Strapless (22 page)

“When hell turns into a cherry Popsicle.” So much for Greta's supporting role.

Thank goodness no real damage had been done. Henry finally agreed with Darcie by phone to send four Aborig
inal designs suitable for Wunderthings lingerie patterns as soon as a contract was signed. She'd have to make sure Greta took no part in hammering out those details. And start making plans herself for production as quickly as possible, in time for the Sydney opening.

“What if he doesn't sign?” Greta asked as if she expected trouble, and probably she did. Trouble she would orchestrate herself. Wasn't it enough that she and Walt were thick as thieves these days?
I have created a monster.

“Henry will sign. It's a simpler world down there.” Darcie wished she could say the same.

Still furious with Greta, she left work. Merrick had phoned three times that afternoon but Darcie had been too busy to talk. His work number didn't answer now, his cell phone either, and his home phone was busy. Having finally weaseled his address from him not long ago, she decided to drop by. Maybe they would order in tonight, pizza or Chinese. Relax. Maybe they'd actually talk…about their “relationship,” even about Greta. Darcie couldn't stop seething.

 

In the soft evening light, Darcie held up one hand to hail a passing cab. It flashed past without slowing, and she breathed out a sound of frustration and started talking to herself.

“I don't know whether I feel more angry with Greta Hinckley about Henry Goolong (why couldn't Walt see that?) or whether I'm mad at myself. If I hadn't stopped at Heritage to see Claire, who needed me, I would have been on time to work.”

Or should she feel oddly relieved? Frankly, Darcie had been waiting for just such a power play from Greta since her trip to Australia.

Darcie leaned into the street again like one of those bronze figures that dotted the city's sidewalks and little parks. Whimsical, urban. Impervious to her growing fears, unlike the low clouds gathering overhead.

She should have taken the ferry to Gran's instead. Eden would comfort them both tonight, maybe with a bowl of
homemade chicken soup laced with sherry. Her quarrel with Julio, Darcie's with Greta, would become minor blips on their personal radars, of no consequence.

Finally, a cab screeched to a halt just in front of Darcie's feet, and she climbed gratefully inside.

“Seventy-Eighth and Park, please.”

No comment. Maybe her driver didn't speak English. Darcie yearned for the days she didn't actually remember when New York's cabbies had been articulate fountains of earthy wisdom they were only too willing to share with passengers. Eden claimed they had been a large part of her education.

Darcie gazed at the passing lights and store windows, trying not to clutch the sagging seat cushion with both hands while the taxi lurched through traffic.

At Merrick's apartment building, the doorman announced her on the intercom.

She heard a murmured drone of conversation then Merrick's voice.

“Send her up.”

What if he had guests already? She hadn't thought of this. Maybe he and some friends were playing poker, having a few beers. Swearing and telling jokes. One of those male-bonding events. But that sounded more like Dylan.

What if Merrick had a date here—and Darcie was about to make another fool of herself, like that Saturday at FAO Schwarz?

Darcie preferred the former alternative. Wasn't one unpleasant surprise the limit in any relationship?

After her talk with Dylan, she had her doubts about men in general. She exited the elevator at the second floor. Merrick would invite her in, offer her a sandwich from a platter of pastrami on rye, hand her a beer. Maybe they'd play a few hands of poker. Not strip, of course, when they weren't alone but…

The door opened before she reached it. He must have been watching through the peephole. Darcie fixed a bright smile on her face. Expect the best.

“What are you doing here, Darcie?” Merrick stood in the doorway.

“You called. We didn't have a date tonight or anything. I just…” She peered around him. “Could I come in?” He obviously didn't intend to invite her. “I have something to tell you.”

“Can't it wait? I'll see you tomorrow.” He didn't step back. “What is this?”

“An invasion of your privacy, apparently.” She rushed on. “I called, but I couldn't reach you. I left the office, pissed at Greta, and before I knew it…here I am.”

He folded his arms over his chest.

And Darcie noticed he was wearing a skintight T-shirt that hugged every inch of his well-defined chest. She'd never seen him in casual mode. His arm muscles bulged. So did his jeans when she glanced down at his fly. Darcie remembered those qualities, which had attracted her to Merrick in the first place.

“Have you been working out?” No, that didn't sound right. He wouldn't have a semierection then. “I mean, at the gym tonight.”

“No.”

With a sigh of obvious defeat, Merrick moved back. He turned in the doorway and a second man stepped forward, smiling. He was tall, blond like Merrick. Wearing a form-fitting T-shirt and tight pants. He and Merrick might have been twins.

Number Two was also wearing an apron.

The Iron Chef, it read. Some TV show competition Darcie had watched once, with Gran. Because she rarely cooked, she hadn't liked all that high-speed slicing and dicing of exotic ingredients, none of which tempted her.

He held up a small platter. Curious, biding her time, Darcie went up on her tiptoes, and saw fresh sushi arrayed in a beautiful fan shape, neat as the plastic food in Japanese restaurant windows. She shuddered. Raw fish was not Darcie's favorite, either.

“No, thank you.”

He kept holding the plate. “I'm Geoffrey.”

“Hi.” She stuck out a hand. “Darcie.”

They shook.

Merrick made a strangled sound. “Look, this is ridiculous. We'll talk
tomorrow,
” he told Darcie.

Her heart was suddenly pounding. She had a strange feeling.

No women's voices murmured from within. No pastrami on rye, or beer, could be glimpsed on the table. No deck of cards. All Darcie could see was a cozy scene—dinner about to be consumed like all those nights in Hank and Janet's dining room. Merrick cleared his throat.

“Geoffrey is my—”

“Partner.” He lowered the platter of sushi and gave her another friendly grin. Then he slipped his hand into Merrick's.

Merrick's eyes begged her not to react.
No FAO Schwarz, please.

Well. There was no answer Darcie could make to that. Plain enough.

Clear as glass. She imagined a shattering sound.

But what about me?
She wouldn't yell or even cry. Never mind sex. What kind of
human being
was he to keep her in the dark?

Merrick said something to his “partner,” then stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He studied her as if he didn't quite know what to say. Neither did Darcie. She'd never been in this situation before.

“Geoff seems like a very nice man.”

Merrick leaned against the door and scowled, his arms folded over his chest and the snug T-shirt. “I don't mean to hurt you. There's no reason why you and I can't keep seeing each other.”

“Sure, why not?” Darcie's heart threatened to pound out of her chest. “You've ‘entertained' me behind closed doors for years. I never knew where you lived, with whom you lived…even Jacqueline was a surprise…and I sure didn't realize you had two kids who could be desperately hurt by our ‘arrangement.' Now, there's Geoffrey.”

“You're getting melodramatic.”

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder like a leather security blanket. “I've been your mistress, for God's sake. It wasn't humiliating enough to find out in the middle of FAO Schwarz that you had a wife and family—I had to stumble up your front steps tonight and find my replacement fixing dinner. I don't care about your sexual choices, Merrick—I hope you're happy—but dammit, why couldn't you just tell me? Instead, you lied to me. Again.”

Merrick straightened. “Can we get past this? Please?”

“No. We can't. I've been deceived. Twice over. It won't happen again.” Darcie started to leave but he caught her wrist and, with his eyes, soulfully asked her to stay. “What more is there to say?” she said, exasperated.

“I need your help.”

Darcie gaped at him. “You what?”

“I like Geoff. A lot,” he said, lowering his voice as if not to be heard inside the apartment. “But I'm not ready to…well, yes, commit. After all, Jackie and the kids are just gone—I'm not adjusted yet. I'm worried about my son and daughter's reaction to having a male live-in. It's a definite surprise for them. But I don't want to step on Geoff's feelings, either. What do you think I should do?”

Darcie's heart was beating like a small bird's in a panic. She couldn't believe this. Worse than Greta today. Worse than…all her nights with Merrick.

“Life is too strange. I come here thinking your calls today meant you wanted to see me. And all you're really after is some free help? Advice to the lovelorn?”

Her voice rose on each word.

“Darcie.”

The truth dawned. His difficult mood, his puzzled expression. “Is that why you seemed so…confused at my party? Ah, I see. You weren't gauging my relationship with Cutter. You were sizing him up! No, I'm outta here. Someone is waiting for me at home,” she lied. “Thank God.”

Merrick's gaze narrowed. “I've heard that tone before. You mean the Australian guy?” His look turned mulish. “That's never going to work out.”

“Oh, thank you. Then I'm batting a thousand tonight. What's new?”

“He's in New York?”

Darcie didn't answer. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder—and strode to the elevator. Shocked, yes. But she didn't feel judgmental, or angry.

Anger was a wasted emotion on Merrick Lowell. Clueless.

“What about next Monday?” he called after her.

“A
moment of truth,” Darcie murmured when she reached home—by then the gray evening had turned to rain—and came to a dead halt on the sidewalk in front of her building. Gran had been right. Merrick Lowell was a complete, utter narcissist. He saw the world only through his own filter.

But no, even after the encounter with Merrick, she wasn't seeing things. He was no mirage. Smack in the middle of her steps, there sat Dylan in the drizzle. Wearing his gray-green Akubra hat, his chambray shirt and jeans, his jacket—and that mega-watt Aussie smile. Damn, she didn't want to feel this way, but her heartbeat sped.

Or, did Dylan's smile really seem that bright?

No, she decided. He looked…stunned by some life event, just as Darcie had felt meeting Merrick's boyfriend. She had to remind herself that, in her experience, Dylan deserved every nuance of the expression he wore. Darcie planted both hands on her hips.

“Are you lost? I mean, you're a little out of your way.”

“I had to attend a livestock conference in Kansas City. While I was nearby, I decided to drop in and see you.”

She wouldn't smile. She would
not.

“Dylan, K.C. is fifteen hundred miles from here.”

“Distances don't mean that much to us Aussies. It's a big country.”

He hadn't moved, and Darcie wondered if he was afraid to get up, to face her, and risk a punch in the nose.

“You're getting wet,” she pointed out.

Mustering her dignity with effort, she marched past him up the stone stairs and, taking care he didn't see her shaking hand, jammed her key in the front door lock. She needed to get inside, to be safe from further surprises, unpleasant or otherwise, tonight.

Talk about naive. “I should expect my engraved, gold-plated trophy in the mail any day now.”

Dylan followed her. “Are you too mad to even say ‘hello'?”

Darcie didn't turn around. “Hi.”

He hesitated on the threshold behind her. “Does that mean I can come in?”

“Do whatever you like. I'm here by myself.” No, that wasn't right. From the intense look in his dark eyes, he had things in mind that Darcie wouldn't even consider. “Stay out here in the rain if you want. Whatever you do, please don't touch me.”

“You
are
still mad.”

Maybe when she grew as old as Gran, she'd decide to forgive him. They could start over. Fall into bed again. Screw their brains out. Or was that screw out their brains?

Grammar didn't seem to be on Dylan's mind, either.

“Then there's hope,” he decided aloud.

No sooner did Darcie close the door behind them than he threw his arms around her. She squirmed, trying to get out of her soaked trench coat so she could stop shivering, but despite her warning to keep his distance, Dylan held tight.

“I've missed you. God, you don't know how bad I missed you.”

Darcie stopped struggling. She said nothing. The silent treatment was one of Janet's favorites, and Darcie had seen it work many times. Not that she admired herself for using
it now. She made herself stand still until, finally, he lifted his head from the crook of her neck where possibly he'd been about to plant a moist kiss. She could feel the heat of his mouth almost touching her skin. His tone lowered.

“I lied.”

“Well, that's a huge surprise. Is there some discount tonight? Or are all you guys taking a crash course in Ethics for extra credit at the New School?”

“All of us?” He released her and Darcie shrugged off her wet coat then strode by him toward her bedroom.
No, don't go there.
If he followed her, she might ignore the fact that she was royally pissed at Dylan Rafferty for reasons she couldn't justify, and jump his bones.

Instead, Darcie plunked down on the sofa and grabbed her afghan.

She wrapped herself in it but kept shaking. Merrick, Dylan… They were enough to make her overlook Greta Hinckley.

“You're cold,” he said, rocking on his boot heels, hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. Wet jeans, she saw. How did he work his fingers inside that tight, dark denim? Wet boots. “Let me get you warm, darling.”

He sat down beside her but Darcie scooted away like Little Miss Muffet.

All those nights of phone sex ran through her mind. Then that one call a woman had answered. Dylan had been just a pleasant diversion. Like Darcie for him.

Maybe if she told herself often enough, she'd believe it.

“What did you lie about?”

He said, “I'll dry you, then we'll talk.”

“You can talk while we both get dry.”

He gave her another look. “I can only do one thing at a time. Okay?”

“Okay.” She held up her hands. “I meant separately.”

He was here. She had to make allowances. He was a
man
…and she was still glad to see him.

So much for lies and the end of quasi-relationships.

As for her naiveté, if she wasn't careful, she'd fall for him all over again. And for how long this time?

Dylan rubbed the afghan over her arms, raising goose
bumps of cold and pleasure on her skin, then started on her body. Darcie stayed his hand, which had grazed her breast.

“I'll do this part.”

“You can do all my parts, if you want.”

She drew back. “Dylan, what are you doing here? Nobody, not even from Australia, flies halfway across another continent to see a woman he met in a bar.”

“That's what I lied about—
her,
not you.” Dylan settled them in the cushions, his arms around her, the slightly damp afghan warming their skin. She stopped shaking. “I didn't meet Deidre in a bar. She lives on the station closest to mine.”

She was his
neighbor?
“Is she pretty?”

Darcie had no idea where the question had sprung from. It embarrassed her, but like any woman, she wanted to know the answer, no matter how painful.

“Yeah. She's real pretty. Long dark hair, big brown eyes. A figure that—”

“I don't need details.”

She heard the frown in his voice. “She comes over sometimes. When we both get the urge to indulge our hormones.”

“A practical arrangement on both sides.”

“Yep.”

Ouch.
And where was his mother then?

“So then you two hop into bed. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Does it?” he said.

Darcie sat up. She looked into his dark eyes, and tried not to see the confusion there. Her own confusion, too. “Why don't you just marry her?”

“I don't love her. She doesn't love me.”

“Ha. You're kidding yourself. She has every intention of becoming Mrs. Dylan Rafferty. Someday.”

Dylan looked startled by this news.

“Deidre? What makes you think that?”

“She told me. Not in those words, but I'd have to be deaf not to hear the message that was plainly coming through.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right. I get it now.” Dylan grinned. “Deidre was just having her fun. She's a great joker. I told her about you and she prob'ly figured out who was calling that day.”

“Now, there's a good story to tell my grandchildren.”

“It's no story, Darcie. It's the truth.”

“What a pal. The woman ruins your ‘friendship' with me and you give her high marks for having a sense of humor.”

He scowled again, clearly in over his head. “I don't think you understand the Aussie system.”

“You're right. I don't.” She didn't understand men. “Is this like the ‘tall poppy'?”

Darcie bounded off the sofa and hurried to her room, heedless now of the fact that Dylan might pursue her. She needed dry clothes. She needed distance. She had just peeled off her blouse and unhooked her bra when he showed up in the doorway.

“Do you mind?” she said, stifling the urge to scream.

His eyes widened. “I don't mind at all.” He tracked her body with his hot, dark gaze. “Keep going, darling. You're just getting to the most interesting parts.”

Darcie turned her back.

Dylan took three strides and pressed himself against her spine. He slipped his arms around her waist, locked his strong hands in front of her. She glanced down at his gold signet ring. A patchwork of tiny cuts crisscrossed his wrists and he noticed her looking at them. “Barbed wire,” he murmured. He ran his mouth along the nape of her neck, then her shoulder. “There's a Border collie's nip, too, on my calf, mean little devil.” His lips brushed her bared skin and Darcie sucked in a breath. Desire shot straight from the base of her brain to her groin, darting through all the erogenous zones it could find en route. “Sheep kicked me the other day right where it hurts.”

“You poor…” He nipped at her earlobe and she moaned, unable to continue.

“Injured man.” His mouth roamed. “You ever think about becoming a nurse?”

“Not until this minute.”

“Know who kicked me?” Shifting her, he trailed his lips across her collarbone and she smiled at the hard push of his arousal along her lower back. “Darcie II,” he whispered. “Takes after her ‘mother.'”

She wriggled against his hold. “I'm trying to be angry with you.”

“Quit trying so hard. Why are you?” he said. “Because I showed up here in the rain? And didn't call first? Or are you going to keep Deidre between us until I have to leave New York? Waste all this precious time when we could be enjoying each other?”

Dylan swept a light touch over her breasts and Darcie's knees went weak. She nearly whimpered when his fingers tweaked her nipples. “Since you paid for an airline ticket, I guess that would be foolish.”

“Definitely.”

“I imagine we could…make better use of this opportunity.”

“Oh, you bet.”

He had her skirt off now. He stripped her panty hose, clammy and cold and clinging, from her legs, and flung them to the carpet. Her “knickers” followed, then she was naked. Darcie turned into his embrace, her hands homing in on his belt buckle like magnets.
Ka-chunk.
Dylan groaned.

“See? On the other hand, you know how to hurt a guy, too.”

“Now, there's an idea. I could exact my revenge—” taking a page from Greta's book “—for a certain period of time. Like a jail sentence.”

“I'm your willing prisoner.”

“How long do you think? An hour?”

He pretended to consider that. “Hey, I've been a pretty bad boy.”

“From my experience at the Westin, I'd say so.” She smiled into his eyes, feeling warm all over now. “More than an hour, then.” Tight in each other's arms, they sidestepped toward the bed. Thank heaven, she'd bought a queen-size mattress. Plenty of room for what Darcie had in mind.

It had been a rotten day, she told herself. She deserved to make him suffer.

Of course that meant “punishing” herself, too…

They landed on the bed, Dylan half covering her, Darcie's arms twined around his strong, suntanned neck. Dylan's signet ring clinked against the headboard.

“All night,” she whispered. “Maybe that won't even be enough.”

“No time off for good behavior.”

She arched up against him. “No possibility of parole.”

“Death row?” he asked, mock fear in his voice.

“I wouldn't go that far. But close.”

She'd forgotten how beautiful he was, and Darcie felt tears spring to her eyes. He was funny but wise in his own, down-home way. He felt like heaven in her arms, and he certainly looked like a god with his sunbrowned skin and dark, mischievous eyes.

“You are a rascal, Dylan Rafferty.”

“It got me in your bed again.” His lips brushed hers, then her throat. He laughed a little, low and sexy and thoroughly male. “In like Flynn.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Darcie tried to sound stern but his mouth was sending hot, erotic messages along her skin. “You're taking advantage—in this case, of a sexual situation.”

“Seizing an opportunity,” he corrected her. “So are you, Matilda.”

True.

“All right. You're here.” She drew his mouth down to hers. “Do your worst.”

“Well. Since I'm clearly not capable of reform…”

He eased her legs wider with his knee. Then he raised onto his elbows and gazed down into Darcie's face. And smiled. Wicked sunshine. He was still wearing his hat, and the Akubra slid down over their faces as Dylan kissed her. When his body meshed with hers and he slid deep inside her,
in like Flynn,
Darcie moaned. She could feel his pectoral muscles against her breasts, his hips close to hers, his penis filling her, stretching her, loving her.

Dylan's tone sounded shaken, no longer glib.

“Say it, darling. You know you want to.”

“It's…good to see you. I missed you, too.”

“And you forgive me.” He moved a little faster, harder.

“Yes. I…ohhh.”

It was like the first time at the Westin, only better. Neither of them lasted long. In a few minutes, or was it seconds, Dylan's body withdrew from hers then held, suspended, before he entered her one last time—and Darcie lost it, went spinning over the edge.

So did he.

He was here, and she was thrilled to see him.

She was in even deeper trouble now, but she didn't care.

Darcie gasped into the hollow of his neck. “Moments of truth.”

 

Back down to earth again, more or less, Darcie had just finished her overseas conference call a week later with Walt Corwin and Henry Goolong in Sydney, with Greta Hinckley listening from her cubicle, when Walt rang back again. Solo this time.

“It's not bad enough, I fly all the way to Australia.” His voice sounded as if he were in the same room with Darcie, but he wasn't. She kicked back in her chair, putting her feet on the desk. “Then I find out the shipment of case pieces you ordered won't be late after all.”