Chapter 5
Five
Darla
Iwake up to the sound of my phone ringing.
Opening my eyes is a hassle. Don’t wanna.
Moby’s big, strong arms around me. I’m deliciously warm.
This is the most comfortable I have ever been in my life.
Which is unusual, because my leg is usually throbbing by the time I wake up.
I’ve either slept in an odd position, or my leg has been stationary too long.
For whatever reason, my leg isn’t bothering me this morning. Not at all.
I fight through the desire to fall back asleep, open my eyes and take stock of my position. To my astonishment, I see that there are two pillows bunched under my knee and Moby’s hand is resting on my scar tissue, massaging the spot. Even though he’s snoring.
Buttery warmth spreads in my chest, and I wiggle my toes happily. Sure, my body is sore in other places from my rough introduction to lovemaking, but those twinges and throbs pale in comparison to how my leg usually feels upon waking. Moby might be a demanding lover, but he is thoughtful. Caring.
I decide to wake him up with kisses.
Feeling giddy, I twist to face him—
My phone rings again.
That’s right. My phone.
Inwardly groaning, I snatch the device of my bedside table, an ominous feeling settling in my belly when I see my mother’s name on the screen.
Not to mention, it’s ten fifteen. Wow. I can’t remember ever sleeping this late in my life.
My parents are early risers, and they instilled the same routine in me. Early bird gets the worm, Darla!
Until last night, until the freedom of running off alone with Moby, I didn’t realize how docile I’ve become since the accident. Did my parents take advantage of that by pulling me further and further under their control?
Troubled, I tap the green icon and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Darla,” my mother says in a scolding tone. “Where are you? We’re breakfasting by the pool, as outlined on the itinerary. Yet you are nowhere to be seen.”
Breakfast by the pool. Right. Ugh. “I overslept.”
My mother makes an artform out of sighing. “How disappointing that you can’t adhere to a simple schedule, Darla. Honestly.”
Moby’s form stiffens at my back. His chest vibrates with a low growl.
“Um,” I say quickly, trying to drown him out. “I’ll get dressed and come down as soon as I can.”
“See that you do. Leonardo saved you a seat.” My mother laughs lightly. “He’s very much looking forward to spending the day with you.”
Moby rolls me over onto my back, frowning down at me from above. And oh, my goodness, he’s almost golden in the morning light, his face covered in scruff, hair mussed. I slept in the arms of a ripped, golden giant. That really happened.
I don’t want to leave this bed. Not for a hundred years.
But I know from experience that if I don’t get my butt down to breakfast and take my mother’s itinerary seriously, she will show up at my door, knocking. How would I explain this seven-foot phenom with the odd dialect, who hasn’t worn a stitch of clothing since I met him on the beach last night?
“See you shortly, mother,” I say, hanging up.
“There will be no time spent with Leonardo, nor any other man, little human.” His anger visibly plummets when he looks down at my naked body, his erection stretching against the outside of my thigh.
“Only with me,” he rasps, licking his lips.
“While we’re on the subject of breakfast, open your thighs and let me eat mine. ”
“Moby,” I squeal, blushing to the roots of my hair. “You heard that conversation. I have to get down to the pool.”
“No.”
“I will get back to the room as soon as I can.”
“Darla, you will go nowhere without me.”
“You can’t very well come with me. You have no clothes!” I reach up and stroke my fingertips along his bristled jawline. “Maybe once we’ve spent a little more time together, you could…”
His brown draw together. “What?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, feeling vulnerable. “Meet my parents.”
“Why would I meet them?” he scoffs. “They sound awful.”
My face must be bright red by now. “Because that’s what you do when you have an, um…” I start to stammer, squirming on the mattress. “Not that I’m your girlfriend or anything, but if I was, you might m-meet my parents.”
“Girlfriend,” he says sourly.
The backs of my eyes tingle with pressure. Heat. “Never mind,” I mutter, attempting to dive out of the bed.
He pins me back down and looms above me. “Darla, the word girlfriend sounds too flimsy when you are so…important. My obsession. My mate.” He positions his hips between mine. “Open your thighs and start your day on my cock.”
It’s hard to issue a denial when I’m swooning—and wet—but I have no choice. “I’ll be back in less than an hour. We have time.”
“I don’t have time.”
Denial wraps around my windpipe. “What do you mean?”
He presses his sensual lips together, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
I want to push for more of an explanation, but my phone begins dinging with texts. “I just have to go down there and appease my mother.”
“Why?”
“Because I…I’ve disappointed them in a lot of ways. I left school after my accident, my friends…they eventually stopped calling. I’m not the socialite they were hoping for. Not the Ivy League overachiever. But I can do breakfast. I can do this one thing.”
“You have been made to feel less than perfect? Unacceptable.” He runs his knuckle down the center of my body, rubbing it in the dip of my navel.
“I strongly suspect you might be the only perfect human in existence. You are intelligent and intuitive and honest. Brave, beautiful. Empathetic with your Beautiful Scars business. Anyone who doesn’t think you are perfect is fucking crazy. ”
A breathless gratitude steals over me. “You seem to really believe that.”
“I will make you believe it, too,” he vows, fervently.
“That would be nice,” I whisper, hypnotized by his gray stare. Finally, he allows me to slip out of the bed, his frown following me all the way to the bathroom. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Moby
After Darla leaves the room, I remain in bed for approximately three seconds before I am stomping around the room, knocking into stupid pieces of human furniture and potted greenery, wanting to claw my chest wide open. Her absence floods me with razor-sharp distress, shredding me from the inside.
“I do not like it,” I wheeze, doubling over.
I need to find clothes.
I need to cover my body somehow and go find her before…
“Before she sits beside Leonardo,” I heave, trying valiantly not to get sick.
The thought of her in a chair, close enough for someone else to touch her, especially that spindly creep, might actually kill me.
I literally think I might be dying. Is this the end?
I can’t concentrate enough to remember which direction the bathroom is in.
I keep pulling doors open until I find it, but there is nothing of use to me. No clothes.
Only towels.
Towels will cover me, will they not?
Turns out, no. I am too large.
However, remembering all the times I’ve watched sailors tie knots, I find a way to rig two of the larger towels together and wrap them around my hips.
Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I see nothing unusual.
Sure, I am still bare-chested, but I saw plenty of men with no shirts on the beach last night.
They were not as tall and mighty as I am, obviously.
There is nothing I can do about human inferiority right now, though.
Darla is not inferior.
She is my perfect little goddess. I want her back in my arms. NOW.
With that singular goal in mind, I stride from the bathroom, through the hotel room and out into the hallway, ignoring the screams and scurrying of people in my path.
“Which way is the pool?” I bark at a short man in a red coat.
He points, apparently unable to speak. I move in the direction he indicates, passing through a giant room where music plays softly, a totally ridiculous light made of crystals hanging down from the ceiling, and I see a door.
There are words written on a sign that do not make sense to me.
The little icon of a swimming human tells me I am going the right way, though, and finally, I exit onto a concrete walkway.
Pool. There it is.
I see my Darla immediately. She is seated at one of the tables beneath an umbrella, sipping from a mug while that pasty fuck yammers at her. She is wearing her hair down and around her like a curtain, and as I draw closer, it occurs to me that she is hiding bite marks.
Swallowing heavily, I flick aside a couple of humans and trudge forward, Darla’s beautiful eyes widening when she clocks my arrival.
“Moby,” she breathes, standing up slowly.
“That’s him,” Leonardo leans across the table to whisper furiously. “That’s the freak of nature I saw your daughter with last night.”
A woman in a brimmed hat turns in her chair to look at me, jolting. “Oh, my word!” She turns a disbelieving stare on Darla. “Do you know this man?”
“Yes.” Her green gaze goes soft and dreamlike, making my throat tight. “Hi, Moby.”
“I couldn’t wait for you to get back,” I explain, my voice sounding funny. “The room is just a prison, unless you’re in it with me.”
“Darla!” Hat woman—is that her mother?—splits a gaping look between me and Darla. “This…this freak was in your room?”
The fact that this woman calls me a freak means nothing. It is of little consequence.
Darla, on the other hand, does not like it one bit.
Twin spots of color appear on her cheeks. She picks up a fork and stabs it into a roll that is sitting on her mother’s plate. “Do not call him that ever again.”
“Since we’re already yelling at people,” I say, stopping at the edge of the table and jabbing a finger in Leonardo’s direction. “Stay the hell away from my mate.”
“Mate?” Leonardo echoes with an incredulous laugh. “This man is a lunatic.”