Tropical Leopard's Longing (Shifting Sands Resort 8)

“Chef said I should come early,” she said, when he proved incapable of speech. “I… hope I won’t bother you.”

“Oh, it bothers me a lot,” Breck said when he could unstick his tongue at last. “But I’m really glad you did.” His sense of courtesy finally caught up with him. “You’re getting soaked! Come

inside and get dry!”

He opened the door and ushered her inside, careful not to actually touch her. He could still feel the impression of her waist on his hand from two mornings ago when he had helped her flee from Chef’s approach.

He had to smile, to think of Chef playing matchmaker.

“Does it often rain here?” Darla asked as Breck found her a dry kitchen towel for her hair.

“Usually only at night, at this time of year,” Breck said in exactly the same light, polite tone she had used. “Your wedding should have lovely weather.”

He wondered as he spoke if it was too tender a topic, if he should avoid it — and the minefield of other subjects that would remind them of the web of promises keeping them apart.

But Darla laughed as she toweled at her hair and perched on her stool. “The weather wouldn’t dare be less than perfect,” she said mockingly. “Cross my mother? Even nature wouldn’t do that.”

“Ooo,” Breck said, “You’re living dangerously, challenging nature around here.”

The earth beneath them gave a well-timed rumble, brief and minor. Silverware rattled, and the hanging pans swayed for a moment.

Darla’s eyes got big. “Do you get earthquakes a lot here?”

“More recently,” Breck said. “But only little ones, and Shifting Sands is well-built. Nothing to worry about, I promise.”

She smiled trustingly at him. “I feel safe here,” she said softly. “With you…”

“Darla…” Breck felt like a pressure was building in his chest, a pressure that had nothing to do with lust or desire, but was still an undeniable yearning. “You said that you had to get married, and I have to let you do what you have to... but… will it always be no for us? Because there could be divorce, and I would wait… years if I had to. Lifetimes.”

Her trusting smile faded and Breck wished he hadn’t spoken because it was replaced with misery.

“You don’t have much experience with dragon contracts, do you,” Darla said sadly.

Breck shook his head. “I know Bastian avoids making promises,” he realized.

“Dragons can add magic to enforce their contracts to make them binding. Like a geas. My marriage will be unbreakable. We will be literally incapable of dissolving it or... committing infidelity.”

That sounded pretty final, and Breck felt like he was standing over a yawning pit of misery on a very narrow footbridge. “Well,” he said, as cheerfully as he could manage. “At least I can get you a good breakfast before you walk the plank. Any requests?”

Darla’s grateful smile was slow and timid. “It was all delicious last time. I’ve never had such amazing strawberries.”

The plate that Breck made her was heaped with strawberries, and included sizzling breakfast sausages, balls of goat cheese rolled in herbs, and flaky croissants, with a little chunk of carrot carefully carved into a rose. Darla’s delight over the rose was like salve on a sunburn, and his leopard was thrilled that they managed to please her, at least that much.

She insisted he share the food with her, again, and Breck sat across from her and watched her hands and wished he could touch them. He had a pang of sympathy for Conall and his mate Gizelle, who had been too afraid to let him touch her for more than a week after they met.

But Conall had tamed her wild heart with his patience, and they were comfortably together now.

He and Darla had no such chance, and patience was not their answer.

They had far less than a week.

Breck startled from his seat. “Dammit, the bread!” He turned on the ovens. “First I burn them, now I forget to bake them.”

Darla stood up, surprised at his sudden outburst. “Can I help?”

Breck laughed, “No, there’s nothing to be done, really. They’ve already been shaped, they just need to warm up while the oven heats and then I’ll bake them. I’m just about twenty minutes behind the schedule, that’s all.”

“Bread has always been very mysterious to me,” Darla admitted, as he took the trays of bread dough from the refrigerator and uncovered them. “It’s squishy dough, and then, magically, sandwiches!”