Tropical Leopard's Longing (Shifting Sands Resort 8)

How much worse would it be, if it were Breck instead of Chef, cataloging her mother’s demands, refilling her water, spreading the napkin in her lap...

Darla nodded when she was supposed to, agreed with everything, and finished her fruit with one hand hidden in her lap.

She was keenly aware of the apron in her purse. Her sunhat lay over it, and it wasn’t at all obvious, but it felt like it was burning a guilty hole in her side.

Could she simply leave the apron discreetly under the table? How was she going to get rid of it?

Chef finally escaped, and it was a server who brought them their loaf of fresh bread.

“Maybe I should call Madame Nadine,” Jubilee said thoughtfully. “I really can’t decide between a mint reduction on the pork or a tart cranberry braise.”

“I like the sound of cranberry,” Darla offered, staring at the bread. All those little yeast villains and Shakespeares. She had to smile to herself.

“Mmm,” Jubilee said, distracted by the menu she was annotating. “But mint, you know.”

“I’d like to have a bit of a rest before we go over the seating,” Darla suggested. “The heat here makes me quite tired.” To say nothing of rising before the sun and spending sleepless nights thinking about Breck’s eyes, and his smile, and his arms, and his…

The glow of the bracelet was shining through the napkin in her lap.

“That’s a good idea,” Jubilee said with a slightly knowing smile, and she gathered up her own purse. She yawned. “I might like a bit of a siesta before lunch myself. I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave us decaffeinated coffee, goodness.”

Darla gathered up her hat, but left her purse, tucked away off the edge of the chair where it wasn’t obvious. It would give her a reason to come back later, when the restaurant wasn’t busy, and she’d have a better chance of getting rid of the apron.

And maybe seeing Breck again.

Chapter 20

Mrs. Shandy was too shrewd to be fooled by Breck’s usual careless jokes and smiles. After he had badly lost two games of backgammon making distracted moves, she put the dice aside and gravely asked, “What’s under your skin, young man?”

Breck wasn’t sure how he could possibly explain the terrible, restless need that was eating him alive from the inside. “Just resenting my enforced vacation,” he said, at least partly honest.

“Oh, piffle,” Mrs. Shandy said sharply. “You look like you’ve got girl troubles, and a whole pile of them. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you if you want to be that way about it, but you should know better than to lie about it to yourself.”

“I’m not,” Breck protested. He was, he thought, being very truthful with himself about the impossibility of his situation.

Mrs. Shandy made a noise of disbelief. “Well be that as it may, I’m sure I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s not like I’ve had a lifetime of romance and relationships or anything.”

“Mrs. Shandy…”

“No, no, we’re done now,” Mrs. Shandy said loftily. “You may take my tray.”

She had forgiven him by the time he had gathered up her dishes and swept the floor, and gave him a warm, fragile hug. “You be honest with yourself,” she said. “And you let yourself feel, Breck. You open up that big heart and you give yourself permission to be happy.”

Breck sighed and stewed over Mrs. Shandy’s advice as he walked back to the kitchen with her breakfast tray. He didn’t want to feel. That way lay only pain and misery.

He automatically took the main path, his mind busy, until he heard giggling girls and nearly walked into a party of bridesmaids, remembering too late that he was supposed to be staying out of sight.

They greeted him with a range of reactions, ranging from haughty disdain to interested sidelong looks, and he skirted around them without responding. A few days earlier, even under strict orders to stay under the radar, he would have tested their sincerity with flirtation and smiles, but all he wanted to do now was escape.

He thought the rest of his path was clear, and was surprised when he found Eugene lurking near the back door of th

e kitchen.

“Can I help you?” he asked shortly, his hackles up.

“I’m Eugene,” the man introduced with a greasy smile. “You must be the infamous Breck?”

“You’re from the bride’s family,” Breck said flatly.