Page 91 of Me and Mr. Darcy

I am totally butt naked.

Mortified, I sharply tug the eiderdown even tighter to my chest. I don’t even want to think about who took off my clothes. ‘If you could close the door behind you,’ I prompt.

Spike looks at me as if he’s going to say something, but then picks up his jacket and tie and snatches at the door.

He opens it, hisses, ‘Fuck,’ then slams it shut again.

I jump.

He turns to me, his face flushed, his jaw set hard. ‘Look, it’s no good, there’s something else I’ve been wanting to say to you, but there’s never been the right time and – well – I’m just going to come out and say it . . .’ He steps towards me.

Bracing myself for an angry outburst, I mentally start frantically stacking up ammunition to retaliate.

‘I’m crazy about you.’

I stop stacking and look at him in total astonishment – and confusion. His hands are held stiffly down by his sides and his body is rigid.

‘Is this supposed to be one of your jokes?’ I manage to stammer.

‘No, not at all,’ he replies quickly. ‘I’m totally serious.’ He pulls up a chair and sits down, straddling it with his legs and hugging the back. He looks at me, waiting for my reaction.

Now, when I say I’m totally speechless, I mean it. I stare at him incredulously. He’s got to be joking, right? We hate each other’s guts.

Only he’s not smiling or winking or doing any of the stuff he usually does, which means—

Oh, shit. He’s really serious.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you, Emily,’ he’s now saying, his words coming out even faster than normal, falling over themselves in their haste, ‘and I know this is all probably coming as a bit of a surprise, but I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re amazing . . .’

Someone please tell me I’m still out cold and this is some bizarre nightmare. This cannot be happening. It just can’t.

‘. . . Really amazing.’

But it is.

Oh, God.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

All this time I thought Spike hated me, and yet all along he was really into me.

I almost feel myself blushing. Despite the fact that I hate Spike I can’t help feeling just the teensiest bit delighted. Flattered even. I mean, who doesn’t like being showered with compliments? Even if they are from a liar/love-wrecker/old-man-basher.

‘Even though you know that when I first saw you I didn’t fancy you in the slightest . . .’

Hang on, what was that?

‘. . . far from it. Blondes are usually my type. In fact, I’m a total sucker when it comes to the whole glamorous red-lipstick thing.’ He smiles with embarrassment. ‘And you didn’t have any of that going on . . .’

Excuse me? My delight is suddenly taking a U-turn.

‘. . . and if I’m honest, I thought you were a bit dull . . .’ He laughs ruefully.

Stunned. There’s no other word for it. STUNNED.

‘. . . but these past few days I’ve really got to know you as a person, and even though I tried to dislike you, and trust me I’ve tried, I can’t. I mean, I’m mad about you, Emily. I’ve even managed to overlook the fact you’re an American . . .’ Having obviously warmed up now, he emits another chuckle at what he obviously thinks is a joke.

But I’m not laughing. I’m angry.