Mr. Darcy Comes to Dinner: A Steamy BWWM Christmas Story (Brits and Brats Book 1) by Jorja Tabu

Author:Jorja Tabu [Tabu, Jorja]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Naughty Bits (aka PWP), Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Not in Amazon Library
Goodreads: 49872741
Published: 2019-12-24T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty One

Darcy knew she was coming. She had to come.

Bingley, of course, had gone back to London. Darcy tried to speak to him about staying, about perhaps entertaining the idea of at least glancing in another woman’s direction, but his friend—drawn, pale, and unsmiling for so long that he wouldn’t have been recognizable as the same Bingley of six months ago—declined. He went back to England, shrugging off the invitation without comment.

Darcy was worried; Bingley was notoriously buoyant. It was fascinating and irritating as hell to watch him forgive the worst in others while consistently offering his best. Darcy adored him for it, and was all the more protective… But he was afraid that in this case, he’d been too persuasive, too reliant on the old Bingley. The one who had never before declared he was going to marry a stranger, based solely on one evening of dancing. Janelle Bennett had altered his friend permanently, and Darcy had failed to protect Bingley from himself.

Darcy was also battling his own grief. He’d reached out to Olivia countless times, he felt; he’d said more things in those emails than he’d ever said to a woman in order to persuade her to speak to him. And after sex! He was sure she’d… She’d enjoyed herself. Even furious and humiliated, he couldn’t find it in himself to think terrible things about Olivia Bennett; he defended her constantly in her own mind. It was too bad Bingley couldn’t do for him what he had done for his old friend. In truth, he was at least as mad over a Bennett as Martin was. If not worse.

But how could he have somehow shielded his consciousness of this pain? This constant, tugging ache? The horror of knowing that he loved her, would sacrifice nearly anything to be with her, and she—for reasons she had not deemed him worthy of sharing—had cast him off as easily as if he was… Well, not who he was. He was William Jameson fucking Darcy! He was a goddamn multi-millionaire, head of a corporation worth billions! He had five fucking houses, he—

She did not care.

He loved her.

She did not care.

He dreamed of her, of her sighs, the soft hiss of her breath as it escaped her throat when he pushed further inside. He remembered every shiver, every gasp, every time she’d panted his name—lived with it playing constantly in the back of his mind, during each waking moment, and every one spent asleep—he dreamed of Olivia Bennett. He wanted her so badly his chest was sore.

She did not care.

But she would be there tonight; there was an excellent chance several of the Bennett sisters would, although at last count Marie was the only confirmed guest. His Aunt Millicent threw an expensive ‘fancy dress’ party every Halloween, inviting New York’s most interesting collection of up-and-comers, extended family, and old money aristocracy from all over Europe and the East Coast. This year she was having it in the lower floor of her apartment, which was her coy way of describing the way she lived.

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