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Darcy sat close beside him.
The goosebumps Bennet had staved off exploded down his arm and flank, and shivers pooled at his elbow, hip, knee—crotch.
Darcy’s foot bounced in agitation. He leaped off the bench and paced the four-foot lookout platform.
“Are you okay?”
Darcy shook his head.
“Is something the matter?”
“Yes.”
Bennet reached out and snagged Darcy’s hand as he passed. Gently, he tugged him back to the bench.
Darcy was so close, Bennet could see the way the light turned his eyelashes copper. Dark eyes lifted to his, and Bennet’s ribs seized with bewilderment at what he saw in their depths. He let out a breathy gasp a millisecond before Darcy kissed him.
Shock froze him, and Darcy’s large hands slid around his back. Involuntarily, Bennet’s fingers fisted Darcy’s coat, drawing him nearer. Darcy’s hold on him doubled, their lips sliding hotly together.
Darcy murmured between impassioned kisses. “I can’t . . . stop thinking . . . about you. . . . I’m going mad. . . . Everything you say repeats in my head, and I . . .” He kissed him harder. “I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s absurd. Yet I want to know every part of you. I want to be with you.”
With each passing word, Bennet came back to his senses. He tasted the lingering fruitiness of wine on Darcy’s tongue.
The cloud of shock—and yes, attraction—cleared, and Bennet’s thoughts sharpened. He jerked away. Dazzling kisses didn’t change fundamentals. Bennet should not be kissing him.
Should not be eying his lips . . .
Darcy’s cheeks were flushed and his curls shifted in a sweet breeze. Bennet pressed against his chest when he dipped forward to kiss him again. Darcy frowned.
“You kiss well, but we can’t do that again. I’m sorry for any disappointment, but you’ll be glad we stopped this in a few hours when the wine wears off.”
Darcy swiveled toward the ocean and the darkening hills. He looked again at Bennet, a wealth of emotion from surprise to frustration coloring his face as he struggled to school his expression.
Bennet equally desired to neutralize his feelings.
Darcy cleared his throat and spoke with volatile calm. “You said you found me mentally stimulating and attractive.”
“I do, very much so.”
“But?”
“We have no emotional connection.”
Darcy’s brows furrowed.
“I barely have a clue who you are. And what I do know warns me this is a bad idea.”
“What you know?”
“You can only kiss me with the help of social lubrication. You complain you shouldn’t be doing this while your tongue is half in my mouth. You have no pride in your sexuality and seem satisfied with that. And even if you were out and proud, my brother loathes you. He is everything to me.”
Darcy paled and rubbed his jaw.
“For telling William to back off?”
A calm nod. “I see. I felt I was doing the right thing in the moment.”
Bennet heard his sincerity, and awarded him points for it. Even though it had not been his place to assert his opinion.
“There’s another reason this won’t happen,” Bennet said. “I can’t tell if you are all sweet edges or all bitter ones. Bitter, if I go by Will’s description of you. And ultimately you’d only bring heartache.”
“Will’s description?” Darcy’s voice pinched.
“You hurt him deeply.”
“Hurt him?” Darcy repeated disdainfully.
“You cut him off from his best friend, and then kicked him out of the hospice when he wanted to say goodbye to her. And the only reason for it that I can deduce is that you were afraid to be exposed as gay.”
Darcy stood abruptly. “That’s what you think of me?” His laugh was hollow. “It’s a wonder you kissed me back at all.”
“I shouldn’t have. You’re . . . very tempting. But I can’t be with a man like you. It would compromise all my principles.”
Darcy started and swallowed hard.
Breezes whooshed between them, tasting of salty ocean and dissolving dreams.
“Look,” Bennet said more softly, “I don’t want to be with you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t figure out a way to be friends.”
Darcy nodded and nodded, as though he was robbed of all other modes of communication.
“Would you like to sit and watch the sunset with me?”
“I’d, ah, better head back. I told Caroline I was popping over to my car for a call. She’ll be wondering.” He backed away as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I should have . . . Forgive me.”
With that, he twisted on his heel and strode swiftly down the dirt-packed path.
Bennet’s stomach knotted. His fingers traced his lips. He could still taste Darcy. His mind was spinning as he replayed the scene. He thought he’d feel lighter, living up to his principles. But he felt hollow.
He drew his knees up and hugged them. He’d known Darcy was attracted to him, of course, but not that he wanted to explore that attraction or finally give in to his cravings. Or that Bennet was the one he wanted to do that with.
