His fingers splay across my back, pulling my body into his as if he is gluing us together. The kind of glue that requires high amounts of pressing to stay combined.
I let out a noise I’m not proud of when his lips press against my neck, blazing a trail up the side, across my collarbone, and landing at the corner of my lips.
“I’ve wondered what you taste like since the paintball game,” he murmurs, hovering over my mouth.
Probably like wine right now,I think, but my thoughts are too scattered to form words. Not from the alcohol but frommy husband.
I make another whimpered noise, begging him to put me out of my misery. I want to taste him, too.
A throat clears. “Your water, Mrs. Marshall.”
I expect Darcy to jump like a skittish cat.
He doesn’t. While we both open our eyes, molten lava pours from his gaze as I look over his shoulder at the flight attendant, preparing to take the water from her to be polite.
But Darcy moves his hand from my back to the back of my neck, gently tugging my hair down and angling my face to the perfect kissing position. I snap my eyes back to his as he says, “Come back later, please.” His voice is husky and hungry and hot. The sound of the women's heels fade.
And then Darcy drags my lips to his in a kiss that should be banned in all one-hundred and ninety-five recognized countries. His soft lips are explorative as he controls the kiss, coaxing my mouth to fall into tune with his. He tugs at my hair again, eliciting a moan from the depths of my soul.
He growls in return, and I didn’t realize men actually did that sort of thing. The passion pouring out of Darcy as our lips dance opens a well of feelings within me, and I match him stride for stride.
I admire this man. Respect him. Trust him. Cherish him.I—
The L-word is on the brink of my thoughts, but I’m not ready to jump off that edge just yet. Not even as he slows the kiss and wraps both arms around me as if I’m his lifeline of safety out in the ocean of wild waters.
I really,reallylike him.
The taste of salt registers in my senses, and we both part for air.
Is he crying?
Lifting my good hand, I cup his cheek and wipe at the water running down his cheek. His hand mimics mine just as he asks, “Why are you crying, Hayden?”
I touch my face, realizing it’s damp with liquid. “You’re crying, too.”
This should be funny, a hitched-for-convenience husband and wife crying as they share their first real kiss, not the quick pecks in frontof a camera. But nothing is funny about this moment.
It’s real and raw.
It’s two souls connecting.
“I like you, Divine Princess.” Darcy uses the nickname with utmost reverence, taking me by surprise. “I don’t know what these feelings mean, but, I know I like you. And I’d like to date you.”
Chapter Twenty
Hayden
Five months.
We are five months away from the election, and let me tell you, Ophelia Estate has been in manic mode. And I’ve been wearing my manager hat and wife hat simultaneously lately, so much so that I’m not sure where the campaign manager ends and the wife begins.
And to add to the chaos that is my life right now?
Dating my husband of convenience!
Because Darcy Marshall knowsnothingof true dating.
“Are you ready for our date tonight?” Darcy slides his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek, sending annoyed butterflies swarming and rioting in my stomach. I’m simultaneously peeved and turned on. Not a fun combination.
