looked out of place at a funeral.
He drew even with them and paused. “Ah. Miss James.”
She glanced over at him. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry – you obviously don’t remember me. Your father introduced us last week. Hugh Darcy, the family solicitor.”
“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said, and shook his hand briefly. “Mr Darcy, this is Ciaran Duncan. Ciaran, Mr Darcy.”
“We’ve met,” Darcy said, and ignored Ciaran’s outstretched hand. He turned back to Holly. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss James,” he said, although his expression indicated it was anything but. To Ciaran he said nothing, only cast him an unsmiling glance as he proceeded down the stairs and headed towards the drawing room.
“Well, that was rude,” Holly said, unaccountably annoyed by Hugh Darcy’s unfriendliness. “Who does he think he is, anyway?”
“Perhaps,” Ciaran suggested, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “I’m not the only one here tonight with bathroom issues. Mr Darcy looked rather constipated, even for an Englishman, don’t you think?”
Holly couldn’t help it; she giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to see Mr Darcy pause and glance up at the sound of her laughter, his expression unreadable. She flushed and turned away. “You’re very bad, Mr Duncan,” she whispered.
“So I’ve been told,” he whispered back.
“Come on then, let’s find you a bathroom.”
The guest bath at the end of the upstairs hall was empty. “Here you go, all clear. I’ll see you later.” She turned to go.
He caught her wrist. “If it’s all the same to you, Miss James,” he said as he pulled her forward and slid his arms around her waist, “I’d prefer sooner rather than later,” and he drew her firmly against him, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her.
Holly was too shocked to do more than give in to the – admittedly – skilled persuasion of his lips. He was an excellent kisser. Oddly, he didn’t taste of chardonnay, but of minty toothpaste. Almost as if he’d planned this kiss...
With his lips distracting her, and with her thoughts spinning faster than one of those stationary bikes at SoulCycle, she couldn’t help but respond.
Suddenly Holly realized Ciaran was maneuvering her into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind them with his foot, even as he kept his mouth expertly attached to hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she drew back in mild alarm.
He looked at her in surprise. “Why, having a quickie, of course.” He smiled. “Isn’t that what the Yanks call it?”
“What are you talking about?” Holly wrenched herself from his grasp and stared at him in astonishment.
“Well,” he explained, his brow lifted in amusement, “a quickie is when two people are instantly, madly attracted to one another, and so they decide on the spur of the moment to get together for a very nice, very quick—”
“I know what a quickie is,” she interrupted. “And I’m most definitely not having one with you.”
“You’re not?” Surprise mingled with confusion crossed his face. “But why? I’m Ciaran Duncan, after all.”
“Because I’m engaged, for starters.”
“Then why,” he asked reasonably, “did you kiss me just now?”
Good question. Why did she kiss him just now? “I was...swept up in the moment. You caught me off guard.”
“Ah.” He smiled.
God, he was smug. “Oh, you think because you’re a film star, I’ll have sex with you, right here, right now? Because you’re famous?” she sputtered.
“Well...yes,” he said mildly. “Most women do.”
“Sorry, but I’m not ‘most women.’ God ‒ you’re an egotistical, oversexed jerk. I don’t even know you! We haven’t been on a date, or had a coffee together, or...or anything.”
“We could consider this a sort of date, couldn’t we?” he suggested, and lifted her hand to his lips. “I’ll buy you a coffee afterwards, if you like. I might even spring for one of those overpriced cookies.”
She snatched her hand away. “No thanks. I don’t sleep with strangers. Or self-important twits.”
“Well, that’s easily remedied.” He pulled out a cell phone from his breast pocket, opened the calendar, and began scrolling through it. “Let’s see...are you free tomorrow night? I’m not headed back to London until next Sunday. We can have an early dinner.” He eyed her expectantly. “And if you’ll let me, I can prove to you that I’m not an egotistical, oversexed jerk. Or a self-important twit.”
“What part of ‘I’m engaged’ don’t you get?”
“You’re not in love with your fiancé, whoever he is. If you were, you wouldn’t be here now.”
She gasped. “What? How dare you. You don’t know anything about my fiancé. Or me.”
“Interesting. I didn’t know women still said ‘how dare you,’” he replied, unperturbed. “And you’re right, I don’t know you. But I’d like to.”
Holly stared at him, too furious – and okay, too flattered by his interest, no matter how unwanted – to speak.
“One date. One dinner. That’s all I ask.” He smiled roguishly. “Think of it this way ‒ it’ll be good publicity for the store,” he pointed out. “And if, after dinner, you decide you still don’t like me, I’ll be winging my way to the other side of the Atlantic the very next day, and you’ll never see me again. Unless, of course, you go to see my new movie, Charmed, coming to theaters everywhere on first August.”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “You really do take the cake. Thanks, but the answer’s still no.”
Surprise flickered over his face, gone as quickly as it came, and his expression smoothed back into its customary amusement. “Well ‒ one can’t blame a chap for trying.”
He turned away to open the door.
“Maybe if I wasn’t engaged...” Holly blurted, and froze. Had this man – this actor – put her under some kind of a movie star spell, or something?
Thankfully, he didn’t hear her as he’d already stepped out into the hall. “I apologise if I misread the situation. Goodnight, Miss James.”
“Goodnight.”
As she followed him into the hall, she heard footsteps, and glanced up to see her father Alastair coming towards them. “Dad?” Oh, shit.
