The president nodded. “Right in the nose.”
She tilted her head to the side, regarding the space. “But where did they put the cockpit?”
He pointed upward. “There’s an upper story. The cockpit and crew quarters are up there.” Oh, of course. Elizabeth had forgotten that 747s were two stories.
Closing the door behind them, he guided her toward one of the sofas. “Air Force One isn’t very luxuriously appointed compared to some privately owned jets, but this room can seat eight comfortably. And each of these sofas converts into a bed, although they’re pretty small.” His hand patted the cushion as they sat.
“I don’t use the suite much since I’m usually working in the office, but sometimes I nap in here. Fortunately, national crises are scarce today, so we can rest a bit before arriving in Washington.”
Elizabeth had noticed the dim lighting throughout the plane and that passengers were getting comfortable for the night.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked. “I assure you that the food is several steps above the usual airplane fare.”
“No, thanks. I had dinner.” What the hell is happening here?
“I asked them to stash some sauvignon blanc in here,” he said, standing and opening the cabinets over the desk. “I know it’s your favorite.” When had he noticed that?
As odd as it was to get a personal tour of Air Force One from the president, now things were downright Twilight Zone. She was alone with President Darcy in a room with two beds, and he planned on pouring a bottle of her favorite wine. This was beginning to feel like a date.
An unexpected and totally bizarre date.
Damn. Fitz had said I was “practically taken.” Why didn’t I figure it out earlier? Apparently, the president thought that all he needed to do was crook his finger and she’d come running. What the hell?
Hadn’t anyone thought to consult her on whether she’d like to be “taken” by the president? This wasn’t the Middle Ages, when the king could order a woman into his bed. But maybe that’s the way things worked in this administration. She shivered again.
The president had a reputation for being a straight shooter, respectful of women, and a staunch proponent of women’s rights. She wouldn’t have expected him to be a player. But he also had an extremely loyal staff. They wouldn’t be the first White House staffers to cover up indiscretions.
How many other women had received a “personal” tour of Air Force One that ended in the presidential suite? What a sweet set up for a seduction. No wonder the staffer in the corridor had done a double take.
And Fitz? Oh-so-helpful. Was he the go-between, lining up suitable women? Damn it! Elizabeth had liked him.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Maybe she had done or said something that suggested she was amenable to a dalliance with the president. That would explain his friendliness at the dinner and insistence on giving her a ride. Her breathing sped up. Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?
Her hands began to shake so violently that she had to clasp them together to conceal the tremors. Her gaze bounced all over the room; every muscle in her body readied itself for fight or flight. Fortunately, the president—distracted by the missing wine—remained oblivious to her nerves.
His voice broke into her racing thoughts. “Okay, here are the glasses.” Her eyes followed the glasses rather than the man as he set them on the coffee table. “But I think they forgot the wine.” He winked at her. Winked! “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. What am I going to do? She shot to her feet, her ragged breaths echoing in the empty room.
Elizabeth wasn’t a Puritan and wasn’t opposed to a little fooling around on principle. But she’d only slept with guys she was dating. Under other circumstances—with a guy she found attractive…and smart…and articulate—she would consider dating him. Hell, in a lot of ways he was exactly the kind of guy she liked.
But those were the key words, weren’t they? “Under other circumstances.” Attractive, smart, and articulate were worthless without a good character or personal moral principles. Not only was he proud and difficult, but he also had encouraged his friend to dump her sister and had robbed George Wickham of his inheritance.
And now he had brought her to his suite and maybe expected her to put out. Another violent shiver caused Elizabeth to wrap her arms around herself. I’m alone in this tiny room with him and a thousand feet up in the air. Maybe I should leave before he gets back. She took a stumbling step toward the door. But what if I’m wrong? What if he’s just being friendly? He’s Bing’s friend. I’m Jane’s sister. Maybe the president is just catching up…kicking back. He hasn’t done anything inappropriate…
The decision was made for her when President Darcy strolled through the door, triumphantly brandishing a bottle of wine. “I knew we had it!”
He set the bottle next to the glasses as Elizabeth sank back into her seat. Maybe she was being paranoid, misjudging the man. He seemed genuinely happy to have her here. Maybe he just wanted to be friends.
And it’s not like I’m supermodel material. He could seduce anyone—like real supermodels. Why would he want me?
Settling rather close to her on the sofa, the president opened the bottle of wine, splashing some into each glass. The label showed it to be something very good—and very expensive.
The president raised his glass in a toast, and Elizabeth followed suit, a little apprehensive about what he would say. “To friends,” he said simply. Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed as she clinked her glass with his. That was a toast she could get behind.
After taking a sip, she set her glass on the coffee table. The wine was excellent, dry and crisp, but she had no intention of drinking much more. Her eyes surveyed the room, examining the windows, the mural, the sofas—everything except the other inhabitant. “This is exciting,” she said. “Very few people get to see this. I feel very privileged. My sisters will be so jealous. My parents will be so excited to tell their friends.” You’re babbling, Elizabeth. Stop it. She took a breath. “Thank you for showing me around.”
“My pleasure,” he said in a low voice.
It wasn’t her imagination. He was leaning closer to her. His warm breath brushed her neck. A hint of spicy aftershave teased her nose.
“There is something I need to tell you, Elizabeth.” His voice was husky.
Oh no. “Y-Yes?” She stared at the wine glass, not wanting to look at him when their faces were inches apart.
“I am very attracted to you—since we first met.” His voice sunk to a lower register. “Very attracted to you.”
Shit. It was happening. The man who had ruined George and torpedoed Jane’s relationship was hitting on her. Clearly, he expected her to be on the same page.
Her eyes fixed on the far wall. “Oh. I…um…didn’t know.” She swallowed hard.
“Of course you did. You’ve been flirting with me.” He chuckled softly.
I have?
He put soft fingers on her chin and gently turned her face toward his. She inhaled his spicy scent. Why did he have to smell so edible? “I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time,” he breathed. And then his lips were on hers. Elizabeth’s resistance dissolved instantly. He could kiss!
It started with soft, velvety strokes of lips meeting lips. But then he increased the intensity, licking at the seam of her lips until her mouth opened without a second thought. She had to know what he could do with that tongue. She wasn’t disappointed. His tongue swept in, dueling and entwining with hers. He tasted of white wine and an undefinable flavor that resembled his scent. The taste of William Darcy.
Elizabeth hadn’t given any thought—well, perhaps she had occasionally imagined—to how the president might kiss, but she wouldn’t have expected this…passion. Searing. Overwhelming. Shattering. Speaking the intensity of his attraction without words.
The rest of the world fell away; Elizabeth could only feel. Her whole world narrowed to a single point of foc
us, a solitary part of her body. Bill and George had both spoken to her about chemistry, imagining a connection that hadn’t existed. But this was chemistry. Whatever she thought of William Darcy, her body was completely on board with kissing him. Craving his kisses—and more. I want more. I want more…
She moaned, a needy, greedy sound. His hands roamed over her back and upper arms, caressing, pulling her closer, and crushing her against his body. One hand traveled up her neck, into her hair.
Out in the hallway, someone laughed. The sound was enough to re-engage the rational part of her brain. Someone might enter the room and see them. What am I doing? This is the president. This is the PRESIDENT!
She pulled away so quickly he flinched.
Every cell in her body urged her to close the small distance between them and enjoy more touches, more caresses, more kisses. They were so close, so connected; it seemed impossible that such a thing could be wrong.
No. Panting, Elizabeth tried to restart her higher brain functions despite the tumult her senses. She reached deep for that well of fury that had powered her since Fitz’s words in the limo, conjuring up the image of Jane’s stricken, tear-stained face. Why would the man who had treated Jane and George so cavalierly care about me? It was an act. It was all an act.
He had brought her in here with the idea of putting those beds to use. Here she was, thousands of miles up in the sky with nobody around except the president’s staff. Okay, so the kisses were amazing. Phenomenal. Life changing. But the man’s character was rotten. Don’t forget who this guy is.
“I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he crooned, allowing his fingers to play along the skin revealed by the V of her blouse. “I wanted to stay away. I’ve been trying to avoid…entanglements. But every time I see you…”
Despite her misgivings, part of her soul drank up the words like water in a desert; what an honor to have this man say them to her.
But how many other women had he said them to? How many women had he said them to in this room? She couldn’t be blinded by the mask of his charisma or fooled into believing he experienced genuine feelings. He was a politician. Charm was the primary weapon in his arsenal, and every word was suspect.
The president was still speaking. “Those two months when we were apart…God, I thought about you all the time…” He closed in for another kiss, and Elizabeth felt the pull, the desire. But she forced herself to scramble backward, sliding off the sofa and stumbling to her feet. His hand grabbed empty air.
“I-I don’t think this is a good idea, Mr. President.”
A crease formed between his eyebrows. More puzzled than put out. “Please call me Will.”
“Okay. I don’t think this is a good idea, Will.”
“I don’t understand.” He stood as well.
“I-I’m sorry if I misled you by kissing you back. I was just so startled…”
He scowled. “Startled? You knew where this was going!”
Elizabeth barked a laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should have. Maybe I’m the only person on this plane who didn’t know, but I didn’t have a clue that you were interested in me.”
His mouth opened in shock, but he shut it with an abrupt snap. “Now you know,” he snapped. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath and spoke in a gentler tone. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” She shook her head mutely. “So is it a problem?”
“Is it a problem?” Where to begin? She gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “You called me ugly and stupid. You’ve been rude to me and my family in just about every way possible. Do the words ‘nouveau riche’ ring a bell?”
He couldn’t have been more startled if she’d hit him on the head with a frying pan. “But I apologized! You’re still upset about that?”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “Of course I am! You may be a snob who apologized, but you’re still a snob!”
“A snob?” His head jerked back. “To be fair, your family is sort of—”
She didn’t wait for him to dig his hole deeper. Anger simmered in her veins, demanding release. “You interfered in Jane’s relationship with Bing—and she’s still not over it!”
“How did you know—? Never mind, I—” He didn’t even bother to deny it.
Nothing would stop Elizabeth now. “And you deprived George Wickham of his inheritance!”
Darcy looked like he was chewing on something bitter. “Wickham!” he spat.
Elizabeth drew herself to her full height, delivering the coup de grace in a shaky voice. “And then you bring me to Air Force One, all high and mighty, Mr. President, to put the moves on me! Thinking that I’d be so awed by your power that I’d put out for you!”
He staggered back a step as if she had punched him. “That wasn’t what I—I wasn’t going to—I wanted to ask you out on a date, damn it! A date! Not some sort of tawdry affair!”
She scoffed. “Sure you did! Because that’s what old-money scions like you do with nouveau-riche ‘sluts’ like me.”
A pained expression rolled over his face. “I never thought of you that way! I swear. I’m…very interested in you. In dating you. I’ve never felt like this about any other woman.” His hands, balled into fists, were pressed against his thighs. “Just give me a chance. Let me prove it—I really care about you.” His eyes pleaded with her.
It was a good act. Elizabeth snorted. “You’ve been proud and difficult since I first met you. All you do is belittle me and my family. Why in the world would I want to date you?”
His mouth worked, but no sound escaped.
“Just as I thought. You don’t have a single good reason.” Elizabeth stomped to the door, threw it open, and slammed it closed behind her.
***
That could have gone better. Darcy stared at the door, which still quivered slightly from the force of Elizabeth’s slam. Fortunately, he was usually alone at this end of the plane so it was unlikely anyone would come to investigate. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the clusterfuck cake?
Sinking onto the sofa, he drank the rest of his wine. Then he poured a full glass with shaky hands and drank that. Leaning forward, he rested his arms on his knees and hung his head. His field of vision filled with the dull industrial gray carpeting. The sight blurred and swam. “Shit.” He blinked rapidly to clear it.
Of course, other women had rejected him—albeit not recently—but his interest had never provoked blind fury. He winced again at the memory of her angry red face. He had blown his chances with Elizabeth quite spectacularly. Slumping back into the sofa, Darcy massaged his forehead with one hand. Maybe he was destined to remain single. Maybe there was something inherently defective in his character. Elizabeth certainly seemed to think so.
She hadn’t even been particularly gentle or polite in her rejection. How had he read her so completely wrong?
He had been certain she liked him. She had teased him. Flirted. It had been flirting, hadn’t it? The smiles, the jokes, the coy looks—each one carefully stowed in his memory—flashed through his mind. No, he must have misinterpreted her behavior. Based on her reaction, she hadn’t been flirting. In fact, she barely tolerated him. Darcy had just grossly misread her signals. He groaned aloud. No wonder I’m still single. I should stick to public policy.
Georgiana had teased him that someone so socially inept should never run for public office. He thought he’d improved. Through the years in Congress and the Senate, he’d learned to read people and figure out what they wanted so he could work out mutually beneficial arrangements. He could supervise staff. Inspire voters. Get world leaders on board with his plans. His election to the highest office in the land proved that he wasn’t a complete failure.
However, he remained hopeless when it came to romantic cues. His ineptitude had helped to destroy his two long-term relationships. He still wasn’t sure what he had done wrong with those women, which was probably a sign he was hopelessly out of touch. And now this one was DOA.
Romance just isn’t part of my DNA. Gah. Wh
at a farce. He rubbed both hands over his face, staring at the bottle of wine—the label and year he’d selected so carefully. It would help him start getting trashed. Oblivious, floaty disassociation from reality would be far preferable to this gnawing ache.
But presidents didn’t have the luxury of inebriation, particularly not on Air Force One when it was crawling with press. The fundamental unfairness struck him forcefully. Everyone else in the world could get drunk as needed. When life handed them lemons, they could have a scotch on the rocks. But constant sobriety was one of the “privileges” of his office.
Damn the press. Damn the presidency. Damn it all! He didn’t want any of it.
In one motion, he shot to his feet, grabbed the wine glass and threw it at the opposite bulkhead where it shattered into a million pieces. He threw the other glass, relishing the energy of the throw and the loud crash of glass on metal. It wasn’t enough. His muscles itched for more destruction, and his hands moved restlessly until he grabbed the wine bottle and hurled it with all possible force. It crashed into the wall with a deeper and more satisfying sound, splattering wine and shards of glass all over the cushions of the other sofa.
Darcy stared at the wreckage as the scent of the wine permeated the room. That didn’t accomplish anything. I don’t even feel better.
All his energy suddenly drained away, and he slouched into the sofa cushions. God, he was a mess. A proud, difficult, socially inept mess. No wonder Elizabeth didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
How had he fooled himself into believing she could have feelings for him? After their first encounter he had uttered the blasphemous lie that she was stupid and unattractive—and then had insulted her family. It was the height of arrogance to think he could overcome such an inauspicious beginning. What were her words? “Proud and difficult.” Right on the money.
Of course, some of her dislike for Darcy was Wickham’s fault. Goddamn Wickham. Darcy hadn’t spoken to the man in two years, and he still managed to ruin Darcy’s life. Although to be fair, Darcy had done most of the ruining without any assistance. How had he misinterpreted her feelings toward him so thoroughly?
President Darcy Page 15
