Barbie & The Beast (9 page)

Unable to stop grinning, despite his very real and growing problems, Darin watched his date. She had green eyes, the color
of new leaves. She had full lips painted a flattering shade of pink, a small tapered nose, wispy bangs highlighted with auburn
edging her eyebrows, and an inquiring expression singular to people of imagination and openness.

He liked everything about Barbie Bradley. For real. Even though her lap was making music. Er, no, it was her purse.

“Oh,” she said, apologizing as she produced the bag. “My phone. Truly sorry. Might be important.”

Barbie’s body, encased in a little black skirt and blue jacket, was long and slender. He’d known all along what her knees
were like—graceful, shapely, and now regrettably hidden under the table.

Barbie Bradley, all in all, was exactly as he had anticipated. Not beautiful in the classical sense, but extremely attractive.
Cute. Energetic. Everything in the right place, in the right proportions. Barbie Bradley, out of that imaginary bathtub and
bubbles, was every bit as tempting. Add to the list that she was slightly quirky and fairly brave, and Darin Russell was certain
he had found his ideal match.

Unable to help himself, Darin lowered his gaze a bit,
seeking white lace, drawn to the spot he’d last seen it. This time the lace was black, visible beneath the low-cut neckline
of Barbie’s blue jacket. A fashionable black. Innocent, in a wickedly feminine way. It became a toss-up where to look: green
eyes or black lace?

Better the eyes, Darin decided. Less intimidating. Less suggestive. Slightly less sexual. Well, not really. No less sexual
at all, as a matter of fact.

He tried not to stare. To night, the objective was to encourage Barbie to loosen up and to get to know him as a man, not to
see her hit the door running. The objective was particularly difficult, since he was already feeling the effects of the moon,
even with the roof over his head.

He was out of direct moonlight, sure, which meant he could hold off the changes for a bit, but he sensed he didn’t have much
time left. With Barbie so much like moonlight in human form, and with the moon pressing in. . .Well, he was stuck between
a rock and a hard place, as the saying goes.

He fought a frown. There was much to say, to know, and for Barbie to fear if she accepted him. He was no Prince Charming by
anyone’s imagination, more the Big Bad Wolf. Barbie would certainly find this out. How would she react? He had no way of knowing.
The spotlight was entirely on him. He couldn’t slip up, not until he’d won her heart. Not too much wine or food, no nuzzling
the long, beautiful neck.

Definitely no nuzzling.

Yes, it was of paramount importance, he reminded himself, that he make sure she didn’t touch him. He couldn’t hold on if she
did.

He was aware of the exact position of the moon in the sky outside. That silver seducer, in all her glory, waited for him.
In the same way, he was aware of the exact position of Barbie’s body—those long legs beneath the table, her fingers
on the stem of her glass. The combined desires of Darin and his beast were escalating.

Not yet!

He had to control this. Already the room was pulsing, his breath quickening. Though his resistance was fierce, the moon would
win eventually. She always did. It was at heart a game to see how far he could go, but if he were to feel that moonlight on
his skin or even experience too much emotion all at once, he would turn. This drove the point home: touching Barbie again,
or having her touch him invitingly, was something he could not afford.

With this firmly in mind, Darin kept his attention on Barbie’s face—her lively, expressive face, which was now tinted nearly
as pink as her lips with wine and embarrassment. She had set up a rescue call. Had she realized on some subconscious level
that she might need help? Did she think she might need saving? From him?

He couldn’t worry about it. Nor could he laugh at her fear. His own challenge was to make it through dinner and then see Barbie
to her door. In this he could not falter. Willpower was being strained to its limits. But he could manage, he told himself.
He
could
.

Only, if he did manage, and if the date went as he hoped, what then? Would Barbie understand the need for his distance? Would
she think him cool and uncaring if he deposited her on her doorstep without any physical touch? Would Barbie allow things
to unfold so slowly?

Yes, if she was the woman he assumed she was. If she was the woman he hoped she was. Someone to talk to, tell everything to,
share the whole story with. Someone he could be with 24-7. God, he longed for that.

“Sorry,” she said again.

“No problem,” he replied.

But there
was
a problem, of course. A very real, growing
problem. His legs had begun to twitch beneath the table. His shoulders ached. It had been insanity to meet Barbie to night,
pure and simple. But he’d had to. She had asked to meet to night, instead of the safer time he’d suggested. How could he have
turned her down, when he had been so adamant about pursuing?

Of all the luck, or lack of it! Wolfy only visited three nights a month, and this had to be one of them. Three per month,
and here he was, across the table from his one chance at happiness. If he didn’t make it through dinner, he’d never get another
shot.

His eyes slipped, in de pen dent of his will, back to the black lace above her breasts. So tempting. All that silk and lace
wrapped such a pretty package. What he wouldn’t give to be able to feel that lace between his teeth, and the flesh beneath.

Focus. Think of what you’ll tell her when the time comes to explain all this. Plan it out. That will sober you quickly enough.
Better be prepared in case you slip up.

Explanations? Reverting to his rehearsed spiel, he’d say that unlike in the horror movies, where the beast takes over the
host’s mind and body completely—where differing personalities vie for dominance, one of them criminal—the changes in him were
a bit more subtle. Although his behavior became more animalistic, and his body a furry mess, Darin the man remained present
and participating. It was no fantasy. Nor was it a bad dream. Yes, truth was sometimes stranger than fiction.

Barbie wouldn’t have to be afraid of what he really was, once she knew about him, she just had to be accepting. Would she
have the right stuff to comprehend this? Accept this? Because if she ever accepted Darin the man, she also took the wolf.
A surprise bonus. The “catch” she was looking for but would never expect. Who in their right mind would?

Dammit, his legs were shaking. Though he’d carefully folded them at the ankles and willed them to be still, they kept right
on. Bloody damn, and the f-word five times over!

So, all right. The wolf wasn’t so easily fooled by this dark restaurant. The wolf was impatient and hungry for his turn. Weird,
yet understandable—Wolfy only had three nights to Darin’s twenty-plus. Nevertheless, Darin pleaded silently to the inner beast,
they could not blow this. The man needed this woman. The man needed her long term. More time would be necessary to win her.

It wasn’t as if he was being melodramatic, either. Darin Russell needed a girl who joked with her pals, kicked off her shoes
to see where they’d land, and spoke her mind. A girl who would try anything set before her in this restaurant because she
was curious, and because she loved life. Darin Russell wanted a girl who left crazy messages on her answering machine, wouldn’t
care if she broke a heel or misplaced her wallet, and didn’t really give a fig about graveyards. Darin Russell wanted a girl
who, though she didn’t drink much, enjoyed wine. He wanted Barbie Bradley, this girl who, though uncomfortable under his scrutiny,
was dishing the scrutiny right back. No flapping eyelashes. No demure looks. No especially provocative clothes, but with assets
a burlap bag couldn’t have hidden.

The beast wanted all those things, too, but the beast couldn’t verbalize its needs. The beast relied purely on the physical.

Darin slid on his seat and gritted his teeth. Old Wolfy was gaining power with the mere thought of Barbie’s assets. Beads
of moisture dampened the hair on his neck—a second bad sign. The first had been the sudden twitch, and the ache. The third
sign was following: his heart had begun to hammer. The beast was urging him to action. The moon was doing her voodoo, after
all.

It had been too soon for this date. He had known it, but had been helpless. His arms were now visibly shaking. He clasped
his hands together. His skin went hot beneath his clothes, hot to the touch, because the wolf’s shape was larger, bulkier
and at this minute was pressing against the man’s insides. His organs were in turmoil, his stomach churning, bones shifting—bones
that seemed to become elastic, or what ever the hell they became to allow the beast its form.

The curse had come knocking. Now. In Barbie’s presence. She smiled at him across the table, her cell phone against her right
ear, and the beast inside wanted Darin to close the distance. As Barbie’s lips moved—lips that were no doubt warm, tender,
and tasty—Darin felt his beast hurl itself through his bloodstream, swimming upward, trying to surface with claws extended.
His mouth felt dry and strange, as if his jaw had come unhinged. Soon his face would lengthen. He couldn’t allow that, not
at a restaurant, in public. . .in front of
her.

“Good,” Barbie said into the phone.

Not good! He’d torn a hole in the tablecloth with unwieldy claws! His shoulder muscles rippled beneath his clothes.

“Okay,” Barbie said into her little metal phone.

Not okay, Darin thought as he closed his eyes. So. . .not. . .okay.

“Time to go, or time to know?” Angie whispered into the phone, as though Barbie’s date might be able to hear.

“I’m sort of busy right now,” Barbie replied.

“Busy good, or busy bad?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered cheerily.

Darin’s eyes met hers. His face was highlighted by the flickering candle and truly a sight to behold. All those beautiful
angles and shadows made Barbie’s heart rattle.

“Good,” she decided.

“I’ll ring again in a half hour.” Angie disconnected.

“That was embarrassing,” Barbie confessed to Darin, sliding the phone back into her bag.

Though her date shrugged, his focus remained intent. His features seemed sharper all of a sudden. Was he annoyed?

“Merely a precaution, and well within your rights,” he said agreeably.

Hmmm. Being agreeable wasn’t a fault, Barbie reflected. Other men might have been annoyed, had they caught the purpose of
Angie’s call, but not this one. Or maybe he was the smallest bit upset? He was looking at her differently. Seductively, inquisitively—and
also a bit darkly. Something new swam in his eyes, an altogether unidentified emotion.

Picking up her glass, Barbie swallowed more wine. She set the glass down. Pause. Glass back up. Another sip. And another.
Take the edge off, she reasoned. This would make her more comfortable.

Now let’s see, where did I leave off in this conversation?

“Back to why you were in the graveyard last night,” she said. Surprisingly, her words slurred. Small talk. Lots of it. That’s
what she needed. No slurrage. But, cripes, her right elbow wasn’t working properly now. Is this what strained rubies could
do?

“I spoke the truth last night,” Darin replied, his speech slow, precise, almost as though he too was having a hard time formulating
words. Had he also had a few sips too many? “I was. . .making sure those party folks didn’t do any harm to the place.”

“Really?”
she asked. Darin’s voice had deepened a little more and sounded gruff. Barbie took another sip of wine. “You work there?
No joke?” She hadn’t been sure if she believed him.

“It’s one of the things I do,” he explained. “The other is a part-time gig with the police department—in a consulting capacity.”

“What kind of consulting?” she asked.

This was getting more interesting by the minute. Barbie took another drink of wine, which was difficult, since she had to
lean forward to get the glass to her mouth.

Darin removed his hands from the top of the table. His voice emerged as a whisper. “I help them deal with people with unusual
physical and mental problems.”

“Like those frat boys in the cemetery?”

Another sip of wine seemed necessary in order to dim the edges of Darin’s appeal, even though his glorious image seemed to
be growing darker still and starker in beauty in the feeble light of the restaurant. He was so very handsome.
Each time she looked at him, Barbie could swear she found something different to praise. She drank carefully, trying not to
spill.

“Last night I was merely keeping an eye on things,” Darin said, coughing, tossing his head as if his shoulder was sore. “Making
sure no one got hurt.”

“So you thought I might need saving.”

“You were headed that way.”

“Were you planning to single-handedly clear everyone out?” Barbie enquired.

“Only you.”

“Because you liked my voice.”

“You have a beautiful voice. Low. Spirited. Honest.”

Darin’s whisper could hardly be heard. His face had taken on a whitish glow. Maybe, Barbie reasoned, he couldn’t hold his
wine? Or maybe he was allergic to spinach or violins?

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said, her skipping heart requiring that she imbibe more wine. She spilled, and the beautiful
lace tablecloth stained as the liquid dripped down the rim of her glass. But Inquisitive Barbie would not be daunted. “Why
would you single out a person because of her voice? I mean, you don’t find that unusual?”

“In the dark, that was what I noticed about you first.”

“But you can see in the dark.” She’d remembered this little item, and she gave herself points for it. “That,” Barbie continued,
“brings us back to random pick ups strung on a thread of surprise, and the in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time theory for
dating. Maybe you often practice this sort of thing?”

Man, that was a mouthful, and annoying if it was true. Maybe it was that flaw she searched for in Darin Russell. Never mind
the fact that she was no longer looking for flaws too studiously.

His face seemed to be blurring slightly. Blinking, Barbie
reached for her glass again and asked, “Would you have gone back for Angie if we hadn’t met up?” She fired off this question
before realizing that Darin hadn’t answered the last one. “Why do you need a random find, anyway? Look at you, so near to
perfection.” She leaned closer to the table, blinked a few more times in succession to clear the blurring. “Sorry if that
embarrassed you.”

“I’m glad you approve of my looks. However, what do you mean by
near
to perfection?”

“Nobody’s completely perfect, are they?”

“I guess not. Just so you know, though, my answer to your question is that I didn’t think about your being a ‘random find.’
I liked what I heard and wanted to meet you, that’s all.” Back was that strange light in Darin’s eyes, the one that took them
from green to gold to shadowy. His lips upturned as he leaned back from the table, away from the candle. “Something in your
voice suggested you’d be right for me. I went with the notion.”

“Psychic, eh? For real?”

That hadn’t come out anything like what Barbie meant. Had she used a cynical lilt? Had she babbled? She put a hand to her
head to feel for brain leakage and offered her date an apologetic smile.

She was saved by the server, who appeared tableside. With his puffy white sleeves restrained by black garters, presumably
so the fabric wouldn’t drop into the sauce, he set down a large platter, then silently withdrew. What ever was on that dish
smelled heavenly: onions, green peppers, and garlic wrapped around a mound of brown.

As hungry as she was, Barbie didn’t take her eyes off her date. You never knew where Darin would end up if you lost sight
of him. Her heart couldn’t take any more closeness at the moment. Any more random touching and she was a goner.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, with another sip of wine, “although I’ve been drinking this stuff, my glass isn’t empty.”

“A sign of very good ser vice, don’t you think?” Darin asked.

Did he have laryngitis? His voice was becoming more and more strained. Maybe he was a vampire, and the garlic from the appetizers
was getting to him! Alas, more likely the difficulty in her hearing had to do with the wine.
Frigging lightweight.

She gripped the crystal stem of her glass tightly. “Yes, but if someone keeps filling my glass on the sly, how do I know how
much wine I’ve had? I think the room might be tilting.”

Why hadn’t she noticed anyone refilling her glass? Because Darin Russell was a Barbie magnet, that’s why. Screw Blaine. Heck
with Ken.

“Time to try some of this dish—to dilute the effects of the alcohol,” Darin suggested. “By the looks of it, I’d say the chef
has outdone himself for you.”

The server returned from out of the blue to dole out some of the delightful-smelling concoction. Barbie waited until Darin’s
plate was also filled, then she sniffed at the steam rising from hers. She glanced up, saw that Darin’s gaze was zeroing in
on her.

“What?” she asked.

“You sniffed at it.”

“Oops. Sniffing is not quite proper etiquette, is it? It’s just that what ever this is smells delicious.”

As Barbie dipped her fork into the meal, she barely noticed that she didn’t have to eat with her fingers. She barely noticed
that the meat looked like lamb, one of her favorites, because Darin had put his face close to his plate and was copying her
action. The moment seemed somehow removed from time.

The soft Gypsy music in the background, the scent of the lamb, the sparkling everything, and that glorious hair of Darin’s
falling around his face as he leaned over his plate to sniff in a decidedly animalistic fashion—it all was, Barbie found,
faintly disquieting. Also, incredibly fascinating.

She set down her fork, no longer hungry. She couldn’t have chewed if she’d wanted, not with Darin there. What was it about
him that she couldn’t put a finger on? What lay beyond her reach? She could hardly breathe with Darin’s eyes on her, burning
each inch of her that they took in. His attention made the wine seem harmless in comparison, and the savory lamb forgettable.

“What?” she said again, finding that Darin was no longer grinning. He wore a new expression, an almost pained one. This particular
rearrangement of his features produced a pang in Barbie’s pan ties, a pang that was a distinct precursor to a state described
glibly by her college roommates as being horny. Her date stared at her with those luminous green eyes beneath that dark mass
of hair, and she wanted to. . .

Yep. Horny, all right. Already her hands were advancing toward him on the tablecloth, moving independently of her will.

Stop! Stop, I say!

Her fingers detoured, paying heed. Sort of. They climbed up the stem of her wine glass instead, closed around it, and began
rubbing up and down, slowly, suggestively, shockingly. She couldn’t stop herself. Seduction Barbie had entered the room.

A nebulous giddiness came on, as though someone had dropped silly pills into the wine. Barbie felt like laughing. She really
did feel like dancing on the tabletops. All of sudden she didn’t care why Darin had asked her out to dinner, only that he
had, and that they were connecting in some extremely hot and sensual way that conversation played no
part in. Theirs was a connection that even his supernaturally great looks had little to do with. It was something more elemental.

Strong fingers closed over her wrist. The rapidly beating thing in Barbie’s chest fluttered. Darin had hold of her! Darin’s
heat coursed through her, over her, hotter than lava.

Wait! Could anything be hotter than lava? Yes! And hotter than the hundred-year-old alcohol, too. Darin’s fingers on her wrist
were like nothing she had ever encountered. It occurred to her that if he didn’t remove those fingers in the next two seconds,
she’d shout,
To hell with dancing on the tabletops
, and demand from Darin a more intimate performance. Something involving the exchange of bodily fluids. While the violins
strummed on.

“Perhaps some water?” Darin suggested, eyes locked on hers.

A swim? A shower? Kinky, Barbie thought, swallowing hard.

“I want. . .” Slurring big-time, she pressed her lips together. Okay, the lip-closing wasn’t entirely due to the slurrage,
but because Darin’s fingernails, long and sharp by the feel of them, were raking her skin.

Barbie shot to her feet, stared at her wrist. Talk about suggestive! Talk about erotic! No, she didn’t want to talk about
this at all. She wanted action. She tipped forward, caught herself with a hand on the table. Holy crap! She was drunk as a
skunk!

“Are you all right?” Darin asked nicely enough, but he looked hungry. Not the food kind of hungry, either. There were dark
flecks in his eyes. There were amber rings around those dark flecks. His pupils were huge. They were animal eyes, similar
to a lion’s or a tiger’s, and they were following her movements as though she might be dessert.

“You’ll be all right,” he promised.

“I’m n-not so sure,” Barbie stuttered.

What an understatement. She was sure she would
not
be all right. She was completely unstable. She’d ingested a gallon of wine and had eaten nothing. Darin was a god in human
form, had kaleidoscopic eyes reminiscent of a four-legged predator, and had fire in his fingers—fingers in serious need of
a manicure. Was she nuts to want those hands on her? All over her? This equaled “not all right” if the rules she’d been given
governing female dating were worth the paper they hadn’t actually been written on.

“Right there with you,” Barbie thought she heard Darin mutter, though she couldn’t be certain. The music had grown louder,
probably in direct correlation to her wine intake. Darin’s arm trembled as he eased it around her shoulders to steady her.

Maybe, Barbie thought, maybe—hopefully—he’d just had too much to drink, hence the intensity of his concentration. Maybe .
. . she wasn’t ready for this.

She teetered when drawn closer to his fiery aura. The room revolved. Darin’s face seemed to change shape in and out of the
shadows, sort of like Elastic Man’s.

Ridiculous! Barbie closed her eyes, then reopened them. His face was there in all its godlike beauty. Two eyes, a nose, a
mouth.

“I think perhaps the wine might have been a bit much. I’m sorry,” he apologized, saying the exact thing Barbie had been about
to say. Only, Darin’s voice made the words beautiful. They were like low vibrations drifting over the bare skin of her neck.
Like silk being dragged very slowly and sensuously over naked body parts. His voice was stirring up thoughts that reeked of
sex and innuendo. Spasms of longing pierced Barbie to the bone.

“I’m still fully par. . .par. . .partiffficating,” she insisted, realizing only then that the plates on the table wouldn’t
stay still.
Whoop, whoop, whoop.
Head spin. Stomach whirl.

Darin’s arm tightened more protectively around her, and a twinge hit Barbie, a realization as powerful as the longing she
felt. There was no flaw in this guy. Not a single one. She was tipsy and he was going to protect her. She had poured the wine
down her own throat, and he was going to take the blame. Truly, she was staring at perfection in human form, both inside and
out. Or trying to stare at it, if only he would stand still. If only the room would stop spinning.

“Shame,” Darin said for the second time in two days, holding her so close that she couldn’t look up to see his lips move.