Page 64 of One Secret

'Such as?' Darcy sets her sunglasses on her head and begins picking her way towards me. Those strong, elegant arms of hers are held out to keep her balance, like a set of ivory wings.

'Well, for starters, we need to make sure you have everything you need.'

That is the primary objective numero uno.

Darcy is frowning at me confused.

'What?'

I shrug awkwardly and roll my eyes.

'Dammit, I dunno what you need. Not my forte. But if you're not on the pill, we need to see if they have a pharmacy or something. Get you that Plan B thing or whateve—'

I trail off because Darcy's face has lost all color. All of it, just drained right out of there. Her eyes are a dull shade of misty lemonade.

For a minute, I think she's going to be sick again.

'Sorry...' The word is automatic. I have no idea what I'm apologizing for. But, when a woman looks at you like that, you know you've done wrong somehow. 'I don't know about that shit. I just want to make sure that you're—'

'Yeah, I get it,' she snaps, cutting me off. Two angry spots of pink have sprouted on her cheeks. 'No need to explain.'

'No, look... I just want to—'

'I said I get it, Cyrus.' She gives me her back and starts climbing along the same pathway I've been mapping out in my head. 'Now, let's get out of here. I'm freezing my shit off.'

Considering the balmy temperatures of the tropics, I can only assume Darcy's sudden cold spell is more to do with the company than the climate.

Aaand that's the second time you've pissed her off in as many hours. Congrats.

Deliberately, I take a second to exhale three times. One is long. One is hard. The third is meditative.

Setting aside my frustrations, I make to follow Darcy up and over the rocks.

Someday, I vow to myself. I might actually understand this vexing female...

* * *

'What?' Darcy asks, pausing in her ministrations to look at me through the mirror. Her reflection stares at mine as she finishes with the mascara wand and stuffs it back into its golden tube. She glances pointedly at her outfit.

'Not appropriate?'

Shaking the tension from my shoulders, I try to erase the frown that's etched a place for itself between my brows. Leaning against the wall, I adopt a casual stance with one ankle over the other.

'You look fine,' I reassure her.

Screw "fine". Darcy looks like she's just stepped out of the centerfold of a magazine. One that caters to bikers and leather enthusiasts.

As she bends closer to the mirror to inspect her makeup, I'm gifted with the display of that little butt of hers clad in the tightest pants I've ever seen. They cling to her as a second skin, looking like wet, black leather and flowing seamlessly into similar ebony boots. Accompanying the pants is a black, sleeveless shirt tied behind the neck and hanging at a deep V in the front. There is no back. And definitely no bra.

A fact that I'm going to be trying to ignore for the rest of the night.

Darcy's hair is pinned back on one side and hangs sleek down the other. And, though she's not wearing particularly heavy makeup, she's done something with her palette of powders that evolves her citrine stare from simply intriguing to seductively feline.

I swallow down the knot in my throat.

'The Carusos are all high-fliers and fairly new money in the mafia game,' I tell her. 'These kinds of people all dress to the nines and then never compliment each other for fear of getting a designer wrong or looking ignorant so you don't have to worry. With enough confidence you could have probably worn anything in your suitcase.'

'Ah, but what kind of dutiful girlfriend shows up at her boyfriend's social work function in booty shorts and a Metallica t-shirt?' she reasons.

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