Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth regarded herself critically in the mirror. She adjusted the strap on her dress. Fortunately, her aunt had the foresight to pick up the only semi-nice piece of clothing Elizabeth had packed—a summery cotton dress with purple flowers. With no plans to socialize, Elizabeth had left her fancier dresses at home. It was the best she could do on short notice. Naturally, Caroline Bingley would appear in a designer frock that cost more than Elizabeth’s monthly rent. Elizabeth bit her lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to stay; there’s no doubt the Gardiners and I are out of our element.
No. Pushing away the negative thoughts, Elizabeth smiled at her reflection, and her eyes brightened. No matter what the other woman thought, Elizabeth was not at Pemberley to compete with Caroline. Will invited me. If he’d wanted to date Caroline, he would have done so long ago.
Her stomach growled. She had developed an appetite during her time on the beach—which had become particularly energetic after Will had joined in with his high-powered water gun. He’d had surprisingly good aim, but Elizabeth had retaliated once Bing gave her another gun. Her muscles were sore from running around the beach, and her stomach hurt from laughing so much, but it had been a long time since she’d had so much fun. I don’t think I ever heard Will laugh before.
Her phone trilled, and Elizabeth glanced at the caller ID. Lydia. Damn it. She was very tempted not to answer and ruin her good mood, but Lydia would just keep calling. Might as well get it over with. “Hello?”
“OMG!” Lydia squealed. “There are pictures of you on the news! You’re like marginally famous.”
“What?” Elizabeth sank onto the edge of the bed before her knees gave out. “Pictures?”
“It’s some shot of you getting into the president’s limo. I guess he isn’t too proud and rude after all, huh?”
“Shit.” Elizabeth buried her head in her palm. Of course, she’d seen people taking pictures but hadn’t considered that they would be newsworthy. In retrospect, it was a rather naïve assumption; the presidential limo surely never picked up people by the side of the road.
“It’s really not a very flattering picture,” Lydia prattled on. “It’s blurry, and only part of your face is showing. You look constipated.”
Elizabeth groaned. “Great. I’ve always wanted to look constipated getting into the presidential limo.”
“Now you can check that off your bucket list,” Lydia chirped.
Did Lydia even get sarcasm?
“Did they know my name?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. They called you ‘unidentified woman.’ I might not have recognized you, but I know that puke-yellow dress you’re wearing. I was jumping up and down over at Tanya’s house and pointing at the TV yelling ‘I know that dress! I told her not to buy that dress!’”
I’m on national television, and all my sister can do is diss the color of my dress.
“However, I’m a big enough person to admit that I was wrong. Obviously that color works for you. ‘Cause it’s going to get you laaaaid!” Lydia drew out the last word with a flourish.
Oh Good Lord, I hope she doesn’t put that on Twitter. “It is not. I’m not getting laid. There is no laying going on,” Elizabeth insisted. “I am staying completely upright.”
“Has it already happened?” Lydia adopted a knowing tone. “That was quick work. But I shouldn’t be surprised after the Air Force One incid—”
“Nothing has happened, and nothing will happen,” Elizabeth said through gritted teeth. If she couldn’t convince her sister of that, how could she hope to convince the rest of the world?
“Riiiight. You get in a limo with a gorgeous guy to play pinochle, whatever that is.”
“Aunt Maddie and Uncle Thomas are here, too, you know.”
“Like they’re going to stop you?”
“We’re just having a fun day at the president’s beach house.”
“But then comes the night. They have to sleep sometime!” Lydia sing-songed.
Elizabeth ground her teeth, wishing she hadn’t answered the phone. “Nothing is going to happen between me and the president,” she said in a low, firm voice. “He invited us for dinner and to spend the night, and we’ll go back to the Gardiners’ cabin tomorrow.” She peeked at the clock on the bedside table—already five minutes late to dinner. Damn.
“If you say so.”
Why did it have to be Lydia who put all these pieces together? “Just. Don’t. Say. Anything. To. Anyone,” Elizabeth ordered.
“Aye, captain, whatever you say, captain.” Lydia’s eye roll was practically audible.
“Just please keep this quiet. Don’t start any rumors. It’s important for a lot of reasons.”
Lydia sighed heavily. “How long can you keep it hidden anyway with those pictures out there?”
“There’s nothing to hide. We’re friends. I’m visiting Pemberley with my aunt and uncle. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Yeah, the media will buy that.” Lydia’s tone suggested that she did understand sarcasm. She hung up before Elizabeth could get in another plea.
***
Despite her hunger, Elizabeth only ate part of her dinner. The food was delicious: salmon on a bed of risotto with a red bell pepper sauce. However, she was unsettled by her conversation with Lydia and all too aware of Will’s eyes on her, dark and intent. They had apologized to each other, but what happened next?
In the foyer, he had appeared quite interested in pursuing some sort of relationship, although she wondered if he could actually get past all the accusations she had hurled at him. He was far more relaxed and friendlier—and he hadn’t blinked at making the Gardiners’ acquaintance. Had he toned down the arrogance because he still harbored a passion for her? And if he did, was it what Elizabeth wanted?
As a small dinner party, they ate in the “breakfast nook” off the kitchen rather than the formal dining room, which could have accommodated a small village. Self-conscious, Elizabeth spoke little during the meal, and the conversation was carried mainly by the Gardiners, Fitz, and Bing. Caroline made sneering comments about other women’s fashion choices; Elizabeth ignored the implications. Will answered direct questions but avoided getting drawn into any discussions. The conversation mostly centered around the weather and what to do in the Hamptons, yet the atmosphere was decidedly strained.
Dessert was a mouthwatering mocha cheesecake, but Elizabeth declined a piece as her stomach was a churning mess by then.
After dinner, everyone gathered for drinks in the living room. With the French doors open, they could hear the distant sounds of the waves on the beach. A gentle breeze brought a faint scent of salt water into the room. Elizabeth sunk gratefully into a white sofa, unable to remain tense in such an environment.
Will had loosened up after a few drinks. Although his eyes still lingered on her, he was chattier with everyone. When foreign travel became a topic of conversation, Fitz asked Elizabeth about her work in Africa. To her shock, Will rattled off a list of every place she’d been posted during her tenure with the organization.
“How did you know all that?” she asked.
He lowered his eyebrows mysteriously. “I have a finely tuned intelligence apparatus at my disposal.”
“And Google,” Fitz chimed in.
Will chuckled. “Busted!”
Elizabeth joined in the laughter, but she wondered: How much time had he spent on Google? All that information could hardly be found in one place. “I don’t know whether to be creeped out or flattered,” she said with a grin.
“I would prefer flattered,” Will said, a corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Creepy isn’t the vibe I was hoping for.”
Fitz nodded knowingly. “Especially not in the eyes of the woman he—” Will coughed loudly. “—Not in the eyes of a pretty woman,” Fitz finished.
What had Fitz been planning to say? Elizabeth wondered even as she grinned at Fitz to acknowledge the compliment.
Will leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s quite impressive.” His words were addressed to Fitz, but his eyes were on Elizabeth. “Most field officers have racked up only half the amount of field time by that point in their career.”
“How do you know that?” Elizabeth blurted out. If the Red Cross kept such statistics, they certainly didn’t publish them.
“Um…” Will’s gaze fell to the glass in his hand. “I did a little research.”
“Fitz,” Elizabeth asked with a smile, “would now be a good time to be creeped out?”
Everybody laughed.
Before long, Bing announced that he was calling it a night, which prompted a wave of similar proclamations from most of the other guests. Elizabeth considered staying downstairs so she could have a frank talk with Will, but she shuddered at the thought of the knowing looks she’d receive. She didn’t want anyone to believe she was taking advantage of the situation. Lydia’s insinuations had reminded Elizabeth that it was best to put some distance between herself and Will. But a voice at the back of her head asked if she was avoiding the conversation.
When she stood to follow the Gardiners toward the stairs, Will’s face seemed to darken. But by the time Elizabeth reached her room, she had convinced herself it was simply her imagination.
***
The guest room Elizabeth had picked had a nautical theme as well as white beadboard wainscoting, dark blue linens, and dormer windows. Everything was of the highest quality, but it didn’t feel like part of a billionaire’s home. The room itself was comfortable, almost cozy, and not at all pretentious. So far she’d seen no gold-plated faucets or throne-like chairs. But as she climbed into the four-poster bed, she wondered if she’d ever before slept on sheets with such a high thread count.
After hours of tossing and turning, she was just as awake as she had been when she’d stretched out on the mattress. Her mind replayed things her day with Darcy: his apology in the limo, the words in the front hallway, his smile in the library. Maybe she should have stayed downstairs to speak with him. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to stay overnight. Then there were the images: memories of his laughter on the beach and his haunting stare at dinner.
One minute she was convinced that he was still interested in her, and goosebumps would form all over her body. The next minute she knew that he could never forgive the awful things she had said to him, and her mood would grow heavy and black. Perhaps he simply wanted them to be better friends. But then there was the conversation in the foyer. She had never looked at a friend that way…
Surely the President of the United States didn’t lack for company; he was constantly surrounded by people. On the other hand, spending most of the day with him had demonstrated how isolated his life was. When every movement required a seven-car motorcade, you weren’t going to drop by the nearest diner to chat up the locals or meet your buddies for some wings. Aside from Fitz and Bing, he didn’t seem to have many friends. Even Caroline was more like a hanger-on than a true companion.
What did Elizabeth even want from him? The thought of a relationship provoked shivers of excitement but also prickles of apprehension. He had been affable and charming today, but everyone was relaxed on vacation. Was the cold and distant William Darcy waiting in the wings, ready to rip out her heart the moment she opened it up to him?
Wait a minute. My heart? What the hell am I thinking? When did my heart become involved?
Elizabeth bolted upright in bed, staring at the opposite wall. She couldn’t possibly feel anything that deep for Will. Why, compared to her last boyfriend…or the one before him…
Oh.
There was no comparison. Will left the others in the dust. She’d loved her previous boyfriends, but never with such intensity, and their breakups had been fairly smooth. There had never before been a guy who had consumed her thoughts from morning to night. At times he filled her mind so completely that there was no room left for anything else.
Oh, God. She embraced her blanket-clad legs and rested her face on her knees. I’m in love with the President of the United States.
Suddenly her heart pounded so violently that it shook her whole body. Her breathing sounded like she had completed a marathon. She laughed humorlessly, the sound muffled by her knees. This would be a disaster. Even if he did want a relationship, so many things stood in the way: his security, his staff, the press, public opinion… Not to mention that he might revert to the proud and difficult President Darcy at any moment.
None of that matters. The die had already been cast. I already gave away my heart. The only question is: What will I do about it?
There was no chance this would end well. His job would someday inevitably divide them. Her heart would be broken. Knowing that, she should run as fast and as far from him as possible. The only problem was she didn’t want to go.
She stared at the wall for a long time, her thoughts tumbling over each other but always running in the same circles. Then her stomach rumbled. I could barely swallow a bite at dinner, and now I’m famished. Ignoring the feelings didn’t work; with every passing minute, her stomach grew more growly. Maybe if I ate something then I could sleep.
The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:08 a.m. It had been more than two hours since everyone had retired for the night, so the downstairs was likely to be empty. Will had said the Secret Service agents remained outside the house at night, and the staff lived offsite. Maybe she could slip downstairs and snatch a sliver of that decadent-looking cheesecake.
At that thought her stomach grumbled loudly. “All right, all right,” she muttered as she pushed the covers aside and slid to the floor. Pausing at the door, she considered pulling her sweatshirt over her tank top and pajama bottoms, but the house was rather stuffy, and she wouldn’t be downstairs very long.
She crept through her door onto the balcony that overlooked the living room. The interior of the house was completely dark; the only illumination was from floodlamps outside shining in through the glass—bright enough to light the way down the curved staircase and into the foyer.
Instinctively she moved quietly as she padded to the kitchen. It was rather silly; nobody slept on this floor, but the quest for food seemed illicit enough that she wanted to disturb as little as possible.
In the kitchen, she switched on the overhead lights. The room was like something out of a contemporary version of Downton Abbey with its gleaming appliances and copious counter space. There were two refrigerators, one so large it had to be designed for restaurants. She found the cheesecake in the smaller unit, and a little searching yielded a plate and utensils. Within a minute she was perched on a stool beside the marble-topped island, savoring a slice of mocha cheesecake that was just as delectable as she had imagined. Elizabeth couldn’t hold back a soft moan.
“Are you all right?”
Elizabeth’s fork clattered to the floor. She whirled around to find Will standing in the doorway, softly illuminated in the yellow glow of the overhead lights. He was wearing long pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that she couldn’t help noticing fit snugly over a chest that was more muscular than a politician’s chest had any right to be. He looked…delicious. Far better than the cheesecake.
His presence had always unsettled her, but her recent realizations had completely stripped away her defenses. She could practically feel the weight of his gaze on her skin. Her cheeks immediately heated. Oh God, I’m blushing. Can he guess what I was thinking about him? She hastily averted her eyes.
He watched her expectantly. Oh, right. He had asked a question. “I’m f-fine—I-I just—” She gestured helplessly at the cheesecake.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Will crossed the room in long, elegant strides until he stood directly in front of her stool. Close enough that she could smell the faint scent of sandalwood. Elizabeth’s breath caught. What would he do?
His eyes dropped to the floor, and he bent to retrieve her fork. Strolling to the far counter, he dropped her fork in the sink and unerringly opening the correct drawer to retrieve another one.
Her eyes were incapable of focusing on anything else in the room as he returned to her stool. She accepted the new fork automatically. “Um,” Elizabeth mumbled, “I-I’m having cheesecake.” Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious.
A slight smile curved up one corner of his mouth. “When you didn’t eat any at dinner, I thought maybe you didn’t care for cheesecake.”
He had noticed? “I love cheesecake. I just didn’t—I wasn’t hungry for it then.” She gave a little laugh that sounded fake to her ears. “But up in my room I could hear it calling my name.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, me, too. I couldn’t forget how good it was. Do you mind if I join you?”
A chill raced down her spine. “Not at all.”
He poured himself a glass of milk and then pulled the cheesecake from the refrigerator. “I always like milk with dessert,” he said. What a ridiculously ordinary fact to know about the leader of the free world.
For some reason, every gesture he made was inordinately fascinating. His hands deftly, competently cut a slice and transferred it to the plate. The cheesecake was smoothly returned to the refrigerator. You know you’ve lost it when watching someone serve cake turns you on.
As Will settled on the stool next to hers, Elizabeth could only stare at his hands. So strong and competent. How would they feel stroking her skin?
“Good,” Will said.
Had he read her mind? “Sorry?”
“The cake is good,” he explained as he chewed. “Very rich.”
Cake. He was talking about cake! Not her skin. Was she beginning to obsess? Did she even need to ask? This was definitely obsession territory.
Elizabeth’s head angled down as she kept her attention on the cake. Yeah, okay, I’m in love with the guy, but maybe it’s just a crush. A crush would be better, easier to recover from when things don’t work out. Stop obsessing. Focus on something else. Taking another forkful, she savored the rich mocha flavor, the smooth texture.
I can do this; I can clear out the obsessive thoughts. Obsessive thoughts about the President of the United States. Where the hell had her common sense gone? China?
Will cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his impossibly handsome face. He seemed to be blushing, but it must have been a trick of the light. “Um…when we get back to D.C…” He swallowed. “Would you have dinner with me one night?”
Did he mean a date? Safer to assume he didn’t. “You mean to talk about refugee issues? Sure. Although I might not be the best-qualified person for a policy discussion—”
“Not to discuss policy.” He cut her off. “Although,” he added hastily, “I mean, we can talk about whatever you want.” Will dropped his head into his hands. “God, I’m babbling.” His nervousness was reassuring.
His head rose, and stormy blue eyes met hers. “Elizabeth, will you go on a date with me?”
“Oh.” Impossible to misinterpret that. At the same time, the world had grown slightly surreal. Is this really happening?
His words rekindled all her internal debates, recalling all the logical reasons why opening her heart was a terrible idea. But he was standing before her, somber gray-blue eyes watching her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. At the moment logic seemed like an alien concept.
Her entire body was vibrating at a very high frequency. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Hear the hitch in his breathing. Feel the warmth from his body. As if her every sense had been magnified. Really, there was only one possible response. “Um, sure, I’d love that,” she heard herself say.
His smile started as a mere quirk of the lips and grew into a broad grin. “I’ll try not to be too proud and difficult.”
She winced. “I never should have said that.”
Darcy shook his head, his lips pressed together. “I deserved it. My parents told me to be compassionate to others…but taught me, through their words and actions, to be proud and judgmental.”
She couldn’t stand one more second of not touching him. Reaching out her hand, she stroked Will’s jawline. “When I said that, I didn’t understand you. You have no improper pride…and I was the one being difficult.”
He held his breath, lips slightly opened, completely immobile as if worried about scaring her away. “Wow,” he said softly.
A second later he slid off his stool, and his lips were on hers.
This kiss wasn’t as good as the one on the airplane. It was better. Much better.
She let go of the reservations, the what-ifs, and focused on the moment. Her mouth opened instantly and his tongue stroked hers, tasting of mocha and milk and the faintest hint of mint. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the scent of sandalwood and the unique smell that was Will Darcy. He made a sound, deep in the back of his throat, that signaled his desire…and stoked hers.
His hands flowed around her body; one settled on her upper back while the other caressed her lower back teasingly under the edge of her tank top. The slide of skin against skin was addictive. She craved more. And Will obliged. He inched closer to plunder her mouth more thoroughly. She pulled him closer still by wrapping her legs around his hips and drawing him to her body. He hissed out a breath and embraced her more tightly, the force of his passion pushing Elizabeth’s stool until she bumped against the island.
One of his hands caressed her knee and then skimmed up her leg until his fingers were just under the edge of her shorts. Tingles erupted all over her body. Then his lips slid away from hers, and he trailed a series of small kisses down the side of her neck to her collarbone, nudging the strap of her tank top to the side with his nose so he could nuzzle the soft skin of her shoulder. Elizabeth arched her back, pressing her breasts into his chest where they met firm muscles. A moan erupted from deep in Will’s throat.
Finally, he twisted his lips away from her shoulder and rested his forehead against hers, panting hard. “Oh my God, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth thought she knew how good kissing could be, but she had been sadly misinformed. There was no comparison. It was as if she were kissing for the first time. “If that’s my reward for agreeing to a date, I can’t imagine what my post-date prize will be,” she whispered, her lips teasing his ear.
“There’s no need to wait,” he said in a rather strangled voice. “We could declare this”—with one hand he gestured to the kitchen and empty cake plates—“to be our first official date.”
“Goodness, Mr. President, you move rather fast,” she murmured.
Grinning wickedly, he stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “A good president is decisive. He decides on a goal and initiates a course of action to attain it.”
She nuzzled his hand, inhaling his delicious scent. “And what is your goal for the evening?” she asked. Her fingers skimmed the length of his spine, provoking shivers from him.
His eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense. “My goal for tonight is to get you into my bed,” he said in a husky voice. “And I am prepared to take any action to achieve that goal. Any action.” His hand traveled more boldly under her shirt even as he watched her with some caution in his eyes. “I hope that coincides with your goals.”
Elizabeth nearly laughed. Did he doubt her interest? Didn’t he know that he was just about irresistible when he was so tender and sweet and unbelievably sexy?
The hand stroking the skin of her back made it difficult to concentrate. “That coincides admirably with my goals,” she murmured, stroking her hand along his biceps.
“We never did complete the house tour,” he said.
She leaned toward him. “I am rather curious to see the master bedroom.”
He kissed his way up her neck. “It is”—kiss—“lovely. I think”—kiss—“you’ll particularly appreciate”—kiss—“the hand-carved mantelpiece.”
She tilted her head back to give him better access. “Mm-hmm…I do love a good mantelpiece.”
“And the slanted beadboard ceiling…” He kissed the soft skin under her jaw.
“Oh, I hope I get a good look at the ceiling…”
His words were emerging in ragged gasps. “And…uh…the bathroom has a tub…carved from a…single piece of marble.”
“Wow…” His lips finally found hers, and for a long moment there were no sounds save for moans of pleasure.
When he pulled away, his eyes were focused on her lips. “And…there’s a…lovely view…out the window…in the morning…when the s-sun rises…” He seemed to be having trouble forming words.
“Maybe I should join you now so I won’t miss it,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard. “How wonderful that our goals coincide.” Will took her hand and led her to the stairs.