Call To Redemption. Tawny Weber

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      DARBY FELT AS if she’d dropped into some sort of alternate universe. The kind where mornings started with alcohol-infused frozen drinks, fresh fruit and malasadas.

      Where breakfast was served on the patio of a cozy bungalow overlooking the ocean, with the sun already warming her skin, which was bare but for a vivid purple bikini and a wrap in the bleeding colors of sunset.

      Where her body still buzzed from a night of amazing sex, aching in places she hadn’t realized could ache. Her thighs still quivered whenever she moved her legs, inciting a tingling sort of heat.

      “You okay?”

      “Of course,” Darby said, her smile fluttering. “Just enjoying breakfast.”

      And the view.

      Although she didn’t mean the white sands and blue water, although they were stunning in the morning light. Nope, what fascinated her was the gorgeous man sitting across the table.

      His hypnotic eyes were shielded by dark sunglasses, and the sun glinted off the inky black of his hair, casting a gilded glow over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Like her, he was dressed for swimming in navy trunks and a matching T-shirt that molded itself over tempting muscles.

      Muscles she’d explored, enjoyed, embraced over and over last night. Biceps almost as thick as her thigh and ripped shoulders broad enough to hold on to no matter how wild the ride. And his skin. Hot silk over rigid strength.

      Grabbing her frozen breakfast cocktail, Darby sucked up a long drink of juice to wet her suddenly dry mouth. But the icy drink did nothing to cool the fire in her belly. Her body still tingled from the remnants of their shower sex-induced orgasms, and all she wanted was to go again.

      How could she be this obsessed?

      She’d only known the man for twelve hours.

      It was just sex, she assured herself. Desire.

      That wasn’t anything to worry about.

      “Another malasada?”

      “I should say no,” Darby said even as she reached for another sugar-coated ball of fried dough. “But I can’t. These are delicious. Better than any donut holes I’ve had before.”

      “They’re my favorites,” Dominic admitted, studying one before popping it into his mouth. “When I was a kid, Avo Celia used to make malasadas whenever I’d visit because she knew I loved them. Just like this, covered in cinnamon sugar. My uncle gave the chef his mom’s recipe, so it’s always a little bit of nostalgia when I’m here.”

      “It must be great to have that sort of family tradition,” she said, liking how his face softened as he talked about them.

      What was that like, having a treat-making grandmother? Darby’s mom’s parents had died before she was born, and her dad’s hadn’t had much interest in their son, let alone his progeny. Both were only children, which meant there hadn’t been any aunts or uncles to fill that family role. No family, no family treats. Something Darby had never regretted until just now. Because, damn, it would have been amazing to grow up with a family tradition of delicious fried dough balls.

      “Did you have a favorite meal growing up? You know, like a birthday dinner or holiday brunch?” Dominic asked, looking like he actually cared.

      The idea sent a thrill of delight through her, making Darby wish she could say yes.

      “I forgot about my last birthday until it was two days passed,” Darby admitted with a self-deprecating sort of laugh. “But when I remembered, I hit Starbucks for an iced smoked butterscotch latte. It wasn’t a tradition but it was damn good.”

      “You forgot about your birthday? As in, you were so deep in work that you didn’t realize what day it was and skipped right by it?” Dominic popped a slice of mango into his mouth and shook his head. “I’ve been away, on...on jobs, traveling, that kind of thing, on my birthday, but I always make damn sure I at least knock back a Scotch to toast another year.”

      “Every year?” Not sure why that impressed her, Darby ran her fingers through her still-damp-from-the-shower hair, widening her eyes as it fell in spikes around her face. “Do you do that blowing-out-the-candle thing, too?”

      “You’re telling me you don’t even blow out candles?”

      “So?” The look on his face made Darby want to squirm. “My family was never big on the whole party or candles thing. I think the last time was maybe my seventeenth birthday when my brother got me a cupcake.”

      “A single cupcake?”

      “The frosting had a flower on it,” Darby said, wondering why she felt the need to apologize.

      “And the rest of your family?”

      “I don’t have much of a family. No aunts or uncles, my grandparents died before I was born.” She rolled the remaining malasada around on her plate. No delicious family recipes handed down, no real traditions. She dusted the sugar from her fingers and shrugged. “My parents divorced when I was five, then my dad died. So mostly it was just my mom, brother and I.”

      “Were you close?”

      “No.”

      Sure, her mom and brother had been close. So close that her mom hadn’t had much room—or need—for her. But with five years between her and Danny, he’d had his own life. His own interests. Still, he’d cared enough to make a fuss about her birthday once. But he’d left her. He’d joined the Navy, decided he had something stupid to prove. And died.

      Her mouth trembled as she tried to keep her smile in place. Not because she was upset or hurting. Hell, no. She’d spent almost a decade teaching herself not to wallow in grief. But she’d forgotten how nice it’d always been when Danny fussed about her birthday.

      “Seriously.” Darby shrugged off the dragging sadness and returned to their earlier topic. “Don’t you think candles are on par with kids beating on piñatas or scary clowns making balloon dogs?”

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