Barbie & The Beast (20 page)

“Tell me now,” she said simply. “Explain now.”

A car pulled up at the curb. The driver side door opened with a luxurious whoosh, and the interior light came on.

“Don’t go with this guy,” Darin said. “Don’t let him drive you home.”

“Double standard?” she quipped.

Again, Darin shook his head. “A double-edged sword. If I tell you why I left, I might lose you. If I don’t tell you, I might
lose you. I honestly don’t know what to do.”

Bachelor Number One emerged from the car. Funny, Barbie thought, she couldn’t even remember his name.

“We could start over,” Darin suggested.

“With visions of blondes dancing in my head?”

“There is no blonde. None that affects the relationship between you and me, anyway.”

“Next you’ll tell me it really was your sister out there that night.”

“My sister, yes. Jessie.”

“Oh, please!”

“I’ll introduce you. I’ll arrange it.”

Bachelor Number One was ten feet away, looking slightly perturbed. Darin was appraising Barbie with those expressive eyes
of his. Was she nuts to turn down his offer? Could Darin have a valid excuse for his behavior? Wouldn’t Bachelor One be a
better option, anyway? A fresh slate? Didn’t everyone always say that the third time was charm? Wouldn’t this new bachelor
be the third man in her life?

She smiled sadly as her new date approached. “Good night, Darin,” she said and, heart pounding like there was no tomorrow,
turned to face the man who’d won her.

“Don’t let him in your apartment,” Darin begged, voice like liquid Oreos, lips much too close to Barbie’s ear. “Do not invite
him in. It wouldn’t be safe.”

Over and above all the ridiculous zinging, Barbie wobbled forward on legs made of Jell-O, muttering to herself, “Story of
my life.”

Bachelor Number One’s Mercedes (what else?) hummed not with the growl of Darin’s Porsche, but more the sound of an overly
confident cat. Also unlike her drive with Darin, Bachelor One drove slowly, taking his own sweet time, both hands on the wheel
as they exited through the gates of the country club. Barbie’s heart felt like granite.

“I thought,” Bachelor Number One said once they were on the road, “I’d take you home to change clothes, then to my place for
dinner. I had it all arranged.” He glanced at her. “Just in case.”

“What?”

“My place. Dinner. You and me.” He grinned widely. Barbie winced. “You don’t think it might be a bit soon for dinner at your
place?”

“Maybe. But we wouldn’t want to go on that cruise if we’re not a match, would we?”

She supposed he had a point there. And since he had no idea she probably wouldn’t go on that cruise anyway, it was nice that
he’d been prepared. At the same time, she fought with herself about what she really wanted. Did she really want to let this
new guy take her home, to know where she lived? Did she want to go to his place? She kept hearing
Darin’s warnings. Chances were good that Darin had spoken out of frustration rather than real caution, though. Right? Did
Darin deserve to be listened to, anyway? He of the roving heart?

Frustration swirled anew.

“Um. . .in that case, I’m on Fifth Street,” Barbie said. What she really wanted was for Bachelor One to do a uey. She wanted
to go back to the country club so that she could hear Darin’s explanation of who that darned blonde really was, and what had
happened to such a promising night. Only, her fragile ego wouldn’t let her give the directive. By foregoing the chance to
choose Darin in that game, she had opted for a different future—one with another eligible man—and at the same time had dished
out a little dirt of her own, giving back to Mr. Russell a sample of what was due him. These things should have made her a
happy camper. Instead, misery had settled. Instead of being sweet, revenge had turned into something sticky. Like wadded gum
that she couldn’t get off the bottom of her shoe.

“Second block down on Fifth,” she elaborated, experiencing mental gyrations, fidgeting on the seat. She was feeling cold all
over, unanimated. The fact that the man driving her home might be considered handsome no longer mattered; he’d not produced
one single spark in her so far. No fireworks, no vibrations, no heat at all. In fact, he gave off a chilly vibe. Where was
the storm, the lightning, the inner-thigh vibration? Where were the rips in the leather seats made by a big, slobbery dog?
She seriously doubted Bachelor Number One would allow an animal in his car at all. Nor wet feet. The floor mats were immaculate.
The car smelled like strawberries. He had, in fact, not even put the top down for her to get some air.

“You truly are okay, right?” Bachelor Boy asked, obviously thinking about her fainting spell.

“Sure.”

In point of fact, she wasn’t okay at all—not by a long shot. Something down deep inside of her hurt real bad.

“Sorry for the silence,” she said, figuring she might actually look as bad as she felt. “I’ll bet I’m a mess. Does this great
car have a mirror?”

She pulled down the visor. Surprise! No mirror there. The huge sum this car had cost, and they had forgotten about women passengers
needing fluffing? About women needing to spy—as in Barbie’s desire to see if a Porsche might be following them? The only way
she would know if Darin was back there now was to turn around and look. Very uncool.

Bachelor One glanced at her, frowning. “Inconvenient oversight, I guess. I’ll take the car back to the dealer tomorrow and
make sure they give me all the niceties.”

Barbie smiled—prettily, she hoped, but not too suggestively. Wouldn’t want to lead this guy on, though he
was
tall, good-looking, well dressed, polite, and drove a pricey luxury car. You know, all those things a girl in her right mind
might find alluring. Attributes a mother would encourage her daughter to seek out. Believe it or not, Barbie could imagine
her mom smiling right now. Maybe she was being too disagreeable by not giving this guy a chance.

“Do you own a hammer?” she found herself asking insanely, recalling his smooth, unblemished palms, and needing to get to the
nitty-gritty right up front. She needed to see how he actually might compare to. . .that other person she wouldn’t go so
far as to name.

Obviously reticent to take his eyes off the road, Bachelor One glanced sideways again, skeptically, as though he might not
have heard the question correctly.

“Are you good with your hands?” Barbie asked, rephrasing.

This drew a cagey smile. “I assure you I am.”

Oh. Sexual innuendo. Typical male wisecrack. The image
of her smiling mother dimmed somewhat. In its place came a rolling sensation, a longing for something else, some
one
else, which left Barbie feeling sad, empty, and ungrounded. Dammit, she had to either admit to loving Darin Russell, in spite
of his cheating, or forget him completely.

She wasn’t in the mood for company of a new-guy sort. She was depressed. Her insides writhed. Action was what she wanted,
some way to rid herself of the excess energy. Running? Screaming and pointing fingers? Rambo Barbie desperately wanted to
make a comeback.

Then again, she’d chosen this bachelor, this person who might be expecting something other than the big brush-off for his
effort. He’d forked out ten thousand bucks for charity. He had shown concern over her fainting spell, and had dinner waiting.
Probably he was a nice man who deserved a little attention. Could he help it if there were no dog-ripped holes in his car’s
leather seats? Guilt was a terrible thing, and not unfamiliar to any of the Barbies fighting for dominance.

Small talk? She could do that at least until they got to her door. Then excuses about first-date protocol. Those rules had
proven value. Darin had agreed to take her shopping, though admittedly he had been in her bedroom at the time. In her bedroom,
pushing her buttons—

“I’d like to go back,” she announced firmly. “To the country club. It’s important. I forgot something, something I have to
attend to. We can talk about the date tomorrow, okay?”

Gad! Hadn’t Darin used those same words the night she’d caught him with Blondie? Something he “had to attend to”?

She about gave herself whiplash when she turned her head, and put a hand to her lips to keep from screaming. Could Darin have
been giving the blonde the old heave-ho in the same way she was now intending to heave-ho Bachelor
Number One? Could the blonde have been a prior attachment? Or could the beach babe truly have been Darin’s sister?

Barbie’s life passed before her eyes, and not in a good way. She had been blindsided by anger, overcome by flaws in her own
character. Now, all she could think about was getting the answers she needed from the only person who could give them to her.
And Bachelor Number One was in the way.

He drew back in his seat, not turning the car around. His expression had darkened considerably. His knuckles were white on
the wheel. “I thought we were on a roll,” he said.

Huh?
What to do? What to do? Apart from returning Bachelor Number One and demanding a trade-in.

If he wouldn’t turn around, she’d have to get to her door and leave him outside of it. Five minutes, tops, and they would
reach her street. Chitchat she could manage in the meantime, maybe with some flattery tossed in to soften the blow. Then she’d
go back to the club.

“What do you do for a living?” she asked, thinking this a good place to begin a conversation. But the old song began in her
head: rich man, poor man, beggar man. . .graveyard keeper!

“Attorney,” he answered. “Wills and trusts.”

Barbie rubbed her forehead, thinking of making a wisecrack, then reminded herself that lawyers had their own share of jokes
and might be sensitive.

“That’s nice,” she said. “My dad’s a judge.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Really?” She was surprised. “How?”

“I made it my business to find out who I’d be bidding on.”

“I thought my identity was to be kept secret!”

“I,” he said with another meaningful grin, “have my ways.”

Did she want to shout
Ew
?

“Here,” she said instead, with relief. “Pull over here.”

The Mercedes slid smoothly to a stop. Barbie hardly noticed when
the engine was switched off; she was too busy contemplating her apartment door and what would happen when they reached it.
She was seeing shadows where there weren’t any, and knowing deep down that hoping to see a monster dog would be futile. She
had made that very clear to Darin.

“I’ll get your door,” her companion announced. As he slipped out of the car, Barbie gazed down the street, then at her tight
skirt and heels. No way she could run. At best, she’d toddle like a glammed-up geisha. And oh boy, she so did want to run—all
the way back to the club. Those pesky hairs on the nape of her neck were standing up again, each and every one of them pointing
back toward Darin.

“Gosh. The dizziness is back,” she announced as her door opened and she got to her feet. “I hope it’s not contagious. You
might want to leave me here in case it is. Thanks for the ride. Congratulations on winning. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

Bachelor Number One’s face was unreadable, pale, and perfectly smooth. “All right,” he conceded, leaning in to press her up
against the side of his car. “Can I have your number?”

Barbie moved her fingers, realized she was purseless, and offered up a wary smile.
Damn.
“Got a pen and paper?”

“Nope. New car. New suit. Maybe you have a pen inside? A business card?”

Double damn. Trapped.

“Sure. I’m just up those stairs,” she said.

“I’ll tag along to get the number. Make sure you get in all right.”

He didn’t back off or away, though, and Barbie had to slide sideways to get clear. With a fake smile affixed to her face,
she headed up the steps as quickly as her skirt would allow.

“I’m so sorry about to night,” she called over her shoulder. “No hard feelings?”

Bachelor One, close on her heels, said simply, “Women generally don’t know what they want, I’ve found.”

Barbie would have turned her head again to address that comment, but she’d almost reached her door and didn’t want to lose
momentum. Once there, she reached up on top of the doorframe to find her extra key, knowing this guy’s eyes were on her and
she’d have to find a new hiding place, then jammed the key in the lock and heard the lock click. The door swung open.

She stepped inside, expecting her new date to follow. He didn’t.

“May I come in?” he asked, back to being polite.

Don’t let him inside
,Darin had warned.
It would be dangerous.

“I just need a drink of something—and that phone number,” the guy elaborated. “I built up quite a thirst under those lights.”

“Of course,” Barbie replied, guessing at the reasons for Darin’s warnings and finding them lacking. “Come on in.”

Did the guy’s smile have a sinister cast to it as his long legs carried him over the threshold? He stood for a full minute
just barely inside of the tiny foyer.

“What would you like to drink?” Barbie asked, turning to walk into the kitchen.

“A Bloody Mary would be nice.”

Barbie’s steps faltered, though not noticeably, she hoped. Her heart sputtered as she groped around on the counter for a pen.

“Sorry. Tap water or juice is all I’ve got.”

Pen and paper. Thank heavens! She scribbled her phone number down as fast as she could and started to hand it over.

“Maybe,” he suggested, appearing beside her so quickly she didn’t have time to set the pen down, “one good-night kiss before
I go?”

She had no idea how he could have closed the distance so fast. His eyes, when she looked up, seemed to be glowing like polished
lava. Black, with red rims.

As Bachelor Number One brushed a strand of hair from her neck with his cool fingertips, Barbie sucked in a breath. His touch
was icy. Nothing warm or sexy about it. Before she could blink, his mouth had replaced his fingertips, resting on the skin
above her throbbing carotid artery. Like some kind of freakin’ vampire!

Completely horrified, and afraid she had made a huge mistake by allowing this guy anywhere near her, Barbie shoved him back,
held up one finger and ran. Ducking into the bathroom, she locked the door behind her.

She’d really gone and done it now, gotten herself in a fix. Her heart raced like all get-out. Here she was, smeared against
the wall of her bathroom like roadkill on the highway, breath coming in fits, afraid to move. The idiot in her kitchen wanted
to. . .at the very least nuzzle her neck, and who knew when Angie might arrive to save her? It was just unbelievable that
Darin could have been right about this. . .this. . .rapacious Romeo.

She should never have let him into her apartment. She should never have allowed him to drive her home. She most definitely
did not want to go back out there, or have his body parts against hers in any way, shape, or form. He was a real piece of
work, this guy. Her gut told her that he was not going to go away.

Escaping seemed like a very good plan—but it was also
out of the question. The bathroom had only one door and one small window above the tub. It was a window she’d never fit through,
even if she could reach.

Barely perceptible scratching sounds brought her around, irritating sounds that were moving across the exterior surface of
the bathroom door, as though the guy on the other side of it had sharp nails. Grimacing, Barbie scanned the bathroom for something,
anything, she might use to protect herself. She found nothing but a discarded pile of clothes.

Yet, this was a start. Without her tight skirt she could at least try to make a running jump up to that window. If one could
run in a six-by-six-foot space.

She rummaged through the pile, which turned out to be the discarded outfit she’d worn on her last outing to the cemetery—sweat
pants, a big T-shirt, running shoes—clothes she had banned from her closet due to the bad luck of wearing them to see Darin
get a kiss on the cheek from his other woman. She’d left the clothes on the floor while entertaining thoughts of burning them
as an offering to the Move-on gods, but hadn’t yet gotten to it.