He comes to, eyelids fluttering. A cautious smile plucks at one side of his mouth. “So, kissing me would be . . . good?”

I did say that. This night just got so much worse. What the hell. What in the actual—

“Okay,” he says.

I wonder if I can commit seppuku with one of the wooden hangers behind Darcy’s head. “Don’t. I’m . . . I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s stupid. I—”

“Bennet.” Darcy half-smiles, looking almost—self-conscious? It’s enough to give me pause. Is he even capable of that? “I don’t want to make light of the situation,” he says. “But you can’t think I wouldn’t be interested.”

Yesterday’s brutal comments echo in my mind. He should hate me. I wanted him to. “After everything—”

“It’s hardly a sacrifice to kiss a beautiful woman.”

My mouth is already open to protest, but his comment has me snapping my jaw shut so hard my teeth click. Beautiful?

Before I can dissect his response, he steps forward, holding his hands out, palms up, like a surgeon who’s scrubbed in. “Do I have permission?”

The word choice confirms he was able to make out what I hissed at that asshole, and it’s almost enough to mortify me anew. But he says it so carefully, I know he’s not giving me a hard time; he’s asking for my consent. Asking. Not taking. The emotions tumble in me: anger and humiliation and want. The appeal of having an outlet, of feeling him, is too strong to deny.

I nod slowly. “Yes. Please.” Oh, God, Bennet. Please? Really?

Darcy closes the space between us, placing a hand at my waist. The heat of his palm sears through the layers of silk and boning, and I silently celebrate my skimpy costume.

His hold tightens.

I stop shaking. And breathing.

My hands rise to his chest, resting lightly on either side of the line of buttons on his shirt. He brings his fingertips to my chin, tipping my face up to his. He’s focused solely on my mouth, his look so intense, I have to close my eyes. How is this happening? How is this what I need right now? How—

His lips press to mine.

He’s gentle, lips moving tentatively as though feeling me out, trying to gauge my commitment to this remedy. But, oh—his lips are soft, and his tongue, teasing along my upper lip, is cool from what he was drinking before he found me. I savor the unexpected sensation, but the whole thing, the extremes of the past five minutes, is too much to process.

So I stop trying. And I kiss him back.