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“Before I knew you as lying, cheating, bastard, scum. Let me go now. You’re not allowed anywhere near me. Peter made that perfectly clear.”
“Is Peter the problem? Fuck Peter. He works for me.”
“You’re the problem.”
They were surrounded by other couples. He stopped. Dropped his arms. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I never meant for you to get hurt.”
They were standing chest to chest, breathing each other’s air. She should’ve run from him. She closed her eyes. She detested him, but his nearness was sending her senses into hyper-drive, locking her knees and gluing her feet to the dance floor. Her heart was thumping so loudly surely he could hear it. His hand found hers, his arm stole around her waist, and she let him bring her hips to his, rock them side to side, press his cheek against her hair and trace spirals on the exposed skin of her back.
She wanted to kiss him, to bite his lip until he bleed, until he understood how much he’d hurt her. To jam her stiletto into his foot until he was impaled on it, to score his chest with her nails until he bore a mark for every tear she’d cried that day over him. She wound her arm around his neck and listened to him hum the Sinatra tune in her ear.
She was under his skin and he wasn’t going to see her coming.
When the song ended and applause broke out around them, she pulled out of his arms without a word or a glance, turned her back on him and left him in the middle of the floor.
15. Caught
“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” — Confucius
Robert had his nose in another glass of wine when she got back to the table. “Jesus, Darcy. I thought you disliked the guy?”
She took her seat and the women who’d patted her hand grunted and turned her head away in disgust.
“I hate him.”
“Anyway I got the pics, we can go.”
She grabbed her purse, this nightmare was nearly over. “Hold on, am I in all of them?”
“Well, he was wrapped around you like poison bloody ivy.”
“No, that won’t do.” Last thing she wanted published was photos of herself in Will’s arms, and there was only so much even the best photoshopping could do. “We need a clean shot of him.”
“Righto, well where is he now?” Robert knelt up in his seat to look around. Darcy let him do the up periscope routine while she gulped another glass of wine. She needed this, and Will deserved whatever she could dish out. She’d been nervous but focused when they’d arrived, but seeing him, being so close to him, breathing in the warmth of his skin and hearing him say her name had rattled her.
“I’ve got him.”
Robert was standing. He hauled Darcy to her feet and stood her in the walkway between the tables. The walkway that wound its way right to where Will was standing. He lifted his camera and went to work. Anyone watching would see a man taking an overly enthusiastic amount of photos of his partner. With her back to Will it should’ve been easier for Darcy to ham it up for the camera, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he was watching her.
“Relax, he’s not looking at us,” said Robert. He put his hand on Darcy’s shoulder and walked her backwards, until he had the distance and angle he wanted. “Say cheese, babe.”
“Too close.” Darcy fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see exactly how far Will was. “What’s he doing?”
“Standing there like a wallflower. A waiter just brought him a Scotch.”
“How do you know it’s Scotch?”
“Lips remember. The guy has class. It’s a sixteen year old Lagavulin, neat. Bet it’s a double. Back up a little more.”
“No, it’s too close.”
“It’s fine, he has no idea. These are great shots.”
Despite goose pimples from the fear of being caught, the tight clench in Darcy’s body was beginning to unwind. In two minutes they’d be out of here. In another five she could be in her room with her shoes off, pulling the pins from her hair, and celebrating with an eight dollar Toblerone from the minibar.
Robert looked up from his viewfinder and his brow creased. “Oh shit!” He shoved the camera behind his back and started to back away. Before Darcy could figure out what was happening, she was knocked sideways into a waiter as two enormous men in dark suits with radio mics in their ears brushed by. The waiter’s tray tipped and his load spilled onto a group of guests, releasing a torrent of loud complaints and a cloud of alcohol. Darcy rubbed her elbow. Robert had put a table between himself and his pursuers. He had a cheeky grin on his face, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, but they were closing in on him.
One of the men went right, the other left. Heads turned. People swivelled in their seats to see what was happening. Robert was caught in a pincer movement and virtually lifted off the ground. He was marched out the nearest exit, leaving Darcy scrambling to grab her purse and follow.
