TIME STOPPED AS EVAN’S heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear—he’d been terrified, but that had passed once he recognized that she was safe. And not from adrenalin, although he had a hell of a lot flowing through his veins.
Not from any of that—but from the sweet pressure of Darcy in his arms.
She was softer than he’d imagined, her curves fitting against him as intimately as if they were in bed. And, as if they were in bed, her lips were there for him, parted sweetly, red and plump and ready for his kiss.
It was enticing. Overwhelming. And he bent closer, intending to claim the prize.
She’d enticed him from the first moment he’d seen her, and each and every time he’d been with her since—at Cam’s birthday parties or his wedding or any one of a dozen seemingly haphazard meetings—she’d gotten into his head. Got his blood going, his senses burning.
She made him laugh, and her analytical way of looking at the world made him think. And damned if she didn’t make him hard all over, as if the effort of holding back was turning him to stone, as if he would die if she didn’t touch him. Melt against him. Let her lose herself in him.
He wasn’t living his life as a monk, that was for damn sure, but it wasn’t until this moment—this spontaneous press of her in his arms—that he’d truly understood why the women he dated seemed so inadequate. How could they be anything but inadequate when compared to Darcy?
He leaned closer, and saw her lips part, and for a moment he wondered if she felt it, too. If the air between them was zinging as much for her as it was for him.
He could kiss her.
Right then, right there, he knew with absolute, utter certainty that he could press his lips to hers, fold her into his arms, and lose himself utterly.
Except he couldn’t.
This was Darcy. The woman of his fantasies, yes, but also his best friend’s little sister.
And maybe that didn’t matter any longer. He was a grown-up, after all, and so was she. But damned if he was going to push himself on her when she was shook up and vulnerable, in his arms only because an idiot taxi driver couldn’t keep his eyes on the road.
And she was vulnerable. He could see it. Hell, she was staring at him with wide eyes that probably wondered what the hell he was doing holding on to her so tight now that the danger had passed.
Danger from the traffic, anyway. The danger from him? That still existed.
He backed away, releasing her, steadying her. “Sorry.”
Her smile was like sunshine. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. And then she lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him.
NEVER, NEVER, NEVER would Darcy have calculated odds that would have her standing on a busy street with her arms around the one man in all the world for whom she’d held a consistent crush. And not just arms. No, there was some serious lip action going. Dreamy action. The kind of action that was making it hard for her to think, and it was when she wasn’t thinking that she got nervous, because that’s who she was—the girl who thought. The girl who calculated. Who examined the options and flowcharted the results.
This time, she’d gone with her gut.
She’d seen his eyes, and for one moment—one freakish, hopeful, wonderful moment—she’d imagined that he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him.
And for the first time in her life she hadn’t thought. She’d simply reacted.
And man, oh man, oh man she was glad she had.
His mouth on hers tasted like ambrosia, minty and male and as hungry for her as she was for him. At first, she’d felt him stiffen, but then he’d softened, his arms going around her, his palms on her rear, pulling her toward him. She ran her fingers through his short, coarse hair, then stifled a moan as he pulled even tighter, the physical evidence that proved he was as much into the kiss as she was hard against her.
They were on a sidewalk surrounded by suits pushing past them, tourists gawking and blue-collar workers sneaking peeks as they hurried, heads down, to their jobs. And yet even though they were so blatantly on display, Darcy’s body was reacting as if they were in a candlelit bedroom. And despite the fact that so far she’d had only coffee, her blood seemed to pump with alcohol, as if she’d spent hours leisurely sipping wine and staring into this man’s eyes.
A curse? No way.
This was her best day yet, and that was an indisputable fact.
He pulled away, his breath hard, his face flushed. “Darcy.”
She smiled.
“You shouldn’t—I mean, we shouldn’t—”
“Are you kidding?” she retorted with a grin. “Of course we should. You saved me, right? Doesn’t that make you the hero and me the damsel in distress?”
She’d spoken lightly, but he stiffened, then took a step back, breaking the contact between them and making her insides go cold. She didn’t know what had just happened, what had changed.
“Evan?”
He smiled, but it looked pasted on. “We should probably catch that cab.”
“Dammit, Evan, what did I say?”
His smile wavered, and he brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. She shivered at the touch, realizing how hopeful it made her. It didn’t matter; he shattered the hopes without delay.
“I just—We shouldn’t.”
“Why?” She wanted to kick herself for pushing, but she didn’t have a choice. It was either stand and argue, or sink into tears on the sidewalk.
No way was she letting him see her cry.
“Why shouldn’t we?” she repeated, forcing herself to look at him, and ignore the passersby who seemed to be there only to witness her utter mortification. And then, despite all her intentions not to lay herself out to be flayed, she heard those horrible words leave her mouth, “I thought you wanted to.”
“I do,” he said quickly. He drew in a breath and looked at her, the sunlight sparking the gold flecks that highlighted his brown irises. The lines of his face tightened as if he was holding something in. Then the corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly, but enough to soften his expression.
“Then why not?”
“Cam,” he said, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “You’re his little sister, Darcy.”
He didn’t give her any time to process that smack to the gut. Instead, he turned and started walking down the sidewalk, heading downtown toward Bella’s apartment.
A HERO.
That was what this was—that was why she’d looked at him with such desire. Looked at him exactly the way all those girls had looked at him in high school. No. Not at him. At some imagined hero who’d stepped up to the plate and rescued Cameron Franklin.
What a joke.
And now the woman he’d actually wanted all those years ago had finally caught up to the punchline. But he didn’t want her like that. Didn’t want to be the embodiment of some childhood hero-worship fantasy.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame backing away on Cam, but what else could he say? He didn’t want her? That was a lie. He wanted her desperately. So desperately, in fact, that it was taking all of his will not to tell her he’d made a mistake and pull her into his arms again.
Dammit.
He hailed the taxi they’d tried to get earlier, and they rode in silence to Bella’s apartment, Darcy shooting him the occasional confused glance. She had a crease between her brows, which appeared when she frowned.
It was there now, and he wanted to kiss it. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to touch her and forget about Cam and play the goddammned hero if that was what she needed.
Except that he’d hated being that person in school. Hated the guilt that had filled him whenever he’d looked in those girls’ eyes. Hated the fact that they were infatuated with a man who didn’t really exist.
The buzz of his thoughts filled his head for the short cab ride, and he dutifully followed Darcy up the stairs to Bella’s apartment.
After the rattle of locks and chains, the door opened and Bella stood there, wrapped in a fuzzy robe that matched the color of her red nose. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, her hair bedraggled, and her hands and pockets stuffed full of tissue.
“Don’t come in,” she said, her voice as thick as cotton. “I have the plague.”
“Bella!” Darcy took a step forward, only to find her way blocked by the door that her friend half-closed in her face.
“Seriously, I think I’m contagious.” She managed a wavering smile. “It’s your stupid curse—me getting sick when you’re coming into town.”
“It’s not my curse,” Darcy said stiffly. “And if it were, I’d be the one who’s sick.” She started to reach for Bella’s hand, then pulled away, knowing she’d get slapped down. “Can I get you anything? A doctor? Mass quantities of drugs?”
“We could run down to the deli,” Evan added. “Chicken soup?”
“Thanks,” Bella said as she turned to him. She looked like she was going to say more, but she stopped, her eyes going wide and her mouth dropping open, just a little. “Aren’t you—?”
“We need to get going,” Darcy said.
“No, wait,” Bella said, then sneezed loudly into a tissue.
“Aren’t I who?”
“The guy. Evan. From that newspaper photo you have framed. The one with you and Cam after that river accident you told me about.”
Darcy kept her face stoically forward, wondering if she could kill her best friend and blame it on the flu. The picture Bella referred to was from the newspaper article telling about Evan’s rescue of Cam from the river. Evan been at the house, being doted on by her mother, and the local news photographer had come by. He’d snapped a shot of Darcy putting an afghan around Evan’s chilled shoulders. It was the only photo of the two of them together, and since Cam was in the picture, too, she’d never felt strange about having it framed.
She’d told Bella the truth about it, though. A fact that she was now regretting.
Evan, she realized, hadn’t said another word. He was looking at her with an odd expression. Like sadness. Or resignation.
“It is him,” Bella pressed. “Isn’t it?”
Darcy ignored Bella, opening her mouth instead to ask Evan if he was okay.
He got the words out before her, though. “Yes,” he said to Bella. “That’s me in the picture.”
“Well, color my world,” Bella said, laughing. She turned from him to Darcy. “So much for that curse, huh? You’re just oozing with good luck.”
Darcy bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself not to look at Evan.
“Although, maybe not so lucky after all,” Bella added.
“What?” Darcy asked, alarm bells ringing. “What do you mean?”
“The tickets,” Bella said. “For the show. For tonight.” She licked her lips and took a step backward, as if she was preparing to slam the door against the threat of an onslaught. “I know how much we spent and how much you wanted to go, but Darcy, I can’t find them anywhere.”