doll, one after the singer. Man and woman. Male and female.
Was it hot here, or what?
Of course, the searchlight wasn’t real. The light was behind them, coming from the moon, big and bright and dripping silver
on the sidewalk. She and Darin were in actuality standing beneath the giant roof overhang of a Gypsy restaurant, blocking
a busy doorway, concluding a first introduction. It would do her good to remember that.
Barbie gave her head a little toss. She licked her lips to make sure there was no goofy expression on her face. Chaperone?
Hell, she was going to need a bodyguard.
Better yet, considering Braveheart here, a chastity belt.
Chapter Twelve
“Not a disappointment?” Darin asked as she approached him.
“Not completely,” Barbie returned.
Her companion’s expressive eyebrows arched in question.
“You’re much too perfect to be looking for dates,” Barbie said. “What’s the catch?”
“I think I’ll tell you about the catch later. Right now, I’d rather put my best foot forward, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Barbie gave Darin another curious once-over. Finding this guy’s flaw, assuming there was one, took
on a certain rabid importance. There had to be
something
she could pick on or be critical of. There just had to be. If not, if his virtues kept piling up, it would be difficult to
keep from feeling inferior.
“Thanks for the ride,” she remarked, hoping to pry loose some information on how he’d gotten her address.
He simply smiled that disarming smile. “It’s the least I could do. You did agree to meet a complete stranger. And I did the
asking.”
“Yes, well,” Barbie admitted, “I might have to take back what I said about your lack of civility. Good thing I’m not proud.”
“Are you shivering?”
She nodded. “Blood-sugar drop.”
More like panty drop, Barbie admitted to herself. Or the anticipation of one. Of course, she wasn’t going to have that. Not
to night. Remember that resolve!
“Food will cure you,” Darin suggested. “Food in abundance.”
The next thing she knew, Barbie was curled up against him. God, where was her self-control? How had she gotten there, hugging
him? Some kind of brain stall? Her hips were pressed lightly, though not too suggestively, against his. Her dreams had come
to life in the doorway of. . .the Den of Iniquity. How apropos.
Barbie tipped her chin downward to make absolutely certain Darin wasn’t wearing a kilt. Nope, no kilt. But that meant . .
. Oh, God. Yes, this was reality. It was not a dream.
Darin’s lips, when she glanced back up, were barely inches from hers. Barely. And they were sort of hovering, turned up at
the edges. What was he smiling about, exactly?
“This
is
a restaurant, isn’t it?” she asked.
“What else could it be?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “A bordello?”
Darin chuckled and backed up to gesture her inside. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
However, Barbie noted, those weren’t hunger sounds in her stomach she was hearing now; they were wailing sirens. . .in her
head. On top of all the bell-ringing and chiming, this guy was tripping all her warning signals. Too perfect, her mind was
crying. Too frigging perfect. There had to be a hitch. Like, he was an actor in town visiting and having the time of his life
bursting hearts right and left. A male model doing the same. A government experiment in the latest Bond-type spy guy, doing
his training here.
Was he faster than a speeding bullet? Able to leap tallbuildings in a single bound? Or possibly he was a homicidal maniac with a million-dollar smile.
“Come inside,” Darin said.
“Lead the way.”
Darin shook his head, tossing that mane of glorious black hair with a stallionlike gesture, and said simply, “Shall we go
in together?”
The man, in this day and age, was a gentleman.
Side by side they turned to enter the restaurant. Together, like young sweethearts moving
Was it hot here, or what?
Of course, the searchlight wasn’t real. The light was behind them, coming from the moon, big and bright and dripping silver
on the sidewalk. She and Darin were in actuality standing beneath the giant roof overhang of a Gypsy restaurant, blocking
a busy doorway, concluding a first introduction. It would do her good to remember that.
Barbie gave her head a little toss. She licked her lips to make sure there was no goofy expression on her face. Chaperone?
Hell, she was going to need a bodyguard.
Better yet, considering Braveheart here, a chastity belt.
Chapter Twelve
“Not a disappointment?” Darin asked as she approached him.
“Not completely,” Barbie returned.
Her companion’s expressive eyebrows arched in question.
“You’re much too perfect to be looking for dates,” Barbie said. “What’s the catch?”
“I think I’ll tell you about the catch later. Right now, I’d rather put my best foot forward, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Barbie gave Darin another curious once-over. Finding this guy’s flaw, assuming there was one, took
on a certain rabid importance. There had to be
something
she could pick on or be critical of. There just had to be. If not, if his virtues kept piling up, it would be difficult to
keep from feeling inferior.
“Thanks for the ride,” she remarked, hoping to pry loose some information on how he’d gotten her address.
He simply smiled that disarming smile. “It’s the least I could do. You did agree to meet a complete stranger. And I did the
asking.”
“Yes, well,” Barbie admitted, “I might have to take back what I said about your lack of civility. Good thing I’m not proud.”
“Are you shivering?”
She nodded. “Blood-sugar drop.”
More like panty drop, Barbie admitted to herself. Or the anticipation of one. Of course, she wasn’t going to have that. Not
to night. Remember that resolve!
“Food will cure you,” Darin suggested. “Food in abundance.”
The next thing she knew, Barbie was curled up against him. God, where was her self-control? How had she gotten there, hugging
him? Some kind of brain stall? Her hips were pressed lightly, though not too suggestively, against his. Her dreams had come
to life in the doorway of. . .the Den of Iniquity. How apropos.
Barbie tipped her chin downward to make absolutely certain Darin wasn’t wearing a kilt. Nope, no kilt. But that meant . .
. Oh, God. Yes, this was reality. It was not a dream.
Darin’s lips, when she glanced back up, were barely inches from hers. Barely. And they were sort of hovering, turned up at
the edges. What was he smiling about, exactly?
“This
is
a restaurant, isn’t it?” she asked.
“What else could it be?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “A bordello?”
Darin chuckled and backed up to gesture her inside. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
However, Barbie noted, those weren’t hunger sounds in her stomach she was hearing now; they were wailing sirens. . .in her
head. On top of all the bell-ringing and chiming, this guy was tripping all her warning signals. Too perfect, her mind was
crying. Too frigging perfect. There had to be a hitch. Like, he was an actor in town visiting and having the time of his life
bursting hearts right and left. A male model doing the same. A government experiment in the latest Bond-type spy guy, doing
his training here.
Was he faster than a speeding bullet? Able to leap tallbuildings in a single bound? Or possibly he was a homicidal maniac with a million-dollar smile.
“Come inside,” Darin said.
“Lead the way.”
Darin shook his head, tossing that mane of glorious black hair with a stallionlike gesture, and said simply, “Shall we go
in together?”
The man, in this day and age, was a gentleman.
Side by side they turned to enter the restaurant. Together, like young sweethearts moving
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