Chapter Nine
Darcy went for her wine glass and filled it up. Not that she had any intention of drinking it, but she needed time to think. No doubt about it, she’d overstepped the boundaries earlier when she touched him, and, goddammit, why had she kissed his scars like that?
It hadn’t been romantic, and he clearly hadn’t taken it that way, thank hell. It seemed he expected everyone to turn away, to compare him to the guy he used to be, idolized by the public as one of the most gorgeous, uninhibited men who had ever lived.
She couldn’t blame him for switching on the charm, which seemed to be yet another barrier he used to keep people from getting too close to him. He and Darcy had more in common than she’d realized, and her story about Gramps could easily have looked like a setup designed to push Micah’s buttons. Why did everything keep tumbling out of her mouth unchecked? She was fumbling around like the naive rookie Sol pegged her as.
Had anyone really known the real Micah Laine? Maybe if she played his games, she’d be the first.
“My grandfather was a farmer,” Darcy began, returning to the railing with her wine. Cradling the glass in both hands, she leaned her elbows down beside Micah, close enough to smell his spiced-winter scent but not touching. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “When my father was only ten, lightning started a fire in the farmhouse they lived in near Huntsville, not far from here.”
“Is that why you’re afraid of storms?” Micah’s gaze searched hers with keen interest.
“I’m not afraid of storms, and we’re not talking about my feelings right now.” A sip of wine gave her the second she needed to swallow her annoyance. “Anyway, most of my father’s siblings were able to get out, but his youngest sister had a bedroom on the third floor. She was only six years old, and, like most kids do, she got scared and hid where she felt safe, in her closet. By the time Gramps got the rest of them out and realized she wasn’t outside, the entire first floor was engulfed in flames.
“He managed to get in through the back door, but the flames and smoke disoriented him and forced him back out through a window. He basically dove through it when the ceiling collapsed, and the glass cut his face, neck, and stomach really badly. Gran said he refused to let the doctors treat him that night, insisting they let him go back and get his little girl. He screamed himself hoarse.”
Only sheer will kept the tears from welling. Gran had told her the story only once when Darcy was young, but the grief in the air that day had burned into her memory.
Micah had frozen beside her, and not even the sounds of breathing broke the silence in the moments before he finally spoke. “He couldn’t save her.”
“No, and he blamed himself until the day he died. Nobody could convince him it wasn’t his fault, not even Gran. Some things would set him off worse than others, like the smell of smoke or a feeling of claustrophobia if he was in a crowd. The times near their lost daughter’s birthday and the date she died were always the worst. Gran’s the only reason he didn’t go completely off the rails.”
For agonizing minutes, Micah stared at the sunset while waves lapped the shore from boats humming in the distance. He seemed so far away all of a sudden, his brow tensing and relaxing at whatever played out behind his eyes.
An epiphany lit up in her mind. “Who couldn’t you save, Micah?”
His glass dropped from his hands and smashed against the rocks lining his garden. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he grabbed her wine and downed the entire thing in two gulps. “You’re not finished paying my price.”
Wow. The ferocity of his movements suggested she’d gotten dangerously close to the truth of him. What part of the story had hit him so hard? His similarities to the anxiety Gramps suffered? Or was it the child who’d died in the fire? Pushing would only drive him further inside his walls, though, so she nodded and resigned herself to exposing her former romantic.
“Okay. The perfect kiss, coming right up.” She’d never had a good one. Nothing more than a sloppy press of mouths that hadn’t so much as stirred a tingle in her thighs. Her description would be entirely fiction conjured from the romance novels she once filled her quiet hours with.
Missing the glass to keep her fingers busy, she went down the steps to the pool on the lower deck, keeping her focus on the water instead of the universe of silence Micah had erected between them. The sun was almost down, and dimness crept over the deck, adding to the sense of intimacy with the man whose gaze burned into the back of her neck.
A series of lights flicked on in the gardens surrounding the deck, picking up dreamy shades from the blooms and casting them across the stone. A loon’s trill echoed across the water. She half expected a swarm of fairies to rise from the rose bushes, spreading sparkles into the air and serenading them with a sensual melody, to finish off the near-magical moment.
The universe had picked a side, apparently, and even it was cheering for Micah to score.
“A kiss should never begin with the meeting of lips,” she began in a soft tone, affected by the setting more than she should have been. “I should feel it in the air like the potential for lightning, minutes, maybe even days before it happens. The signs might go unnoticed to everyone else, but not to me. When he’s made up his mind to come for me, I’ll see that kiss coming from across the room.
“His hunger will be in his eyes, in the way he walks. I’ll be helpless as his shadow falls over me and his hands slide along the sides of my jaw, trapping me there. That first touch of his lips will unhinge me, because I trust him not to hurt me. I’ll not only feel it where he’s touching me, but everywhere he isn’t. On my skin, in my flesh and bones, in my soul. Only his arms will keep me on my feet. There’ll be no thought but how right and raw and beautiful it is, and that I never want him to stop.”
She drew in a breath, realizing she hadn’t only been describing her perfect kiss, but the way she felt in the moment he’d let her in, let her see his scars. Protected, understood, at home in a way that made no sense. He was a stranger, one she didn’t particularly like. If his proximity and a simple touch could set her so deliciously off balance, a kiss would be catastrophic.
The sound of bare feet padding down the stairs drew her gaze around. It appeared she wasn’t the only one who’d been wondering about their explosive potential. The hunger she’d spoken of shone from his half-lidded stare and the swagger of his steps as he descended. That dreamy light accentuated the sculpted lines of his arms and cast his face in shadows. He pulled the tie from his hair, the blond waves rushing forward to frame his stunning features.
It was coming for her, the kiss she’d just described in excruciating detail. Oh, God. He’d played her, and she’d lost. Not even she could fight the universe, its night song of creaking insects adding to his grand entrance.
Darcy’s feet were suddenly a million pounds. He was in front of her before the chaos of her mind slowed enough for her to grasp at some sort of escape from what he was about to do. As she’d described, he slipped those skilled fingers along either side of her throat, tickling her as he raised them to cup her face. They were warm, strong hands, bearing the rough marks of callouses. Maybe he did his own gardening. Put his hands upon the earth and took pleasure in it, as he was about to take pleasure in her.
They were skillful hands, one holding her face toward his and the other sliding fingers over her collarbone, the backs of them caressing down over the inner curve of her elbow. She shivered, both from his touch and the promise in his winter night eyes that held a sparkling reflection from the lights and the blue hazy glow rising from the pool. It wasn’t a promise of pain or even pleasure, but a promise he’d leave no corner of her untouched.
He waited there, his spicy breath sweeping over her lips, his free hand slipping around to tickle her nape. Waiting for her to deny him. To run from it.
No, daring her to.
She couldn’t. Didn’t want to.
His lips barely touched hers. Golden streamers of pleasure rippled out from the epicenter of his touch. His breath. His fingers. The press of his hips that gave no small hint as to the state of his arousal. The heady bouquet of sensations, scents, and the tiny moans rumbling in his chest, excited her every molecule into action even though her body seemed paralyzed and her skin too inadequate to contain the enormity of it.
He came in again, tipping her chin up to align them better. Darcy’s mouth opened in welcome without her making a conscious effort to do so. He delved deeper, slipping his tongue between her lips, as she imagined other parts of him finding other ways inside of her. Lights in a million fractured colors lit up behind her eyes as she struggled to hold his stare that emitted enough heat to make Neptune balmy.
More enticing moans filled her ears, the vibrations carrying through his chest to her palms that had landed there at some point. Hers came unbidden in answer. She slipped her fingers into that long hair and used her grip to pull him closer. He was warm, his muscles tensed in some places and completely relaxed in others, as were hers.
One of his arms slipped under her ass, raising her high on his body; her head was above his. He tipped his head back, exposing that perfect face to the cascade of light. They stayed there for a time, lost in the moment. No lies. Joined by bare truth and raw need.
The touch of his hand under her shirt on her lower back shattered his spell in spectacular fashion.
Her scar.
He was touching her scar. As her ex had once done right before he hit the road.
She shoved Micah away, though she moved more than he did, nearly propelling herself into the pool. “Stop.” She stepped back, wiping her mouth, which hummed with the loss of his. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“What, you’re allowed to touch my scars, but I’m not allowed to touch yours? A bit hypocritical of you after your speech about celebrating the warrior.”
“I wasn’t hiding it for the reason you think, and you know that’s not what I was talking about.”
His expression shifted a few times, as if he kept changing his mind about how hard to push her. Any more, and she might break before they accomplished anything. “Who did that to you?”
She pushed at her hair. “You said nothing would happen to me that I didn’t want to happen. Kissing falls into the ‘nope’ category, so don’t do it again. Ever.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “We’re not done talking about your injury and why you hid it from me, but I’ll drop it for now. As for the kiss, admit it. It was so good, it should have a damage scale associated with it.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” She shivered, and it wasn’t because of the dampness creeping into the air.
He nodded, studying her for a while. “I’ll tell you what—I won’t kiss you again unless you kiss me first.”
“Well, then I guess you’ll be waiting a long time, like forever. Can we get back to the interview now?” Dizziness fell over her. He’d found her damage, which meant he’d add that to his price list. How could she have been so weak? If not for the kiss, the worst of her shit would have stayed buried. Yeah, she was a hypocrite, but so what? It wasn’t like she got her scars doing anything heroic.
She rounded the pool to keep it between them. Nothing better than a few thousand gallons of water to douse the heat still coursing through her thighs. Wet clothes would be better than jumping into a freefall with the likes of Micah Laine.