She considered grinding the phone with her heel, but let it lie there. One broken Manolo Blahnik was enough for the day. Jane looked down at her less-than-satisfactory replacement shoes and grimaced remembering the pleased look on Zoe’s face when she’d come in with the shoe box containing the $19.99 bargain-basement heels. Well, at least they matched her suit. Thank God the girl wasn’t colorblind as well as stupid.
What else could go wrong today? The deal on the Grant Street high-rise had fallen through after months of negotiations, the market had taken another dip and she’d lost a considerable sum, and Jasper was on her ass about the quarterly reports. She’d ruined her favorite pair of shoes on that stupid grate in the parking garage, and the morning staff meeting was long and boring and unproductive. On top of all of that, her regular driver, Curtis, was out sick. He was never sick! She depended on him. He was respectful and did his job.
Jane looked over the seat at the broad shoulders of Curtis’ replacement for the day. He glanced in the rearview mirror just then and caught her eye. Jane huffed out a sigh and looked away.
“Everything all right, ma’am?” the driver said.
Jane glared at the back of the driver’s head. “Don’t call me ma’am” Couldn’t he see she was far too young to be called ma’am?
“I apologize,” he said. He turned his head slightly and nodded. “I’m — Mr. Darcy.”
Jane’s head snapped in his direction. From where she sat, she could see the driver’s chiseled profile. She thought she saw the twitch of a smile on his lips. “What did you say?” she asked.
“I’m Mr. Darcy,” he repeated. “At your service." Missus?”
“It’s Ms.” Jane said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Ms. Barnard.”
Without the distraction of the cell phone, Jane noticed the way Mr. Darcy’s dark hair curled at the nape of his neck and the smell of his cologne — something woody, like cedar or sandalwood, with a sharp, smoky edge. To her surprise, she became aware of a warmth in the pit of her belly, and dampness between her legs. She breathed in sharply.
Mr. Darcy looked into the rearview again, meeting her eyes. She blushed. His eyes were deep brown, flecked with gold. Jane bent over quickly, embarrassed, and swept the cell phone up off the floor. She made a production of brushing it off, pressing buttons.
“It’s not going to work,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Excuse me?” Jane knit her brows together in a look she hoped was ferocious. The same look had worked on her staff just that morning, silencing them all. Mr. Darcy just smiled in an infuriating way into the mirror.
“No cell service between Camden Lake and Merton,” he said. “Not much out here but a few vacation cabins.”
“How do you know that?” Jane demanded.
“Used to go fishing up this way with my Grandpa when I was a kid.”
“Well, how long until we get to Merton?” Jane twisted on the leather seat, her silk panties riding up into the crevice between her legs. It felt good and terrible at the same time.
“What’s the hurry?” Mr. Darcy asked.
“Look,” Jane said irritably, “I have an important meeting that I-“
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “But in the mean time, check out the view. Relax.”
“Relax? Relax?” Jane threw the phone in her bag and sat back impatiently against the seat. “I am surrounded by idiots,” she mumbled to herself.
The car screeched to a halt. Jane sat up straight. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why are you stopping?”
Mr. Darcy spoke without turning around. “What did you say?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you just call me an idiot?” he said quietly.
Jane looked at her watch, exasperated. “I’m going to be late!”
Mr. Darcy cut the engine. He opened the door and stepped out of the car. Jane’s mouth dropped open. She watched as he walked around the front of the sedan and leaned against the hood, his arms folded and back to her. Now that he was out of the car, Jane noticed how tall he was, and the way the sleeves of his blue shirt strained over his muscular biceps.
She began pushing buttons on the inside car door to roll down the window and give him a piece of her mind, forgetting that with the engine off, the electronic windows would not work. “Oh!” she huffed in frustration, pulling on the door handle which held fast, causing her to break two fingernails. She pulled her hand back in pain and looked at the ragged nails. She was locked in!
“Hey!” she hollered, as loudly as she could. “Let me out of here this instant!”
Outside, Mr. Darcy leaned against the bumper of the sedan without a care, observing the trees and flowers beside the roadway, his tapered, well-muscled back turned to Jane, seemingly oblivious to her anger.
“I said, let me out of here, you son of a bitch!” Jane yelled. “Do you know who I am? You wait until we get to Merton! You are so fired!”
Jane threw herself back against the seat of the car. What did this jerk-off think he was doing? She picked up her cell phone again and pushed buttons to no avail. What was she going to do? She had meetings! Work!
Outside, Darcy had turned around and was studying her through the window. Jane looked at him and scowled. He walked slowly to the front door and unlocked it with his set of keys. He reached in and popped the locks, and Jane slid quickly across the seat, her skirt riding up to her buttocks, and grasped the door handle, but she was far too slow. Darcy opened the door and slid into the back seat with her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said.
He nodded at her hand. “You’ve hurt yourself,” he said, and put his hand out.
Jane slapped it away. “Leave me alone!” she said, but Darcy just smiled at her.
“Please,”he said, looking into her eyes. Jane felt her anger melting away, even though she fought against it. He was impertinent and disrespectful of her position, after all. But looking up at his handsome face, so interesting with full lips, high cheekbones and the tiniest of scars by his right eye — she found herself extending her hand.
He held her injured hand in both of his — his tanned skin was so warm and smooth, and in the closeness of the back seat, the woody scent of him bathed her. She breathed it in, and it was as if she was all of a sudden transported to an exotic country. His head was bent and he ran an index finger lightly over her wounded finger tips, causing a shiver to run up her wrist. He looked up then, and his face was very close to hers.
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” he said, his brown eyes liquid and showing remorse. Jane looked deeply into them and could barely speak.
She’d been alone for so long, caring only about her work, the business, getting ahead, making money — at night she was exhausted, falling into fitful sleep. It had been so long since she’d even looked at an interesting man, so long since-
Darcy’s lips parted. He ran his thumb up her wrist, then lightly traced his fingers back into her palm, working little circular motions, massaging her hand, ever so gently, the scent of him filling her nose, the heat of his thigh against hers. She saw him glancing down and followed his eyes to see her where her skirt had ridden up, exposing her creamy, smooth thighs. Under her skirt, her silk panties were wet with her moisture and sliding up between the lips of her vulva. His fingers worked between hers, and she imagined them, in that slit where her moist panties rubbed against her little button and she gasped.
She leaned back against the seat, and gently placed his hand on the soft, white skin of her leg. She reached out and touched his face and he looked in her eyes. She gently tipped his chin so he was looking down into her lap, and then slowly parted her thighs.