Darcy entered his condo, tossing his keys on the kitchen bar. “Alexis, give me a playlist,” he said, removing a bottle of sparkling water from the refrigerator. What he really felt like was straight bourbon, but those days were long gone. Although he cherished the time he spent with Gigi, he regretted going to the Dakota to look for a suitable painting for the townhouse, and he was too tired to think about it or the memories it conjured. Why on earth would he have subjected himself to a long-overdue emotional assault as it pertained to his mother and Lizzy? Holding that sketch released a torrent of memories—a raging, angry river through the formidable dam he’d built.
Absentmindedly, he flipped through the mail, then walked to the living room window. It was an unusually clear night, and the city looked amazing. He could even see a few stars.
As if he wasn’t stressed enough, Alexis had the nerve to play Keith Urban’s “Making Memories of Us.”
Damn.
His mind betrayed him.
With each passing month of his and Lizzy’s romance, the list of things he’d never done before but experienced for the first time with her grew. There was no turning back the clock to the man whose destiny once lay with Pemberley Capital. Much to his father’s chagrin, he was fast becoming someone else, thanks to her. Even his artistic creativity and taste in music had broadened. Never in a million years would he have found himself at Wild Bill’s to shoot pool or dance with Lizzy to country music from the jukebox. Memories of holding herfrom behind with his arms wrapped around her waist and swaying on the dance floor to Keith Urban’s “Your Everything” awakened his heart. Urban quickly became their go-to music. Every song was their song. The guy knew exactly how he felt.
His girl wasn’t a wild child. She just knew how to live with color and overlooked his black and white hesitancy to let himself go, which he eventually did under her spirited influence. Lizzy was a brilliant shooting star soaring across the sky. In many ways, she was much like his mother, but at twenty, she had a clear direction for her future as a watercolorist. Whereas his mother’s aspirations had been sidetracked at the age of nineteen. Lizzy’s visions were bold and bright—just like her. And she had the talent to achieve all her dreams, only lacking absolute confidence in her ability. Hell, he’d become her patron if she’d let him, but she wouldn’t. Having moved from Wyoming with her friend Charlotte, she proudly learned to stand on her own feet. She was too independent for his support and ignored that he and his family were loaded. But that didn’t mean she didn’t rely on his mother as a confidant and tutor. That treasure was priceless and free. The two were very close—closer than he would normally like from a girlfriend, but Lizzy was unlike any girlfriend he’d ever had.
One night lying beside her, he drank in her beautiful face kissed by the moonlight through his bedroom window. “Tell me your dreams, Lizzy?” he whispered.
“Acceptance into Ecolé Beaux-Arts de Paris ... you—forever ... to paint what makes me happy, not what others expect me to paint for silly trends. One day, my work to be carried in a famous art gallery!”
“Hold up. Did you say, me?”
She ran her delicate hand down his temple. “Yes, you. I don’t know if you noticed, but ... I’m in love with you, William,and I want to be with you—always. With you ... I feel safe enough to be me. You accept me for who I am.”
He swallowed hard, not expecting her declaration so soon, but the passion and connection they shared were authentic, fulfilling, pure—everything he ever hoped for in a relationship. Falling in love with Lizzy after only three months of dating was easy. Telling her in words, not so much.
Biting her lip, she waited for his reply.
“I promise you ... come what may, I’ll always be yours,” he mustered.
She smiled knowing that he didn’t flippantly toss out emotional declarations like “I love you” without forethought. Holding up her pinky, she teased. “Do you pinky swear?”
“I do,” and he hooked his pinky with hers, committing his heart forever, writing the original marriage pact across it. The words, the ring, the vows, children, and their future would happen when the time was right for each. He wasn’t ready now, even if he felt the desire so strongly.
Tugging her pinky, he coaxed her nude body against his and kissed her languidly, mouth loving hers in slow, deep movement. Never had he felt such powerful feelings for anyone. She was his breath and blood, and he ached to be inside her, to claim her as his and his alone. He was her first, and God-willing, would be her last.
“Ohhh, William,” she breathed against his lips. “Love me.”
She didn’t need to tell him, as he gently entered her. Could life get any better than to be sheathed in the woman he loved?
Loving her slowly, he released all his pent-up emotion until his dam burst, and he shouted, “I love you! God, I love you, Lizzy!”
“Don’t ... ever ... stop!” she cried in final rapture. Shaking and trembling, their bodies and hearts became one—forever.
Darcy ran his hand through his hair. He’d spent years avoiding stops like this on Memory Lane, but now, standing in his apartment, looking out the window at the city lights, he doubted if recalling their lovemaking was a bad thing. The uncomfortable throbbing in his pants proved he wasn’t as stoic and unfeeling as he believed. Also, it may only be the titillating fantasy of a resolute bachelor before his marriage to another woman. But Lizzy was no cheap hooker or bachelor party porn flick. She was the best and worst part of his past, regrettably, the one who got away by no fault of his own. Of that, he was sure.
His thoughts ranged from obvious arousal—because making love to Lizzy had been amazing on every level—to sadness at love lost. Somewhere deep down, there was outright anger over his heartbreak, which still silently burned. And of course, he was annoyed with himself for allowing the emotional and physical power her memory had over him. Where was his touted willDarcypower and reasonable lucidity? He was supposed to have banishedthosethoughts of her forever and now all he wanted to do was turn back the clock. This was unacceptable and incongruently illogical to the last six and a half years and his plans!
A cold shower was the only answer for his current predicament.
“Alexis, turn off the music, and delete Lizzy’s Playlist,” he instructed, and Keith Urban’s torturing love songs disappeared.
Entering the master bathroom, he attempted to divert his thoughts to how he’d miss the big shower, making a mental note to discuss with the townhouse architect a redesign of that outdated master bathroom.
Too emotionally spent to care about much, he mindlessly turned the shower on, then stripped, not giving a crap that everything lay on the floor. Memories assaulted him, conjuring visions of showering with Lizzy. That incredible weekend hadbeen their first time together. How could he ever forget that? Why would any guy want to?
Maybe all these memories and emotions were attributed to cold feet. Or maybe he was simply frustrated not having had sex in years. But why now? Although tempted to take matters into his own hand, he allowed the cool water to work its deflating magic, unable to suppress the fact that he still ached for her, yearned for how alive she had made him feel. Gone was the duality of loving and hating her, which had hidden inside him for so long. He still loved Lizzy. He was born to always love her. And he’d never love another.
NINE
June 4
