What’s Yours is Mine excerpt


Darcy and Will worked together four years ago at Golden Organics, a natural beauty products company. They still have bad blood from events that occurred back then.

Darcy ran into Will a month ago during her home inspection. He was working on the complex as a subcontractor. Their meeting was strained, to say the least. She reassured herself with the thought that at least they wouldn’t be neighbors.

Stifling her hundredth yawn, she pulled into a free parking spot and got out. Time to go home. Time to sleep. Crossing the courtyard with her suitcases in the so-late-it’s-early quiet, Darcy tossed her keys in the air and caught them with one hand. She glanced around at the condominium windows in the U-shaped complex. Most had curtains or shades installed already. She was the last arrival.

The key turned smoothly in the lock, the door swung inward on silent hinges, and Darcy stepped inside, flicking on the light. Brightness lanced through her retinas. She hastily switched off the light.

But hey. In that split second, she’d seen furniture. It looked strangely different than it had in the catalogue and she’d need to rearrange things, but cool. Real furniture.

And hey. Real furniture meant a real bed. Blessed, blessed sleep, so soon hers. She kicked off her shoes and dropped the suitcases.

On into the bedroom. The bed loomed large in the dark, a faint light shining through slats. Had she ordered a sleigh bed? Really? So not her style. She must have been delirious from jet lag. She’d have to call the company tomorrow and change it out.

More important right now was the dim bulk of a comforter, the edge of a pillow. The delivery people had even made the bed. She’d have to make sure they got a big tip.

She shucked her clothes, dropping shirt, skirt, panties, bra on the floor, and slid under the cool sheets. Bliss.

Just because she could, because she was finally in a deliciously comfortable bed, she stretched out, arms and legs and—

Her hand smacked warm flesh.

“Whu?” A masculine voice, sleepy and disoriented.

“Gaah!” She sat up abruptly, clutching the blankets to her bare chest. Where was the light? She needed light!

A flick of a switch. The mystery intruder turned on a table lamp.

Darcy blinked against the sudden brightness. Even squinting, she could make out his face.

Will Dougherty was in her bed.


Will was still asleep. That had to be it. He was dreaming, a tormenting melding of fantasy turn-on—a naked, sexy woman unexpectedly showing up in his bed—with cruel, darkly twisted humor: the naked woman was Darcy Jennings.

“What are you doing here?” She sat up fast, belatedly clutching the sheet to her chest.

“It’s my bedroom. It’s three a.m. What do you think I’m doing? Sleeping. Or at least I was.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s my bedroom. You made a mistake. You belong in number ten or number twenty-five or somewhere else. Or, better yet, in another complex entirely.”

“There is no number twenty-five.” This was not a dream. This was really happening. And she was, in fact, naked. Like a thrumming undertone at an all-night rave, the thought wouldn’t go away. Darcy Jennings, engineer of his fall from grace, was naked in his bed, her dark brown hair falling over bare shoulders, her pert little nipples standing up under the thin cotton sheet that was barely covering—oh, there it went, sliding down her body.

She yanked it back up. Clutching her scant shield, she scooted closer on the bed, slicing her free hand through the air for emphasis as she spoke. “I don’t care if there’s a number twenty-five or a number twenty million and five. Get out of my condo.”

Deep breath. He had to stay calm. No matter the provocation. “You ruined my career, isn’t that enough? Do you have to ruin my home too?”

Oops. That wasn’t calm.

He hastily stood up and backed away from the bed. Her quick inhale reminded him that he was naked too.

What of it? He had no reason to be embarrassed. After all, when he’d gone to sleep three hours ago, he’d been in his own bed. In his own bedroom. Alone. He had every right to be nude. “What number is yours? I’ll guide you to it now. I can get the master keys from Tim’s office.” There, that sounded calm. Felt calm, even. He could do this, he could get through this ridiculous mix-up and go back to sleep, forcibly blotting out the memory of Darcy and her perky nipples.

“No. This condo is mine. Number fourteen. The Sea View. Mine. Janet gave me the key last month.” Her words were defiant, but her voice quivered. As if to make up for the momentary vulnerability, her gaze swept him like a torch, flaring at all the wrong places.

And now he had an erection. Well, he wasn’t going to compound the problem by grabbing an edge of the blanket like a fig leaf. Erections were normal, a fact of life. She’d have to deal with his. It meant nothing. Nothing.

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