“Ah. Then I’d better not have any more of this,” Barbie said, glancing toward the glass.
“You do like it?”
“Very much. Maybe even better in a snowy climate.”
Another grin crossed Darin’s extraordinary face—a reward of sorts. He was quick to smile, quick to laugh, and his green eyes flickered becomingly. Fine as Darin Russell was, he didn’t really seem vain. No glancing at himself in the shiny metal tray. No ticks of any kind that Barbie could see. His posture seemed loose, relaxed. His smile was easy.
Barbie found herself envious, while still aware of those clanging sounds inside of her skull. She had to be careful. Not used to wine or dedicated male attention, enough of her body buzzed to make her want to leap into some male-female lip exploration. In public. It was, she decided, the wine working its magic. And hormones. She failed again to uncross her knees.
Possibly it was too late to worry about the wine. She was already alcohol silly. A real lightweight. And Darin was so darned close. So damned fine.
“Do you think—?” she began breathlessly.
“I think as much as I can,” Darin remarked, popping a spinach wrap into his mouth, running his lips across his fingertips rather. . .what? Seductively?
Barbie tore her focus from his fingers and sighed in exasperation. She was feeling feverish, giddy even.
“Sorry. Speak your mind.” Darin’s hand moved toward one of her exposed and malfunctioning knees, apparently spontaneously. But it stopped midway without touching down. Even so, an earthquake rocked Barbie. Seven on the Richter scale.
“Do you think you might sit over there for a while yet? At least until we have dinner?” she requested, staring at the hand hovering above her kneecap.
“Am I bothering you?” He withdrew his hand, combed his fingers through his hair.
“The teeniest bit.”
Without registering disappointment, Darin did as she asked. Back in his original position, he stretched out his long legs for several seconds, then tucked them beneath the table. Part of Barbie felt relieved by this separation. The mental part. Everything else mourned the distance.
It was the dastardly Bradley blood causing all this hormonal trouble, Barbie decided. There were plenty of black sheep in the family history. Probably pirates in there somewhere. Yo ho. But even allowing for those skeletons, it wasn’t usual for her to lack in conversation. It wasn’t usual for her to get into a tizzy over a man. Honestly, for all her current misguided thoughts, she wasn’t easy. She was a schoolteacher, the third child of a relatively normal family, the product of late-blooming Baby-Boomer parents, Brenda and Sam. She was a good girl. Bleh.
Where was Adventure Barbie? Surely Adventure Barbie could have a glass of wine and still maintain the use of her toes? Surely Adventure Barbie could down this glass of wine, enjoy another, and be dancing on tabletops by the end of the night. Having . . .you know, fun.
Then again, this wasn’t really about Barbie Bradley, in what ever imaginary Mattel incarnation. This was about Darin Russell and why he had chosen her. Why this hunky guy was pursuing her. It was time to talk about this and to confess to Darin, who might have preconceived misconceptions, that she really was much more intelligent than her name and recent behavior implied. She really was only temporarily silent due to some sort of ill-timed mental cramp.
About to start the explanations, lips parted to speak, Barbie paused. A strange muffled sound arose from under the table: music, sounding a little like a Bach concerto.
Chapter Thirteen
Unable to stop grinning, despite his very real and growing problems, Darin watched his date. She had green eyes, the color of new leaves. She had full lips painted a flattering shade of pink, a small tapered nose, wispy bangs highlighted with auburn edging her eyebrows, and an inquiring expression singular to people of imagination and openness.
He liked everything about Barbie Bradley. For real. Even though her lap was making music. Er, no, it was her purse.
“Oh,” she said, apologizing as she produced the bag. “My phone. Truly sorry. Might be important.”
Barbie’s body, encased in a little black skirt and blue jacket, was long and slender. He’d known all along what her knees were like—graceful, shapely, and now regrettably hidden under the table.
Barbie Bradley, all in all, was exactly as he had anticipated. Not beautiful in the classical sense, but extremely attractive. Cute. Energetic. Everything in the right place, in the right proportions. Barbie Bradley, out of that imaginary bathtub and bubbles, was every bit as tempting. Add to the list that she was slightly quirky and fairly brave, and Darin Russell was certain he had found his ideal match.
Unable to help himself, Darin lowered his gaze a bit, seeking white lace, drawn to the spot he’d last seen it. This time the lace was black, visible beneath the low-cut neckline of Barbie’s blue jacket. A fashionable black. Innocent, in a wickedly feminine way. It became a toss-up where to look: green eyes or black lace?
Better the eyes, Darin decided. Less intimidating. Less suggestive. Slightly less sexual. Well, not really. No less sexual at all, as a matter of fact.
He tried not to stare. To night, the objective was to encourage Barbie to loosen up and to get to know him as a man, not to see her hit the door running. The objective was particularly difficult, since he was already feeling the effects of the moon, even with the roof over his head.
He was out of direct moonlight, sure, which meant he could hold off the changes for a bit, but he sensed he didn’t have much time left. With Barbie so much like moonlight in human form, and with the moon pressing in. . .Well, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, as the saying goes.
He fought a frown. There was much to say, to know, and for Barbie to fear if she accepted him. He was no Prince Charming by anyone’s imagination, more the Big Bad Wolf. Barbie would certainly find this out. How would she react? He had no way of knowing. The spotlight was entirely on him. He couldn’t slip up, not until he’d won her heart. Not too much wine or food, no nuzzling the long, beautiful neck.
Definitely no nuzzling.
Yes, it was of paramount importance, he reminded himself, that he make sure she didn’t touch him. He couldn’t hold on if she did.
He was aware of the exact position of the moon in the sky outside. That silver seducer, in all her glory, waited for him. In the same way, he was aware of the exact position of Barbie’s body—those long legs beneath the table, her fingers on the stem of her glass. The combined desires of Darin and his beast were escalating.
Not yet!
He had to control this. Already the room was pulsing, his breath quickening. Though his resistance was fierce, the moon would win eventually. She always did. It was at heart a game to see how far he could go, but if he were to feel that moonlight on his skin or even experience too much emotion all at once, he would turn. This drove the point home: touching Barbie again, or having her touch him invitingly, was something he could not afford.
With this firmly in mind, Darin kept his attention on Barbie’s face—her lively, expressive face, which was now tinted nearly as pink as her lips with wine and embarrassment. She had set up a rescue call. Had she realized on some subconscious level that she might need help? Did she think she might need saving? From him?
He couldn’t worry about it. Nor could he laugh at her fear. His own challenge was to make it through dinner and then see Barbie to her door. In this he could not falter. Willpower was being strained to its limits. But he could manage, he told himself. He could.
Only, if he did manage, and if the date went as he hoped, what then? Would Barbie understand the need for his distance? Would she think him cool and uncaring if he deposited her on her doorstep without any physical touch? Would Barbie allow things to unfold so slowly?
Yes, if she was the woman he assumed she was. If she was the woman he hoped she was. Someone to talk to, tell everything to, share the whole story with. Someone he could be with 24-7. God, he longed for that.
>
“Sorry,” she said again.
“No problem,” he replied.
But there was a problem, of course. A very real, growing problem. His legs had begun to twitch beneath the table. His shoulders ached. It had been insanity to meet Barbie to night, pure and simple. But he’d had to. She had asked to meet to night, instead of the safer time he’d suggested. How could he have turned her down, when he had been so adamant about pursuing?
Of all the luck, or lack of it! Wolfy only visited three nights a month, and this had to be one of them. Three per month, and here he was, across the table from his one chance at happiness. If he didn’t make it through dinner, he’d never get another shot.
His eyes slipped, in de pen dent of his will, back to the black lace above her breasts. So tempting. All that silk and lace wrapped such a pretty package. What he wouldn’t give to be able to feel that lace between his teeth, and the flesh beneath.
Focus. Think of what you’ll tell her when the time comes to explain all this. Plan it out. That will sober you quickly enough. Better be prepared in case you slip up.
Explanations? Reverting to his rehearsed spiel, he’d say that unlike in the horror movies, where the beast takes over the host’s mind and body completely—where differing personalities vie for dominance, one of them criminal—the changes in him were a bit more subtle. Although his behavior became more animalistic, and his body a furry mess, Darin the man remained present and participating. It was no fantasy. Nor was it a bad dream. Yes, truth was sometimes stranger than fiction.
Barbie wouldn’t have to be afraid of what he really was, once she knew about him, she just had to be accepting. Would she have the right stuff to comprehend this? Accept this? Because if she ever accepted Darin the man, she also took the wolf. A surprise bonus. The “catch” she was looking for but would never expect. Who in their right mind would?
Dammit, his legs were shaking. Though he’d carefully folded them at the ankles and willed them to be still, they kept right on. Bloody damn, and the f-word five times over!
So, all right. The wolf wasn’t so easily fooled by this dark restaurant. The wolf was impatient and hungry for his turn. Weird, yet understandable—Wolfy only had three nights to Darin’s twenty-plus. Nevertheless, Darin pleaded silently to the inner beast, they could not blow this. The man needed this woman. The man needed her long term. More time would be necessary to win her.
It wasn’t as if he was being melodramatic, either. Darin Russell needed a girl who joked with her pals, kicked off her shoes to see where they’d land, and spoke her mind. A girl who would try anything set before her in this restaurant because she was curious, and because she loved life. Darin Russell wanted a girl who left crazy messages on her answering machine, wouldn’t care if she broke a heel or misplaced her wallet, and didn’t really give a fig about graveyards. Darin Russell wanted a girl who, though she didn’t drink much, enjoyed wine. He wanted Barbie Bradley, this girl who, though uncomfortable under his scrutiny, was dishing the scrutiny right back. No flapping eyelashes. No demure looks. No especially provocative clothes, but with assets a burlap bag couldn’t have hidden.
The beast wanted all those things, too, but the beast couldn’t verbalize its needs. The beast relied purely on the physical.
Darin slid on his seat and gritted his teeth. Old Wolfy was gaining power with the mere thought of Barbie’s assets. Beads of moisture dampened the hair on his neck—a second bad sign. The first had been the sudden twitch, and the ache. The third sign was following: his heart had begun to hammer. The beast was urging him to action. The moon was doing her voodoo, after all.
It had been too soon for this date. He had known it, but had been helpless. His arms were now visibly shaking. He clasped his hands together. His skin went hot beneath his clothes, hot to the touch, because the wolf’s shape was larger, bulkier and at this minute was pressing against the man’s insides. His organs were in turmoil, his stomach churning, bones shifting—bones that seemed to become elastic, or what ever the hell they became to allow the beast its form.
The curse had come knocking. Now. In Barbie’s presence. She smiled at him across the table, her cell phone against her right ear, and the beast inside wanted Darin to close the distance. As Barbie’s lips moved—lips that were no doubt warm, tender, and tasty—Darin felt his beast hurl itself through his bloodstream, swimming upward, trying to surface with claws extended. His mouth felt dry and strange, as if his jaw had come unhinged. Soon his face would lengthen. He couldn’t allow that, not at a restaurant, in public. . .in front of her.
“Good,” Barbie said into the phone.
Not good! He’d torn a hole in the tablecloth with unwieldy claws! His shoulder muscles rippled beneath his clothes.
“Okay,” Barbie said into her little metal phone.
Not okay, Darin thought as he closed his eyes. So. . .not. . .okay.
Chapter Fourteen
“Time to go, or time to know?” Angie whispered into the phone, as though Barbie’s date might be able to hear.
“I’m sort of busy right now,” Barbie replied.
“Busy good, or busy bad?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered cheerily.
Darin’s eyes met hers. His face was highlighted by the flickering candle and truly a sight to behold. All those beautiful angles and shadows made Barbie’s heart rattle.
“Good,” she decided.
“I’ll ring again in a half hour.” Angie disconnected.
“That was embarrassing,” Barbie confessed to Darin, sliding the phone back into her bag.
Though her date shrugged, his focus remained intent. His features seemed sharper all of a sudden. Was he annoyed?
“Merely a precaution, and well within your rights,” he said agreeably.
Hmmm. Being agreeable wasn’t a fault, Barbie reflected. Other men might have been annoyed, had they caught the purpose of Angie’s call, but not this one. Or maybe he was the smallest bit upset? He was looking at her differently. Seductively, inquisitively—and also a bit darkly. Something new swam in his eyes, an altogether unidentified emotion.
Picking up her glass, Barbie swallowed more wine. She set the glass down. Pause. Glass back up. Another sip. And another. Take the edge off, she reasoned. This would make her more comfortable.
Now let’s see, where did I leave off in this conversation?
“Back to why you were in the graveyard last night,” she said. Surprisingly, her words slurred. Small talk. Lots of it. That’s what she needed. No slurrage. But, cripes, her right elbow wasn’t working properly now. Is this what strained rubies could do?
“I spoke the truth last night,” Darin replied, his speech slow, precise, almost as though he too was having a hard time formulating words. Had he also had a few sips too many? “I was. . .making sure those party folks didn’t do any harm to the place.”
“Really?” she asked. Darin’s voice had deepened a little more and sounded gruff. Barbie took another sip of wine. “You work there? No joke?” She hadn’t been sure if she believed him.
“It’s one of the things I do,” he explained. “The other is a part-time gig with the police department—in a consulting capacity.”
“What kind of consulting?” she asked.
This was getting more interesting by the minute. Barbie took another drink of wine, which was difficult, since she had to lean forward to get the glass to her mouth.
Darin removed his hands from the top of the table. His voice emerged as a whisper. “I help them deal with people with unusual physical and mental problems.”
“Like those frat boys in the cemetery?”
Another sip of wine seemed necessary in order to dim the edges of Darin’s appeal, even though his glorious image seemed to be growing darker still and starker in beauty in the feeble light of the restaurant. He was so very handsome. Each time she looked at him, Barbie could swear she found something different to praise. She drank carefully, trying not to spill.
“Last ni
ght I was merely keeping an eye on things,” Darin said, coughing, tossing his head as if his shoulder was sore. “Making sure no one got hurt.”
“So you thought I might need saving.”
“You were headed that way.”
“Were you planning to single-handedly clear everyone out?” Barbie enquired.
“Only you.”
“Because you liked my voice.”
“You have a beautiful voice. Low. Spirited. Honest.”
Darin’s whisper could hardly be heard. His face had taken on a whitish glow. Maybe, Barbie reasoned, he couldn’t hold his wine? Or maybe he was allergic to spinach or violins?
“Thank you for the compliment,” she said, her skipping heart requiring that she imbibe more wine. She spilled, and the beautiful lace tablecloth stained as the liquid dripped down the rim of her glass. But Inquisitive Barbie would not be daunted. “Why would you single out a person because of her voice? I mean, you don’t find that unusual?”
“In the dark, that was what I noticed about you first.”
“But you can see in the dark.” She’d remembered this little item, and she gave herself points for it. “That,” Barbie continued, “brings us back to random pick ups strung on a thread of surprise, and the in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time theory for dating. Maybe you often practice this sort of thing?”
Man, that was a mouthful, and annoying if it was true. Maybe it was that flaw she searched for in Darin Russell. Never mind the fact that she was no longer looking for flaws too studiously.
His face seemed to be blurring slightly. Blinking, Barbie reached for her glass again and asked, “Would you have gone back for Angie if we hadn’t met up?” She fired off this question before realizing that Darin hadn’t answered the last one. “Why do you need a random find, anyway? Look at you, so near to perfection.” She leaned closer to the table, blinked a few more times in succession to clear the blurring. “Sorry if that embarrassed you.”
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