Page 12 of One Golden Ring
“It was,” I agree simply.
She nods and we sit with that for another moment.
“I don’t like asking you to be dishonest,” I say at last. “I don’t like being dishonest myself. But you can see how happy it made him to think we were together. I know I have no right to ask. But would you be willing to keep going along with it, just for the weekend?”
I turn to look at her, and she’s already gazing at me. There’s sadness in her eyes, a rare thing for Darcy.
“It’s not a problem,” she tells me softly, and I’ve never been so glad to hear those words.
“That’s your answer to everything,” I tease her lightly.
“It’s always true,” she says, her pretty brown eyes so serious.
Suddenly I feel warm inside, and it’s not the whiskey or the wood stove.
Stop,I warn my foolish heart. This isn’t a feeling I can afford to get used to.
But it’s too late for that. I’m already playing with fire.
And I know how that ends.
4
DARCY
Iwake up confused in the pink light of dawn—my body is cocooned in warm blankets, but my face is as cold as a frozen hamburger patty.
Something is not right. I normally wake up in my overheated city apartment to the loudest alarm sound my phone has to offer. But there is no alarm today.
I bolt upright as the panicky sensation of being late washes over me, until I remember that I’m not going to be late for Mr. Lockwood. I’m with him already.
I picture him sleeping in the room next to this one, his handsome face relaxed in dreams, and I blush from head to toe.
Stop it,I order myself, leaping out of bed and sucking in a breath as my feet hit the icy floor. The wood planks are so cold it’s almost painful to touch them.
Grabbing some clothing from my suitcase, I steady myself and then tiptoe to the door and open it an inch at a time, hoping it won’t squeak on its hinges. It’s so silenthere compared to the city—it feels like even the smallest noise could wake someone.
Thankfully, not a sound comes from Derek’s room.
I head down the hallway to the bathroom and take the quickest shower I can. The hot water feels incredible, but I’m hoping I’ll have time to start some coffee and then maybe try to figure out the wood stove before my boss wakes up and we have other problems to solve.
Once I’m dressed I tiptoe to the kitchen. As the coffee brews, I slip over to the front windows to look out at the snowy woods.
Last night it was dark and the trees were hauntingly beautiful. This morning it’s absolutely magical. The pink sunrise reflects on the snow and the frosted trees look almostsoft—like the painted ones on set ofThe Nutcrackerballet my mom used to take me to see every Christmas.
A flash of movement catches my eye and my mouth drops open.
I guess I didn’t have to worry about making noise this morning after all because Mr. Lockwood—Derek—is dressed and outside already. He’s not even wearing a coat. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows again and his skin is lightly flushed, his dark hair falling in his face as he swings an ax to split a big chunk of wood.
If I thought he was attractive when he was pacing the boardroom in an expensive suit, or whipping a rented SUV around the curves of Angel Mountain, I was all wrong.Thisis a version of Derek Lockwood that puts all others to shame.
I’m so busy admiring his brute strength and theexpression of satisfaction on his face every time the wood falls away from his ax that I forget that windows work both ways.
He glances up between swings and our eyes lock.
It feels like I’ve been struck by lightning. My skin heats, my heart beats a wild tattoo, and my feet are frozen in place.
Turn around and walk away,my mind begs me.
