Hot to the Touch. Isabel Sharpe

up too loudly. “Oh, right. Deep down I really want my own self-centered man-child keeping me enslaved for the rest of my life.”

      She laughed again harshly, grabbed her mug and gripped it between her palms as if it was her salvation.

      “Jeez, Darcy.” Candy frowned at her. “Could you turn up the bitterness a little more? I’m not sure it’s coming across.”

      “Nathan and Justin aren’t like that.” Kim’s soft tone was uncharacteristically firm.

      “They’re all like that.” Darcy’s voice broke. She jerked the mug to her lips and took a sip.

      “Not all of them.” Marie spoke gently, heart aching for her friend. Would Darcy ever admit she needed someone in her life to help share her burdens, to help her open up and trust again? Would she ever admit that in the midst of a full and successful life she was isolated and lonely? “With the right man, you’ll never feel that you’re—”

      “No.” Darcy held up her hand. “I’m not going there, Marie. Find someone else if you need to keep foisting women onto lonely men. I like my freedom, making my own decisions. I take care of myself and of Gladiolas. I don’t have time or energy for another guy to make the whole relationship about him and his needs, and to hell with mine.”

      “I understand.” Marie waited a beat, then met Kim’s blue eyes, which were helpless with worry, and Candy’s brown ones, dark with frustration. She smiled reassuringly. They’d get Darcy to fall somehow, sooner or later.

      Maybe not overtly, by making her an appointment at Milwaukeedates.com, the way Marie had been able to with Candy and Kim. Maybe not by making reasonable overtures and putting forth reasonable logic. Some other method.

      The Women in Power president came to the podium and called the room to order. Members finished sentences and cups of coffee, turned their chairs and settled in to pay attention.

      Marie folded her arms on the table, her gaze focused on the back of Darcy’s dark head. There would be some chink, some fault line, some way into the warmth and passion Darcy kept bottled up out of fear, and Marie was going to find it, no matter how much resistance Darcy mustered.

      She lowered her brows thoughtfully, imagining the profile she’d love to put up for Darcy on Milwaukeedates.com. Men would fall all over themselves wanting her. Eventually the right one would come along, a man strong and secure enough to let Darcy be the woman she needed to be, if only Darcy would give him a chance.

      The president introduced the morning’s speaker and with the applause the glimmer of an idea rose into Marie’s mind and floated enticingly, even as she knew she’d have to reject it for ethical reasons.

      Though when it came to Darcy, maybe ethics were beside the point. Maybe the only way Marie could win this battle against stubborn denial was to get stubborn herself. Stubborn and persistent.

      Stubborn, persistent and willing to fight dirty.

       1

      “RADISHES.” DARCY TAPPED HER PENCIL on the gleaming wooden bar, made from salvaged Wisconsin oak. Her thoughts were drifting from Gladiolas’s emptying dining room around her to the side dish she was imagining for her restaurant’s summer menu, though it being merely the end of May in Wisconsin, summer seemed depressingly far away. Sauteed radishes, smoothed with butter, accented with salt and chives. And something else … sugar snap peas for color, texture and to balance the slight bite with sweetness. Or would a complementing strong taste be better, to deepen the flavor? Chard? Watercress?

      “Radishes sound perfect for my mood.”

      Darcy snapped out of her vegetable reverie and squinted at Amy Walker, her dining room manager. “What mood, crunchy?”

      “Round and bitter.” Amy tipped back the last of the cup of coffee she never seemed to be without. Her plump body was slumped onto her stool, her short, flaming red ponytail shedding strands that hung around her cheeks.

      “Bitter? I like that. Maybe we can use that in a menu name. ‘Love failed me—I’m bitter.’ A pork dish with bitter orange, a side of greens and radishes, something like that.” She made a few notes on a paper in front of her, then remembered they were talking about Amy. “Sorry, my brain went AWOL. Why are you bitter? Not Colin …”

      “He hasn’t called for two days or answered my emails. I’m thinking I’ve worked my Amy-magic again and am being dumped.”

      “No way.” Darcy felt familiar anger churn in her stomach. Yes, she had issues, but it was hard to work through them when men kept providing more and more examples of selfish behavior. “I thought this guy was really into you.”

      “Yeah, me, too.” Amy laughed harshly. “And they say women play mind games and are hard to figure out.”

      “I’m sorry. But you know men. They have a completely bizarre concept of time. He’ll reappear when you least expect it, without a clue he’d left you hanging.” Darcy pushed her untouched glass of chardonnay over to her friend, and signaled their handsome, burly bartender, Jeff, to get her another. “In the meantime, drink away your sorrows, honey. At least alcohol is dependable.”

      “And a depressant.” Amy lifted the glass anyway and took a healthy swallow. “I don’t know. It’s too easy to blame men. Sometimes I think it’s just me, Ms. Man-Poison.”

      “You are not—”

      “No, really, I’m serious. I think there’s something about me that horrifies them. Until I find out what that is, maybe there’s no point looking anymore. I’m thinking of giving up.”

      “No.” Darcy held up a hand for emphasis. “I’m the cynical, damaged one. I’m the one headed for a life of questionable hygiene, living alone in a ramshackle house overrun with cats. Not you.”

      “Maybe.” Amy fingered the stem of her wineglass, eyes down. “I want to find a guy who accepts me, warts and all, who’ll consciously work on the relationship and compromise when necessary, someone for whom my happiness is nearly as important as his. Because that’s exactly what I’d do for him.”

      “Oh, that guy!” Darcy accepted her new wine from Jeff. “I know exactly where he is.”

      “Where?” Amy lifted a skeptical brow.

      “Hanging out with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny!”

      Amy snorted. “I know, I know. But I can’t totally crush hope the way you have. I wish I could. It would save me a lot of trouble and a lot of pain. I really thought Colin would hang around. Of course I probably thought that about all of them at one time.”

      “Uh … yeah.” Darcy nudged her affectionately. “Didn’t we all.”

      “It’s just that it can happen, out of the blue, when you least expect it. My sister met her husband on her millionth blind date, sick to death of trying to find someone, and they were both struck stupid with love the second they saw each other. They’re still wildly happy.”

      “Because they’re stupid. You said it yourself.”

      Amy finally loosened up enough to let out her trademark cascade of giggles. “I did. Now enough of my whining. Back to your radishes.”

      “Nah.” Darcy lifted her glass, irritated by the story of Amy’s sister. People who were disgustingly goopy like that made her sick. Or jealous. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which. “Forget the radishes for now. We need to cheer you up first.”

      “Good luck.”

      “Ooh, I know. Ken, the new Lenson’s sales rep, came by this morning with industry gossip.” Darcy sipped her wine. She’d stick to the gossip that had been pleasant. The rest had been eating at her all day. “The new place down National near Fourth Street? Esmee? The chef is Lebanese. He’s supposedly giving the usual bar food an innovative Middle Eastern kick.