Page 2 of All For You

“Look, man. The woman over there, the one with the blond bob, shorts, and high boots—she’s that It Girl, Emma Woodhouse.” He laughed out loud as she shimmied down to thefloor with abandon and slapped the old wooden planks. “She looks like great fun.”

My chest tightened.It Girl.She wasn’t who I wanted for Wills. With one look, I knew she was one of those women who would break his gentle heart, use him, humiliate him, and leave.

“What about that blonde over there?” he said. “Isn’t that Jane Bennet, the one who used to be a model, and then she left to be a primary school teacher? What a beautiful smile.”

“Okay,” I conceded, as unlike Emma—who looked like she had the world laid at her feet—Jane seemed shy and down-to-earth. “Maybe she’ll do for you as a weekend diversion.”

He observed her more keenly than I would have liked. “Ifshe’d have me. There’s something about her.”

I grunted.

“You don’t have to protect me all the time, Darcy. I have good instincts. She looks amazing. Imogen was just…bad luck.”

“We will agree to disagree on that.”

Wills was naive and trusting and saw the best in everyone. Evidence: Imogen Volpe, a true clout chaser. Thank God she’d revealed her true colors before they’d gotten hitched. She’d shown herself by coming on to me solely because she thought I had more money than Wills.

“What about that woman with dark, curly hair?” Wills said. “She looks interesting.”

The woman in question was swinging around with the rest of them, dressed in ripped jeans, sandals, and a white peasant blouse, her wild brown ringlets tumbling everywhere. Cracking up and joining in gleefully. Definitely not my type. I had to admit there was something quite captivating about her, though. But I was tired, fed up, resentful at the prospect of my precious weekend being taken up with get-to-know-yous and meet-and-greet activities.

I was in an utterly foul mood.

“She’s okay, I suppose, but not pretty enough to tempt me,” I shouted—as the music stopped.

Fuck.

Wills and I were both still staring right at the woman with the curly hair, making it obvious who I was talking about. My gut hurtled into my dress shoes.

Everyone turned to me, appalled.

Wide eyes, curled lips, and…complete silence.

The curly-haired woman didn’t shoot me the scathing look I braced for. She turned to her friend and burst into peals of laughter behind her hand. Probably repeating my rude remark, and they laughed again. The levity rankled me, and too late, I noticed how her brown eyes glittered in the firelight, how the dimples from her laughter made adorable punctuation marks in her cheeks, how her lithe body swayed naturally like she was always hearing a song in her head.

This woman wasn’t unattractive. She was pretty. More than pretty. She had a grace and vibrancy beyond her shining eyes, sensual mouth, and athletic figure. She positivelyglowedwith happiness and delight. Was it the dancing, the other people, being in this old manor house? No idea. When was the last time I felt as happy in the moment? I scoured my brain. Nothing came to mind.

I instantly wanted a redo.

Then I noticed the camera in the corner, held up by a bloke in Arsenal colors. He was in red, for God’s sake, so why hadn’t I noticed him? His eyes were averted, clearly embarrassed for me, and not a little sheepish about witnessing and filming my perceived boorishness.

Double fuck.

CHAPTER 2

Lizzy

That arrogant sod.Not pretty enough to tempt me. I was tempted, all right—to charge at him and give him what for. But this was someone else’s place and someone else’s event. And we were being filmed.

I immediately recognized him from press photos. Darcy Wainwright.

Everything about him radiated rich, posh arsehole. Ugh.

Of course, he insisted on being unfairly handsome, with his slicked-back dark hair and steely blue eyes, his impeccable charcoal suit showcasing the impressive width of his shoulders and his strong legs. I penned those kinds of descriptions all the time for my romance novels. I never thought I’d meet someone who matched what I’d written.Hadwritten. I’d only agreed to this weekend for one reason—renewed inspiration. To watch other people fall in love and cure my writer’s block. Not get insulted by a man who looked like one of my dashing characters.

Only good thing about having him here? His shaggy red-haired dog and his equally shaggy red-haired brother, both bouncy and jolly and looking delighted to be with us.

My mother screwed up her face. Formerly a professional dancer, she’d been hired to show us some moves as part ofthe meet-and-greet activities and was headed home to Dad afterward.