Not that sexiness is why she’s here.
She’s here to preserve the peace or at least prevent further escalation of the war. It’s a bonkers idea that sex could have anything to do with it, not when she’s so angry with Sam. Mr Darcy would never behave the way he has, sabotaging something so important to Lizzy...
...Aside from the happiness of her sister.
Never mind. Scratch that.
‘Hi,’ Sam says from the piano stool. By this point, Lexi is well and truly flustered, and he can probably see it in her face. ‘You’re looking a little pink today.’
Yup. There it is.
‘It’s warm outside.’
Lexi says a brief prayer of thanks to the weather gods for the excuse of the rapidly warming DC weather. (She’ll probably take it back in August as sweat streams down her back on the way to the shop.)
‘Mmm hmm.’ Sam looks amused, like he doesn’t quite believe her. He holds out his hand for the coffee, and, as always, their hands graze, and, as always, it feels like electricity.
Lexi thinks again of Mr Darcy, this time in the 2005 film, stretching out his hand after helping Elizabeth into the carriage, like he’s felt that electricity too.
What a moment.
It’s probably a stretch to compare this to that.
And anyway, Lexi is angry. She is trying very hard to remember this.
Today, Sam is wearing shorts and a green T-shirt the exact colour of his eyes. His hair is still damp from his post-gym shower. Again. He really must be strong enough by now. Definitely strong enough to—
Nope.
‘So you were tempted to sleep in this morning and not come see me?’
‘Your piano.’ Lexi wants to make that very clear. To Sam, to herself. These piano skills he’s teaching her will come in very useful when she finds herself a suitable guy. Because Sam definitely isn’t the one, she tells herself, as he walks over to the table to grab a pencil for marking up her piano book and she notices, not for the first or second or twelfth time, how shapely his legs are, how well defined his bum is.
He definitely isn’t the one, she tells herself, as he stands next to her, watching her play a C major scale with both hands, saying ‘good, good, that looks really good’ with a note of pride in his voice that she can’t decide is for her as the learner or himself as the teacher.
He definitely isn’t the one, she tells herself, as he leans over to turn the page while she plays and he feels his breath on the back of her neck as everything she knows about notes and scales threaten to flee from her brain.
‘All right,’ he says, way too soon. ‘That’s your half-hour.’
It didn’t feel like half an hour. ‘Really? That was quick.’
‘Time flies, I guess. When you’re having...’
In her head, Lexi is begging him to finish that sentence. To finish it quick before her brain does it for both of them. She looks up at him, into his enlarged pupils.
‘Fun,’ he says eventually, his voice catching a little, after way too long a pause. ‘I’m glad you came today. I enjoy teaching you.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, her polite, good-girl upbringing kicking in. ‘You’re a good teacher.’
She doesn’t move, because she suddenly doesn’t trust herself. He doesn’t move, either. She sits there, looking up at him, and his eyes, and his mouth, and thinking,This is a dangerous moment. I’m only here to keep the peace, not to fall in love with him. He’s not an appropriate love interest. We all know this: my friends, me, him, probably.He’s probably just trying to distract her. She knows this. And still, she can’t quite rip her eyes away from him.
‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘You’re a great learner.’
Lexi has never known anyone to saythank youin a tone that says,Come to bed.But neither of them moves. They’re frozen in place.
‘So why didn’t you want to come?’ he asks, softly. ‘Really.’
Lexi contemplates several responses before she alights on the truth. ‘Because I’m mad at you.’
