Page 17 of Suddenly Tempted
Devlin nodded, and his eyes once again turned to the fire. She wondered if the conversation was thawing something inside him, the same way heat thawed the ice. Maybe Devlin Storm wasn’t just an arrogant billionaire.
There was another thing, too. When the helicopter had been about to crash, Devlin hadn’t tried to save himself, he’d tried to saveher. He’d thrown himself onto her, cushioning her with his own body. She was fairly sure that was the reason he’d broken his arm, but if he hadn’t done it, she could have been seriously injured.
“Can I ask you something?” Darcy asked, eyes back on the fire.
“What?” he replied.
“Earlier, when the helicopter went down, did you try to protect me?”
He considered the question, then shook his head.
“I was going for the other controls,” he said. “I thought mine might have been damaged, and I wanted to try yours.”
She knew a lie when she heard it, even when it was being told by such a well-practised liar. But why wouldn’t he tell the truth about this? It wasn’t like it was a terrible thing, something to feel ashamed about.
“Well, thank you,” she said. He breathed a soft laugh, thawing a little more.
“No problem. As long as you know I wasn’t trying to protect you.”
“Sure,” she said through a smile. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Do you have to?” he asked.
“What was so important, up here in the mountains? What needed doing so much that you were willing to risk your life —ourlives — to do it?”
Devlin turned away again, resting his head on the sofa. The room suddenly seemed ten degrees colder.
“You ask too many questions,” he said, once again turning to ice. “Now please stop talking and get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day.”
Chapter 9
DEVLIN
Devlin lay there, a fog of confusion disorientating him. Why did Darcy want to know abouthimand not about Devlin Storm the billionaire. Devlin Storm the CEO. Devlin Storm the famous entrepreneur and his penthouse suite and bulging bank balance. He was normally batting away questions about how many zeros he’d added to his wallet that week, or what type of private jet he was flying on that weekend. Darcy was skipping those important questions and hitting straight for the personal, mundane stuff. Devlin didn’t get it. He scratched his head like a cartoon and behind him, Darcy sighed.
He wondered if she would lash out at him, if she would ask him more questions or maybe throw some insults his way, but she just rolled over so that her back was to him. He felt terrible for reacting to her questions the way he had, but she’d hit on such a nerve. His mum had passed so recently that it still felt like a raw wound, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. Besides, if she knew the truth about why he was here, why he’d risked their lives, she’d probably laugh at him. The whole world would laugh at him. That’s why he had kept it a secret.
The only thing was, now he’d spent time with Darcy, he knew she wouldn’t laugh at him, not even a little. Darcy seemed genuinely kind and caring. She was annoyingly argumentative, sure, and quick to defend herself — not exactly a bad quality — but beneath all that, there was a deep compassion.There’s no such thing as a small act of kindness, she’d said.Every kindness is a great act, and can change a life for ever. She’d gone out of her way to help him ever since they arrived at the cabin — splinting his arm, and finding him clothes, pain relief, and the map — and she’d shown none of the false affection and clinginess that he got from other women. He had no doubt that if she found out the truth of why they’d crashed on the mountain, she’d be perfectly kind about it.
But he wasn’t going to tell her . . . not yet. Not until he’d thought of a plan to get them home. The truth was, he had no idea what to do next, and if he didn’t think fast then they could be in serious trouble. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling the pain start to ebb back into his arm. Darcy had splinted it well, and the painkillers had been effective, but a broken arm was a broken arm, and it was excruciating. He couldn’t think straight. It would be better to get some rest, then try to figure things out in the morning.
Besides, how was he supposed to think about escape when all he really wanted to do was roll over and look at the woman who lay beside him? Although the conversation had taken an unfortunate turn, and the conditions weren’t exactly ideal, he’d enjoyed talking with her. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken so freely about anything to anyone — and he was sure he had never come close to breaking down with anyone else before. Usually, he clammed up when people asked him about his life, or he gave a flippant, scripted reply that made him look like the shitty rich man the world knew him to be and he didn’t care. But there was something about Darcy that made him feel like he could open up to her, like he could tell her anything.
It’s the endorphins from the near-death experience talking, he told himself.There’s nothing special about her.
Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? He moved carefully onto his back and glanced over at her. She was so close he could smell her hair — a hint of coconut that made him feel like he was lying on a tropical island, not in a cabin on the mountainside. What he wouldn’t give to curl himself into her, to bury his face in her hair and his hand on her waist and . . .
“If I die first, you have my permission to eat me if you need to.” Darcy’s sudden statement was so out of the blue it made Devlin bark out a laugh.
He coughed to try and hide it, bending his good arm behind his head and resting back onto his hand.
“Noted.”
Darcy shuffled around onto her back, too, the movement tugging at the covers and making Devlin’s skin fizz as they brushed against his clothes. He stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about eating Darcy. Why had she said that? Now all he could think about was catching her standing almost naked, shivering in her underwear. He wanted to eat her, to run his tongue along her collarbone, to dip his fingers and taste her. Something stirred deep inside him, and he shifted his hips, trying to focus on the patch of damp that looked like a map of Australia blooming above his head. The covers were heavy, but not heavy enough to disguise how his thoughts were making him feel.
She sighed, and the sound made his head spin.
“Well?” she asked, expectantly.
