by Staci Hart
I tried to ignore the beauty and strength of his shoulders by noting the line of elite pride they made, sharp as a knife. Something about him made me feel silly, and the desire to take off my wig to even the playing ground made me feel even sillier.
Cam pulled her phone out of her pocket, frowning. “That’s Tyler—he’s got the baby at home alone. I’ll be right back,” she promised to no one in particular as she scuttled off.
And Jett took Georgie’s hand and dragged her onto the dance floor. I watched them go, smiling.
Leaving me alone with him.
It was then that I noticed the tingling of my nerves, gathering at my cheeks—one in particular, the one closest to him. Instinctively, I turned toward the feeling and found myself pinned beneath the weight of his gaze.
This must be what a rabbit feels before the wolf devours it.
Everything about him was imposing, as if he took up more space than his mass alone required. As if somehow, he consumed all the nearby air to power the rise and fall of his broad chest. I was unable to determine if he was disapproving or just bored. If he was judging me or simply indifferent. All I knew was that the intensity of his observance had disconnected several wires in my brain.
I blinked, flashing a smile before breaking the connection, turning to search for Jett and Georgie in the crowd, finding them bouncing around to “Goodbye to You.”
“Well, they seem to have hit it off,” I said.
“Seems so.”
A hot sensation bloomed in my chest at those two little words. Words that, unlike his demeanor, I could instantly tell without question were disapproving.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw Jett dance. He’s better at it than I remember.”
Liam made a noncommittal noise.
And we fell into an awkward, fumbling silence.
I grappled for something to say, anything to fill the noiseless void between us. “And how about you, Mr. Darcy? Do you dance?”
“Not if I can help it.”
I cast him a look. A disbelieving sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff escaped me, but he just stood there, stoic and stern, watching the dance floor like if he concentrated hard enough, he could conjure up the great secrets of the universe.
Before I could respond, Cam was back, grabbing at my arm.
“The baby has a fever,” she said, and I thought she might be about to cry. “Tyler’s on it—I mean, she just has a little low-grade fever—but I just want to talk to him for a minute longer, and Fabio’s here. Will you make the announcement so I don’t cry like a crazy person all over the microphone?”
I chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Of course, and don’t worry. She’ll be fine.”
Cam sniffled. “God, I’m the worst. Thank you, Laney.”
The second I let her go, she hurried off again.
Eager to get away from my uncooperative companion, I turned back to excuse myself.
But he was gone.
I brushed away an unexpected streak of disappointment and headed to the stage with my chin up, which coincidentally raised my nose in what probably looked like snobbery. How I hadn’t snubbed him first escaped me.
If Liam Darcy didn’t want to talk to me, I would happily oblige, and if I were lucky, I wouldn’t see him for the rest of the night.
Too bad I’d never been one of the lucky ones.
2
The Very Last Place
LIAM
I could remember few times in my life I’d been so uneasy.
It wasn’t the crowd, although I hated those with unbridled passion. The wigs didn’t help, nor did the Whitesnake ballad, the combination underscoring just how much I did not belong. My sister slow-dancing with a guy wearing rabbit furs and leather would have been my first real guess, but even that was a situation I could influence. A situation I was unhappy about, but a temporary one.
My gaze caught one face in particular, one unaffected by the blond Fabio wig or the atmosphere of the ridiculous party. One ablaze with colored lights and unrestrained exuberance as she talked to a friend.
Laney Bennet.
I studied her for a long moment through the end of “Here I Go Again” and into “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” In her Fabio wig, I couldn’t find anything particularly remarkable about her—except her eyes, which were such a vivid shade of blue, I could see them perfectly, even in the low light. But she had no gravitas, though her tongue was sharp enough. She was nothing like the women I knew.
Maybe that was why I couldn’t stop watching her. She and her friend bounced into the crowd like rubber balls, singing along with her mouth open so wide, I couldn’t figure out how she could still be smiling. She knew every word, which was equally baffling, pantomiming some of the lyrics and air-guitaring through the solo.
It was infectious. Were I a different man, I’d have met her out there, soaked up some of her joy.
But I was who I was. Freedom of that kind was unknown to me.
I took a sip of my scotch, which I’d procured on exiting the unpleasant conversation with Laney Bennet. Not because she was particularly unpleasant, but because I’d found myself lacking things to say. In part because I couldn’t stop watching her lips as she spoke.
An enigma. One I needed to leave unsolved.
With no small amount of force, I shifted my gaze to my sister and the other Bennet. Their hips were locked together as they swayed, singing to each other through the end of the song. But as “These Dreams” came on, they slowed. Her arms looped his neck as best they could for their height difference, and as she drew closer, his hands slid from her waist to span her back. But more worrisome than the placement of his hands was the look on their faces as they talked, turning in a small circle to the beat of the song.
The hiss of a fuse lighting in me was dangerous, one I’d dealt with more than a few times in regard to the safety of my sister’s heart.
Georgiana was all I had in this world. When our parents died a decade ago, the responsibility of everything fell on me—the estate, our family’s place at the ad firm, Georgie—and I picked up the yoke with the relief that came with something to do when you’d lost everything. What I’d thought my life would be, all that I’d imagined, crumbled and fell. But rather than excavate, I picked up the first brick and built on top of the wreckage.
She became my focus, the one person I had left. A daisy in a crack of concrete. Eternal sunshine. And I lived in the shadows cast by her shine, a silent guardian. Every time she cried, each time I held her in my arms, I felt her pain as if it were my own. No—instead of my own. I didn’t cry when they died. Instead, Georgie cried, and I felt everything through her.
Perhaps I’d sheltered her too much. She trusted others with blind faith, an unfathomable trait. I trusted no one, and she trusted all. She had the scars on her heart to prove it.
The last mistake, she’d nearly married. I learned at the last possible second of his intentions … two weeks before her wedding. The betrayal was total, her breakdown complete—so complete, I wasn’t sure how to pull her out of it. It’d been a year since then, and she hadn’t dated anyone, convinced she couldn’t be trusted not to trust.
But he was one in a string of men who weren’t good enough for her, who saw her for her status and not for the gift she was, and I wouldn’t give her up for anything less. The man who would win her would have to go through me.
Somehow, I doubted the shirtless bookstore manager with his hands on her had noble intentions. We’d be at Wasted Words often enough, and I’d find out. Maybe he’d surprise me.
But earning my trust wasn’t easy, and once lost, it was lost forever.
I looked around the bar so I wouldn’t burn a hole in Jett’s back, then turned to wander around. The concept of the place confounded me—a bookstore with a bar? I couldn’t find the appeal. They threw parties like this often, singles nights with themes, luring people in with drink specials and the promise of making a love match. Bars had never been my scene, nor had drinki
ng as a sport. Themed parties to meet someone? Never in a thousand years. I had no regrets about leaving the offered wig at the door, not at all caring that I was the only person in the establishment without a Fabio wig on other than Fabio himself.
But that was why Georgie had brought me—my lack of understanding. And by brought, I meant forced. She was the account executive, the organizer and liaison between the firm and our client. She got Wasted Words and insisted I had to get it too. I, on the other hand, reminded her I didn’t have to understand it to sell it. But here I was anyway because Georgie had asked me to come, and now that I saw her with Jett, I made the unilateral decision to be here with her every chance I got, even if I didn’t have to be.
As the creative director, my job was behind the scenes, where I was most comfortable. I ran our team, building out plans, presenting work, creating ad and marketing concepts. We were opening new book bars in five major cities. And since Laney Bennet was the in-house social marketer, she was now part of my team—by request of the owners.
I was even less sure about that unfortunate fact than I had been before I walked in tonight.
Georgie made her way over to me, her cheeks high with a smile.
“What are you doing way back here?” she asked, taking my drink from my hand for a sip. “Come dance with us.”
“You know I hate dancing, especially in a place like this.”
“Anyone ever told you you’re the worst kind of snob?”
I shrugged, taking my drink back. “Know thyself.”
“Well, I think thyself needs to get out there and cut loose. You’re not going to really understand this place if you don’t participate.”
“I think I’ll manage.”
“What about Laney Bennet?” she asked, ignoring me. “You could stand to get to know her better.”
A jolt shot up my spine at the thought of dancing with her. “What, with my hands on her hips?” I hedged as she backed me toward a metaphorical corner.
“They don’t have to be on her hips. Come on—let’s go find her so you don’t have to stand on the edge of the dance floor alone with your scotch and boring hair,” she joked, taking my arm.
I didn’t budge. “Georgie, I’m going to say this once—Laney Bennet is perfectly tolerable. But she’s not like us. She’s not the kind of girl I would ever ask to dance, especially not in a bar to a Lionel Richie song. Ever. Do you understand?”
Georgie had gone stiff and still, I thought in response to the edge in my voice, sharpened by her insistence. But then I realized she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking behind me.
I followed her gaze and locked eyes with Laney Bennet, who was close enough to have heard what I’d said.
We shared a long look—mine hard, hers first bright with hurt, then hot with fury.
“Well,” Laney started with mock cheer, her cheeks flushed pink. Her smile cut like a razor. “Lucky for both of us, I only dance with men who think I’m sufficient or better. I wouldn’t want you to suffer unduly, Mr. Darcy, especially not to Lionel Richie. We both deserve better than that.”
And she turned on her heel to walk away.
Georgie sighed. “Way to go, Liam.”
“Me? You were the one who wouldn’t take no for an answer. When was the last time you successfully forced me into anything?”
She gave me a look and motioned to the bar.
“I don’t have to be friends with Laney Bennet to work with her,” I noted, knowing it was so far from the point, it was on another continent.
At that, Georgie looked so disappointed, something in my chest twisted.
“No, you don’t have to be friends with her, but you could stand to keep her from hating you. I’m going to go dance. Have another drink by yourself and brood for a while. I’ll find you when it’s time to go.”
I didn’t form a response quickly enough—she was already gone, swallowed up in a sea of blond wigs.
3
But Really, Though
LANEY
“I think I hate him.”
I scowled up Amsterdam the next morning as Jett and I walked toward work.
Jett laughed. “I don’t think he’s nuts about you either. But if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure he hates me more.”
“Then he must be a terrible judge of character.”
Jett gave me a look that I ignored. “If some dude in a loincloth was dancing with you, I’d have to fight a deep impulse to turn his face inside out.”
“So it’s a brother thing that makes you turn into apes when you see your sister with a guy?”
He shrugged. “We know how guys think, and we don’t want anybody thinking that about our sisters.”
“Oh, so it’s safe to assume all you thought about Georgie was lewd?”
“Of course not. I mean, I won’t say I didn’t have thoughts, but they weren’t what he imagined. I can guarantee that.”
“I can’t believe the two of them are related,” I said. “She’s so easy to like, and he’s almost impossible to. How that rude, elitist ass comes from the same genetics as that sweet, smiling girl is beyond me.”
“Fuck that guy for not wanting to dance with you. And for insulting you. Maybe you’re right—he must be a shitty judge of character.”
The slight still stung, though I couldn’t guess why. No one liked to be insulted, sure, but something about that judgment from him weighed more. Maybe it was in how he had looked at me, like his favor, when bestowed, was a minor miracle, and if anyone enjoyed a challenge, it was me. Or maybe it was that command that rippled off him like radio waves, bending everyone in the vicinity to his will, impossible to resist.
Either way, it sucked.
“It doesn’t even matter,” I said. “I couldn’t care less whether or not he likes me or would dance with me. Who said I would have danced with him anyway? I mean, could you even imagine him dancing?” A laugh burst out of me as I did just that. “I bet he’d just stand there, frowning, wondering what the hell to do with his hands. At least he’s in no danger of ever getting laugh lines. But I bet with a little dirt, you could plant something in the creases between his eyebrows.”
Jett snickered.
Realizing I’d been talking about Darcy too long, I shifted the conversation back to Jett. “Georgie danced with you all night. I don’t think I saw her even talk to Liam for the rest of the party.”
“I would have kissed her too, if her brother wasn’t hovering. Can’t blame him, though.”
“I’ll blame him for the both of us.”
Jett watched me for a beat. “Man, he really got under your skin. You haven’t stopped talking about him since last night.”
I cut him a look. “He insinuated we were beneath him, Jett. He insulted me behind my back and was rude to my face, and now I have to work with the asshole. So maybe I’m not feeling very charitable about him. I think I’m entitled.”
He pulled open the door to Wasted Words and held it for me. “Well, you’d better find a way to put it away so you can work with him. Otherwise, your mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”
“What’s new?” I asked as I passed.
Jett snorted a laugh, but as we walked inside, his stride broke when he saw Georgie sitting next to Cam at the bar.
He recovered quickly, his smile tugging up on one side—the male Bennet survival trait passed down from my father, used regularly to charm their way through literally anything, particularly trouble. I was glad he’d gone for dapper this morning and wondered if he’d known she would be here. I didn’t miss him smoothing the thin navy tie he wore with a sky-blue plaid tailored shirt, the sleeves cuffed to his elbows. The color, along with the contrast of his dark hair, made his irises reflect such intense a shade of blue, they looked illuminated.
Oh, he definitely knew.
This was confirmed by the look on Georgie’s face.
She was so pretty, a wisp of a thing with long blonde hair and a face touched with optimism and hope. Something about her sparke
d an instinct to protect—I felt it just as much as Jett did, which as far as I could tell from observance was a lot. Begrudgingly, I admitted to myself that Darcy must have felt it tenfold.
Even worse—the realization that he was so protective of her made him infinitely more attractive, that jerk.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Cam said. “Laney, do you have time for a little impromptu meeting?”
“Sure,” I answered with a smile as we approached.
“Great. Let’s sit in a booth. Greg, will you make Laney a cup of coffee?”
He nodded. Cam gathered her things, and Georgie did the same, but as Georgie slid off her stool, she lost her balance and actually slid.
One step, and Jett caught her with an arm around her waist. She looked up at him with flushed cheeks, her lips parted. His still wore that tilt, but it faded a little as his eyes caught on her mouth, and I realized they were a breath away from kissing.
Cam and I averted our eyes and headed to a booth, the motion snapping the two of them out of their moment. She laughed and made excuses for her clumsiness. He said something clever. It was all very charming, and Cam and I ate it up, lips pursed to keep us from smiling or laughing at the sheer pleasure of seeing a girl under Jett’s spell. A good one, for once.
I felt like I’d been waiting on this forever. I just wanted to see him happy with someone who appreciated him. Who saw his giving heart and protected it rather than taking his love without returning it.
When we’d all moved home, Jett had taken the role no one wanted. With Mom’s hands and joints gnarled from her arthritis, she couldn’t cook or clean, and without even asking, he stepped into the kitchen, donning one of her ridiculous aprons to feed the entirety of the Bennet clan. He kept the house tidy, and helped Mom with anything she needed, and he’d done it all without being asked. He’d never once complained, even under the oppressive teasing from our brothers.
