What's Yours is Mine (9 page)

The knowledge hit him like a shock wave. Darcy was pretending to sleep as she bucked against him, gripping his cock between her slick legs, her movements thrusting her breasts into his hands. Utterly wanton, utterly sexual, but covering it with the ultimate excuse.
 

Experimentally, he let out his breath in feigned sleep. In response, Darcy sighed, a fake sleep snort. She wriggled against him as if getting comfortable, but her thighs slid against him, tight around him, and he could feel her heat through the thin cotton, rubbing against his almost-painful arousal.
 

Instead of doing the sane thing and pulling away, he tightened his grip on her breasts. She was doing this on purpose, masking it with the pretense of sleep. But it worked both ways. She couldn’t use this interlude against him, not without admitting she’d been awake and aware the entire time. And dammit but she felt so good, her breasts heavy against his palms.
 

Whatever they did this morning didn’t count in this battle they waged. It was an insanely erotic cease-fire. He squeezed her breasts gently as he thrust his hips forward and she tightened her legs around his cock. Moving faster now, sliding against him like a delicious tornado, clearly wildly aroused, and so wet, her body so lush and warm, the feel of her so unexpected and outrageous, and she gasped and uttered tiny little grunting moans, turning him on even more, and he was about to—
 

The doorbell rang.

Chapter Seven

The doorbell shattered everything. Darcy was so very close, craved this so much, needed Will to drive against her, needed the friction and tension of this silent, bizarrely intimate dreamlike sexual encounter, her body tingling with the precursor to an amazing explosion, until that damned doorbell rang.
 

Will jerked away. And she had to let him.
 

She rolled over as if she were still asleep, merely changing positions, even though she wanted to scream in frustration, wanted to grab him and haul him back down onto the bed for one more minute of intimate contact with this obscenely sexy man and his delicious body.
 

As he grabbed his bathrobe, she lay motionless on the bed, listening to his harsh breathing as she tried to get her own under control. Tried to ignore her body still vibrating with unfulfilled desire.
 

Through slitted eyes, Darcy saw Will glance back toward the bed with a strained expression that might have been regret. And then he was gone.

She heard the sounds of voices in the living room. Will’s, but also a woman’s, and it didn’t sound like Janet the Sad Realtor.
 

Darcy sat up, stripping off her underpants. Her suitcase was still in the living room, so she couldn’t change her T-shirt yet. But she couldn’t exactly parade around bare-assed either.
 

She padded over to Will’s dresser, pulling open drawers until she found his neatly folded boxers. She picked out a red pair decorated with yellow palm trees. Too big, of course, but the elastic did its job. They stayed up.
 

Then she went into the bathroom to splash water on her face and try to regain some semblance of self-control.
 

She leaned against the door that led to the living room, trying to eavesdrop. Who was out there? An ex-girlfriend? A
current
girlfriend? Had Will cheated on someone with her?
 

She pushed the bathroom door open with her foot, just a crack.
 

Will stood by the front door with a blonde woman in her thirties. She had her hair clipped back and wore an outdated pantsuit. She was gesturing out the door. “It’ll only be for an hour or two. Three, tops.”

“Of course.” Will cinched his bathrobe belt tight. “Tell them to come inside. I have to go get dressed.”

The woman leaned out the door. “Jakey! Alex! Come on in and see your Uncle Will’s new place!” She turned to Will. “They haven’t had breakfast yet. Do you have anything?”

Darcy snorted to herself. Those kids were gonna flip over Will’s nuts and twigs.
 

Intent on watching the two young boys bound into the condo and enthusiastically attack their uncle, Darcy didn’t realize Will’s sister was heading across the living room until the woman flung the outer bathroom door all the way open. And stopped dead, blinking.

Darcy extended her hand, acutely aware of her state of undress but covering with a show of nonchalance. “Hi, you must be Will’s sister. I’m Darcy Jennings. You may have heard of me, I’m the big bad wolf. Nice to meet you.”
 

Will’s sister raised her eyebrows, turned around, stared at her brother. “I had no idea you were
entertaining
. Maybe I should take the boys somewhere else.”
 

He strode over, looking irritable. “I’m not entertaining, Sheila. Darcy is not my girlfriend. We’re not anything to each other.” But his flush went all the way down to the long, low, revealing vee of his bathrobe, and he couldn’t actually look Darcy in the face. “She’s staying here temporarily until she gets her housing situation sorted out.”

“Is that what you call it? Sorted out?
My
housing situation?”
 

“You’ll find another place soon. I’m sure of that.”

Darcy cocked her hip. “You’re the one moving soon, bud.”
 

Sheila glanced at Will, worry creasing her face. “You’re not moving away?”

Will shook his head reassuringly. “Of course not. There was a mix-up in the paperwork. We’ll figure it out.”
 

Sheila started to smile. “I see. Good luck with that.” She glanced at Darcy’s attire. “Nice pants.”
 

Behind his sister, Will seemed to belatedly register that Darcy was wearing his boxers. He stared fixedly at her hips. Darcy felt an answering flush radiate outward from her groin. Uh-oh.
 

She forced herself to look only at Sheila. “Your kids will be plenty safe here. I promise not to corrupt them. Not today, anyway. I’ve got too much work to do. And Will and I are not—would not—well. They should stay.”
 

Will nodded. “I have Brios and Legos in the bedroom closet. They’ll be fine. Besides, what else are you going to do, Sheil? Bring them to the interview? Better get going. Don’t want to make a bad first impression.” He put his hand on his sister’s back, escorting her to the door.
 

Darcy shut the door from the bathroom to the living room. The one to the bedroom too. Locked both. Then she finally turned on the shower faucet and stepped into the tub. Hot water streamed down onto her face, her body, washing her clean. Almost as nice a sensation as hands massaging her breasts and a muscular male body moving in sync with hers, his cock sliding between her legs.
 

Yeah. Not anywhere near as satisfying. But a lot less complicated.

~*~

A phone was ringing, playing a tinny “Ride of the Valkyries.” Not his cell phone.
 

The ringing was coming from a crevice in his couch. He fished the phone out. “Darcy Jennings’s line.”

“Well, hello there, stranger. Who are you?” A young female voice.
 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not Darcy, obviously.”
 

Alex raced by, holding a Thomas the Tank Engine train aloft. “I’m dive-bombing behind enemy lines!” He leapt onto the couch. Will winced.
 

“How do I know you haven’t stolen her phone?” the voice challenged teasingly.
 

“Why would anyone want the phone of a career-driven opportunist? The thing would never stop ringing.”
 

The caller chuckled. “Okay, I’m convinced. Put her on.”
 

“Can you call back? She’s taking a shower.”

“Huh. Well, then.” The voice paused. “Tell her to get her ass in here. To work, I mean. Stan is driving me nuts, asking tons of questions I don’t know the answers to, and he only laughs indulgently when I tell him I’m a lowly peon and know nothing. I need her here. Oh, and tell her it’s Thora, but she knows that. Also, tell her I’m going to question her about you until she cries uncle.” The line went dead.
 

Alex started marching up and down on the back of the couch, playing soldier, just as Darcy emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and her dark pink shirt clung to her torso. He could feel his erection rising again like a recently disturbed ghost. The memory of her luscious ass against him was a tangible thing, and he clenched his fist around her phone. “Someone named Thora called while you were in the shower. Alex, can you please get down from the back of the couch? I’m afraid you’ll break it and hurt yourself.”

Alex jumped down with a thud that shook the room, belying his small size. “Yes, sir, Corporal. Do you have more rations for your air force pilots, sir?”

Darcy held her hand out for the phone. “Did she leave a message?”

“Sorry, I’m not an answering service. Alex, how do you feel about strawberries and cream?” His hand brushed Darcy’s for a moment as he gave her the phone. Her skin was hot from the shower. The hairs on the back of his hand stood up. From a touch. Ridiculous.
 

“Ice cream?” Alex looked hopeful.
 

“Whipped. Have you ever whipped cream before?” Focus, that was the trick. Kids were good for that. Speaking of which, where was Jakey? Will glanced around.
 

The front door was wide open.
 

Oh no.
 

He went tearing outside, scanning the lush courtyard as he ran. No Jakey. How could a toddler move that fast?

Will raced barefoot out to the street beyond the courtyard, grateful that he’d at least had time to put on jeans and a T-shirt. And yes, there was Jakey, his straw-blond hair bobbing as he bounded off down the sidewalk and right into the damned street.
 

“Jakey!”
 

His nephew turned around with a huge smile. He was holding a pine cone nearly as big as his head. “Pi-cone!”
 

Will scooped up both boy and pinecone and headed back toward the condo complex. “Big pinecone, yes, but next time? Come get me first, okay?”

“Okay.” Jakey buried his head in Will’s armpit. “Mad?”

Will sighed. “Not mad. Just worried for you.” He walked through the courtyard toward his front door, abruptly nervous. Would he find the door barred? Had Darcy locked him out? Had he traded his nephew for his home?

~*~

Darcy watched through the small window in the door as Will came trudging back with the toddler curled against his chest, and something unfamiliar unfurled inside her own chest. As if she could almost feel a phantom child’s breath on her clavicle. Phantom drool, phantom trust. And Will looked so tender, so protective.
 

Dammit.
 

She unlocked the door and swung it open.
 

She’d never understood when women said this man or that man would make a good father, because who cared? Were they good in bed, were they fun company? Those were the only important questions. A future with kids and a house together? Why think that far ahead? Anything could happen to ruin things. Why invest in a hypothetical?
 

The only sure thing was work. It was easier on the soul than love. More reliable too.
 

As he came inside, Will gave her a quizzical look. “You didn’t bar the door. You’re slipping.”

“That would be ungentlemanly of me. I fight fair.” She wasn’t going to tell him she had actually momentarily locked the door against him; for that brief moment she’d actually been goal oriented and thought about the battle and the war and the condo and what her father would have done. For a good thirty seconds. Okay, maybe twenty. But then something about the way he held his nephew had made her feel warm and gooey and altogether unmanned. And she’d unlocked the door again to let him in.
 

No, that secret was going to the grave with her.
 

She surveyed Will as he put the kid down and gave him a pat on the backside. “So, your sister.”

He eyed her. “So, my sister.”

“What’s her deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s job hunting, doesn’t have child care. What’s her story? Does she dump the kids on you a lot?”

“Only since the divorce. But I don’t mind.” He gazed into the kitchen, where Jakey had clambered onto a chair and was grabbing handfuls of sugar from the ceramic bowl in the center of the table, spraying them across the wood. “Jakey!” Will raced over to the kitchen.
 

Darcy grinned. At least
someone
made him lose his cool.
 

A knock on the still-open door made her turn. Two burly men wearing weight belts and heavy gloves stood in the doorway. They propped a huge oblong box against the wall outside the condo. “You’re Darcy Jennings?”
 

“I am.”

“We’re from Marty’s Sports.”

“Great. Come on in.” She ignored Will’s searching look.
 

“Where do you want it?”
 

She looked around the great room. There was very little wall space. The couch was by the front window, the coffee table in front of that, and a comfy armchair across from it. The dining table was nestled in the back corner by the kitchenette.
 

She pointed to the far wall, between the bathroom and the hallway, under a black-and-white photograph of a serene desert landscape. “How about there? It looks like a big enough space.”
 

Will frowned. “Space for what? What are you bringing into my—”

“An elliptical. And it’s my home, remember?” Step one in pushing Will out: claim the space. Reshape it until he hates it. Do it in small increments, at least at first.
 

It might work too, judging from the frown lines on his forehead. But the moment he caught her looking, his expression smoothed out. Had he always been that poker-faced?
 

She almost smiled. Not two nights ago, he wasn’t. He’d been just as fierce, just as pissed off as she was.