Tropical Leopard's Longing (Shifting Sands Resort 8)

Darla self-consciously turned it on her wrist, not liking the idea of the bracelet in her skin. It seemed more gold than ever in the bright daylight. “It was an engagement gift,” she explained. She remembered too well how it had felt, clamping irreversibly around her wrist.

“What does it do?” Gizelle asked suspiciously, returning to take Conall’s hand.

Darla showed her the writing. “That means ‘unbroken line.’ It’s supposed to promote fertility, I guess.”

“I don’t think you’re using it right,” Gizelle said with great authority. “That’s not how babies work.”

Darla flushed, but before she could respond, Conall said merrily, “She probably already knows how babies work, Gizelle. And I’m very happy to play at your wedding.”

The last part was to Darla, who smiled wanly.

“Did you have a particular song you wanted to request?” Conall seemed all business again.

“I’m sure my mother has already given you a detailed playlist,” Darla said more bitterly than she intended.

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He stilled and gave Darla a solemn look. “Isn’t there something you want? It’s your wedding.”

Darla wrestled with her impulse to insist that it wasn’t. “Whatever she has selected will be fine,” she said instead, keeping her voice mild and her face a polite, neutral mask.

Conall gave her a knowing look. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” he said kindly.

“Thank you,” Darla said faintly. “I appreciate that. I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

Chapter 16

Breck slapped the last of the pans from lunch down into the drainer and pulled up the stopper. Watching the soapy water spin down the drain was a moment of distraction; it looked like Breck’s heart felt.

“Restaurant is empty,” Chef observed. “Why don’t you go wipe down tables and get your grumpy self out of my kitchen.”

Breck, feeling epically grumpy indeed, took the advice and a clean rag.

To his surprise, Liam was sitting at one of the tables, looking over the drink menu. None of the other servers were in sight.

“Well, sir,” Breck said cautiously, with just the barest trace of his usual charm. “I’m not supposed to be serving today, and the kitchen is closed, but I can’t let someone languish without service. May I get you something from the bar? Make you up a sandwich?”

Liam looked at him appraisingly. “You’re Breck,” he guessed sympathetically.

Breck gave him a wary smile. “The very one,” he said, giving a little bow. He had no idea how much Liam knew. Was he just a server who’d rubbed the mother of the bride the wrong way? Or did Liam know more?

Liam glanced around the empty restaurant and then gestured at the seat opposite. “You’re Darla’s mate,” he said quietly.

All of his breath left Breck in a rush and he sank down into the indicated chair. He hadn’t said it out loud, and neither had Darla, even if they had both acknowledged it; hearing it made it feel real.

Bitterly real.

“I’m Darla’s mate,” Breck agreed. “And you’re her fiance.”

“Saying I’m sorry seems insufficient,” Liam said regretfully. “Have you two had a chance to talk? Did she explain?”

“About the retirement home? Yes. A little.”

“Not just the home,” Liam said. “If it were just that, I’d… I don’t know what I’d do, but I would never ask her to go through with this if that were the only consequence.”

“She told me about the challenge. About Eugene. She doesn’t think a leopard has a chance of winning.”

Liam looked more uncomfortable. “Eugene is a cave bear shifter, and a mean fighter. And he wants the hoard as much as he wants Darla.”