Tropical Leopard's Longing (Shifting Sands Resort 8)

“I always thought he did, but then he got sick, and he was in the hospital, and we had one of those long heart-to-hearts like you see in the movies. He told me that as long as I never hurt people or took advantage of them, there was nothing wrong with enjoying life and he sort of wished he’d done more of it himself.”

“Did he… die?”

Breck smiled fondly at the memory. “Not then,” he said cheerfully. “Made a miraculous recovery and spent another five years torturing the nurses at his retirement home.” He looked at Darla thoughtfully. “He would have been a lot more comfortable in a home with other shifters,” he mused.

The mention of the shifter retirement home brought a solemn stillness to Darla’s face.

“What about you?” Breck asked swiftly. “Where did you live?”

Darla’s voice had a calmness that Breck recognized as practiced. “I went to the finest schools all over the world. Private grammar school in New York. Two finishing schools in Europe, with a semester in China. I can curtsy like a queen and speak French fluently. I know how to dance and host dinner parties and all sorts of useless things, but I don’t think I ever lived at all before I met you.”

They talked into the night, and made love again, and simply lay together not-quite-sleeping.

At last, they had to admit that dawn was coming too fast, and Breck reluctantly helped her button her dress back up and find her lost sandals. He put them on for her, worshipfully caressing the curve of her leg as he did, and then walked her out his back door to the edge of the retaining wall at the back of The Den.

They paused there, holding hands, not willing to say their last goodbye, until Darla turned and threw herself into his arms, her face just briefly lit by the light from the house.

“I love you,” she said into Breck’s chest, and he held her tighter until her ribs creaked, kissing her hair. “I have to go,” she said miserably.

“I know,” Breck barely managed to say.

They shared one last kiss, gentle, almost chaste, and then she turned away and fled away down the path. Breck watched her disappear past a hedge, and listened to her footsteps on the gravel until they were drowned by the sounds of the ocean and jungle night.

Then he turned unhappily away… and drew up short at the looming shape of Graham, holding a shovel like he was considering using it on Breck.

“What’s your problem?” Breck asked unhappily.

“My problem is, that was the bride,” Graham said flatly. “The one who’s getting married in two damn days. Of all the people you could be screwing…”

Breck was full of anger and frustration already, and hearing Graham calling what they’d just done screwing was too much.

He balled up his fists and stepped forward. Graham gave a humorless grin, dropped the shovel, and raised his own fists.

“She’s my mate,” Breck growled.

Graham stepped back in astonishment, his hands falling to his side.

For a long moment, they stood that way. Then Breck let his own hands fall. “She’s my mate,” he said again, in agony.

Graham swore, colorfully, and paced around in a circle. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked when he was back around to face Breck.

“What can I do?” Breck said helplessly. “She’s marrying someone else in two days. This… this is all I get.”

Graham frowned. “You’re not going to stop the wedding?”

“It’s complicated,” Breck said flatly.

“Good,” Graham said unsympathetically.

“Good?”

“If you broke up that wedding, you’re not the one who’d pay for it,” the lion shifter pointed out. “Scarlet’s the one with everything at stake, and she’d lose Shifting Sands. You’d bankrupt the resort. We’d all be out on our asses.”

The consequences had occurred to Breck, but he hadn’t realized that Shifting Sands was that close to the edge. He was mostly surprised that Graham sounded so invested. “Well, Scarlet and the resort are safe,” Breck growled. “I haven’t got a chance in hell of stopping the wedding.”

Graham was quiet, which wasn’t unexpected. “Sorry,” he finally growled.

Breck wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but he was sick of sorry. “Whatever,” he answered miserably.