Page 79 of A Searing Acquaintance
“I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.” She felt awful, overwhelmed this time not by the size of his apartment or the thickness of his carpets but by the depth of his feelings and the fragility of his heart. “I mean, I never meant to.”
“I know that,” he whispered. “It was me.”
Elizabeth felt herself break open. “And I’m so horribly sorry, so ashamed that you opened up to me, and I listened without hearing you. I was stupid, and I didn’t remember anything but the kissing and the, um, aftermath of the kissing.”
“That’s not your fault,” Darcy insisted. He turned his face and kissed the palm she still held to his cheek. “Not at all.”
“Well, it was,” she sniffed. “And then I didn’t want to like you. I did, though, I liked you, but I tried so hard not to.” She gazed at himthrough blurry eyes. His hair was sticking up wildly, his eyes reddened, and his face pale. She knew she looked far worse. “You made it impossible.”
He was quiet and still for a moment. “I did?”
“Yes, you wonderful, silly man,” she breathed, her voice dripping with feeling. “You’re sweet and kind and you make good tea and you love animals and you take such good care of difficult relatives and frustrating women who refuse to admit how much they like you.”
“You really do?”
“Oh yes. So very much.” Elizabeth smiled and pulled his face to hers. His eyes, no longer sad or worried or unsure, were now filled with a happiness she was sure matched her own. “Would you please kiss me? The tension in here is unbearable.”
Darcy leaned in, his lips touching hers gently. They kissed softly, his mouth limning hers, exploring the angles. She pulled him down, closer, and his hand crept into her hair, as her fingers framed his neck. Her tongue reached out tentatively to touch his. He sighed a little sigh, and both were lost in the kiss, in each other. She uttered a quiet gasp as his mouth pulled away and he began kissing her neck.
Darcy drew back slowly, his eyes dark and misty and boring into hers. “Elizabeth, will you have dinner with me tonight?”
She opened her eyes and gazed at him, confused. “We just had lunch.”
He smiled, and his eyes softened. “I need you to know thatthistime I will do things right. No misunderstandings, no confusion. I’m kissing you now, and I want to keep kissing you,andI want to see you later. And tonight and tomorrow and the next day.”
Elizabeth kissed him tenderly and nodded. “Yes.” She could see the exhausted exhilaration in his eyes. He was so tired; he’d opened himself up in ways that surprised them both. It was frightening and overwhelming. It was lovely and affirming. But he was right. Slowly, carefully. No mistakes this time.
“Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tonight, Fitzwilliam, on one condition.”
He kissed her a little less gently this time, and sat back, wearing an expression of wary expectation.
“I find that I might be inclined, on occasion, to be less formal with you,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “But Fitzwilliam is a bit of a mouthful and Darcy is a bit formal. Does everyone call you Darcy or Fitzwilliam?”
“Some of my family call me William. My mother called me Will,” he said, his voice rough.
“Will. Oh, I like that.Will,” she sighed dramatically. “It’s even better than Ferdinand.”
His eyes lit up, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly. And happily,finally,kissing the smirk off her face.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It would be hours later, as she undressed after an elegant, intimate dinner, that Elizabeth would realize the man who’d told her four months earlier that he’d fallen in love with her had yet to repeat those words.
But she wasn’t thinking about that now as she was curled around the long, lean, delicious form of one Fitzwilliam Darcy.
She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her deeply, slowly, and with just enough heat to erase the smirk from her face. He pulled away, gasping, and softly nuzzled her lower lip, but she felt he was still holding back, so she slipped her tongue against his lips. He groaned softly, and as his tongue met hers, they both shuddered. “Elizabeth,” he whispered.
They lay stretched alongside and clasping each other close for some time, speaking quietly, sharing soft, gentle kisses, exploring with hands, fingers, and lips. He told her admired her eyes, and how their golden glints warming the deep green. He kissed the freckles he’d so admired and touched a small scar near her hairline. He raised his eyebrows in question, and she whispered, “Fell out of a tree.” He smiled and kissed the thin white line.
Elizabeth brought his face down so she could kiss his nose, his perfect patrician nose. Her finger traced his brow, and her lips feather-kissed his temple.He is so perfect, she thought, lifting his face to gazeinto his eyes. Their dark gray irises were jet black now, intent on her and shining with happiness.
He moved his lips to her neck and to her ear, gently caressing its soft, shell-like curve. Elizabeth arched and raked her fingers through his hair. As before, it was she who drew him closer, covering his mouth with wild kisses, her hands finding their way under his shirttail and touching his warm, smooth skin. He made a little sound, and his hand, which he’d kept carefully still on her waist, slid underneath her shirt. His thumb brushed her stomach and she moaned softly then pulled away, breathing heavily.
Oh, he is so dangerous. This is too much.
“Your million-dollar sofa is well worth the price,” she finally said, panting a bit.
“What?” he asked, dazedly. His lips were swollen, his eyes glazed, his shirt collar twisted.
