Chapter Five
Michael ran down the corridor after those gorgeous legs and luscious hair. “Wait, Darcy!”
She stopped, hand on what he saw was her dressing-room door, a plain yet professional sign that proclaimed Darcy Mancini in marquee-style lettering. She glanced at him, a puzzled frown marring her forehead.
He stared into her eyes and forgot everything he meant to say. Drowning was such a cliché, yet fit so well—like sinking into the velvety smoothness of her brown eyes.
So many feelings, bottled up for so long… Without thinking, Michael took her by the shoulders and kissed her painted lips. His eyes fluttered closed, and he drew in the scent of sweat and makeup and something perfume-y like sandalwood…
The muscle tensing under his hand should have been a warning. He didn’t register it in time to avoid the strong, sharp punch to his gut. As he let go of Darcy with a yelp of pain, she exclaimed in a very masculine baritone, “What the fuck—?!”
To which he replied, “What the fuck—?!”
He stared in shock at Darcy, who was staring back at him. He was confused and she—he?—looked angry.
“You ever heard of shit like personal boundaries and, oh hell, consent?”
“You-you’re a man?”
“Is that relevant right now? Do you think just walking up to a stranger and kissing them like that is okay if it’s a woman? What is your fucking problem?” She—he—pushed through the door and turned to slam it right in Michael’s face.
“No, wait! Please—I’m sorry, I just want to, to talk to you. At least allow me to apologize properly?” He was barely aware of what he was saying, his head was spinning. His dreams had broken and reality was reforming around him in an unexpected configuration. His startled apology wasn’t enough, and he needed to confirm that his Darcy, the woman of his dreams, was in fact not a woman at all. Or maybe she was. She was right. He’d crossed a line, but— “Please?”
Even though suspicion and anger were evident on her face, Michael still couldn’t help but think she was the most magnificent creature he’d ever laid eyes on.
Darcy pulled the door wide. “You’ll keep your hands to yourself?”
He nodded. “I swear. That’s not who I really am. I—”
She bobbed her head impatiently. “I gotta get out of this getup. Leave the door open. No,” she said, turning her back on him and swaying enticingly in her high heels. She looked damn good walking away from him. “Close it. Who knows who else might wander in.”
Relief flooded him and he did as directed.
The room wasn’t much more than a closet with a well-lit makeup table, a short clothing rack currently holding two empty hangers, an armchair with a cheap floor lamp, presumably for waiting out the long periods between shooting. The ensemble dancers just had a room scattered with sofas. They did, however, have a fridge.
She sat on the stool in front of the makeup mirror. The shelf in front of it held a couple of bottles of water, a tray of sponges, and an assortment of cosmetics that looked like touch-up stuff—the shoot had professional makeup artists for all the principals, and if Darcy qualified for her own dressing room, then…
Michael sat on the edge of the armchair, staring as Darcy pinned her hair off her face. Those captivating brown eyes met his in the mirror and a perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.
“Right.” He chuckled self-consciously. “First, hi, my name’s Michael. Second, I don’t make it a habit of accosting women.”
“I am not, in fact, a woman. Not that it matters in regard to your behaviour.”
Michael blinked, surprised again but still in a haze of uncertainty. He could understand her skepticism. His, he corrected himself. He had to stop thinking of Darcy as her.
“Right. Sorry, I wasn’t… I mean, you’re absolutely right. My behaviour was inappropriate regardless of your gender. I am very sorry, but there is a—” He paused, shoving his fingers through his hair. “—a funny story that might, kind of explain it. Not excuses it,” he added hastily.
“I’m listening,” Darcy said, picking up a jar of cream and smoothing it over his face.
Michael found his gaze skimming over the elegant shoulder blades to the pert ass on the stool. Heat flooded his cheeks as he realized what he was doing. “Yeah, so, we sort of met on the set for Plan Chromatic’s other video…” He searched the reflection for any sign Darcy remembered him, but he was busy wiping away cold cream in great swaths of pinkish foundation.
“And I thought you had the sexiest legs. Well, you do, uh, I mean—” He abandoned that line of thought and began again. “And then you turned around and smiled at me, and I fell in love with you. With your eyes. I didn’t even know your name,” he added hastily, “and you were gone before I could find out anything more than you were called Darcy. So um, this is kind of embarrassing, but ever since that day, I’ve been kind of building up a romance with you in my head. When I saw you in the corridor, I thought if I didn’t stop you, I’d never talk to you. Never have the chance to either date you or get over you. But when you turned around and looked at me… I was lost. It was an impulse, a horrible impulse. It was never my intention to assault you.”
Darcy had finished removing the makeup and now turned on the stool, hair still pinned back. Could that fall of thick sable hair really be his? “Have you considered professional help?”
Looking away wasn’t going to make Michael feel any less embarrassed, so he just studied Darcy’s face. Without the flower collar hiding the Adam’s apple and the makeup that had contoured his face, it was obvious Darcy wasn’t the person his imagination had built up. He actually looked prettier, which didn’t make sense. Instead of a boldly striking woman, he saw that Darcy was a pretty man with sharp cheekbones and those eyes—those eyes were still the same big beautiful eyes he’d fallen in love with.
This is crazy. The woman of your dreams isn’t real; she wasn’t ever real. She was always…him. He finally understood the meaning of dissonance in a way he never had before.
He shook his head, aware he was staring, looking for something that wasn’t there. “I suppose it does sound pretty crazy.”
Darcy unpinned his hair and brushed it out.
Why did Michael still want to run his fingers through it? He shook his head again, harder, as if that would help.
“What I don’t get,” Darcy said, still looking more womanly than not in that backless minidress, “is how you expected this would go.” Their eyes met in the mirror again. “Did you think I’d just fall into your arms? If I’d been a woman, I mean.”
“I-I hadn’t thought— No, actually. I mean, I figured you’d kick me to the curb initially, but consider giving me a chance.”
“A chance? Not a restraining order?” Darcy put the brush down and reached back with both hands to gather his hair into a queue that he pulled over his right shoulder.
Michael’s jaw dropped until he grasped Darcy’s meaning. He closed his eyes and rubbed his head. “I—no. What I mean is, I didn’t take this gig so I could haul you into my arms and we’d share a magic kiss and live happily ever after. I’m not that—evidence to the contrary, I’m not that much of a Neanderthal. I meant just introducing myself, asking you out—I figured you’d say no because that would be strange enough,” Michael said, staring at Darcy’s painted fingernails as he fumbled with the fastening of the dress.
“I see. Are you going to? Ask me out?”
Michael coughed in embarrassment. “Um. No. I’m straight. I don’t—I thought you were a woman.”
“It’s okay,” Darcy said with a chuckle that turned into a frown as the clasp failed to open for him. “Damn. Would you mind—?” Darcy got off the stool and stood there, back to him.
Michael sucked in a breath, reminding himself this wasn’t a woman, not his woman, not any woman, in spite of the slender build and beautiful back and cute ass that he was still dying to squeeze. Pervert. He got to his feet and unfastened two tiny hooks from two equally tiny eyes, holding his breath as his fingers brushed Darcy’s neck. Electric warmth tingled through his hands.
He reluctantly let his hands drop and breathed out. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Darcy pulled the front of the dress down and turned to smile at Michael. “See? Definitely not a woman.”
Michael stared. No, the torso revealed was not feminine, though it wasn’t strongly muscled, either. The small breasts he’d imagined weren’t there, but the nipples still looked more tempting than they should.
He licked his lips. “Right.”
His dick was hard and in complete disagreement with the evidence right in front of him. He’d already changed into his street clothes, which camouflaged his incredibly inappropriate reaction.
Not that Darcy seemed to notice. He turned away and shimmied out of the dress, exposing an ass every bit as beautiful as Michael could have dreamed. He openly stared, unable to help himself, as Darcy stepped out of the dress and his shoes, one elegant dancer’s leg at a time.
There was a sound like tape pulling, and Darcy stuck a plastic wrap and tape bit on the table.
“D-did you shave your entire body? For this gig, I mean,” Michael asked, turning away as Darcy dressed, only to watch his reflection from the corner of his eye.
“No. I mean yes, but not just this gig. I do life modelling at the art school and also the role I have on Shelter Cove requires it. There’s a funny scene where my character waxes his arms with candle wax because he doesn’t dare go into town all hairy.”
Michael turned around, forgetting that Darcy was only half-dressed. “You’re on Shelter Cove? I love that show!”
Darcy was in jeans and pulling on a blue shirt that was still open in the front. He most definitely looked male now, and yet Michael and his dick both couldn’t stop thinking, want that. Weird.
Darcy smiled at him. “It’s kind of awesome, right? I got picked up for the fourth season, and I’m pretty sure my character is going to die in the season finale, but still, it’s an amazing opportunity.”
“No kidding! I didn’t realize you were an actor too. I thought you were just a dancer.”
Darcy laughed. “I’d go broke. You must have seen some of North’s frustration with me today. Originally I was just one of the backup dancers. But you remember when that girl got sick for the first video?”
Michael nodded. The projectile vomiting had been the second most memorable thing about that gig.
“I was the only one who fit her dress.” Darcy’s smile grew rueful. “I was surprised when my agent told me how much Emslie wanted me to reprise the role. She says she loves my androgynous look.”
“Right. It’s, um. You’re definitely striking.” Michael was still trying to work it out in his head. Obviously, his continuing attraction to Darcy was just residual, something that would dissipate over time. Although it would probably dissipate faster if they spent some time together. “Um, would you like to go out for a bite or a drink?”
Darcy’s friendliness suddenly turned wary. “Why?”
Michael didn’t know. He hadn’t realized he was going to ask until he did. He smiled and improvised. “Just to make up for being a dick. Besides, you’re a really interesting guy.”
It was nine forty and they’d started at seven that morning. Michael prepared for a rejection.
“All right,” Darcy said. “But not caffeine or alcohol—I’ve got to be on set at an ungodly hour in the morning.”
Plan Chromatic had taken over a huge studio space in a three-hundred-year-old warehouse. Once, this had been Stellarton’s working harbour. Now it was mostly art and tourist spaces. A place that would serve something Darcy would like was bound to be open and nearby.
Michael grinned. “Great!”