Page 9 of Darla's Christmas Knight
Darla blinked several times, the unbidden tears a blasted nuisance. She scraped her throat and said, “The sheriff’s department is keeping a log of the affected folks and their whereabouts. Ask them.”
And she needed to get away. Right now. “I need to go,” she muttered and spun about, walking away as fast as she could without it looking like she was running.
Which is what she really wanted to do.
Run and hide.
A few women were handing out water bottles at the edge of the street and she made her way to them, putting purpose in her stride. Just in case he got the erroneous idea she wasrunningfrom him. She couldstillfeel his gaze on her.
“I need a vet,” a woman called out from the side.
It took Darla a beat to place the tall and slender but verygrubby brunette.
It was Princess Marielle.
From Andraste.
Bobby’s homeland.
She had heard scuttlebutt during the afternoon about the princess (the royal’s visit to Bulwark had been anticipated for weeks!) helping with the rescue operations.
And the woman clutched a tiny ball of fluff in her arms.
Here was the perfect excuse to put distance between her and Bobby.
Her car was close, her best friend a vet.
She intercepted Princess Marielle. “I’m Darla. Come.”
*
Bobby watched Darla walk away, her curvy arse swaying enticingly as she gained speed, with deep regret. It always hurt to see her. She hated him. And rightly so. He had started a relationship with her, knowing full well it could lead to nothing, but she had bewitched him.
Darla with the onyx eyes, ebony curls, and glowing dark skin.
And passionate nature.
Their lovemaking had been in a league of its own. Her soft skin, velvety smooth under his rough hand as he explored her luscious curves. The taste of her, his mouth and tongue seeking,findingher hidden delights. Her cries as she fell over the precipice, out of control, her body shuddering in delight.
Carnal. Combustible. Utterly unforgettable.
He’d not had a better lover before. Nor since. Not that there had been many since. Because no woman measured up to the sheer perfection of Darla Miller.
As beautiful inside as she was on the outside, he had fallen so hard and fast that he’d lost sight of common sense. And when hefinally pulled the plug, it had been with brutal detachment.
The only way he could let her go.
Make her despise him.
He kicked at a piece of wood lying in his path, dislodging a cloud of dust and other debris. His gaze traveled over the destruction left behind by the tornado. Homes turned into splinters. Trees uprooted, stripped bare. Powerlines down. Vehicles wrecked.
Total devastation.
A perfect metaphor for his life.
Yetshehad moved on from him, piecing together her broken heart.
She had found another man to warm her bed.
