I guess it’s okay to think of my strictly platonic husband as hot, right?
But I’d be lying to myself if I said I hadn’t fully noticed lovely, hidden qualities that almost outweigh his broodiness. Qualities I once took for granted, but as his housemate, I finally see the full picture. Like how he genuinely cares about his constituents. He isn’t another politician out to manipulate the masses. Or how he works into the wee hours to make sure he is pulling his weight for the team. He never leaves us hanging or stuck with an unmanageableamount of work. And who could forget to mention the fact that he spends his free time with orphans?
I was an orphan. I understand the significance of that weekly Wednesday hangout and just how much those kids love him for it.
“Mr. Marshall, can I get you a drink?” a flight attendant asks. Darcy turns to face her but instead catches me gawking at him. Raising my chin and pasting a smile on my face, I refuse to look away. My face may be burning hot right now, but thankfully, the plane is on the darker side.
Like my hormonal settings at the moment.Dark mode.
“Will you bring two glasses of red?” he asks her, still not taking his eyes off me. My intuition beckons me to turn away, to duck under the plane seat and disappear. The look in his eyes is no-good.
He’s up to no good.
I’m thinking no-good thoughts.
Abort mission.
I look away.
“You shouldn’t drink wine after a kidney stone and grueling hospital visit,” I say, gazing out of the plane window into the dark abyss of the night sky. Seconds pass before he responds.
“Or maybe I should reward myself for making it through.”
Shudders ripple through my body, originating at the nape of my neck where his breath touches my skin. My soul screams at me to lean back and into him. No, that’s probably just the flesh talking.
“Uh… Darcy?” I take a deep breath to settle my flesh and resist turning my head to face the phantom in the dark who suddenly appeared next to me. “Why did you move?”
He reaches around my body and clasps my hand with his. The heat of his breath tickles my neck again. “Wouldn’t a newlywed couple sit together on a plane?”
I try to yank my hand away, but his grip is firm, a cage around my fingers. “Maybe a real one,” I whisper through a shaky breath. He still doesn’t budge.
“The flight attendants are unaware it’s not real.”
“Sitting next to me doesn’t indicate anything other than you’re a clingy husband.” I try—it’s a grand endeavor—to maintain a steady, sure voice. But somehow the word “husband” rolls off my tongue with a sigh that sounds loaded with longing. Maybe I should take talking off the schedule for the duration of this flight.
Darcy’s hand tightens around mine. “I also would like to further know your thoughts about me. So far, I’ve learned I am incorrigible, rude, sour, vexing, and dirty words that that mouth of yours is too good to speak.”
I’m stone cold, but his breath is still hot against my neck. Too hot. If only he knew I repeated the negative trait mantra to restrain my mind from dwelling too long on all his wonderful qualities. Ones that I’ve grown to admire.
“Your wine, sir,” the flight attendant graciously interrupts. Darcy releases my hand and leans away from me. I want to move, but I’m still frozen solid. How did he hear me? I don’t talk that loud, do I?
“Turn around, Hayden.”
I feel like the Tin Man, like I need to oil every joint to make them cooperate and move.
Darcy releases a long and dramatic sigh and holds a glass of wine over my shoulder. “We are going to talk. I’ll wait in this plane all night if I have to.”
What is with him? He’s being his usual direct and demanding self, but it’s giving… sexy demanding. Hot directness. Flirting with fire and preparing to go up in flames.
I take the glass and sip it, hoping it will give me an ounce of courage to face him. The wine burns going down my throat, and I realize I’m halfway finished with the glass by the time I’m ready.
Inch by inch, I turn until I am face to face with him. Darcy’s eyes smolder; his lips twitch as if on the precipice of an amused grin.
“Finally.” He clinks his full glass to mine. “You know, you really shouldn’t be speaking about your husband that way in public. Someone could overhear.”
I cast my gaze away, feeling ashamed of what I said. “I really am sorry.”
“I’m not that easily offended.” He snorts, and it signifies to my body that it can officially loosen up. “You may be right with one or two of your observations.”
