Strapless (25 page)

“You call that foreplay?” Darcie echoed. But she was smiling, too.

This, she thought, would be one of those playful times. Tonight, she didn't need to fight back tears after all, or store up memories. Until Gran came home, Dylan was staying. Staying in Darcie's bed.

She froze under his roaming hands.

Good grief. Was that what it took? Dylan, calling an ambulance, holding Gran's hand in the E.R., holding Darcie's at the same time, expediting paperwork at the admissions window, soothing Julio's worst fears, fetching everyone coffee? He was right. He made good decisions and he knew how to implement them. There were worse things than putting your trust in a man like that.

She turned in his arms. “I know this sounds terrible, but I almost hope Gran needs to stay in the hospital for a few more days. Just to make sure she's all right.”

Dylan drew back to grin at her. “I haven't been in a hurry but I should get home. Why don't you just come with me, Matilda? Spend a couple of weeks at Rafferty Stud?”

“With
the
Rafferty Stud.”

His voice went throaty, his eyes serious. “Never know where that might lead.”

Catching her off balance in more ways than one, Dylan tumbled her onto the mattress. Darcie didn't fight him. Why should she? She'd seen the looks from everyone at Wunderthings when she showed up with Dylan yesterday. She was the envy of every woman in the office. Darcie wound her arms around his neck and hung on tight. At the moment she even envied herself.

She covered his mouth with hers, teased her way inside, dueled with his tongue until he groaned, and Darcie did, too.

He said hoarsely, “If you could have seen your face when Eden crumpled to the floor…”

“I was so afraid. I don't want to think about that now. Make love to me, Dylan.”

They kissed awhile before he said, “You bet.”

When he slid into her on a long, powerful stroke, his arms tight around her, his body filling hers by slow degrees, Darcie wondered how she would ever say goodbye.

As if he felt the same, he propped his elbows on the mattress, then framed her face in both hands. His dark eyes looked into hers and held. She saw a whole world in his gaze, a world she wanted fiercely on one hand, feared desperately on the other. He might be trainable—
might
—but their differences still existed.

She still didn't know how to bridge them. Distance. Lifestyles. Attitudes.

And yet, tonight, again…

Dylan's breathing sounded labored. “I can't wait, Matilda.”

“Then don't.”

Holding him close, she savored the rocking of his body into hers, faster, deeper, harder, then faster yet, until she realized he was way ahead of her, and Darcie stepped outside herself to relish his orgasm first. She felt his body pause, stiffen, begin to shudder…

Behind them, the fire escape vibrated with footsteps. Over Dylan's suddenly rigid shoulders, with widened eyes Darcie watched a dark figure appear at the glass. The window opened, and a man climbed through into the bedroom. Uh-oh, she thought, but it was too late.

With a groan, Dylan tensed. He rolled off Darcie. Before she could speak, Dylan launched himself at the intruder—and took him down onto the carpet. A shout rang out.

“Ouch! Christ. What the—”

It was an unwise move, Darcie told herself, still prone in bed, to interrupt an aroused male—specifically the Rafferty Stud—on the verge of a tumultuous climax.

Dylan's hands locked around a throat. His knee pressed into a polo-shirt clad chest. “
Got you.
Darcie, quick. Call 911!”

“D
ylan, let him go. I
know
him.”

Still apparently dazed, Dylan stared back at her. “But he—”

“This is my neighbor.” She'd told him about Cutter but obviously Dylan had forgotten. He wasn't fully aware just now.

On the floor in his khakis and a navy V-neck sweater Cutter made a strangled sound. Dylan's hands were still at his throat and he straddled Cutter's prone body.

Dylan sent her a dubious look. “Let him up?”

“Absolutely.”

Cutter slowly sat up and shook his head, as if he couldn't comprehend what he saw. Belatedly, Darcie realized she was naked. So was Dylan. No sense making silly excuses for his presence in her bed. She didn't owe Cutter an explanation.

As discreetly as possible, Darcie scooped up Dylan's shirt from a chair and slipped it on herself. She tossed him his jeans.

Cutter eyed Dylan with obvious suspicion. “Who the hell are you?” His fists loosely wadded at his sides and his
spread-legged stance, though wobbly, indicated his readiness for further battle. “
I
ought to call 911 and have the cops arrest you for assault.”

“Me?” Dylan zipped up his pants with apparent unconcern that he'd been caught with them down in the first place. Aussie culture, Darcie thought, like Lamington cake and beer and that heavy-duty damper. “You must be
bonza
—crazy—if you think I'm going to apologize. Throw a leg over the windowsill in a woman's apartment in the middle of the night and you have the balls to feel outraged?” He turned to glare at Darcie. “You
know
this bloke? And you
let
him enter your apartment like this?”

Darcie hastily introduced them before they killed each other.

“Remember what I said? Cutter sometimes forgets his key.”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” Dylan muttered.

“I live above Darcie,” Cutter said with an edge to his tone. “It's a short flight from the ground up the fire escape.”

“If you can open her window, why not do the same with your own?”

“Mine's locked. With a grate.”

Dylan sent her another look of reproach. “Two women, living in New York. On the first floor, dammit, where anyone can walk in. If I had my way, Darcie would be in Cincinnati—or somewhere else safe.” Another glance. “Since we haven't worked that out, if you ever even think again of using this bedroom window to settle your problem—”

“Who is this guy?” Cutter said again, obviously not meaning Dylan's name.

Dylan took a step forward, murder in his eyes, and Darcie laid a restraining hand on his arm. His muscles felt brick-hard. She could almost hear his teeth grinding.

“Let me take care of him,” Dylan muttered.

“Will you two
stop?
”

The air seemed so thick with testosterone she could barely breathe. Eden might think that having two men
fight over you was a plus, but at 3:00 a.m. Darcie disagreed. If she didn't intervene, they would kill each other—or try. After wrestling sheep and bales of hay in Australia, Dylan's fitness was not in question, but she wasn't as sure of Cutter. She didn't want to see them fight, especially over her.

Cutter's equally hard gaze slashed down Dylan's frame from his dark hair to his broad shoulders to his still-hard groin.

“Sorry I intruded on your good time.” He turned to her before Dylan could answer. “Darcie, could I see you? In private?”

Dylan tensed but Darcie released his arm.

“Wait here. I'll just be a moment.”

“I'm leaving the door open,” he called after her and Cutter.

Leaving Dylan and his dark-as-the-pit-of-hell gaze behind, Darcie dragged Cutter into the living room by his sleeve. She pointed at the sofa, then chose an armchair for herself. This certainly wasn't the time to get cozy with Cutter Longridge—not that she ever expected to now. Except for a few kisses, he hadn't tried to touch her. So why this jealousy about Dylan?

Darcie folded her arms. “Now that the territorial displays are out of the way, do you mind telling me what tonight's visit is all about?”

“The usual.” But Cutter's gaze slid away. He laced his hands together and stared at his intertwined fingers. A thick strand of hair from his cowlick slipped down over his forehead.
“Pahtly,”
he added. His Southern accent had deepened.

“Spill it.”

Cutter sighed. “Hell, I got fired yesterday. Remember that ‘make or break' project? Went out for a few drinks, which became a lot of drinks, then ended up with a woman I work—worked—with, someone I can't even stand. I should have come here…” He trailed off. “No, then I'd have had the dubious pleasure of meeting up with—Jesus, that guy is like some cross between Keanu
Reeves and Crocodile Dundee. Only bigger, and younger. He's your Aussie?”

“Good bones, huh?”

He shook his head. “This city is all screwed up. It's screwed me up.”

“It's not for everyone,” Darcie agreed, feeling messed up herself—which she and Claire had already discussed.

Her pulse beat faster. Cutter had become a good friend, if an unusual companion, mostly late at night. He hadn't paid her a visit in some time, though; she hadn't even thought about him since Dylan arrived in New York.

“That was last night,” she said. “What happened tonight?”

“How did you guess?”

Darcie smiled. “You don't look good, Cutter. Your hair's standing on end…your eyes are bleary.”

“More drinking. Funny thing, when life is giving me the big shaft, alcohol becomes a moot point. Tonight I was with some other guys. We all drank too much. I'm the only one who made it home. The rest of 'em are bunked with the guy who lived closest to the last bar.”

“You're really lucky Dylan didn't loosen your teeth. He's right. You have to stop using my window.”

Cutter shrugged. “As if it would matter. The news gets worse.”

Darcie held her breath.

“My father got wind of my unemployment. He's offered me a position in his bank. In Atlanta. It's an offer I can't refuse.”

“The godfather, hmm?”

“Living under my mother's roof.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Now I have to break my lease, pack my gear, and head south. Just when the weather's going to turn real hot and humid there. I hate summers in Atlanta.”

“You could stay here, Cutter. I mean in New York, not with me.”

“That's clear.” He darted a glance toward her bedroom.

The door indeed stood open, and Darcie imagined Dylan just inside, monitoring her conversation with Cutter
Longridge. Which didn't endear Dylan to her at the moment. “This is my apartment,” she said, as much to inform Dylan as to reassure herself. “Dylan Rafferty is my house-guest.”

Cutter snorted. “Right, like I'm blind. Guess I can't blame the guy for coming at me like that.” He rose to his feet, a little shaky but upright. “I better go. You still have the spare key I gave you?”

“I'll get it.”

The key hung on a hook in her kitchen and Darcie retrieved it.

“When are you leaving New York, Cutter?”

“As soon as possible. Once the money stops coming in, I'm in trouble. I need that job on Peachtree Street. My mom's home cooking, too—for a while.”

He didn't sound happy and neither was she. Darcie felt sad, as if she too had lost her job and was being forced to go back to Cincinnati.

“Don't make a mistake.” She said, “You could look for a new job here. I'm sure you'd find something.”

“Something,” he said. “Know what? I'm no good at advertising, Darcie. If the industry was flying high, I'd still be no good. My portfolio looks like a schoolkid's in comparison to the other people in my office. Former office. No,” he went on, “I might as well admit it. This isn't the career or the place for me.”

“I'm sorry, Cutter.”

In the entry hall, he hesitated. His gaze softened, and he brought both hands up to cup her face. “I'm sorry, too.” He looked toward Dylan, now in her bedroom doorway, but Darcie refused to turn around. This was her life, her moment. Another first for her, she realized. “I thought you and I could…you know. Maybe have something.”

“I thought so, too, at first. I think we make better friends than we would—”

He bent close to whisper against her mouth, “Lovers.”

Then he kissed her. Gently, softly, tenderly.

And all Darcie felt was friendship.

Perhaps Dylan saw that, too, because he never moved from the bedroom doorway.

“Don't be a stranger.” She hugged him tight. “Let me hear from you. Leave me your phone number in Atlanta and I'll call you. I promise.”

“I hope you will. I'll see you again before I go.”

He opened the apartment door and stepped out into the hall. Then he turned and smiled at her, his gaze blurry. Or was that Darcie's vision that wavered?

“Be happy,” Cutter said.

“Whatever that means. You, too, Cutter Longridge.”

 

Annie reached the top of the stairs just as Darcie went to shut the apartment door in her face. No surprise, after her flirtation with Dylan in the kitchen last week. Tired and a bit tipsy, she tried not to form any more rational thoughts about her decision as a result tonight. She reeled into Cutter on the landing.

“Oops.”

“Steady, Miss Annie.” He righted her, then kissed her on the cheek so quick Annie wondered if she'd imagined it. Why did she think it was a goodbye peck? Probably because her own mind was on the same page. He clattered up the steps to the floor above. His door slammed and Annie pushed into the apartment below.

“This place is like Newark, LaGuardia, JFK all rolled into one tonight,” Darcie said.

Annie tossed her bag on the sofa, then herself. She stretched out her legs, which didn't quite seem to be attached to her body at the moment. “Landings, takeoffs, delays…” She looked around her. “Where's Dylan?”

Leaning against the bedroom door frame, he folded his arms over his chest. “You missed most of the action.”

“What?” Annie said but she could feel tension all around. Thank heaven she'd had enough beer to blunt its effect. Annie hated tension. She had too much of her own to deal with.

Darcie frowned. “Cutter Longridge's defeat. You're very late tonight.”

“Gee, Mom, the time just slipped away.”

“Don't be cute. Janet may be on a plane to New York even as we speak.”

“Oh, God. Why?”

Darcie filled her in on Eden's frightening “episode,” ending with a statement that only increased Annie's discomfort. “Gran's probably fine but we won't know until tomorrow. Julio's with her now.”

“All night?”

“In one of those hospital recliner chairs next to her bed.”

Annie grinned, humor surfacing through the buzz of alcohol in her head.

“That's a hoot. I bet Julio's between the sheets with her right now. You know Gran. She'd rather go out having a good time than doing what the doctor says.”

Darcie raised her eyebrows. She could hardly disagree.

“Where were you, Annie?”

“Here. There. Everywhere. We wound up in Chelsea…somewhere.” She waved a hand in dismissal. It didn't matter.

By tomorrow, none of this would matter.

She had failed. And she knew it.

“Are you okay?” Darcie's expression gentled. She sat beside Annie on the sofa, and Dylan disappeared back into the bedroom, giving them privacy.

“After eight or ten beers and about a thousand pees in the crummy ladies' room of that lousy bar, after deciding that I am a total screwup and should admit it? I'm fine.”

“Annie. You had too much beer. Go to bed.”

“No, I am. Fine
and
a screwup. You know it, Darce. You've been telling me for weeks. ‘Get a job, Annie.' Or ‘get new friends, Annie.' Or ‘don't pierce your belly button, Annie.' Well, I finally got the message.”

“What happened tonight?” Darcie looked into her eyes and Annie held her gaze, unable to glance away. As sisters, they always guessed the truth before it was spoken.

“Some guys grabbed me in the rest room. The little hall that leads to the men's or women's, I mean.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No, but they got insistent. One of the guys I was with heard the commotion—heard me scream, I guess—and came running. Chairs flew. Bottles broke. Bodies crashed. The police showed up.”

Darcie groaned. “Not again.”

“It wasn't like our party. I had my clothes on. But a couple of people got arrested. We all have to pay damages. Mom's going to have another fit.”

“Annie, this has to stop. You can't—”

“Yes. I know.” She took a deep breath that didn't clear her head. Or ease her misery. “I thought if I could just
get
here—you know—everything would work. For once in my life
I'd
be the one who made it. Succeeded. But it's not going to happen. I even know why. I figured it out tonight after those jerks pushed me against the wall.”

“I'm listening.”

“I can't be you. I have to be me. Annie Baxter, mixed-up girl from Cincinnati.” To her horror, her eyes filled. “I don't belong here, Darcie.”

“First Cutter, now you. This seems to be the night for confessions.”

“Know where I do belong?”

“I think I can guess.”

“In Cincinnati—with Mom and Dad and the house where we grew up and the room I still love. That's why I've been homesick. I'm not ready to be on my own—not this much—and if I stay here, I'll get myself into serious trouble.”

“That's possible,” Darcie agreed.

“So you won't be mad if I leave?”

“I'll miss you,” Darcie said, her voice thick so that Annie realized her sister didn't totally despise her. “Maybe you should get some sleep, and think about this in the morning.”