry about her. He’s bored with her already. All the signs say so. He didn’t even want her to know where he was staying in D.C.”

Darcy’s smile vanished. “Does he bore easily?”

“Until now, yes. I think that’s all about to change.”

“Why?” Darcy whispered. “To tell you the truth, I’m fairly new to the dating game.”

“Get out!” Annie said. “You’re beautiful!”

“I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

Annie’s expression softened at Darcy’s admission. “Mike’s pretty good at building dreams out of disasters. It’s what he does best.”

Mike? Darcy rolled the nickname over her tongue. She liked it. She started to say something else, but shuffling footsteps stopped her. She looked over her shoulder. A distinguished older gentleman appeared at the entry to the kitchen, a black bag in his hand.

Annie stood. Darcy shook Michael’s arm and he blinked twice before his eyes seemed to clear and he focused on her face. For some reason he flushed a little.

“The doctor,” Darcy mumbled.

Michael stood and turned. “What’s the verdict?”

“She’ll be fine,” the doctor said. “Just make sure she takes her medication until it’s gone. And I want to see her again in ten days. Sooner, if she doesn’t show signs of steady improvement. Keep an eye on her.”

“We will,” Michael and Annie said at the same time.

Michael shook the doctor’s hand. “Doc, this is Darcy Welham. Darcy, Doc Forsner, the only doctor in the country who still makes house calls.”

The doctor chuckled. “Only for my special patients,” he said. “Laura and I went to school together. Nice to meet you Ms. Welham.”

Annie suddenly turned wide eyes on Darcy. “Welham? But—”

“Thanks again, Doc,” Michael interrupted her. “Is she still awake?”

“Wide-awake and feisty as ever.”

Annie was still gaping at Darcy, but she didn’t have time to think through her reaction. Michael turned to her. “Will you come meet my mother?”

“I’d be honored.”

Darcy’s nerves fluttered
as she took a look at Michael one final time before entering his mother’s bedroom. He smiled down at her, encouraging her. Fortified, she stepped over the threshold into the room.

She’d never been introduced to a man’s mother before. Not in the role of the man’s current girlfriend, at any rate. She desperately wanted to make a good impression on Mrs. Davidson. She felt certain that his mother’s opinion meant everything to him. And therefore, her.

The room was large and airy, obviously the master bedroom. Darcy thought that was sweet, that Michael had given his mother the best bedroom in his house.

Expecting his mother to be in bed, Darcy was surprised that the thick, white comforter was pulled up and colorful pillows littered the head artlessly. The wallpaper was a light floral print, matching the lacy curtains at the windows.

Two sea-green chaise lounges flanked a small fireplace. Sitting in one, a light blanket covering her legs, was Michael’s mother, knitting and humming at once.

Darcy’s first reaction was shock at how petite the woman was. Darcy would bet she stood no taller than five feet, and would only top a hundred pounds if she wore a soaking-wet snowsuit and carried a ten-pound bowling ball.

Her hair was the pure white of a woman who had once been blond, artfully rolled in a bun. Her features were as delicate as her bone structure and, if she had dyed her hair, she could pass for a woman in her forties.

She stopped humming, so the snick of her knitting needles was the only sound in the room. Some instinct must have warned her of their entry, because she looked up over her half glasses. And smiled.

She was radiant, almost ethereal, and Darcy was struck mute and immobile by the glow that seemed to surround Michael’s mother.

“Oh! You must be Darcy,” she said, taking off her glasses and setting her knitting aside.

“Don’t get up, Mother,” Michael said, giving Darcy a gentle shove toward the fireplace.

“Nonsense,” his mother retorted, tossing off the blanket and rising. She wore a lovely bright-blue-and-red sweater and a pair of red wool slacks. On her feet were bunny slippers.

Feeling like a giant, Darcy approached her, and accepted the tiny hand Mrs. Davidson extended to her.

“Welcome, Darcy,” his mother said, beaming. She made no effort to hide her curiosity as she took in every inch of Darcy.

Embarrassed that she’d dressed for comfort rather than appearances, Darcy smiled. She couldn’t help it. Not when the woman’s gray-green eyes were so filled with serene pleasure.

“I’m happy to be here, ma’am.”

“None of this ma’am stuff. Michael, tell her none of this ma’am stuff.”

“None of this ma’am stuff,” Michael repeated obediently.

Darcy looked at him, at the adoration glowing in his eyes as he smiled at his mother, and she felt a twinge of envy. She wanted, more than anything in the world, for him to look at her like that.

“Michael, be a dear and bring Darcy and me something to drink, please,” Mrs. Davidson said.

Darcy knew a dismissal when she heard one. She looked at Michael, panicked. “I . . . if I have any more tea, I’ll float home to D.C.”

His mother laughed softly. “I’m
not really thirsty, either. So, just scram, Michael.”

Darcy looked into those gray eyes. They looked wise and warm, and Darcy relaxed.

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Mother?” Michael asked.

“You always were an astute boy,” his mother said, patting his hand. “Get.”

In a nervous fog, Darcy accepted a reassuring kiss on the cheek from Michael, then watched him stroll out of the room, whistling. Turning back to his mother, she smiled tentatively, clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking.

“Sit, Darcy,” Mrs. Davidson said, waving at the second lounge chair.

Darcy obeyed immediately, then fidgeted a little while Mrs. Davidson made herself comfortable. Darcy had a hard time conceiving of this tiny woman producing a big hulk of a man like Michael. His father must have been a giant.

A long silence ensued while Mrs. Davidson looked Darcy over in detail. Then suddenly she smiled. “Michael didn’t exaggerate. You’re quite beautiful.”