PLEASURE. EVEN AS SHE SLEPT, Darby felt the gentle hum at her center, growing stronger as she began to wake. She didn’t consider why her bed felt different or what was making her feel so good. In that halcyon moment, the intensifying hum was all that mattered.
She rubbed her legs together, her body far ahead of her consciousness in its quest to enjoy whatever was happening. It was then that she became aware of her nipple. Not yet wakeful enough to know what was being done to it, she felt the direct connection between it and her core. As whatever amazing thing had been done to one nipple was now being done to the other, the hum became a throb. She panted, just as she felt a wave of heat prickle her skin, creating a light sheen of perspiration.
She arched her back, and rubbed her legs together again. When she heard the muttered curse, she let her eyes fall open and finally let herself come to. She was eager to preserve the dream but her body had begun to comprehend the reality: that Michael was there, and ready to have his way with her.
He didn’t see that she was awake at first, which gave her the rare chance to catch him off his guard. His eyes swept over her body with a mixture of reverence that made her heart hurt, and desire so raw it scared her. As she watched him slip his fingers under the edge of the t-shirt she didn’t remember putting on, his fingers splayed to graze a spot above her hip. From the darkening of his eyes and the clench of his jaw she could tell that he was exercising extreme restraint.
“What are you waiting for?” she provoked, her voice raspy with sleep.
His eyes shot to hers and something different welled up inside her as they connected. It was the first time their eyes had met in nearly two weeks and the feeling of him looking into her still stirred her to the tips of her soul.
“Permission.”
She moved his hand lower, placing its heel on her pubic bone and curling his fingers so that he would take firm hold over her crotch. By then, she could feel how wet she was, and knew that he would be able to feel it through her underwear. As his fingers squeezed to cup her, he shut his eyes.
She watched him breathe for a few seconds. He was expending effort to collect himself, and she wondered how long he’d been waiting for her to wake up. Eyes still closed, he let his head dip back in toward her and she watched him bite her nipple through the fabric of her shirt with blind precision. She recognized it as the sensation she’d felt a minute earlier when she’d still been groggy. It was more tantalizing, somehow, than if he had bitten her bare skin.
Impatient, she moved his hand again, this time to hook her fingers on the sides of her underwear. Together, they shimmied them off. He rose to his knees so that he could do the same. Before he fell backward on the bed, he brought his arms around Darby and pulled her down on top of him. He guided their hips together quickly and impaled himself on her with such heated force that she whimpered appreciatively at the sensation. When she was on top like this, he usually let her ride him and synced up to her pace, but not then. Instead, he grabbed her hips forcefully and began driving her up and down on his shaft as he pistoned his own hips to meet her thrusts.
She smiled, because he was almost never like this, so turned on that his grip slipped on his usually impeccable control. It was her favorite version of him. Her climax was coming fast, but she could tell from his helpless moans that his was coming faster.
“I wanna see you come,” she was barely able to pant because it was so, so good. She knew her words would send him flying over the edge.
And a moment later he did, and it was glorious. His hips rose off the bed and he held her still for a long moment, buried to the hilt inside of her as he throbbed his release. She was seconds behind him, and he resumed his thrusts long enough to let Darby ride hers out. They were both covered in sweat when he released her, placing her gently down on the bed next to him. He slung his arm underneath her head, pulling her to him as they lay together catching their breath. Before she could relax into him fully, he lifted her chin up and kissed her long and slow and deep, as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. But it had only been two weeks, two painfully slow weeks.
It wasn’t until many moments later that she began to comprehend her surroundings. They were in Park City, for Sundance, in a hotel suite that was more like an apartment. She remembered arriving alone the night before, and spinning around to admire the space. It was a modern duplex, with a sleek kitchen, a powder room and a chic living area below. A long white leather sofa and a polar bear rug complemented the tall fireplace. A modern staircase with no railing led to an elegant loft above. She had been too tired to open the heavy blackout curtain the night before, and had fallen straight to sleep in the darkness.
Bright daylight now shone through the crack between the shades and the wall. The room was very different in the sunlight, with Michael there.
“What time is it?” the words tumbled from her mouth.
She was alarmed by how long she must have slept, because it wasn’t morning light that shone in—it looked like afternoon sun. Michael’s plane had been scheduled to get in two hours after hers. She’d intended to take a nap, and expected to be awakened when Michael arrived. He stroked her hair languidly and seemed to pull her tighter against him. It felt better than she remembered.
“Nearly noon. Last night you were dead to the world.”
It was then that she remembered sleeping heavily on the plane. The flight attendant’s motions had awakened her as she’d moved to place Darby’s seat back upright. Due to the number of people traveling to Park City that day, she had almost missed out on her First Class seat. It was a luxury she treasured, given her busy travel schedule of late. The First Class seats on domestic flights didn’t recline fully as they did on most international runs, but for Darby’s three-hour jump from Chicago to Utah, nearly anything would have done. She was so tired that she would have slept like a baby, even in coach.
She’d needed that nap. Since becoming Chief, she had gained a new appreciation for what it meant to be truly, thoroughly exhausted. But if she wanted to do well, she needed to keep her patient care strong while learning her new job. That meant long days. The new schedule was even more grueling than the one she’d kept while juggling her research, looking for a new job and keeping up with her work under Huck. She’d been at the hospital every single day that week. It had been the only way to stay on top of all her responsibilities.
In that sense, Michael’s recent travel had aligned perfectly with what her job had in store. They hadn’t seen each other since Lake Geneva, which had turned out to be a mixed blessing. It robbed her of their bedroom romps and blissful hours spent lounging in his apartment. But it also spared her having to face all that had been said at the lake.
Time to process everything had been a relief. Not only had she spilled one of her darkest secrets to Michael—she’d been thinking hard about all the things that he had revealed. The pressure he was under, the performance anxiety—everything. Since Lake Geneva, she saw him in a different light.
“I’m sorry.” She felt badly about having passed out at the embarrassingly early hour of 8:00 PM, and sleeping right through his arrival two hours later. If his body had adjusted to New York time, he must’ve been up for hours, a fact that only made her feel more lame.
She started to get up, but he pulled her down and tucked her back in.
“We’ve already missed two screenings.” She looked up at him, feeling panicked as she said the words.
“They don’t take attendance.” He kissed her hair.
She pushed herself up on her elbow and peered down at him, giving him a look.
“I thought you wanted to watch movies and go to parties all weekend.”
“No…” He drew the word out so that it was twice as long. “I wanted to get away with you.”
His fingers floated back to her hair, which she guessed was wildly teased by sex and sleep from the way he arranged stray locks behind her ears.
“It’s good to see you.”
He said it a second before he pulled her in for another kiss.
Her stomach growled, and given his aversion to her being hungry, any hopes of continuing along those lines were obliterated. Whereas seconds before, he was doing everything he could to keep her next to him, he was suddenly pushing her out of the bed, demanding that they shower and do something about lunch.
Though Chicago was cold, it wasn’t snowy or mountainous and Darby had been looking forward to the wardrobe she had coordinated for this setting. She wore a three-quarter length shearling in dark green suede, fur-lined snow boots that rose to her knees over a pair of skinny jeans, and a white Sherpa hat with two long tassels. She liked the way Michael took her in with the hint of a smile as they exited the suite.
Any apprehension of awkwardness about her fourteen-hour nap and the missed screenings softened immediately under his charm. At the hospital, she felt like Dr. Darby—the Chief who always had a million things on her plate. But now Michael made her feel like a girl whose only job was to relax with her man and be happy.
And she was happy. Park City was beautiful and buzzing with the excitement of that week’s events. In place of the stone-faced working stiffs she saw every day in Chicago, the people they passed on the streets here were animated and alive. Overheard snippets of conversation about this project or that excited her, and the vibrant creativity was palpable.
She had no idea how Michael had gotten them into the busiest sushi restaurant for lunch—the place was packed. He seemed to have a reservation, even though she thought the visit was totally spontaneous. She’d learned not to question how he seemed to be so on top of everything. Apparently his influence was limitless, his Carte Blanche good not only in Chicago but elsewhere too.
“So, this party tonight…”
He didn’t need to finish. She knew what he was asking. He was referring to that invitation he’d seen on her coffee table so many weeks before, the first “yes” that had given them the idea to come to Sundance in the first place.
“I’m a producer on a film.” She placed a section of shrimp tempura roll into her mouth.
“As in, you’re bankrolling it?” He looked impressed.
“Not the whole thing. I just contributed enough to earn a producer title. It’s an indie short. It wasn’t that much.” That might have been an understatement.
“How much?”
“Fifty grand.”
He whistled, looking even more impressed.
“You gave fifty thousand dollars to a film project, and you weren’t gonna come?”
She polished off another section of the roll.
“It’s not like they wouldn’t have sent me a copy.”
“What else don’t I know about you?”
The question caused a tingle in her spine. Hadn’t she just been lamenting that he knew everything about her and she knew too little about him? Yet, when presented with the question, she wondered whether she had oversimplified the equation.
“Maybe we should play twenty questions.”
There went her mouth again, saying things she’d never given it permission to.
“Maybe we should.”
His eyes challenged hers, and she knew he was thinking of their conversation from two weeks before. Ever intense, ever competitive, Michael was telling her he was ready to answer her questions. The thing was, she wasn’t good at that, at the grilling part of it. She wanted to know more about him but in her ideal world, he would volunteer information, and she wouldn’t have to pry it out of him.
“Alright, then, shoot.”
“How many other films have you supported?”
She picked up her phone as she chewed, an act that her manners usually forbade. Looking up her profile page on IMDB, she handed the phone to Michael so that he could see for himself.
“You’ve produced five short films and two features?” His finger moved to scroll down. “Two of which were nominated for Indie Spirit awards?”
His face registered every bit of surprise she would have expected.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know. It’s like, one of the first things that comes up when you Google me.”
“I’ve never Googled you.” He was still scrolling down with his thumb—still distracted by what he was reading on her profile page when his eyes shot up to hers.
“Wait—have you Googled me?”
Oops.
“Only after Benji told me to.”
“You and Ben talk about me?”
“You’re really burning through your twenty questions—so far there have been four.”
“Yet only two direct answers.” He cocked his head to the side.
She liked that he seemed impatient to know. She rarely saw him act impatiently anywhere other than in bed.
“Ben and I talk about everything. We had dinner a few months back. I told him we were seeing each other. He told me to check out how impressive you are.”
Darby caught the guarded look on his face.
“Does he know about our arrangement?”
And then, evil psychiatrist she was, she did a trick she’d done a thousand times—she made him wait longer than she needed to so that she could observe his anticipation.
“Would it bother you if he did?”
“Yes.” Michael said it bluntly, and with something serious in his eyes that immediately dissolved the playfulness Darby had intended.
“He thinks that we’re dating. I told him it’s casual. Our arrangement is none of his business. The only people who I’ve told are Anne and Rich, both of whom you know about.”
At that, the air between them changed. She thought he’d drop it, that he’d ask something as benign as his first questions or that maybe they’d change the subject and just forget this twenty questions thing.
“Why did you tell Rich?”
“He’s my friend. We talk.”
“Talking is risky for you. Anne is your best girlfriend…I’m asking why you told someone who didn’t need to know.”
She could’ve evaded his question again. Could have kept them going around in circles for minutes, but she didn’t. She knew what he was asking.
“He bugs me about why I’m not married. I told him it was because I didn’t want anything I didn’t have. That I was in a relationship that worked.”
She held his eyes for just a moment before putting down her chopsticks and plucking an edamame out of a small bowl.
“That’s six.” She said as neutrally as she could, as if they hadn’t both just figured out that they had license to ask anything. “My turn now.” She said it after she finished chewing.
“How many cars do you have?”
“That’s your question?”
“Now who’s not answering directly?”
“Two.”
She waved an empty pod at him as she chewed another one, urging him to elaborate.
“The Maserati and the Tesla.”
“I’ve never seen you in a Tesla.”
“Every time we pull into my garage, the Tesla is parked next to the Maserati.”
“That white Model S…”
“Is mine.”
“You must’ve gotten one of the first ones off the assembly line. I’ve still got, like, a year left on the waiting list.”
“You can take mine out any time you want.”
“Why don’t you ever take it out?”
“I do take it out.”
“But not with me.”
“No, not with you.”
She looked at him expectantly, but he shook his head. “Uh-uh. If I’m going to answer it, I’m making you burn a question asking.”
“Why don’t you ever take me out in the Tesla?”
“Because you like the way I drive the Maserati. And I like it when you like little things I do.”
Holy hell.
What had happened at Lake Geneva was happening now. They’d made some silent agreement to break down the barriers. Except this was five times more dangerous.
“Still wanna play?” he smiled.
“I think I might need a drink for this.”
“I think I might need two.”
“What about the movies?
“We’re at a film festival. There’ll be movies tomorrow and again the day after that.”
Ten minutes later, the check had been paid and they were on their way to find that drink.
The opulent French sofa at the cozy lounge he’d taken her to faced a fireplace and looked as if it belonged in the Palace of Versailles. As soon as Michael had mentioned his name, they were taken to a little nook and served the drinks that now sat upon its coffee table.
“How do you make stuff like this happen? Tables at jam-packed restaurants with lines out the door, tickets to anything. You can get access anywhere. How do we always end up in the perfect place?”
“I like to be prepared, Darby. We’ve been doing this for eight months. You know this about me already. So stop asking me questions you know the answer to and ask me something real. You’ve only got fourteen left.”
She said the first thing that came to mind, one of the questions she’d been queuing up in her head.
“Has anyone ever called you anything other than Michael?”
“You needed a drink for that?” His eyes crinkled at the corners. Then he said, “My mom used to call me ‘Boo-Boo’.”
“When you were little?”
“Yeah. And when I was, like, twenty.”
She laughed out loud.
“I miss it,” he admitted it, though he was smiling. “My sister Bex calls me Mikey,” he offered a second later.
“Tell me about Ella and Bex,” she said then, now thinking about his family. “What do you do with them?”
“Little girl things, mostly. I go to dance recitals and show up at Ella’s school to watch her in historically inaccurate and culturally insensitive plays.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and began thumbing around before presenting it to Darby.
On the screen was a gorgeous little raven-haired girl dressed like a native American. She stood on a stage, shaking the hand of a boy who was dressed like a miniature pilgrim. They looked thrilled to see one another, as evidenced by Ella’s wide grin. She had Michael’s sparkling blue eyes and was missing her two front teeth. It was one of the cutest things Darby had ever seen.
“Oh, my…” He was right about the cultural insensitivity. “But she is adorable.”
Michael looked down at the photo and smiled. “Yeah.”
He pocketed his phone and picked his drink back up.
“Bex cooks dinner every Sunday. When I’m in town, I always show up for that. They want to meet you.”
“You’ve told them about me?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, as if it were obvious.
“What did you tell them?”
“They know we spend a lot of time together, that’s all.”
“Have they ever seen any pictures of me?”
“I don’t have any pictures of you.”
Oh.
“Invite me sometime.”
“You always work on Sundays.”
She rolled her eyes. “Invite me sometime.”
“I will.” They held each other’s eyes for a beat.
She took another sip of her drink, a house cocktail with bourbon and something sweet that made it delicious. She liked the way they were positioned, as if sidesaddle on the sofa facing each other. They sat in silence, not an awkward one, but a pregnant one, words unspoken thick between them. Both of them knew that the lightweight questions would only take them so far—that things more serious would need to be asked.
“Was seeing Huck get what he deserved the only reason why you hired that private investigator?”
Michael put down his drink, as if preparing himself.
“I hired him because I wanted to protect you. Did you think less of me for wanting to do it?” His voice lacked some of the confidence it had held a minute before.
“No. I thought more of you. I liked that you made me feel protected.”
“I told you,” he said, and she could tell he was proceeding with caution. “I can’t stand by and watch that shit without doing something.”
“What are you going to do to Charlie Sweeney?”
He studied her, as if trying to anticipate her response.
She took a breath. “Just tell me.”
“I want him to go to jail where he belongs. There were other cases—lewd acts with a minor and attempted rape—but he settled out of court. Since we can’t get him for that, we’re digging up other dirt. It’s still early, but right now the plan is to get him for campaign misconduct and other political misdeeds.”
She cast her eyes toward the fire. Michael scooted close to her, slinging an arm around her and pulling her in as close as he could without sitting her on his lap.
“Who’s we?”
“The private investigator I told you about is really a friend I grew up with. He works with private clients in Washington. He handles things like this.”
Her heart was still pounding too hard for her to form words.
“Things like what?”
“Bad guys.”
She sniffed back tears that were threatening for reasons she couldn’t understand.
“You never talk about your friends.”
Michael smirked. “Is that a question?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Michael…why don’t you ever talk about your friends?”
“They all live far away. I rarely see them.”
“But you never talk about them either. Just like you never told me you had dinner with Ben the night before I did the last time he was in town.”
“Darby, when I’m with you, I’m not thinking about anybody or anything else.”
“I envy you that.” The words slipped out of her mouth. “Your ability to compartmentalize.”
The space remained thick between them, as if the air itself were drunk. It felt as if they were speaking to one another in code.
“What do you want that you can’t have?” he asked finally.
“Time, I guess. I always want to be five different places at once. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m always thinking of someplace else. Except when I’m with you. I should probably see someone.”
“That bad?” he asked. She realized that she had alarmed him.
“Not bad, just…unresolved.”
He waited a minute before he responded.
“Why don’t you ever call me?” he asked.
“Because whenever you’re not right next to me, you’re half a world away.”
And what looked like guilt colored his features for a moment before it was replaced with resolve.
“I’m here now. Here is where I’ve wanted to be all week.”
He reached out his hand to hold hers, intertwining their fingers.
“Do you want to know what I love most about this place?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “No one cares who we are.”
With her fingers in his, he began stroking the top of her hand with his wayward thumb.
“When was the last time we were in a crowded room and no one was looking at us?”
But she didn’t bother to scan the room. She was transfixed by his gaze.
“Never.”
“When’s the next time we’ll be in a crowded room and no one will be looking at us?”
She felt a pang of sadness at the reality. She’d been waiting to tell him, waiting until they were in a truly private place, waiting for the right moment. But the music was loud and they were sitting so close, and he was the one person in the universe she wanted to tell. So, in a gesture that made her feel like she was six years old, she shielded her mouth from prying eyes whispered in his ear.
“It’s locked in. I thought we had more time…but Sanderson’s going to announce in a month. My father’s going public about his VP spot on the ticket.”
Saying it out loud was more emotional than she had anticipated. As soon as she pulled back, she knew that Michael could see her tears threatening to spill over. He was one of two people who knew the real reason why she hated her father so much, and he was the only person who knew how much anxiety his campaigning caused her. Soon there would be no protection from the opposition researchers and paparazzi. Soon, there would be no stopping Frank from whatever he was going to do about the South Side.
He held her tighter then and she felt like he was holding her together. The alcohol wasn’t helping to stabilize her emotions, either.
“For once, let’s just be free.” He whispered as he held her, in a voice so soft as to expose it for the plea it was.
“I don’t think I know how.” Her words were nearly inaudible.
“I’ll show you.”
“Thank you,” Darby said to the stranger who held the door for her as she exited to the street.
After three loaded cocktails punctuated by as many glasses of water, she had made sure to hit the ladies room before leaving the bar. She squinted as she walked outside, her eyes needing to adjust to the bright sunlight after two hours spent in a pleasantly cavernous retreat. Yet, in that moment, she liked the sunshine, the way that when she looked up to the sky, rays coming down through the clouds were visible. The crispness of the air mixed with the warmth of the sun was a welcome sensation.
Michael had agreed to meet her out front and with the film festival in town, “out front” covered a broad area. Cars still rode through the streets, but had to be careful of the pedestrians that spilled over from the crowded sidewalks. It didn’t matter that there were hordes of people walking up and down Main Street. She immediately saw Michael. He must have been thirty feet in front of her, and there must have been fifteen people in between them. But he was impossible to miss. Even in a town full of famous actors and wealthy patrons and all the other good-looking people, Michael was in a class of his own.
She watched him fish a pair of sunglasses out of the pocket of his fitted leather military jacket, which looked a bit steampunk, and which, alone, made him look about ten times more stylish than everyone else already. She took in his army-green junker fitted cargo pants, worn and faded as if he had fought half a war in them. The boots he wore beneath them, also impeccably distressed, pulled together the look.
She shook her head as she got closer to him. Her awe of his fashion sense never faded. He’d been in New York for a week. They would be in Sundance for two more days. He only had a small carry-on and a garment bag that didn’t look bulky. How was it even possible for him to be this well-dressed?
“Only you could stand among movie stars and make them look shabby. You’re lucky I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t mind walking in the shadow of a much better-looking man.”
“We’re in Sundance. I’ve gotta stay on my game if I want to head off the competition. I can’t let the Hollywood glitterati take you away from me without a fight.”
She moved her fingers to gently remove his glasses. Even though she’d spent the past few hours looking directly at his face as they’d talked, something in her still jumped when the glasses lifted to show his eyes. The sunlight made them even more dazzling, and it took her an extra breath to come back with her retort. He didn’t protest—didn’t ask her why she had taken his glasses off. He just gazed back at her the way he always did, but also with something new that she’d been trying to pinpoint all day. Some new softness or radiating warmth.
“Could it be? Are those blue diamonds turning green?”
“Blue diamonds, huh? So you like my eyes?”
“The answer to that question is so obvious that I’m not going to dignify it with a response.”
He quieted then, his face sobering a bit.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever been with who never talks about my looks.”
“Your looks aren’t the reason I’m with you.”
Then she was afraid she would say something she regretted. So she said the only thing she could think of that would lighten the air between them.
“Your gigantic cock is.”
He shook his head and she giggled a bit drunkenly. It felt good to laugh.
Turning them to walk up the road, he hooked his elbow in hers.
“You’re lucky you came out when you did,” he said, too casually. “I thought I was going to have to send in a search party…”
“Mmm-hmmm.” She knew she was being baited.
“And if I had called your phone, what ringtone would I have heard?”
She was laughing again. He had her.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you call me?” she played along, laughter still in her voice.
He stopped long enough to pull out his phone and pressed a few buttons. As she pulled her own vibrating phone out of her pocket, the opening bars of “Hey Mickey” by Toni Basil began to play.
It took him a few seconds to recognize the song, but once he did, he too came alive with laughter. It set her off again. And again she felt drunk. Or maybe just happy.
Even for those who were new to Sundance, it was clear that the town was transformed. Beyond the restaurants and bars, and shops along the way, all teeming with people, there were other things happening on the street. Pop-up kiosks, signs for parties, both public and private, littered the street. Darby spotted a music venue she had read about online.
“Come on.”
She pulled Michael and they walked in.
“During the festival, a lot of big bands come through, unannounced, and play small shows. There could be someone amazing inside,” she explained
Dropping their coats off at the coat check, Michael gave the teenager behind the counter a very nice tip, or so Darby assumed from the look in the kid’s eyes. Michael took her hand and led her through the crowded room, following the flow of traffic that led to a set of stairs. They descended slowly and already she could hear the beginnings of what sounded like a mellow bluegrass band. She could recognize the twang of banjos and hear soft vocals.
They made their way through the crowd and found a spot in the middle of the floor. When they stopped, Michael coaxed her in front of him so that she could have the better view. He wrapped his arms around her and stood silently with his chin on her temple as the music pulsed through them. The crowd was mesmerized by the band, but she was mesmerized by it all—the dulcet tones of the music and the way Michael held her.
It was so simple, the two of them standing together quietly taking in the amazing music. But it felt like so much more. The band was singing about love and it felt as if Michael were pulling her closer, always closer to him. It felt as if they had melted into one another, as if the words of love were being sung just for them. Everything about their day together so far had felt intimate, but this moment most of all. When he began pressing kisses to her hair, they felt possessive in a way that satisfied her beyond measure. And when his kisses moved to her neck, it felt like an affirmation. When he breathed her name into her ear, she thought of that last night with him at the lake.
When the show finished, she felt a sense of loss. These were moments she hadn’t wanted to end, but as the band packed up and they’d delivered their applause, they followed the crowds out. She felt punch-drunk as they recovered their coats, everything seeming surreal as they spilled onto the street.
Hands entwined, and closer than they had been when they’d entered less than an hour before, they were halfway soused from all the drinks they had consumed, but not drunk, only pleasantly buzzed. The streets were teeming with people, and Darby suspected that a screening had just let out. They walked up the incline of the street they were on, against the crowd that mostly walked down.
She liked this feeling of being lost in a crowd, like a salmon swimming upstream against the current.
“Where are we going?” She figured Michael had a plan. Michael always had a plan.
“Wherever we want. Remember?”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I told you this morning.”
“Let’s do something we’ve never done.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“What’s the matter? Spontaneity doesn’t factor into your carefully crafted plan?” she challenged back.
“You want my spontaneous? You can’t handle my spontaneous.”
“Try me.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than he stopped them in their tracks, a river of people still rushing past them as they worked their way through the crowds. He rounded on her, stopping her in the place she had been walking, and spread his legs enough to shorten his height so that they were eye to eye. His arms went around her and he was holding her now, as if without his embrace, she would fall. And she saw it then. The intention in his eyes. He was going to kiss her.
And it wasn’t a wimpy kiss either. Before she could react, he had slid a hand behind her neck and pressed his lips to hers half a second before his tongue probed deeply, longingly but also softly. She felt like he was kissing her for the first time.
The kiss felt infinite. Each time one of them seemed to pull away, the other would coax them back, returning to the fathomless depths of the kiss. Darby was vaguely aware of the cold, of the hordes of people rushing around them, but most of what she registered at that moment was his touch. His thumbs on her cheeks. His body against hers. His breath somehow enraptured. And the way he looked at her when their lips finally parted, what she couldn’t comprehend in his eyes, held nothing of the playful tone his voice had just minutes before.
They seemed to be searching hers for something. But she couldn’t think about what that might be, because he was running his thumb against her bottom lip. She could feel they were a bit swollen from his kisses.
“God, your lips,” he murmured, his gaze resting on them for a long moment before leaning back in to meet hers. Michael noticed everything.
“You should do spontaneous things to me more often,” she declared, out of breath after they had separated once more.
They continued uphill, in the same direction they’d been going in. It was twilight, and the streets seemed emptier than they had minutes before, though Darby realized that they may have been kissing for more than a few minutes. She had no idea where he was taking her and at that moment she didn’t care. At the top of the hill was the gondola, which was still running at that hour, though she thought it might close soon. When Michael didn’t turn off at the last street that would have kept them in town, she knew they were headed up.
“Are we going skiing?”
“Should we?”
He nodded his head toward the ski shop that stood, its doors open, next to the gondola’s base.
“No, let’s just go up. I want to freeze my ass off with you at the top of the mountain.” She nudged him forward.
He produced two lift tickets from his pocket, stopped and hooked one into the tassel of her jacket. Seconds after walking into the empty car, the doors shut.
It was a large car, with the capacity to carry twenty-five skiers or more. Though there were wooden benches at each end, neither moved to sit. She went to a far window, watching the ground disappear rapidly as they ascended. He came up from behind, wrapping his arms around her, just as she’d hoped he would.
“You hate being cold.”
His cheek was against hers and she liked the way his deep voice resonated softly through the car.
“You always keep me warm.”
The car rocked as it passed through one of the lower lift stations, but didn’t stop. She thought how this was probably one of the last gondolas that would go up that night, and imagined them staying up there until morning, just the two of them, on top of that mountain. It was a ridiculous idea—completely impractical. She then thought of the job she loved most days, the cozy little house she adored, and how empty she would feel when she returned.
“You’ve got eight questions left.” It came out as a whisper. “Are you going to use them or not?”
He didn’t answer.
“Isn’t there anything you want to know?”
“I already know everything I need to know about you, baby.”
Baby. That stopped her wandering mind in its tracks. He had never—not once—called her that.
It emboldened something in her. “Have you ever been in love?” There would be no better time to ask.
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
The gondola was slowing. Moments later, the door opened.
“She was a lot like you.”
They were fucking again. Her hair was wet from the shower and hung loosely down to her mid-back, tickling her shoulder blades as they moved in tandem. They had spent languid minutes under the rainfall spray, kissing and touching as they warmed up fully from so much time spent in the cold. Now, in front of the fireplace, they faced one another, her legs wrapped around him as he thrust into her vigorously from below.
The fire was hot, and the dampness that had covered them when they had arrived from the shower had quickly evaporated. Now the sheen that covered them was hard-earned sweat. He was hitting her deeply, fucking her so good it hurt. So good that with each intensifying thrust, she cried out softly in a mixture of pleasure and pain. His forearm was behind her back, as if he knew she had lost some of her ability to hold herself up. When she tightened around him—so close, but not there yet—he unleashed a guttural moan, and she thought she could have died happy right then.
She let her head fall back because that’s how fantastic it felt. When she did, he lowered his mouth and licked a straight line from between her breasts to the dip in her throat. That did it. She came hard, nearly screaming from the pleasure. She felt him pulse and thought that he was coming too. But when she felt herself being flipped over before she caught her breath, she knew he still had more.
The way he hitched one of her legs up to curl behind him reminded her, as it always did, of the first time they had fucked. She wrapped her fingers around his biceps, so hard as he held himself over them, and felt swept up once more. Michael cried out, loudly and uncontrollably, but he kept driving into her. She felt her next orgasm coming on. She came explosively once more, ending just as his was beginning. He let out an impassioned roar.
He was still pulsing inside her, sporadically now, but he made no move to leave her. They stared at one another, both out of breath, the emotion that passed between them still unspoken, but as naked as their own bodies. They said nothing, because hadn’t they said it already?
For the second time that night, Darby felt the impulse to keep him to herself, to stay in the hotel suite until they had to leave Park City. She didn’t care about they party they’d already missed or the dozens of screenings she’d been excited to attend. Apart from Michael, Darby had ceased to care about anything at all.
“Do you have to get that?”
His phone buzzed on the nightstand and though they hadn’t yet spoken words to each other that morning, each had known the other was awake. It wasn’t uncommon, them holding on to one another, clinging really, in the hours of the morning, neither wanting to break the spell by getting up. He kissed her hair and held her tighter, angling his body to more fully cradle hers.
“No.”
So they continued to lie like that. Some minutes later—she didn’t know how many because she had drifted back to sleep—the buzzing of his phone roused her again.
“Get it,” she commanded softly. He didn’t move at first. But eventually he succumbed, depositing her gently on the bed before he picked up his phone.
“Dale.” He answered neutrally, climbing out of the bed gingerly so as not to disturb her. He mouthed an instruction for her to go back to sleep.
She didn’t quite sleep again, though she was groggy, and she liked luxuriating in the warmth of the bed even though he had gone. As she heard his soft footsteps pad down the stairs and listened to his muted conversation, she let herself think about what had happened the night before.
By then, they’d been there for nearly two days and hadn’t seen a single film. The clock on the nightstand told her that it was nearly noon, but she found that she really didn’t want to get out of bed. She wanted to stay there with him, in their bubble, forever. She didn’t want to face her father’s announcement, and she was not eager to return to the hospital. She wanted this, with Michael, so, so much.
When he returned, he engulfed her back into his arms, placing his phone back where it had been, but not bothering to plug it back in, and she noticed that something about him was tense.
“What did Dale want?” She asked it lightly, knowing better than to push.
“I have to go back to Sydney in a couple of days,” was all he said.
So she returned to her own thoughts, because him having to disappear off to where he was needed was nothing new, and if he didn’t have to go yet, their time now was good enough for her. So they stayed there, thoughts still swirling in her head, most of them too scary to voice. But the one she could say, she finally said aloud.
“It’s going to be a vicious campaign.”
He kissed her hair again and said nothing in response.
“They’ll look for anything to use against him and he’ll play just as hard. I know this must sound paranoid to you, but—”
“I know, baby. I know you’re not being paranoid.”
There’s that word again.
“They’ll spin anything into anything. It will be completely invasive,” she continued. He only held her tighter. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”
“Shhhhh,” he soothed, silencing her then. “Don’t even think like that.”
But she couldn’t help it, nor could she help the apology that passed her lips.
“I’m sorry.”
He shushed her again.