by Desiree Holt
“I’m tired,” she protested. “We’ve worked late every day this week. What jerk needs something right now and what’s the big rush?” God, she hated these stupid politicians. They represented everything she despised about men.
“Our friend Todd Claymore. His finance secretary found a few more dollars and he wants another spot.” He paused. “It’s almost election time, Darcy. Then we’ll be back to straight commercials and public service announcements for a while. Come on. What else would you be doing, anyway?”
She gripped the phone. “Are you implying I don’t have a life? Thanks a lot, Hugh.”
Of course, she didn’t. And they both knew it.
“Half a day only,” he wheedled. “I swear it, Darcy.”
“That’s what you always say.” She ran her fingers through her spiky hair. At least work would keep her busy enough to stop thinking about Jack Manning. She desperately needed to get him out of her head. “All right, all right. But I need an hour and I’m not working tonight or tomorrow.”
“That’s my girl.”
She hated the smug sound in his voice. And she damn well wasn’t his girl.
Chapter Four
Jack busied himself with work around the house the rest of the day. He hosed down the porches, took care of some minor repairs he’d been ignoring, did his grocery shopping, took two suits to the cleaners. And realised that he did this every Saturday. When had he become so predictable?
And no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the image of Darcy out of his brain. She was just so nicely rounded, soft in his hands as they shaped the curves of her body. Her breasts fit perfectly into his palms. They itched now remembering the sensation of holding them. He recalled he’d loved kissing the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling that insistent pulse beat against his lips.
And her taste! Holy shit! Her delectable cream chased away the taste of any other woman he’d ever been with. If he closed his eyes he could still capture the flavour on his tongue.
The sharp blast of a car horn startled him into the realisation that he’d closed his eyes at a stoplight and traffic was piled up behind him. Cursing steadily he squealed his tyres as he pulled away from the intersection. What the fuck was happening to him?
For as long as he could remember he’d had the image of the woman he wanted planted firmly in his mind. She’d be maybe five-foot-four, just short enough that she could wear those killer heels he loved and not come up past his shoulder. When they danced her head would reach just high enough that he could rest his chin on it. Her breasts would press against his chest and his cock—which of course would be harder than steel—would ride against the softness of her pussy through their clothes.
Her hair would be a tumbled mass of dark gold curls, just capturing the light, and her blue eyes would darken almost to navy when he roused her with passion. Anything she wore would look good on her slim figure and when he took her out, hung out with his friends, went to parties, everyone would be green with envy that Jack Manning had caught the prize.
Yeah, right. Big fat chance. He’d been looking since he turned twenty-one and all he had to show for it was a string of disasters. Meanwhile all his friends were coupled-up, even the men going slightly to seed had knockouts for wives. He couldn’t even count any more the number of parties he’d gone to on his own. Including his own birthday party.
So here he was, forty, living with Mr Big.
And what female had turned up for his birthday? One he wouldn’t give house room to on his worst day. Then why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why did he crave her body, her touch, her essence? Why did he want to find her, drag her back to his house and strip her naked?
God, he was a fucking mess. The devil was paying him back, that was it. He was condemned to forever spend his life in hell looking for his ideal woman.
Maybe later he’d drop in at Eli’s. The place was always jammed on Saturday nights. Was it possible tonight his perfect woman would show up on his radar?
* * * *
The day had gone exactly as Darcy could have predicted. When she got to HVR Video (for Hugh V. Rodgers) the camera crew had only just arrived and was still fumbling through booting up. The kid who did all the graphics generation was huddled in a corner having an argument with someone on his cell phone. Hugh was in his plushly-furnished office entertaining the candidate and a couple of hangers-on. When she poked her head in the door he waved her in with the hand not holding a drink.
“Darcy, you remember Todd Claymore, right? Candidate for state senator from our district.”
How could she forget the asshole? He was the epitome of everything she despised about politicians.
She nodded sharply at him. “Nice to see you again. I’m going to get set up. Where’s the script?”
The all-important document from which she plotted her camera angles and decided the best place to seat her subject.
“Right here.” He picked up a folder from his desk. “Come on in and meet the candidate, honey.”
“I am in and I’m not your honey.” She grabbed the folder from him and turned to Claymore. “I’ll see you in the studio in fifteen.”
As she exited into the hallway she heard Claymore say, “Testy little thing, isn’t she? I don’t think I noticed that before.”
And Hugh laughed that asshole macho laugh.
She was looking at the script Hugh had given her when someone tapped her on the shoulder and she looked up to see one of the other men from the office.
“Ah, thanks for coming in today. For the shoot.”
Darcy just glared at him.
“I’m Charley, remember? The senator’s aide?” He held out his hand.
Darcy ignored him. He was just so much furniture to her. She didn’t get paid to make nice with these people who all looked the same to her. That was Hugh’s job.
“I’m busy right now. Can you just make sure your boss gets into the studio when he’s supposed to? I don’t plan to spend my whole Saturday here.”
“Well, see.” Charley pulled out what she supposed was his ‘aw, shucks’ look. “Senator Claymore wants me to plot out all the shots with you before we bring him in.”
He reached for the folder and she snatched it away, staring at him.
“I’ve done five spots already with Todd Claymore—who, by the way, is not yet a senator—and no one’s complained.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “But this is the kicker one. The hot shot. We need to make sure he comes across just right.”
Darcy stared at him some more then turned and walked back into the office, tossing the folder on to Hugh’s desk.
“Charley’s outlining the shots? Good. You don’t need me. I have better ways to spend my Saturday.”
She had actually made it to the door before she felt Hugh’s hand on her arm.
“Wait just a minute, darlin’.”
“I keep telling you. I’m not your darling. Let go of me, Hugh.”
She could actually feel him reining in his anger.
“I guess we just have a little misunderstanding here.”
“Let me explain.” Claymore rose from his chair, all summer tanned with his western shirt, his five-hundred-dollar jeans and his phony smile.
Darcy tightened her hands into fists and glared at him.
“This particular spot is real important to us, Darcy. And Charley knows just exactly how to get the best out of it for me.”
“I know how to get the best out of it for you,” she told him through gritted teeth. “If you don’t think so, Charley can direct the spot.”
She actually made it into the hallway this time when she heard Hugh call, “You’re right. My bad. Please.” He was beside her now. “Let’s start all over again, okay?”
She let out a sigh of exasperation. Why did she always give in? She was such a patsy. She couldn’t wait to get out of this place once and for all.
“Fine. Fifteen minutes. And Charley stays in his corner.”
But even with a
ll that the shoot lasted well into the afternoon. Todd Claymore kept flubbing his lines, despite the fact there weren’t that many of them. He couldn’t manage to get through a thirty-second spot without screwing up. Then one of the two cameramen had trouble with his equipment. It was just one thing after another and she was ready to murder everyone. She had to admit, however, that when they were finished she had a damn good spot for ‘Claymore for Senator’ to run.
“Another winner,” the candidate said as they wrapped up the session. “You ever need a favour you come see me.”
“I take real good care of Darcy.” Hugh had come to stand next to her. “If she ever needs anything I’ll be sure to tell you.”
Ass.
Then finally, finally she was home, completely drained and tired to the bone. But restless, nonetheless. She nuked a lasagne dinner but tossed half of it, wandered around the house trying to settle herself. She tried a bubble bath with her favourite lavender bath salts, a glass of chilled white wine and Trace Adkins on the CD player in her bedroom. She took a long time creaming her skin and brushing her hair before plucking a clean sleep shirt from the dresser.
Deliberately she made an effort to banish Jack Manning from her brain. To stop remembering how good his hands had felt on her body. How warm his lips had been, the first time his tongue had stoked inside her. She trembled as she recalled the feel of his hard thick cock inside her, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. Then resolutely she picked up the remote.
But after thirty minutes she realised that even with the television on the house was too quiet. And sleep was an unreachable goal. Irritated, she threw back the covers, pulled her sleep shirt over her head and opened her closet door. Even as she slipped into cream-coloured slacks and a purple sweater, and slid her feet into sandals with four-inch heels, she told herself she wasn’t going to Eli’s. No how, no way.
Very deliberately she applied heavy eye makeup, heavier than she usually wore. And a thick coat of ruby red lipstick. She was going down to the Riverwalk. Every night was a party down there in the winding row of shops and restaurants and bars. Maybe she could find a hot single tourist to take home, someone who’d fuck her brains out and she’d never have to see him again.
Oh, wait. She’d done that with Jack Manning and look how well that had turned out.
Nope. Tonight it would be the Riverwalk and maybe she’d just have a glass of wine or a margarita and watch the crowds go by. Anything to get her out of the house and sweep Jack Manning out of her brain.
But somehow when she got to Eli’s her car turned in as if on autopilot. The parking lot was jammed, usual for the weekend.
I won’t be able to find a place to park. Then I’ll keep on until I hit the Interstate and head on downtown.
But as luck would have it, a car at the side of the building pulled out just at that moment. Sighing, Darcy parked, locked the car and made her way to the front door. What were the odds Jack would even be here, anyway? He was probably out trolling for the woman of his dreams. Or home watching television with Mr Big. She’d buy a drink, lose herself in the noise, and when she was exhausted enough go home and try to sleep.
Inside the place were wall-to-wall bodies. The juke box—a relic of bygone days—was pounding out something that Darcy thought was from Lady Antebellum but it was so noisy it was hard to tell. She wedged herself between two people at the bar and when Eli caught a breath and spotted her she mouthed, “Margarita. Rocks. Salt.” When he placed the frosty concoction in front of her she lifted it and drank greedily, hoping the tequila would wash away the memories of the previous night.
“Hey, Eli.”
A heavy male body pressed against her, jostled by the crowd enough to make the drink slop over the edges of her glass. A familiar scent drifted across her senses and she thought, Oh, shit. When she looked up over her shoulder, sure enough, there was Jack Manning, signalling for Eli and waving a beer bottle at him.
Darcy hunched into herself, hoping in the crush of bodies he wouldn’t notice her. But just then someone was pushed into him, pushing him into her again. He looked down and his eyes narrowed.
“Are you stalking me?” he shouted, trying to be heard over the din.
“What?” Anger surged through her. “Get over yourself. And move away. You already made me spill my drink once.”
“What?” He cupped his ear to show her he couldn’t hear.
“Go away.” She was shouting again but it was impossible to be heard.
Eli slammed a beer into Jack’s hand and nodded when Jack motioned him to put it on his tab. Glaring down at Darcy, he inched himself away from the bar and was swallowed by the crowd.
Darcy sat there long enough to finish her drink, but the noise was giving her a headache and running into Jack had only made her remember all the things she’d come there to forget. Slapping a five-dollar bill on the bar she eased herself off the bar stool and pushed through the crowd. The area near the front door was so jammed she had to wriggle her way into the short hallway that led to the rest rooms and the side door. Pushing the bar to open it, she stood for a moment and inhaled the night air.
Home, she told herself. Make popcorn. Eat chocolate. Find a chick flick on pay-per-view. Yes. She should have done that in the first place. But as she approached her car she dropped her keys and when she bent to pick them up she bumped into a solid male body. She looked up and there was Jack, one of the outside lights shining down on him. His hair was mink brown in the light and the dark green of his shirt exactly matched his eyes. At least as she remembered the colour. The fabric stretched across his shoulders, muscles flexing beneath it.
“Are you stalking me again?” he asked.
They stood there and stared at each other. Darcy felt a thrum of excitement sizzle through her and tried her best to tamp it down.
She lifted her chin. “I’m just getting into my car. I had no idea you were out here.”
“I barely made it out the front door,” he admitted. “Jesus. I don’t think they could get one more body in there tonight if they greased it with cooking oil.”
Darcy studied him in the glow from the car park light. Yup, that colour green did it for him. Made him look so sexy she could eat him up with a spoon.
Wait! What? Am I crazy?
But that shirt stretched just right over his muscles, the chinos that moulded to his hips, the thick, dark brown, razor-cut hair that fell in short layers on his head, the almost-cleft chin. The whole package made every pulse in her body pound with insistent need.
Oh, god. She had to get away from here.
“Well.” She looked up at him. “Goodnight.”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
Still they stood there, staring at each other. Finally Jack moved.
“Oh, shit. Fuck me blind.”
He grabbed for her, pulling her towards him. Her keys fell to the ground again as she automatically reached for him. When his mouth came down on hers she felt as if she’d stepped into a tub of melted chocolate. Jack brushed his lips over hers, lightly at first, then used his tongue to trace the outline of her mouth and the seam of her lips.
“Open,” he demanded in a guttural voice.
When she did his tongue swept inside and she was lost. He explored every inch of her mouth, tasting, teasing, while his hands stroked up and down the length of her body, cupping her ass and cradling her breasts. She pressed herself against him and felt the long, hard length of his cock through the fabric of their clothing. She softened against him, moulding her body to his. She’d forgotten where they were, focused only on making sure he didn’t stop kissing her.
A piercing wolf whistle followed by laughter finally penetrated the erotic fog they’d fallen into.
“Get a room,” someone called jokingly.
Darcy opened her eyes, dazed then shocked to realise where she was and what she’d been doing. She looked up at Jack, licking her lips, still tasting him there.
“What the hell are we doing?”
His warm hands were still on her shoulders. “Beats me, but it sure feels good.”
“W-we can’t do this. We have to stop.”
“Uh-huh.” His head was lowering again. “But I forget why.”
“You are so not my type. I keep trying to tell you that.”
“I know. You’re not mine, either.”
Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue working its magic again. This time when they came up for air Darcy forgot why she thought this was wrong.
Jack cradled her face with his hands. “Come home with me. This time I’ll drive.”
“O-okay. As long as you remember I’m not your type.”
He grinned at her. “We’ll put a memo on the fridge.”
* * * *
How did I let myself do this?
But even as he asked himself the question yet another time, Jack was busy stripping off his clothes and Darcy’s as fast as he could. His cock had been semi-hard and aching since she’d left his house that morning, a condition he’d done his damndest to ignore but his little head was telling his big head to fuck off.
This woman drove him nuts with her quirkiness, her weird hair style and her sassy mouth. He could hardly imagine taking her home to his conservative parents in Florida or his attorney sister who now lived in Dallas. Not to mention what his friends would say, especially Mike, if they saw him hanging out with her in Eli’s.
But oh hell and damn, he wanted his cock in her in the next ten seconds or he was going to lose his mind.
Even as they disposed of their clothing he kept kissing her. Her mouth was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He’d brushed his teeth four times that day trying to erase her flavour but it hadn’t worked. Essence of Darcy had invaded his body.
Then they were naked and tumbling on to the sheets that still held her flowery scent. He’d barely remembered to grab more condoms from the bathroom where he kept his extra stash, dumping a fistful of them on the nightstand.
