What's Yours is Mine (20 page)

It figured Will wouldn’t see things that way.
 

Now he was walking toward her with a dark glow in his blue eyes and a purposeful twist to his mouth. It shouldn’t turn her on, but it did. That raw emotion, directed wholly at her. She was nervous too—afraid of him, afraid of herself, afraid that she’d just pushed him too far and now she was going to find out what was under that Buddha-like serenity. She’d seen momentary cracks in his armor, glimpses into something powerful driving him: an anger that welled up and sometimes threatened to spill out but that he always quickly banked.

What would happen when he unleashed it? Had she just let the tiger out of his cage?
 

As he approached, she backed up. Step by step, until she could feel the smooth wall against her spine, giving support.
 

“It’s a good job.” Her voice trembled. “You should go.”
 

“It’s just an interview. I don’t stand a chance in hell of getting the actual job. You don’t care, though, do you? You probably don’t want me to get it.” His voice was so soft it sent chills through her, stirring a heady mix of nerves and sexual tension.
 

“I would love for you to get the job.” She crossed her arms, hiding her breasts from his interested gaze. The brush of her own forearms against her nipples felt almost painful, she was so intensely aware of him. Was this Zen? Was this living in the moment? Because right now there was nothing else but this living room, the slanting late-afternoon light casting shadows across the floorboards, nobody else but Will Dougherty standing inches away from her, his gaze so intent she almost saw sparks of gold shoot through his blue-green-gray irises.
 

“Would you? Why? So you can assuage your guilt at manipulating me? So you can sleep at night? Ah, but you can’t sleep at night, can you?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “What will you do once I’m gone? Will you draw the blinds and dance naked in the condo, glorying in your victory?”

“Yes.” She was whispering too. “I’ll throw out all your food, order in pizza and hamburgers and greasy french fries and buy a gallon of chocolate ice cream, and I’ll sit on your bed stark naked and play Shania Twain on the stereo and gorge myself, thinking of you with every bite.”
 

It was meant to be sarcastic, meant to piss him off, but instead somehow it came out like a come-on, like a dare. She could see his pupils dilate, his breath come faster.
 

“Would you?” He bent his head toward her.
 

“I’d call the locksmiths and bolt every window and every door so you couldn’t come back, not without my express consent, like a vampire asking for entry. And then I’d stand there by the window watching you suffer, and I’d say no, no, never, no. Because I will have won and you will have lost. This time I will have won.”

She licked her lips, relishing the way he watched.
 

He was inches away now. He had to kiss her. And she’d kiss him back. Hell, she’d devour him. Rip his clothes off, push him down on the bed…

He whispered against her mouth. “You won’t. I won’t let you. Not again. I started to believe you were different. You’re not.”
 

And with that, he turned and walked away, toward the back door and the patio, leaving her to come back to herself. Her sweaty, overheated, workout-clad, hair-falling-in-her-face self. Great. She probably looked like an unsightly wreck, and he was laughing at her attempts to act seductive. Still, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She felt compelled to reach out before he vanished, before he cut himself off from her once again.
 

“Will.” She hated the way she sounded, almost pleading. But he didn’t turn. “For God’s sake. I was kidding.”

He slid the glass door open. “How can I trust you? How can I ever trust that you’re not that person?” He stepped outside and slid the door shut behind him.
 

Darcy stared after him, but what was the point? She headed to the bathroom to clean herself up.

In the shower, she lifted her hair off the nape of her neck, letting the hot water massage her back, and thought about what had happened. Her body was awake, alive; she felt like fighting, like crying, like fucking him. The martial light in his eyes, the darkness behind the calm facade, it scared her and turned her on in equal measure.
 

It was a new side of the man she was, for better or worse, living with. It felt like they’d been locked in this strange dynamic, in this small condo, forever. Worse, when she imagined him moving out, it felt like loss. But he would. Eventually he’d leave. She’d wear him down, wear him out, piss him off. Without even meaning to. Just because. This was what lay between them, this tension, like a living thing.
 

She could see it now, the anger banked in his body. Tightly leashed most of the time, but it had emerged that first night, erupting in the most intense sexual experience of her life. And now it was starting to bubble up again. And boy howdy, it turned her on. Anger was a kind of passion, after all.
 

She shut the water off with a twist of the wrist and got out of the shower stall, sliding her hand across the smooth milky-glass enclosure. This too was probably Will’s crafting, or at least his choice of material. He really was good at his job. Good with his hands.

Dammit all. She had to have sex with him again or get him to move out pronto.
 

But it wasn’t that simple anymore, was it?

Chapter Sixteen

By the time Darcy walked into the living room, her hair slick and damp from her shower, Will was prepared. He’d thrown together a quick dinner, grabbing things from the fridge almost at random and piling them on a plate, then wolfed it down at the kitchen counter. Spinach got stuck in his teeth, the vinaigrette burned his throat, and the veggie burger tasted like hamster food, but he had to eat fast and then settle in. He had a lot of work to do tonight. He might need to pull an all-nighter.
 

Yes, that was the trick. Work so hard he blocked everything else out. So hard he wouldn’t consider for a single second bedding down in his own fucking bed in his own fucking bedroom with a woman he longed to, couldn’t, never would fuck. Not again.
 

It was impossible to get much physical distance, not without actually leaving the condo, so he did the next best thing: he barricaded himself, the way a grade-school boy might build a pillow fort or crawl under his father’s desk. His couch was trapped behind Darcy’s new monstrosity? Okay, then. He’d use it as a barrier.
 

He set his laptop, papers, cell phone, and stainless steel water canister all within reach, then clambered over the back of her couch and onto his own, feeling faintly ridiculous. This was what he’d been reduced to: indoor mountaineering.
 

But once he set himself up, his back supported nicely with a cushion swiped from her couch, his feet draped over her backrest, he felt comfortable in his makeshift office. He was even getting a decent amount of work done, making progress on the designs in his head, until Darcy sauntered into the room and a potent rush of chaotic, contradictory feelings surged up and threatened to choke him.
 

He didn’t look. Wouldn’t look. Refused to look.
 

She came over, her hands on her hips. “Is my couch so bad that you won’t even sit on it?”

He looked.
 

She was dressed in a ridiculously tiny T-shirt and shorts, her hair up in four braided loops. Her cheeks were still pink from the shower, or maybe from emotion. She looked like a pixie, not a businesswoman, and he was ever so grateful that he’d barricaded himself.
 

“Aside from the toxicity, it’s fine. Good lines. I simply prefer my own. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.” He turned back to his computer.
 

Darcy shrugged and went to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a few things. The stretch of her arm made the sensual curve of her lower spine more pronounced. He forced himself to return to his work. Concentrate, dammit.
 

He glanced out the window behind him, into the moonlit courtyard. So tempting to just get up and walk outside, listening to the night birds and the distant crash of surf. Man wasn’t made for cave living. He wanted to get outside, to run along the beach down the coast. Wanted to move his body, burn off all his excess energy. He imagined wading into the chilly water, diving under the waves. Returning home purified and calm.

Returning to a locked door and no home.
 

The smell of toasted bread wafted from the kitchen. Darcy sat at the dining table, eating an English muffin smeared with jam. That was dinner? Where were the greens? She probably hadn’t bought any.

Will forced himself to focus on his CAD program. He made a few adjustments. He spun a room around to take better advantage of the view, added a skylight—every living space did better saturated with natural light—and successfully managed to ignore the woman sitting on the other side of the room.

For about two minutes.
 

Without conscious intent, he found himself gazing at Darcy. She was chugging a glass of juice like she’d never encountered liquid before, with single-minded intensity and overwhelming thirst. When she’d drained the glass, she set it down on the table, then guiltily moved it to the place mat and wiped her mouth on her forearm. She glanced over at him reflexively.
 

He sighed. “There’s salad in the fridge, all made up, and half a glass of green smoothie. Take it.”

Darcy looked wary, like it was a trick. “You sure?”

“You need it more than I do.” He shifted his computer on his lap, turning away from the kitchen, blotting the image of her out of his mind as best he could. He heard her rummaging around the kitchen, but he couldn’t see her anymore.

~*~

What the hell was going on? Will acted like she wasn’t here, but then turned around and offered her food? And what was with the long, silent stares when he thought she wasn’t paying attention? She was. Oh, she was.
 

She ate in silence, munching on spinach salad with homemade dressing (not half bad) and then chugged down the green stuff (barely tolerable). Then she carefully put everything away, cleaned up the stray crumbs, and wiped down the kitchen. She was on her best behavior. Not that he’d notice. Except for those sidelong glances that set her heart beating too hard in her chest.
 

After she was done, she fetched her computer and plopped down on her luxuriously comfy new couch. If he could sit in the living room and work, so could she.
 

She opened her computer on her lap and typed a little. No, too awkward. If she sat back far enough to have a proper lap, her feet couldn’t quite reach the floor, and if she sat forward, the computer teetered on her lap. She shifted positions, lying lengthwise on the couch. Better, but wasn’t there supposed to be a cushion at the end? Something to put behind the small of her back?
 

Hmm.
 

She glanced past the back of the couch. Will looked awfully comfortable. Well supported. “Do you have my couch pillow?”

“Can’t you work in the bedroom? There are plenty of pillows in there.”

“I wanted to try my new couch out. My new nontoxic, formaldehyde-free couch.”
 

Will’s eyebrows shot up. “You checked?”

She nodded. Okay, she’d actually looked up the specs tonight, after he’d made that crack, but yes. She had, in fact, checked.
 

“Maybe I’m rubbing off on you after all.” Then he looked away. Was he blushing? But he did grudgingly yank the small cushion from behind his back and hand it to her.
 

She accepted it gratefully, shoving it behind her own back. It was nicely warmed by his body heat.
 

Will went back to his computer screen. She caught a glimpse of three-dimensional cubes and polygons shifting as he moved the cursor.
 

She tried to go back to her own work. Spreadsheets, memos, work orders, delivery deadlines. The cubes and octagons looked a lot more fun. Without meaning to, she blurted out. “Does it have to be like this?”

“Like what?” His tone was guarded, but at least it wasn’t accusatory. Or weirdly predatory, like earlier.
 

“A standoff. Tacit enemies. I thought—I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“You thought you could win me over, make nice with my sister, blind me with a job interview, and snatch this place out from under me.” His voice was flat now. Not angry, almost neutral. And that was far more disturbing.
 

“It wasn’t like that.”
 

“You keep saying that.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe on some level you thought you’d be doing me a favor as well as yourself. It doesn’t matter. Until you stop playing games, I won’t trust you enough to have a sincere conversation about how to settle this mess. I think it’s best if you go into the bedroom and leave me to work in peace.”

Darcy stood up. “Is that it, then?”

Will looked at her, his gaze shuttered. “Yes.”

She wanted to punch something. Her computer. A pillow. Him. “It doesn’t make sense. Why you’re being like this. You’re there and then you just…go away. Turn off.”

“We’re not in a relationship. After you leave, we’ll probably never see each other again.”
 

“Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t it what you want? You hate me, remember? You think I’m an evil embezzler, but you also think I’m too morally uptight, that I invest too much importance in things like food and healthy living, but mostly you think I stand in your way. Why do you care if I open up to you or not? All you really care about is winning.”

She stood there, clutching her computer to her chest. His words hurt, yet she couldn’t exactly refute them. Even if they felt strangely untrue. “I just want this condo. I fell in love with it.”