Strapless (16 page)

Eden started to smile again, then her lips went straight as a walking stick.

“This moving. It's not because of Julio, is it?”

 

“Moving Day,” Darcie muttered.

She sure couldn't call it a party, wild or otherwise. Yet this was her day and she made the most of it.

Struggling up the stone steps with yet another carton of junk, she ran smack into Claire's behind. “Ouch,” they both said at once, then laughed.

“Look at yourself,” Darcie said. Claire's sloppy sweatshirt, her torn jeans, her raggedy sneakers didn't suit her VP image, or that of Peter's wife or Samantha's mom. “This is so not you.” She gestured at herself with one hand, then grabbed for the corner of the box again. “Or me,” she added. “Too bad the weather didn't cooperate.”

“I'm glad it's cloudy today.”

“I won't ask why.”

“Because it's a good omen. It always rains on moving day.”

“It's not raining yet.”

“It will. Ask Peter.”

“Ask me what?” He appeared in the open front door, and propped one hand on the frame. Holding a beer, he grinned at Claire, looking boyish and sexy. “If I have time for a quick tumble on that big new bed Darcie bought?” He waggled his eyebrows at Claire. “With you, my love, of course.”

“It hasn't been delivered yet. Don't be crude.”

Peter gave Claire a look Darcie couldn't interpret, just as she couldn't keep juggling the heavy carton.

“Could you two settle your problems without me? If I don't put this stuff down in the next two seconds, my arms will fall off.”

“Then you'd be no good to us at all,” Peter agreed and stepped back. “I'd help you with that box, but I'm replenishing my precious bodily fluids.” Another pointed look at Claire.

First through the doorway, she jabbed him lightly in the ribs.

Right behind Claire, Darcie found Merrick in the kitchen unloading a batch of housewares Gran had insisted on sending with her. Dumping the last box beside his feet, Darcie straightened with a hand at the small of her back to massage away the kinks.

She looked around.

“Not bad.”

“Me?” Merrick said with a smile for his favorite subject.

Darcie rolled her eyes. “No, this apartment.” She was beginning to wonder just how many beers the two men had consumed while they “helped” her move. But then, that comment could come from Merrick any time. “It's looking good.”

Courtesy of Mrs. L, she had living room furniture, her kitchen would soon be equipped enough to cook the simple meals that were all Darcie knew how to prepare, and with luck, her bed would arrive by 5:00 p.m.

“Who's going for pizza?” she asked. “I'm hungry.”

“Lift a few more cartons,” Merrick suggested, “while I run to the corner. Pepperoni? Mushrooms?”

“Everything.”

“Double cheese,” Claire ordered. “No anchovies.”

“More beer,” Peter said. “I'll go with you.”

Claire stepped in his path. “No you won't. You can drag the rest of those boxes off the truck. Darcie and I will unpack.”

He looked at Merrick. “Worth a try.”

“Give me your wallet,” Claire said.

“Robbery. What's next? I'm now a pauper, at the mercy of two women.”

Merrick said, “I promise not to open the beer before I get back.”

“Good man.”

Darcie grinned at her friends, so happy she could hardly speak. Within the week she'd be organized, well before Annie arrived. Annie had stayed in Cincinnati even after their parents' check winged its way to New York. She had to give notice at her job—not much, but some, she said—and handle Cliff, her disgruntled boyfriend. Oh, then pack her belongings. Darcie mentally groaned. She could imagine the boxes yet to come.

By the time Claire and Peter took the sleeping Samantha home hours later, Darcie felt exhausted but still content. Elated, in fact.

In the living room, after waving goodbye to the Spencers, Darcie crawled onto Merrick's lap in the big armchair she'd inherited from Mrs. L.

Merrick gently pushed her away.

“Do I smell bad?” Darcie frowned at him, but Merrick had his eyes closed and couldn't see her. “I must smell bad. Thank goodness it wasn't ninety-five degrees today with humidity to match. I mean, it's bad enough to lift all those cartons, and moving my desk from Gran's apartment was no easy feat—”

“Are you talking to yourself again?”

“No.”

“Because I'm not listening. I'm asleep.”

Trying not to feel hurt, Darcie slid off his lap. “If I get you another beer, will you wake up?”

Shaking his head, Merrick laughed. “Darce, relax, will you?”

“This is my first night in my first home.
My
home. I want it to be special.”

“Then throw on a dress. Something racy. We'll go out to eat, have a few drinks—I'll buy you champagne—” He groaned softly. “Except I can't move.”

Did
she smell bad?

Darcie sniffed under both arms. Not too shabby, omitting her torn T-shirt, her ripped jeans. But she was
moving,
the world's messiest chore. So what was his problem? She couldn't quite figure it out.

“Tell me. Do you miss Jacqueline?” she asked.

“After what she did?” He snorted in apparent surprise, as if he were totally blameless. “I've learned my lesson. If I ever get married again, we'll sign a pre-nup.”

“You and me?” Darcie said. “That won't happen.”

He half smiled. “That's one thing I like about you. You're honest.”

“What's another thing?”

“Excuse me?”

Suddenly this seemed important. “Tell me something else you like about me.”

His hesitation told her more than she wanted to know. Still, she'd asked. “Don't be a witch tonight,” he said. Merrick went into the kitchen, flicking off the living room light switch on his way. In the darkness, Darcie seethed.

Then she strode after him.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” he said, his gaze blank when he turned from the refrigerator. He'd been perusing its contents.

“Every time you leave a room, you shut off the lights. On me.”

He sighed. “The rich don't get wealthy from squandering every dollar. We turn off lights, we drive used cars…”

“I bet you never drove a used car in your life.”

Merrick owned a Lexus. No, two of them. One was an SUV model, for weekends. The other had every gimmick and accessory known to materialistic man. But Darcie had to take his word. She'd never seen either of them. Just like his apartment—the one his wife had left along, Darcie supposed, with all her reminders of Merrick.

“What concern is it of yours if I make enough money—which I damn well do even in this market freefall—to buy myself a few trinkets?”

“I've never had a trinket,” Darcie murmured. “Maybe a diamond and ruby bracelet…matching earrings for my birthday? When is my birthday, Merrick Lowell?” She singsonged the “tick-tock” of a game-show clock. “Beep. Time's up.”

“Christ. Are you punishing me again for some reason?”

“Sorry. Only one of us is playing now.”

He plunged back into the fridge and came out with a beer for himself. “What the hell do you think it felt like, Jackie taking the kids and running off like that?”

So it did matter to him. “Even if you weren't perfect for each other.”

Darcie thought of Claire, of how difficult she found being a new mother. But for Merrick to lose his kids, even part-time…

“This isn't easy for you, I know.”

Tonight, Darcie refused to feel irritated. Argument exhausted her, and it was getting late. In more ways than one. Was she going to spend the rest of her life having phone sex with Dylan instead of the real thing? Or was it time to really mend her fences with Merrick? Overlook his shortcomings? Soothe both their egos, at least for a while?

“You want a slice of this leftover pizza?” he said, apparently unconcerned.

“I thought we were having dinner at Luccio's.”

“Pizza, Luccio's. It's all Italian.”

“Let's order in, then. They'll deliver.”

“See? I'm the big spender you always dreamed of.”

“I was actually more interested in Pierce Brosnan tonight. Brad Pitt. Ben Affleck…definitely Ben.”

“Ha-ha.” But Merrick looked hurt.
No sex.
Had she injured his male ego that badly?

Taking pity on him, she ambled toward him. For old times' sake. Just as she got there, he tipped his beer to his mouth, but Darcie took it away. She trapped him against the counter, and twined her arms around his neck.

“Forget food. If this kitchen was a bit larger, this counter a foot longer, you'd be begging for mercy, Mr. Lowell.”

For a brief spell, it seemed like a good idea. Then a collage of images from Australia flashed across her mind-screen, of Dylan, and Merrick stiffened, too.

He pried her fingers from his neck.

“I can't. Not now.”

Deflated, Darcie stepped back.

“Maybe I should take a shower,” she offered.

He yawned. “I should get going. It's been a long day.”

Disappointed because tonight was important to her, she formed a pout. This never worked for anyone she knew except Annie, but Darcie tried.

“I thought you might stay.” She added hastily, “We could just sleep.”

“Sleep where?”

Oh. That
was
a problem. Eight o'clock and her bed hadn't been delivered.

“Some other time.” He eased past her and headed for the front door. It would be nice if he opened his arms, inviting an embrace at least. “Darce, it's not you.”

Watch out. She'd heard that phrase before. “Then what?”

He disappeared into the hall. A moment later he was gone.

Well. No answer, but no reason to get clingy, Darcie told herself.

No reason to fly into a snit.

So she had a decent job—most of the time it seemed decent—good friends, if she overlooked her recent set-to with Gran, and a family back in Cincinnati. Unless she murdered Annie the day she arrived in New York.

And above all, tonight, she had this.

“Happy New Apartment, Darcie Elizabeth Baxter,” she said aloud, raising Merrick's beer bottle.

Because it seemed no one else was going to say it and Darcie needed to hear those very words. Even from herself.

 

At midnight the telephone startled Darcie from a restless sleep on the living room sofa, huddled under a comforter, and set her pulse racing. She bolted upright. For an instant she wondered who had her new number—or who had died in the middle of the night.

“Hey. Matilda.”

Dylan's deep voice kicked her heart rate into highest gear. And just after she'd given up on him. For good. The
men in her life were, if nothing else, consistent. They always surprised her.

“Hi,” was all she could manage. Then, “How did you find me?”

“I just talked to your grandmother.”

Oops. Darcie had never mentioned living with Eden.

“That is,” he went on, “after someone named Julio answered. I didn't know your family was part Hispanic.”

“I'm not. He's Gran's…friend.”

“He sounded sleepy. Of course I didn't understand him very well. Between his broken English and my Aussie accent—”

“Believe me, you were better off. My grandmother's relationships get rather complicated.”

“Is she sleeping with that guy?” Dylan sounded amused.

“Oh, yes.” No sense denying it. “Julio is the flavor of the month.”

Dylan laughed. “At eighty-two my granny was rocking in a chair, staring into space, talking to herself. That was all she could manage.”

“Gran's different.” Like me, Darcie thought. Except for the part about talking to herself. In that, she resembled Dylan's grandmother. “So she gave you my new number?”

“Gladly. Her word, not mine.”

“I just moved,” Darcie explained unnecessarily.

“Let me get this straight.” She could almost hear him frowning. “You were living in New Jersey, relatively safe. Now you're in the big city by yourself.”

Darcie half smiled. He was always so literal.

“Yes, tonight. But my sister's coming to live with me.”

“Two women,” he muttered, “with a flimsy door between them and some
drongo
—nutcase, loser, take your pick—with a knife.”

Glancing around the dimly lit apartment, then at the blackness outside her windows (she didn't have draperies yet) Darcie shivered.

“Dylan, don't exaggerate.” Scare me, she meant.

“I'm not. I think you should have stayed where you were.”

Darcie hauled the comforter around her suddenly cold body. He was a gorgeous man, but Dylan's views remained very much at odds with hers. Alone in the apartment for the first time, she didn't need any reminders of her vulnerability.

“Could we change the subject, please?”

“Okay. How's this? I'm still half mad at you—one reason I haven't called.”

“Is that your apology? Because it doesn't quite work.”

“No, it's not an apology. I
wanted
to call, then things got whacko here and I realized in the middle of the whole mess that I was still angry enough to keep putting off another call. So I didn't. Call,” he said.

“What mess?”

“Remember that ram I wanted to buy when you were in Sydney?”

“Yes.” She remembered the lamb named Darcie, too.

“He was out of the U.K. where they've been having this hoof-and-mouth problem. So the deal fell through. I had to start looking all over again. Finally found another ram I want in New Zealand the other day. Bought him from the flamin' Kiwis last night. He gets shipped tomorrow.” He sounded weary, but still on edge.