President Darcy

She was about average height for a woman, which meant that she peered up at Darcy, who came in at around six feet. A sweet, heart-shaped face accentuated those marvelous eyes. Lustrous, wavy dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. And that

dress—a floor-length black silk sheath that skimmed all her curves without revealing too much. In fact, it revealed just the right amount of her creamy skin…

Rather pointedly, she cast her eyes down at her hand. Which he was still holding. He noticed her fingers, delicate and tapered and so small, nestled in his grasp.

The touch of her hand was the single most wonderful sensation he had ever felt.

His fingers caressed her fingers.

Her hand trembled in his.

He had no desire to release her.

The rest of his body also responded to her proximity. Leaning toward her, he scented a vaguely floral fragrance…perfume or shampoo perhaps. He flushed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature in the hallway, moisture collecting on his forehead and the back of his neck. His mouth was suddenly parched, and his tongue licked dry lips. Her eyes followed the movement. She is staring at my mouth.

If only I could touch more than her hand. Darcy’s hand rose, needing to learn if her hair was as soft as it appeared. But then the (apparently very small) part of his brain that was still sane reminded him that the woman was a stranger, and he aborted the movement.

I should probably say something. His lips were parted, ready to speak, but all his thoughts appeared to have melted away at her touch.

Bing cleared his throat. “We should get to the dinner.”

The words worked their way through Darcy’s sluggish brain. He understood their import, but the thought of releasing Elizabeth Bennet’s hand horrified him. He desperately needed to touch more of her, not less.

“Just a second, Bing,” he snapped.

Elizabeth blinked, her eyelashes fluttering. Is she as affected by the touch as I am? “I-It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President,” she said with a note of finality that suggested she preferred he return her hand. Damn. Could she guess he’d been thinking improper thoughts—when he knew literally nothing about her except her name? It seriously had been too long since he’d had a date.

Dropping her hand as if it had burned him, he stepped backward, putting more distance between them and trying to collect thoughts that seemed to have been scattered by a powerful wind.

Why was he reacting this way to this woman? She was pretty—well, more than pretty. Beautiful. And that dress displayed a body he would certainly describe as “hot.” But he saw beautiful, well-dressed women every day.

And she’d been hiding in a closet, he reminded himself. It wasn’t normal behavior. She also didn’t appear capable of assembling coherent sentences. It truly was a shame she wasn’t more …eloquent. Lack of intelligence was always a deal-breaker for Darcy.

Although it was probably a good thing. If she were smart, too, she’d be irresistible.

Bing cleared his throat loudly.

Finally, Darcy tore his eyes from her vivid, dark green ones, but he was still rubbed raw by her proximity. He didn’t know why she affected him like this, but Darcy couldn’t let her—or anyone else—notice the results.

Taking out his handkerchief, he blotted his brow and mopped the back of his neck before discreetly wiping his sweaty hands and returning the handkerchief to his pocket. Elizabeth stared, likely marveling at how profusely the President of the United States could sweat. Bing regarded Darcy warily; he knew how out-of-character this behavior was.

He had embarrassed himself sufficiently; remaining any longer would only produce more shame and more perspiration. It was past time to appear at the dinner and get away from the spacey woman with the lovely eyes.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway. Behind him, he heard Bing ask, “Will you join us at the dinner, Ms. Bennet?”

Damn! I should have asked that. She had me too flustered.

“Um…sure,” she said uncertainly.

No regrets, he told himself sternly. The woman couldn’t string two sentences together. Her beauty was nothing but a momentary distraction.

Darcy tugged his cuffs into place and straightened his bow tie. Taking the service hallway was intended to help him make up time after his last meeting ran late, but the encounter with Ms. Bennet had further delayed his schedule. Time to focus on the dinner and his political priorities for the evening.

Although he was technically there just to make a speech and have a good time, a dinner was never just a dinner for a president. He hoped to buttonhole Senator Kirkpatrick about supporting his transportation plan. And a couple of CEOs wanted to complain about the Federal Election Commission. He wasn’t planning to do anything about it, but they would be happy if he listened.

And then there was Congressman Ostrevsky on the Foreign Relations Committee and his crusade for humanitarian aid for African refugees. Encouraging the government’s refugee efforts was one of the purposes for the dinner. Keep your thoughts focused on that, Darcy.

There was a strategy behind all of it. Darcy’s predecessor in the Oval Office had left him with a lot of international relationships to repair. One of Darcy’s top priorities was restoring the reputation of the United States abroad. He had just returned from a two-week tour of Europe and was gearing up for a trip to Asia in a few months. Their allies needed a lot of reassurances.