Mr. Darcy's Kiss

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. Those blue eyes came to mine, and I found it hard to breathe again. How did he have such a strong effect on me?

“Thank you,” he said. I had no idea how he did that to me. I hated his guts, yet one look from him and my body decided that was something we could get over.

“She’s doing better now,” Mr. Darcy continued, looking away and freeing me from his spellbinding gaze. “She wants to help with the company once she’s stronger.”

“Do you think she can do it?” I asked, half hoping he’d look at me like that again.

“What, work?” He took another sip of champagne, looking like the billionaire playboy that he was. “Once she’s healthy enough, yes. Running a business, especially a multi-billion dollar one, isn’t for the weak. It’s hard work.”

“I can attest to that,” Charles agreed. “And mine’s not even a billion dollars. Yet.”

Mr. Darcy nodded. “There’s not many that can do it and even fewer in her condition. I wouldn’t and couldn’t ask it of her.”

I wanted to ask him what illness his sister had. Being a nurse, I was always curious to know more medically, but I knew a nightclub wasn’t exactly the best place to ask. Besides, a sibling’s health was personal. However, I didn’t even get the chance to ask before a woman in a slinky black dress came up.

“Hi, William,” she purred, leaning against the chair and smiling at him. How did she get to call him William and I didn’t?

Then I realized the answer. She oozed sex. She was clearly what he had been looking to take home the night of the fundraiser. I could barely believe that Mr. Darcy thought this sexy woman and I were in the same class. She had curves I could only dream of.

Mr. Darcy looked up from his drink. “Yes?”

“Would you like to dance?” She fluttered her eyelashes and puffed her chest out a little bit. Someone was getting laid. Or rather, as the Brits said, shagged.

“I don’t dance,” he said flatly, turning away and sipping on his drink.

The woman blinked twice. She looked around the table, pausing at me for a moment before shrugging. “Oh. Okay then.”

She waited a moment longer for Mr. Darcy to change his mind before sashaying off.

“You don’t dance?” I asked Mr. Darcy, watching the girl who was made for dancing walk away. “It’s a club. Everyone dances. That’s kind of the point.”

“I don’t dance,” he repeated.

“It’s not hard,” I told him. “You just move your feet to the beat.”

“I didn’t say that I can’t dance,” he told me, setting down his drink. “I said that I don’t.”

I took a sip of my champagne, feeling the bubbles against my nose. “She wanted more than just dancing on the dance floor. Considering what you said the night we met, I thought you’d be interested in someone like that.”

I could have sworn his cheeks flushed, but it was probably just the flashing lights of the club.

“She’s not looking for a dance partner,” he said, stressing the word dance. “She’s looking for a meal ticket. And I’m not interested in that.”

“Really?” I set my drink down. “Do I need to repeat what you said about me?”

Mr. Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Do you see who she moved onto? She isn’t looking for a good time. She’s looking for someone to pay her way.”

I followed his gaze to the young woman who was now sitting at another VIP table. An older but attractive man in an expensive suit had his arm wrapped around her shoulder as he handed her a glass of what appeared to be expensive champagne.

“So?” I asked. “Why do you assume the worst? I see two people having fun. A dance doesn’t mean she’s going to steal all his money. She wants to dance and the people up here don’t have partners. If I were looking for someone to dance with, I’d try up here too.”

“And you wouldn’t want a thing after? You wouldn’t ask for expensive jewelry or lavish accommodations?”

“Do women usually ask that of you?” I asked. “Besides, what if they fall madly in love? She’s in the VIP area. Maybe she’s paying for his drinks. She knew you, so she’s obviously not broke.”

He looked at me with those serious eyes again, evaluating. I wondered if I said something stupid yet again.

“What?” I asked, waiting to be told I was wrong.