by Zoe Chant
“Well, hello handsome,” Breck said, automatically turning on the charm. “I’m Breck and I’ll be your server today. If there’s anything I can get you, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’d be happy to get you a drink to occupy your tastebuds until the rest of your party gets here.”
Only then did he notice the thick pale-gold bracelet that encircled the man’s left wrist.
Startled and breathless, he looked up into the man’s face.
And was completely confused.
This was not his mate.
The bracelet was identical to the one that the snow leopard had been wearing, and too distinctive to be a coincidence. But his own leopard had utterly no recognition of this person, and Breck felt no desire for him at all.
Moreover, he had not reacted to Breck’s habitual overture.
Breck was excellent at reading people. He could pick up the faintest signs of discomfort, and knew how to recognize the tiniest flicker of interest.
When he flirted with straight men, he often got a mixed reaction — some were embarrassed, some even got angry or defensive. There was almost always surprise, at first, and often curiosity. Gay men usually responded with interest, or at least evaluation. Even gay women reacted to his flirtation, with dismissal. Whether it was challenge, desire, or a brush-off, there was always some hard-coded response.
But this man didn’t react in the slightest.
He wasn’t flattered by Breck’s teasing, and he wasn’t off-put by it. He wasn’t… anything.
He simply smiled as if amused but not really affected, and moved his waterglass closer to Breck. “I’ll wait, thanks. Ah, it looks like they’re just arriving anyway.”
“Oh, Liam, darling!” A tall, elegant woman wearing far too much jewelry and a sash that read ‘Mother of the Bride’ simpered in past Breck. “Darla, come sit next to your fiance. Such a fine-looking couple you make. Eugene, you sit here, darling.” She fixed her gaze on Breck and gave a stare that passed disapproving straight to loathing. “I’d like a white wine, something dry and not too cheap.”
But Breck’s eyes were only for the young woman beside her.
She was not quite as tall as too-much-jewelry woman, and more lushly curved. Her strawberry-blonde hair was elaborately styled and was heaped on her head with flowers and jewels. The sash she was wearing said: Bride.
And her eyes were the same stunning blue as the snow leopard’s.
This was her. This was his mate, this was his everything.
The bracelet she was wearing rather suddenly began to glow, and she clamped her opposite hand over it in alarm as the twin to it on the non-reactive young man suddenly did the same.
Be-jeweled woman’s scowl vanished into astonishment as she looked from Breck to the two oddly-behaving bracelets. “This is amazing!” she said, clapping her hands in excitement. “This is wonderful! I knew it was dragon magic!”
Breck was still staring at the bride as his brain slowly caught up with the rest of him.
She was the bride.
His mate was the bride.
With effort, she jerked her gaze away from his and slid into her seat next to the man with the matching bracelet. Breck could not dredge up the same amount of self-control and continued to gaze at her helplessly as the depth of the disaster began to come clear in his hazed mind.
“Forget the wine,” her mother was saying imperiously. “A bottle of your finest champagne. No! Just water for her! Just in case! Does it mean you’re — oh, I can’t even say it. But it’s just fine, no one will blame you for getting a head start, don’t look so mortified.”
Breck forced himself to look somewhere — anywhere — else.
The fourth member of their party, a big, weaselly man with dark blonde hair, was eyeing him suspiciously.
“Champagne,” the mother was saying imperiously, and Breck stared at her for a moment without comprehending.
“Of course,” he finally was able to say, and without further courtesy, he fled.
Chapter 11
Darla was dizzy, and her mother’s effervescent words washed over her like surf.
Breck was here, and her world was upside down.
She was want and wanton and wanted.
And she couldn’t have any of it.
Only Liam’s hand anchored her. Liam’s hand and the heat of the bracelet on her wrist that seemed to be gleefully and shamelessly proclaiming her desire, to her mother’s amusement and Eugene’s distasteful diversion.
Then her mate was gone, without so much as a word to her.
He didn’t have to say anything.
She knew from his eyes alone that he craved her the same bone-deep way that she desired him.
He must know now that they couldn’t be together. She was sitting next to her fiance wearing a ridiculous sparkling sash that proclaimed that she was the bride.
And her mother was going on and on about sex.
Liam was doing his level best to maintain the conversation, utterly cool and collected, as Darla floundered trying to find her mental footing again now that proximity to her mate wasn’t confusing all of her synapses.
“Oh, look how we’ve embarrassed Darla,” her mother crowed. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be a married woman. There’s no shame in your desires.”
“None at all,” Eugene agreed with a smirk that made Darla want to crawl under the table.
“Can we talk about something else?” Darla asked plaintively. She was grateful to see that her bracelet had finally stopped glowing. Liam’s had dimmed in unison.
“There are things you should know about being pregnant,” her mother said, managing to find a topic more appalling. “Maybe the bracelets have picked up on the fact that you’re ovulating.”
“I’m sure that’s also a topic better saved for a more intimate setting,” Liam said firmly, and Darla could have kissed him.
Fortunately, their food was served at that moment, and it made Darla’s heart fall a little that it was a strange woman, not Breck, who delivered their artfully composed plates of food.
It was better that way, she told herself.
It was best if she never saw him again.
Chapter 12
Staring at his warped reflection in the refrigerator door, Breck had forgotten about the champagne, had forgotten about the suspicious man, had forgotten about everything but the perfect heart-shaped face, flushed and forlorn, that would haunt his dreams forever.
His mate.
Here to marry another man.
It couldn’t get worse, he decided.
Then he heard familiar heels clicking across the tile kitchen floor, and he knew that it could.
“Breck.”
Scarlet’s reflection next to his had unnaturally bright red hair and Breck could tell that she was frowning.
He turned to face her.
“I’ve gotten a complaint,” she said without preamble. “The mother of the bride has requested that you not be permitted to serve in the restaurant for the remainder of their contract.”
“I’m… sorry,” he said, filled with so much regret that it felt like he would fall apart at the seams.
“I am too,” Scarlet said unexpectedly. “It’s disappointing when you run into that kind of prejudice. I certainly don’t agree with her views and I don’t like to further them by agreeing to Mrs. Grant’s request… but…”
She looked conflicted and Breck suddenly realized that she had no idea that he was the mate of the bride. Mrs. Grant was asking Scarlet to relieve him of duty because he was openly bisexual, not because he was hopelessly in love with her daughter.
And Mrs. Grant was paying ridiculous piles of money for exclusive use of the resort.
“I don’t want to pull you off duty,” Scarlet said firmly, to Breck’s surprise. “But it would make my job a lot easier if you could dial things back and act more strictly professional for the duration of the wedding. I know you never cross the line of actual impropriety, but someone who didn’t know you migh
t consider your flirtations too forward.”
“No,” Breck said swiftly. “No, you should pull me off the floor.”
He couldn’t go out there. He couldn’t go out there and watch her cozy up to her fiance, knowing that he could never have her. He couldn’t serve her food and watch him feed it to her.
Scarlet blinked at his vehemence. “Should I know something?” she asked suspiciously.
“No.” Breck dug deep for anything resembling steadiness and took a slow deliberate breath. “She’s already made up her mind about me,” he pointed out. “And you’ve made it clear how important this contract is. I’ve got more than enough staff to cover the floor for now, and Jenny or Laura or Saina can step in when things get busy. You could even stuff Graham in a uniform if things are dire. Watering people isn’t much different than watering plants. There are a whole lot of things I can do behind the scenes. I can help Chef in the kitchen. The van needs a new alternator.”
Scarlet furrowed her brow at him and Breck realized that he was talking too fast.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Scarlet asked. “It would simplify things, but I’d back you up if you wanted to keep serving.”
“I would too,” Chef said in his deep, booming voice, unexpectedly appearing from behind Scarlet. “You’re the best waiter I’ve ever worked with, and I hate it when bigots win.”
“I’m sure,” Breck said, touched by their support. “It’s just about making sure things run smoothly.”
And he knew there was no way things could run smoothly if he tried to go out there and see his mate being courted by someone else.
It was more likely that he’d give the fiance a black eye ‘by accident,’ and Mrs. Grant would end up demanding his resignation, not just his absence. Maybe she’d sue the resort.
Chef gave a skeptical harrumph. “Well, you can make yourself useful by getting these plates ready,” he said, and something started to boil over on a distant stove that called him away down the kitchen aisles.
Scarlet continued to scrutinize him, not looking entirely convinced.
But if there was one thing Breck was good at, it was keeping up appearances. He put on his most charming smile. “You’ve saved me a fortune in dentistry from grinding my teeth to stumps serving that woman. If this were the kind of place where you tipped, she’s the type to tip spare change from her purse on a hundred dollar meal.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder and made a show of untying his tie and stuffing it into a pocket. “It’ll be nice to have a change from the penguin suit anyway.”
Scarlet smiled. If she wasn’t entirely convinced, she was at least mollified. “Thank you, Breck. This could have been a very unpleasant situation, and I appreciate how accommodating you’ve been.”
Breck went to help plate food, thinking privately that she had no idea how unpleasant the situation actually was.
Chapter 13
The next morning, Darla rose before the sun. She had tossed and turned all night, completely unable to find any rest in the perfect bed.
She’d barely been able to eat the night before, and her stomach grumbled. If she went to the kitchen before the restaurant opened, she should be able to find something to eat before Breck got there and hopefully avoid him the rest of the morning at least.
She dressed quickly, cursing every creak of the wooden floor, and crept out her back door with her sandals held in her hands. She tiptoed back across the tiny lush lawn behind their house and skirted the noisy gravel until she was sure she wouldn’t wake anyone else.
The resort before dawn was hushed and full of fragrant anticipation. The drone of the night insects seemed less than it had been when darkness fell, but Darla decided that she was probably just used to it. In daylight, all the white tile was almost overpowering, but at night, everything seemed to have a moon-like glow.
She found her way easily up to the restaurant. The buffet was empty; her mother had negotiated limited hours on it, deciding that they didn’t need overnight service.
There was a light behind the swinging kitchen door, and the sound of rattling cutlery, so Darla pushed it open and tentatively went in. “Hello,” she called quietly, not wanting to startle the cook.
Then her breath left her.
At the far end of the kitchen, Breck had just turned from the sink. He was holding a sponge in one hand, and a spatula in the other, his sleeves rolled up. The sharp waiter’s vest was gone, and the sheer white shirt was damp with dishwater splashes, leaving little to the imagination.
For a moment, they were silent, staring across the empty kitchen at each other as the door swung back and forth behind her and finally stilled.
Finally, he spoke. “Can I help you?” he asked gently.
He could, she thought. He could lay her down on the floor and help her in all the ways her snow leopard was telling her he should.
She bit her lip. If he could be professional, she could, too. “I was looking for a quick breakfast,” she said, as steadily as she could. “I didn’t mean to disturb…”
“Oh, I am very disturbed,” he said frankly, when she trailed off. He put the sponge and spatula into the dishwater and reached for a towel. “But I am delighted to make you some food.”
Darla had drifted several steps into the kitchen without meaning to. “Thank you,” she said faintly, as he dried his hands and opened the giant refrigerator door.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said gently, with his back to her.
Darla took some courage from the fact that he wasn’t looking at her. “I guess you know,” she said boldly. “And, I’m... sorry.”
Breck leaned his head briefly against the door to the refrigerator. “I am, too,” he said so quietly that Darla automatically took a few steps forward to hear better. Then he straightened and drew out a plastic-draped plate.
When he turned back to her, he was smiling gently. “But we make the best of what we get. Now, what are you doing up so early?”
There was a stool next to the counter, and he gestured her to sit. Darla walked the rest of the way into the kitchen and did so, gingerly. He was being careful to keep distance between them, and she was grateful for that. Even this close, she was mesmerized by the way he moved, the breadth of his strong shoulders.
“I… wanted to avoid the waitstaff, actually,” Darla admitted. “I didn’t think you’d be here this early.”
“I wouldn’t, usually,” Breck said, sounding almost cheerful. “But your charming mother requested that I not serve in the restaurant for a spell, so I’ve moved to behind closed doors. Chef is having me bake bread this morning.” He was bustling around, getting more things out of the fridge, cutting things, putting things back. “Chef’s got a mate of his own, and he rarely gets a chance to sleep in, so I’m happy to give him the opportunity.”
“I’m sorry about my mother,” Darla said. “I could talk to her…?”
“I think it’s best this way,” Breck said swiftly. “This way, we don’t have to…” he trailed off, but Darla knew what he meant.
“You’re probably right,” she agreed. “It would be easier if we didn’t…”
He put a glass of orange juice down in front of her. “So, tell me about something else. What do you do for a living?”
Darla waited for his hand to be safely away before she reached for the juice. “I’m an heiress. I don’t do anything.” It came out more bitterly than she intended. “I wanted to go to college, or maybe even trade school, but it was always more important that I attend parties and practice deportment and meet all the right people.”
“What did you want to study?” Breck asked, putting a plate in front of her.
Darla had to gaze at it, awed by the spread. Beautiful plump strawberries, a selection of pastries drizzled in icing, a few slices of bacon — cold, but fragrant with salt and smoke — and a fan of sliced cheese and crusty bread.
“This is too much,” she said, though her stomach growled in protest. She automatically added, “Wo
n’t you share it with me?”
She glanced up and made the mistake of meeting Breck’s eyes. He was gazing at her in hunger that had nothing to do with the food before her. He wrenched his eyes away and nodded courteously, settling onto the stool across the stainless steel counter from her as she pushed the plate between them.
They were painstakingly careful, never reaching for the plate at the same time, not exactly looking each other in the face.
“What did you want to study?” Breck asked again.
“You’ll laugh,” Darla warned him.
“I won’t,” he promised. He took one of the strawberries. Darla looked at her orange juice to keep from watching him eat it.
“I wanted to fix things,” she said. “Electricity, or plumbing, or cars, or something. I wanted to learn to do useful things.” She laughed at herself, nibbling on a piece of creamy cheese. “It’s ridiculous, of course. I don’t know the first things about tools or machines. My car got a flat tire once, and you know what happened?”
“Tell me,” Breck encouraged.
“My mother bought me a new car.”
Breck did laugh at that and the sound was somehow settling. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Darla said, shaking her head. “I thought maybe I could change the tire myself, but I couldn’t find any of the tools, and I wouldn’t have known what to do with them if I had found them. And my mother freaked out because it had left me stranded in the middle of a terrible neighborhood. One with apartments, and children playing in the street, of all the horrors.”
“I could teach you,” Breck said unexpectedly. “I fix the cars around here, and I could show you a few tricks.”
Darla looked up again and regretted it at once. She could drown in those eyes. “Yes,” she said. Her brain caught up with her. “I mean, no.” The food went tasteless in her mouth and she swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” Breck said immediately. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have offered.”
There was a moment of silence. Neither of them reached for the few things left on the plate.