fight.â
âI hoped you wouldnât.â
âI have to say, I like a man who keeps his promise.â
With a wolfish smile of his own, he slammed the fridge door and walkedâstrolled in all his male splendor, which Darcie suspected he did on purposeâacross the room to her. Darcie lifted the duvet to invite him in. Now the city lights coming through the wide windows illuminated him, too. Gilded his sunbrowned skin. Deepened the interesting creases in his cheeks, the smile lines around his mouth.
âHow old are you?â she asked idly, reaching for the beer he held out.
âThirty-four.â He didnât ask her the same question. âWhy?â
âYouâre well preserved.â She trailed a hand over his shoulder. âIâm twenty-nine.â
âThanks. Weâre both old enough.â For what, he didnât say. He rubbed his bare chest. âMost women donât like telling, though.â
âAre you always this polite?â
âMy mum hopes so.â Oh Lord, a chink in the walls ofpleasure. His mother. He had one, maybe just like Janet. He fell onto the bed, held his beer can to one side, and lowered his head to kiss her open mouth. âBut no, maâam. Iâm not that polite. Now.â
âIâm glad to hear that.â She repeated her earlier words.
He frowned. âHey. I didnât really think you were a working girl.â
âYes, you did.â
He seemed to take most things literally, which Darcie tried not to mind, either. After all, sheâd taken Merrick at face value. There was a lesson there but right now she wouldnât give it any credence.
âWell, I didnât want to think so,â he said.
âWhy not? Other than the fact you donât pay for sex?â
âIâd never pay for it. Even if I was ugly as a fence post.â
Her gaze wandered over him. âBelieve me. You have nothing to worry about.â
âNo worries, darling,â he corrected her. âWeâre behind on our lessons here.â
âNo worries.â Repeating the mantra, Darcie folded him close. Darling. âBut on second thought, isnât this subject too personal for our first date?â
âWhat, sex? Have another beer,â he said. âThen you wonât care.â He paused. âIs that what this is?â He glanced at the duvet, the pillows, Darcie. âA date? â
âWell. I guess not.â She murmured, âNo strings.â
Warm and scented with sex, with each other, they lay close under the covers, drinking tall cans of Fosterâs lager. Another, then another. Ugh. Still, beer didnât taste so bad by the third bottle. Or was it fourth? At some point heâd called room service after they finished the minibar supply to have it restocked.
âFor a woman who hates beer,â he finally said, âyouâre holding your own here.â
The room spun a little. âItâs cheaper than the hard stuff.â
He kissed her again, tasting of beer and man. âYou live where?â
She hadnât told him. âNew York.â
âCity?â
He sounded horrified. She took another swallow. âUh-huh. Right outside of Manhattan. You know, the island the Native Americans sold to the Dutch.â
âBy yourself?â
No, with my grandmother. She couldnât say that, either. Didnât want him to know too much about her. Darcie pushed away the memory of home, even of Gran, who would appreciate more than anyone else this little tryst, and of course banished any thought of her mother. Tonight was tonight. Her one-time, one-night stand. Tomorrow wasâ¦
âNo way. I have a roommate.â
âMale or female?â
âUhâ¦female.â Two actually. Eden Baxter and Sweet Baby Jane, the devilâs spawn. Nearly a week later Darcieâs punctured calf still hurt. She tried to recall her last tetanus shot but couldnât.
He
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