Page 78 of A Certain Appeal
I grin. The fellow currently stroking my kneecap has casually referred to my work as “outstanding.” A gal could get used to this.
Chloe cocks a brow in Darcy’s direction. “If you could take a break from whatever’s going on under the table, maybe Bennet could share some ideas for that forsaken barn wood.”
Darcy’s hand stiffens, and I cross my arms. “Why are you like this?”
Chloe wiggles her eyebrows and hitches a thumb toward Gales. “Do you see both ofhishands?” Gales raises his left hand, but his right, which is closer to Chloe, remains out of sight.
A second later, Chloe jumps with a little “Yip!” and curls over her side toward Gales. “Ohmigod, stop!” she begs, laughing. She bumps the table from below, sending her drink sloshing. “There’s a beverage here, man!”
“She has a spot on the back of her knee.” Gales takes a long pull from his beer, other hand still tormenting his fiancée. “Liz, do you have it, too? Ticklish as hell. She can’t function.”
Chloe shrieks with laughter, eyes welling. A couple at the table next to us look over, clearly puzzled.
Darcy dances his fingers along my knee. “Interesting. Though...” He checks his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have a call with a client in thirty.”
“I’ll walk you out.” I cast a glance at Chloe, loading it with a subtle but directDon’t even think about joining us.
She takes the hint. “Want to share one more?” she asks Gales, dabbing at her eyes with a cocktail napkin.
“Sure.” He extends his hand to Darcy. “Thank you for whatever you’ve done for Tuesday. If you offered up your firstborn, know I’m supremely grateful.”
“My pleasure. The two of you will be at which show tomorrow? Charles and I were going to stop in during the ten o’clock.”
“We’ll be there. Ooh! Join us!” Chloe suggests.
“Perfect. See you two then,” he says, and we head outside.
“This was fun.” Darcy nods toward the bar. We’ve crossed to the opposite side of the street, where there’s less foot traffic. “Chloe and Gales are great.”
“Yeah, Mr. Not Good with New People. You seemed pretty comfortable with a couple you only just met.”
“Easy. They were vetted by someone I trust.”
The word “trust” makes my chest go warm, but I need to confirm we’re seeing eye to eye on that subject. “Darcy, you’ve said that you appreciate what I do at the club, but I need you to know I’m not going to change that part of my life, even if you’re not totally on board with it. That’s mine. I’m going to have that flirty act in my undies a few nights a week. But with you”—I hook my fingers into his belt loops—“there’s no act. Undies and flirting, yes. But no act.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” He steps closer to take the lapels of my moto jacket in his fingers, gently gripping the ends as he studies me. “Would you like me to say something meaningful, or do you want me to admit how many times I looked at the Four of Clubs while I was gone?”
“About that—just how ‘ungentlemanly’ did you get with that thing?”
“I didn’t have any other pictures of you. And I wanted to see your face.”
“And the other ninety-eight percent of me?”
“It’s what I had.” His tone is all innocence, but his grin is wicked. He releases my jacket, hands settling on my waist. “I’m glad youstopped in earlier. I’m almost confident I had it in me to wait for you to reach out next week, but I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.”
“And if I hadn’t?” I tug on the belt loops, edging us closer.
“I would have honored what I wrote. You wouldn’t have seen me again. Though it was encouraging to hear you’d spoken to Marley. And, naturally, Charles passed along Jane’s suspicions that I wasn’t completely in the doghouse.”
“Yes, well, I’m going to be having a word with Mr. Bingley,” I grumble.
“You should. It was very sneaky of him.”
“Hmm.” I find the hem of his T-shirt, edging my fingers to the firm warmth of his abdomen. He hisses in a breath, hands going tight against me, and I no longer care about Charles and his sneaky, sneaky dealings. I’m too busy taking in Darcy’s face. Those peaked eyebrows, his dark eyes, fixed so intently on me. The focus is intimidating, as though there’s no input coming from anywhere but me.
And hedoeshave gray in his stubble. Even in the limited light coming from the closed FedEx beside us, I can see the pale flecks in his five o’clock shadow. Swoon.
“I owe you an apology,” I say. His brows draw together but relax as I skim my fingertips along the skin above his pant waist. I trace to the solid columns of muscle on either side of his spine, then back to his hips. Some heat returns to his eyes. “Last week. When I said everything was wasted on you. I said it to hurt you, and I’m sorry.”
