her down on the path, tear off her clothes, kiss her long and hard on that little
red mouth and then stroke her everywhere, he sighed audibly. He could not, in fact, touch her that way. Not when a really
strong attraction to a woman, the right woman, seemed to produce effects similar to the moon’s mojo.
She, Barbie, was looking up at him with large green eyes and an expression that nearly turned him inside out. In fairness
to her. . .he’d have to let her go. He couldn’t pop out claws and hold her at the same time, and he couldn’t tell her the
truth. He didn’t dare. What person confessed their flaws before getting a foot in the door? Some secrets were meant to be
kept.
Swiping at the perspiration gathered on his brow, Darin turned, started away, stopped. Barbie ran right into him.
“Sorry,” she said, reaching for her shoe. “If you really work here, you might want to put in a word about lights. Thousand-watt
bulbs would be nice. On tall poles.”
Darin grinned, shrugged shoulders that refused to relax. Barbie was a nice girl. In truth, it wasn’t time for the beast or
beastly behavior—not that he could blame this one on Wolfy entirely. To night, Darin Russell was mostly a man. Yet to night,
Darin Russell, the man, felt more like a beast than he ever had.
Chapter Seven
Barbie heard a sigh and the word
civilized
. Then she was pushed through more bushes and was off on her own.
The heel of her one good shoe sank down into moist earth. She floundered, righted herself, and remembered to walk on her toes.
Forward, she ordered. Not back to the guy. Definitely not back to the guy. And damn if her internal, man-sensing antennae
weren’t now lying flat on her head instead of waving madly to indicate the presence of her mystery man. He had given up. Given
in. Sent her away. In a very unstalkerlike, unpervertlike manner. The mysterious stranger, potential and all, had gone. No
expletive she could have invented would have captured the moment, though she tried out a few just the same.
“Barbie?” Angie called out, obviously sensing her presence. Barbie’s friend’s voice was frazzled, raw, and coated in fear.
Barbie’s feelings of guilt doubled. What if Angie really hadn’t been carted anywhere by another man? What if Angie had been
here in this spot the entire time, alone, waiting? What if, while Barbie Bradley had been enjoying herself, albeit in a very
strange way, her best friend had been frightened silly?
“Angie. Here I am.”
Angie rushed toward her, missing a collision only because Barbie stuck out her arms. “Jesus, Barbie! Where the hell did you
go? What the frig do you think you’re doing? You trying to give me heart failure?”
For once, Barbie thought before speaking, which seemed a genuine miracle. How could she explain what had just happened, when
she wasn’t exactly sure herself? Outside of the rattle of Angie’s rising anger, she couldn’t hear any twigs breaking or heavy
breathing from the evergreen periphery. It was crystal clear now that no he-man had come to rescue her friend from the allegedly
unfavorable party, so in this case Angie wouldn’t like the truth at all.
Too, how could Barbie, reasonably rational gal that she was, dwell on it? Her own guy had given her a shove. No lengthy good-byes.
No good-byes at all! No bargaining. No begging for lunch or a movie, coffee or tea. No further mention of a kiss. The wuss.
You’d think he might have asked for her phone number—or presented himself, so that she’d have an easier time with explanations.
How was she supposed to take this? How could she assume the guy was a pervert if he’d refused to act like one? He absolutely
had to be a pervert, that’s all there was to it, because if he wasn’t, and she had allowed him to get away. . .The thought
was just too painful to contemplate.
“I’m sorry, Ang. I’m here now.”
“Sorry?” Angie boomed.
“Sorry?”
Okay. Guilt was a
red mouth and then stroke her everywhere, he sighed audibly. He could not, in fact, touch her that way. Not when a really
strong attraction to a woman, the right woman, seemed to produce effects similar to the moon’s mojo.
She, Barbie, was looking up at him with large green eyes and an expression that nearly turned him inside out. In fairness
to her. . .he’d have to let her go. He couldn’t pop out claws and hold her at the same time, and he couldn’t tell her the
truth. He didn’t dare. What person confessed their flaws before getting a foot in the door? Some secrets were meant to be
kept.
Swiping at the perspiration gathered on his brow, Darin turned, started away, stopped. Barbie ran right into him.
“Sorry,” she said, reaching for her shoe. “If you really work here, you might want to put in a word about lights. Thousand-watt
bulbs would be nice. On tall poles.”
Darin grinned, shrugged shoulders that refused to relax. Barbie was a nice girl. In truth, it wasn’t time for the beast or
beastly behavior—not that he could blame this one on Wolfy entirely. To night, Darin Russell was mostly a man. Yet to night,
Darin Russell, the man, felt more like a beast than he ever had.
Chapter Seven
Barbie heard a sigh and the word
civilized
. Then she was pushed through more bushes and was off on her own.
The heel of her one good shoe sank down into moist earth. She floundered, righted herself, and remembered to walk on her toes.
Forward, she ordered. Not back to the guy. Definitely not back to the guy. And damn if her internal, man-sensing antennae
weren’t now lying flat on her head instead of waving madly to indicate the presence of her mystery man. He had given up. Given
in. Sent her away. In a very unstalkerlike, unpervertlike manner. The mysterious stranger, potential and all, had gone. No
expletive she could have invented would have captured the moment, though she tried out a few just the same.
“Barbie?” Angie called out, obviously sensing her presence. Barbie’s friend’s voice was frazzled, raw, and coated in fear.
Barbie’s feelings of guilt doubled. What if Angie really hadn’t been carted anywhere by another man? What if Angie had been
here in this spot the entire time, alone, waiting? What if, while Barbie Bradley had been enjoying herself, albeit in a very
strange way, her best friend had been frightened silly?
“Angie. Here I am.”
Angie rushed toward her, missing a collision only because Barbie stuck out her arms. “Jesus, Barbie! Where the hell did you
go? What the frig do you think you’re doing? You trying to give me heart failure?”
For once, Barbie thought before speaking, which seemed a genuine miracle. How could she explain what had just happened, when
she wasn’t exactly sure herself? Outside of the rattle of Angie’s rising anger, she couldn’t hear any twigs breaking or heavy
breathing from the evergreen periphery. It was crystal clear now that no he-man had come to rescue her friend from the allegedly
unfavorable party, so in this case Angie wouldn’t like the truth at all.
Too, how could Barbie, reasonably rational gal that she was, dwell on it? Her own guy had given her a shove. No lengthy good-byes.
No good-byes at all! No bargaining. No begging for lunch or a movie, coffee or tea. No further mention of a kiss. The wuss.
You’d think he might have asked for her phone number—or presented himself, so that she’d have an easier time with explanations.
How was she supposed to take this? How could she assume the guy was a pervert if he’d refused to act like one? He absolutely
had to be a pervert, that’s all there was to it, because if he wasn’t, and she had allowed him to get away. . .The thought
was just too painful to contemplate.
“I’m sorry, Ang. I’m here now.”
“Sorry?” Angie boomed.
“Sorry?”
Okay. Guilt was a
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