“In fact, he says his daughter is an actress and would be happy to give Lydia some pointers,” I continued. “He actually congratulated my sister on acquiring an agent so early in her career.”
“Wickham is lucky to have such skill acquiring talent,” Mr. Darcy replied diplomatically. He lowered his glass, and his eyes hardened. “If he can give her any success, I’ll be incredibly impressed.”
“As long as you don’t sabotage him, he should be fine,” I retorted.
His nostrils flared, and he set his drink down on the table harder than necessary. I’d finally riled him, and it felt good. My heartbeat sped, and I moved closer.
“I do not sabotage. I do not cheat. I do not make false promises that I can’t keep,” he said, enunciating every word. His hand gripped the glass hard enough I was afraid he might break it.
I wasn’t about to back down, though. I wanted this out in the open. I wasn’t going just to let this be. I wanted answers. I wanted him to be accountable for his actions.
“And you say that Wickham does? You say he sabotages and cheats?”
“That is for you to determine,” Mr. Darcy replied. He narrowed his eyes at me. “I will not speak poorly of him. Why are you pressing this?”
“Because I want to know why,” I replied, taking a step toward him. I wanted to get under his skin and annoy him as much as he annoyed me. I wanted him to think of me the way I did him: often and without meaning to.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. He was close to me now. I didn’t remember taking quite this many steps into him, but I was close enough now to smell his cologne. I could see the blues and grays of his eyes and the small spot he missed shaving near his earlobe.
How did he infuriate me so easily? Why did being near him cause my heart to go crazy and my ability to think disappear? I glared up at him, riled and looking for a fight. I wanted to get a reaction out of him. I wanted him to react to me.
I wanted to knock him down and kiss him, and I wasn’t sure it was in that order. The space at the arch of my legs ached for something only he could give me. I hated him, yet my body wanted his touch. Lust surged through me in hot waves.
I hated that I wanted him, but that only made me want him more.
How did he get under my skin and turn me on?
Without thinking, without my brain’s permission, my body leaned forward and kissed him.
And oh, God, did it feel good.
Every part of my body sang with need and kissing him made it better and worse at the same time. He threaded his hand behind my head and into my hair, kissing me back.
And the man could kiss. His lips were soft, yet demanding. He tasted better than he had in any of my dreams. Sweet, yet rich with hints of champagne.
Before I knew what I was doing, I wrapped my arms around his neck, not letting him go. I needed his kisses, his touch, and so much more. I needed him more than I needed to breathe. I hated him and needed him in equal parts.
What in the world had he done to me? I went from hating him to wanting to screw him in the space of a single kiss.
“We should go someplace less public.” He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper the words, and even then that was too long.
I nodded, hating that he pulled away from me. My body ached to feel him against me, and even though I knew I would get more, I hated that I didn’t have him that instant.
He grabbed my hand. With my lips still tingling from Mr. Darcy’s kiss, he pulled me away from the crowd.
Chapter 10
Mr. Darcy held my hand in his as he hurried up the stairs. I could barely keep up on my heels as we went, but there was no way I was letting go of him. Not now. Not with this heat and need coursing through my veins.
Anger and fury had transformed into need and lust.
The second floor of the hotel was deserted. Everyone was downstairs and in the ballrooms enjoying the festivities, so no one was up here. Mr. Darcy looked up and down the length of an empty hallway before pressing me up against the wall and kissing me.
The kiss exploded into me as a hot, intense tangle of tongues and teeth. Everything was raw desire as my mouth found his. One hand gripped my hip as the other tangled in my hair, pulling me into him. I wanted more than this, but it was a good start.
My hands slid into his jacket and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. I could feel the muscle and tension beneath my fingers. I fumbled with the tiny buttons, unable to focus with the onslaught of all the emotions: hunger, desire, need, and something that made my knees tremble with his touch.
“More,” I whispered, my voice coming out in gasps. “Please, more.”