Page 20 of It's You
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Your woods, Mr. Proctor?”
“Once upon a time, Mr. Beauloup.” Vale cocked his head to the side. “Unusual name. Beauloup.”
“Canadian.”
“FrenchCanadian, I’d say.” His eyes narrowed, looking at Jack appraisingly. “Maybe even a half-breed snow frog from Queeb.”
Darcy gasped. “You’re drunk, Vale.”
Jack’s smile faded, and even though they weren’t touching, Darcy perceived his body stiffen up beside her.
“Ain’t drunk, gal.” His eyes flashed at her, furious.
“Some folks I know might take offense to thatcolorfuldescription,” Jack replied smoothly. His voice was lazy and deliberate, but his eyes had narrowed. Darcy looked closer, and she could see the copper flecks darting and jumping under thick black lashes. She flicked her eyes to Vale. Couldn’t he see it too? If he could, he didn’t let on.
“Don’t mean no offense, son. I’m an old-timer. Bitter from life’s…misfortunes.” Vale flicked an insulting glance to Darcy, raking his eyes up and down her body. “Good luck with this one.”
Darcy dropped her gaze in embarrassment, but was distracted by Jack’s corded hand curling into a fist.Oh, no. No. Did he mean to hit Vale? No, Jack!
She looked back up at Jack’s face, trying to catch his eyes, needing to tell him Vale wasn’t worth it, but Jack’s glare was trained on Vale. She had to distract him before he did something stupid. If he wouldn’t look at her, she had only one other option. She reached her hand out tentatively and gently covered his fist with hers, touching him voluntarily for the first time in twenty years.
She shuddered briefly at the feel of his hot, taut skin under her cool fingertips, but was almost immediately distracted by his reaction. He gasped softly, and she felt the tightly coiled muscles in his fingers relax as he turned his head slowly to look at her. Surprise and disbelief crossed over his features before his eyes narrowed, and she saw sparks quietly bank into burning embers as his fingers unfurled. She looked down to see him twist his hand until their palms were facing, then laced his fingers through hers.
Her breathing sped up, and she felt a flush or warmth start at her palm and travel past her wrist, up her arm until the heat of his skin had touched the tip of every toe, every finger, the soft skin of her neck, the vulnerable smooth skin of her lips, which parted in surprise. And her poor, over-taxed, befuddled braincould only wonder if touching palms feels this good, what in the world would it feel like to?—
“Oh, ho! So it’s like that, eh?” Darcy turned to see Vale’s black, rat eyes dart back and forth between her and Jack. He inclined his head to Jack. “My sympathies.”
Jack whipped his glance from Darcy to Vale. “I’m sorry?”
“Yes. Yes, you will be. Take care, Mr. Beauloup.” Vale’s eyes narrowed at Darcy before smirking at her with a delicate snort. “She’s a…heartbreaker.”
Darcy had no idea the word heartbreaker could sound so dirty.
“Don’t go disappearing now,” he said meaningfully to Jack. Then he dumped the rest of his champagne on the ground by their feet and sauntered back to the party.
As soon as he was a safe distance away, Darcy tried to disentangle her hand from Jack’s. He wasn’t having it. He tightened his grip until Darcy had no choice but to hold his hand or make a scene by grabbing hers away. Since she’d had enough scenes for today, she relaxed and didn’t fight him.
Darcy looked down at their joined hands. The last time her fingers had been laced through Jack Beauloup’s, she’d been fifteen years old. His hand had trembled as it had reached for hers in the darkness of the backstage curtains. Adult Jack didn’t quake or tremble when he touched her. Adult Jack burned her with the heat of his body, with the unmitigated desire pulsing in his fiery eyes. She still hadn’t caught her breath since he’d laced his fingers through hers. It wasn’t fair that, other than a slight gasp, he was utterly composed.
“Can you let go of my hand?”
“No chance.” Jack watched until Vale sat down at a table with several older ladies, who tittered worshipfully at something he said. “Proctor. He’s an arrogant bastard.”
“He’s not my favorite.” Darcy sighed.
Jack turned to her. “Sure doesn’t like you.”
“No. He doesn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“Remember Phillip Proctor? I mentioned him before?”
“The one that didn’t work out.”
“Yes. Vale is Phillip’s father.”
“Ahhh,” said Jack.
