by Mara Jacobs
Chapter Three
Out of the corner of his eye, Lewis saw Darcy going down. He reached for her, but was too late. She lay huddled, face down, on the floor, her shiny dress askew, the slit up the side showing a good amount of leg. Not just leg, but thigh in particular. Toned, creamy thigh that stood in stark contrast to the black, beaded dress.
He knelt down beside her, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. “Munchkin? Are you okay?”
“Darcy. I’m fine. I think I did something to my ankle.”
“Can you sit up so we can take a look at it?”
“I can…but I don’t want to,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her over the party noise, which had gotten much quieter.
“Does it hurt that much?”
“No. I…is everyone staring?”
Lewis looked up to see that, indeed, people in the room were staring, and several people had quickly moved toward them to offer help. He held up a hand as if to ward them off, which worked on everyone except the Bennetts and the man who had been standing by Grace.
Grace. Who looked beautiful, of course, but not like any Grace he’d ever seen before. First Munchkin with all the changes so that he’d barely recognized her, and now Grace. He wasn’t so sure he liked this much change in one night.
Change threw him.
As the Bennetts neared them, he patted Darcy, knowing his touch was most likely ineffectual. “No, nobody noticed. The party’s in full swing, nobody was even looking this way.”
“Liar,” she said, but she did begin to move, to right herself. Sadly, the slit in her dress fell back into place. She didn’t look up, though. She hid behind the mass of honey gold hair that was hanging in her face. Had her hair always been that…that…massive?
“Darcy? Honey, are you all right?” The Bennetts had reached them now, their concern showing in their faces.
“Baby girl?” Mr. Bennett said as he knelt down.
“I’m okay, Daddy. Just humiliated.”
“She thinks she might have done something to her ankle,” Lewis told John.
“Let me take a look at it,” said the man who’d been standing by Grace, and was now reaching for Darcy’s ankle.
Some irrational emotion overtook Lewis, and he swatted the man’s hand away. “Don’t touch her,” he nearly growled. Odd. He never growled. Or had irrational emotions for that matter. “It might be broken,” he added, as if to justify himself.
The man studied Lewis for a moment, a moment that lasted a little too long for Lewis’s liking. Who was this guy? He was in a tux, was part of the party, but seemed…different somehow.
“I’ve had some experience with these types of things,” the man said and reached for Darcy’s leg, slowly this time, his eyes on Lewis. His hands hovered just above her tiny ankle, and he looked at her. “May I?”
Lewis watched as Darcy looked up, her hair falling back off her face, parting like golden curtains. Her eyes grew wider as she took in the man, but she only nodded her assent. Like the guy left her speechless or something.
Lewis studied the man as he tenderly prodded Darcy’s ankle, causing a sharp intake of breath from her. “Careful,” Lewis warned.
The man shot Lewis a look that seemed like…amusement? But surely he wouldn’t be amused by Darcy’s pain. So he was amused by Lewis?
“Just who are you, anyway?”
The man took his hands away from Darcy’s ankle—finally!—and offered one for Lewis to shake. “Leo Ramos. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kampmueller.”
“How do you know who I am?” Lewis asked, not trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. Something was off about this guy—he was too…too…just too much.
“You’re the reason I’m here.”
“Me too,” he thought he heard Darcy whisper.
“What?” he asked them both.
“Nothing. Damn, this hurts,” Darcy answered as she tried to turn her ankle, causing another intake of breath—different from when Leo Ramos touched her.
“It doesn’t appear to be broken,” Ramos said to Darcy, ignoring Lewis’s question. “Probably just a pretty nasty sprain, but you should have it looked at.”
Lewis did look at it—her ankle—and could see it already starting to swell. Darcy started to rise and Lewis took one of her arms as Ramos took the other. “Her father can help her,” Lewis said, but only received that smirk again.
“Can you put any weight on it?” Ramos asked Darcy, who tried, but winced painfully, then tried to hide it.
Just like she used to when they were kids and she’d hurt herself doing something stupid that Brooks and he were doing. Trying to keep up with them. Not showing them she was in pain.
“Oh, honey,” Ellen Bennett said. “You really need to go to the emergency room.” As Darcy gasped and started furiously shaking her head—causing that massive hair to shimmer—her mother quickly added, “To make sure it’s not broken. I’m sorry, honey, you really have to go.”
Were those…tears? He’d never seen Darcy close to anything like tears. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered.
“I know, honey, but we really need to make sure it’s not something more than a sprain. At the very least, we need to get that ankle elevated and some ice on it.”
“Maybe I could just get some ice from the kitchen and sit down for a minute to rest it? I’ll be fine if I just stay off of it for a little while.”
Any fool could see that wasn’t going to happen. But she gave it a shot, trying to walk, only to crumple again, this time into Ramos’ arms. Damn, he needed to be quicker at this damsel in distress thing.
But that was just it. Darcy had never been much for distress. Or being a damsel, for that matter.
“I don’t think she should even try to walk,” Ellen said.
“I’ll carry her to the car,” John said and moved toward Darcy and Ramos.
“No, John, your back.”
Ramos made a movement, like he was going to lift Darcy, and that growling emotion roared inside Lewis. “I’ve got her,” he said, extricating Darcy from Ramos’ arms, then lifting her into his own. Even with all that beading on her dress, she was still light as a feather. She always was a string bean.
But it wasn’t a string bean he held in his arms. Nope, there were definite curves and they were nuzzled tightly against his chest. And lower.
He was just about to tell John he’d carry Darcy to their car so John and Ellen could take her to the hospital, when Ellen said, “Thank you so much, Lewis. I know she’s in good hands with you.”
Darcy, John and Lewis all gave Ellen a confused look, which she seemed not to notice. “Darcy, honey, we’ll see you later. Text us if it’s anything more serious than a sprain.” Then she grabbed on to her husband’s arm and dragged him away from their injured daughter. Odd.
“Mom?” Darcy called after them. But they must not have heard because they kept on going, only to be swallowed up by the crowd, who’d stopped staring at their small group.
Darcy looked up at him, her blue eyes full of sadness. Had her eyes always been that blue? Or were they just so much more noticeable now without her ever-present glasses?
“Lewis, you don’t have to do this. Leave the party, I mean.”
Well no, he didn’t, and he had no intention of it. He’d find Brooks and make him take his sister to the emergency room. He wasn’t an unfeeling monster, but Darcy was basically fine, Brooks was her brother, and Lewis…Lewis needed to see Grace in that dress again.
He was just about to ask somebody passing by to find Brooks for him when Ramos—he’d forgotten about that guy—opened his mouth.
“Mr. Kampmueller, about the reason I’m here.”
“Yes?”
“I’m with the FBI, here on behalf of the NSA, and I—”
Oh, shit. “Can’t you see this girl’s in pain? This is hardly the time—”
“I’m okay, Lewis. What would the FBI—”
“Darcy, we need to get you to the hospital right away. You could h
ave broken your ankle. Or triggered a blood clot or something.” He turned, Darcy still in his arms, still very curvy in all the right places, and made for the exit.
“I don’t think blood clots work like that,” Darcy was saying as Ramos called after them, “Mr. Kampmueller, I’d really like to speak with you.”
“Later,” he called over his shoulder to the man. Agent. They were called agents in the FBI. At least Grace was. “I’ll be back as soon as I get Darcy looked at and then settled at home.”
“You’re coming back?” both Ramos and Darcy said together.
“Yes. I’m coming back,” he answered them both and sped out of the main room, down the hallway, toward the coat check area.
“Oh, let me find my slip,” Darcy said as she opened her tiny pursey-thing. Her body shifted at the movement, and Lewis hiked her up, getting a better grip. A much better grip, right across her thighs—those creamy, toned thighs—and causing her to press tighter against him. In all the right places.
Damn. He should find Tess. Let her know what had happened and that he’d definitely be back in time to enact Plan B.
“What’s wrong?” Darcy asked at his abrupt about-face.
“I just need to—” Ramos was down the hall, watching them. “Nothing. Nothing. It can wait.” He did another turn and headed through the doors to the outside.
“But my wrap,” Darcy protested.
“We’ll get it later,” Lewis told her. “It’s not like it’d give you any warmth anyway.”
“Wow. It has really turned cold. It’s even colder than when we came in.” She rubbed her arms together, causing a delectable amount of cleavage to peer out of the neckline of her dress. He debated putting her down to give her his coat, but figured it’d be quicker to get her inside his car. He half walked, half jogged, to the vehicle.
“I need to set you down to get my keys,” he told her as he moved to lower her. She leaned against the door, but kept her other hand on his chest for balance, her bad leg lifted behind her like a flamingo. That pesky slit in her dress fell from her lifted leg and Lewis desperately wished the parking lot had better lighting.
He fumbled for his car keys, opened the car, helped Darcy into the seat and then took off his jacket and laid it across her, blanket-like. He moved to the other side of the car, got behind the wheel and pulled out of his parking space.
He looked back at the building, sparkling with lights, the party now in full swing. Then he looked at Darcy. How long could this take, anyway? He’d get Darcy checked out, get her settled at home, then be back well before midnight and his kiss with Grace.
