“Not real, people.” He raised his arm and held up a revolver. “Not real ammunition.” He laughed. “Did I scare everybody?”
“Wax bullets,” Darla murmured in an annoyed tone.
He howled an eerie laugh and swung the arm holding the weapon at the house. “Back inside, peeps. Party’s starting to rock.”
The mob cackled and shouted as they advanced toward the residence’s entrances.
“Whatever. Just a prank.” Stephanie snatched Darla’s hand and tugged. “Everyone’s going back in. Let’s join them.”
Darla jerked away and stared at Stephanie. “You’re joking? Now would be the perfect time to leave.”
“What’s the problem? No one was hurt.” Stephanie waved at the boy band members who were already heading to the doorway. “Please. I want to meet that guy.”
Darla shook her head. Tightness constricted her chest. She had no desire to return. She wanted to flee, burrow in her bed, and consume the entire gallon of ice cream waiting for her in the freezer.
Stephanie looked at her. “You can have a glass of wine while I try to talk to him. If I’m successful, then go ahead and walk home. If this doesn’t work out, then we’ll both leave.”
“Fine.” Darla fell into step with her friend. “Let’s get this over with.”
The party remained a popular place despite the ruckus. Apparently fake gunshots were the norm with this group. People pressed into the inner area and many others lingered outdoors, socializing on an oversized deck while some strolled across the beach. Indoors, a huge crowd gathered around the bar.
“Okay. I’m going to meet the bass player. Why don’t you come with me and try to hook up with one of the other ones? The lead guitarist is a real hottie.”
Darla glanced at the bar. Forget men. This night screamed for alcohol. “Meet them if you want. I’m getting a glass of wine and after that I’m outta here.” She marched away before giving Stephanie a chance to reply.
Darla took her place to stand in the long line to get her drink. While she waited, she witnessed a confident Stephanie advance to where the men congregated among their harem. The musician Stephanie had her eye on, Darla remembered his name was Blaine, detected her friend the moment she walked into his viewing range. Steph sauntered over to him wearing a huge smile. He disengaged from the cluster of women and almost ran to meet her. He offered her his arm, and together they disappeared into the crowd.
Darla shook her head. She wished she possessed a teaspoon full of Stephanie’s poise. With her friend’s evening decided, she was free to leave without a worry. She glanced around. Though the craziness here did provide a multitude of entertainment—until she caught a near naked couple behind an oversized sofa doing things one didn’t do in a room full of people.
Thankfully it was her turn. She stepped to the bar and tried to avoid the embarrassing scene, but her movement put the pair in dead center of her viewing range.
“I hope they’re drunk,” said a deep voice behind her.
“Huh?” Darla slid her drink off the surface.
She spun around, smashing into the man next in line. A small “oomph” escaped her when they hit. The collision knocked the glass from her hand and hurled it through space. She blindly lunged to catch it, stumbling forward. Her arms flailed in a desperate act to save herself from trailing the goblet. She grasped at air in search for something, anything, to latch onto.
A hand grabbed the front of her shirt. She stopped in mid-fall, clutching onto a sturdy forearm. He drew her to him to keep her from dropping further. The action put Darla in a secure embrace, against an extremely firm, warm-bodied male. Time stopped.
He lifted her to her feet and stepped back a proper distance. She blew out a stream of air while her heart pounded in high-speed from her near crash and burn. Prepared to give a mountain of gratitude to her rescuer she looked up, her gaze linking with a pair of thickly lashed cornflower blue eyes. Eyes bluer than the ocean.
The words “thank you” never made it from her brain to her mouth. Only a soft “whoa” slipped past her lips.
Time stopped again. She tried to swallow. Except a lump formed and now lodged in her throat and blocked the passageways. Her palms dampened. A fiery itch stung around the edges of her shirt collar. Her internal radar soared into high gear. She broke the eye contact. Darla could not lose control here. She needed to say something and leave. But the strange pattern on the fabric of her rescuer’s shirt grabbed her attention.
She tipped her head slightly and frowned. She stared harder, blinking several times. What th… A loud gasp escaped as she slapped a palm over her mouth. This night kept getting better. Darla lowered her hand and gaped at the pink tinge sprayed across the Raging Impulse lead guitarist’s chest.
“That’s not good.” He pointed and wiggled a finger over the scattered glass, apparently unperturbed she’d ruined his shirt. “What were you drinking? I’ll get you another.”
Darla stared, speechless. The inflections of his strong accent made him difficult to understand yet the mere sound of his voice caused her heart to almost stop. It was rich, deep, laced with enough of a rasp to carry a trace of seductiveness. The kind of voice that could convince a woman to do practically anything.
“What were you drinking?” he asked again. A long moment passed. Those disturbing cobalt eyes continued to study her. “Are you okay?”
Darla gulped. She was fine except her mind experienced a complete meltdown. Her heart beat in triple time, and she couldn’t catch her breath. And she appeared to have lost the ability to speak. But yeah, she was okay.
“Wine,” she blurted. “White Zinfandel.” Surprised she’d almost found her wits, she paused and made an awkward gesture over the fresh stain on his shirt. “I don’t know what happened. Um, I got…you were there, it…” Her arm dropped, and she released a heavy sigh. “The glass slipped out of my hand.”
A slight curve formed across his lips as a wicked twinkle entered his eyes. “I noticed.”
He moved to the bar, leaving her to fume over her inelegance. Could she be any smoother? She barely spit out a word, forget about completing a sentence. She came off better mute. Twisting a curl around her finger, she remained in place staring at him.
Like a magnet to steel his gaze connected with hers. A rush of inner heat pulsated and scorched her entire body. The warmth stretched to the outer edges and spread a crimson flush over her skin. Her tongue crossed over her parched lips as she tore her eyes away.
Stupid hormones. They didn’t just betray her. They’d stepped outside her to do a happy dance.
She supposed she should give herself a break. The man sizzled hot. Was his thick brogue Scottish or Irish?
Darla stopped. She needed to get some control over these out of control sensations before she sank to below zero on her shame-o-meter. To divert her attention from him, she stooped to pick up the larger shards of glass scattered across the floor. She still needed something to mop up the liquid. Maybe the guy would let her use his shirt again.
Darla waved an arm to get his attention, then elevated her voice above the chatter. “Please ask the bartender for a towel or something so I can wipe up the spill.”
Much better. She, an educated, self-sufficient woman contained her emotions. She didn’t have meltdowns over former teen idols. A white dishtowel spiraled and dangled in front of her face. She snatched the cloth.
He squatted next to her and held out a dustpan with a nod toward the scoop. “Put the glass in here.”
With a whiskbroom, he swept up the remaining broken pieces while Darla dabbed up the wine. Once clean, he took the wet towel from her and walked back to the bar. Within minutes he returned with her new glass along with a drink for him.
“Thank you.” She grasped the goblet and looked up at him. Her mouth went dry. Too busy admiring his other delectable qualities she’d missed how he towered over her. Though not a giant by any means, the way he carried himself made him seem even taller than he actually was. “And thanks for catching me. I’m, I’m sorry about your shirt.”
Could she not spit out a simple sentence? Okay, so the wet material clung to his chest outlining a pair of broad shoulders and a very muscular torso. She had to get a grip on this situation.
“Shirts wash.” He flashed a smile, which made him go from good-looking to oooo-la-la. “Teach me to wear a light color, eh?”
Teach her to not focus her attention on naked people and look where she’s going. Darla ought to walk, correction, run away from this man. Except her feet had somehow super-glued themselves to the floor.
“My name’s Eric Boyd.”
Eric. He said his name was Eric. Now she should respond. Maybe try to speak intelligibly. “I’m Darla. Darla Hennessy.”
“Darla,” Eric repeated. “Pretty.”
He didn’t offer a hand for her to shake, prompting a mixture of relief and disappointment. Then again after their initial encounter he must find her clumsy and graceless and not worth the effort. His all-knowing gaze peering from under his somehow perfect yet shaggy hair sparked an aura of perceptive danger.
“It was nice meeting you,” she rushed, “but I need to find my friend. Again, I feel terrible I ruined your shirt.” She stepped backward.
“Can I ask you something before you go?” His overpowering presence stopped her.
“I suppose.” Darla shrugged. She hoped to appear indifferent, although she knew she failed.
He took a step closer, then leaned in. His mouth hovered close to hers, his voice low. “Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?” Darla shifted away and stared him down.
“I was wondering what made you show up tonight. I saw you earlier.” A curve lifted the corner of his mouth. He stepped back farther and gave her a lazy once-over. “This doesn’t seem the type of crowd someone like you would want to mix with.”
She glanced around. The two of them appeared to be in a circle of amplified madness.
“Someone like me?” Darla shot him a tight smile and ignored his obvious ogling. “I don’t know why you say that, everyone is niccce…”
Eric grabbed her upper arm to drag her from where she stood. A loud thump landed behind them. She stumbled against him, clutching her wineglass. The liquid sloshed although didn’t spill this time. Once she was steady, he freed her. Darla spun around and released a whispered squeak. A large, unconscious man lay sprawled in the space she’d occupied moments before. A breakout of an argument followed. Fists began to fly among shouts and curses.
Eric slid his palm down her arm and grasped her hand to hold in a protective grip. He slightly tugged. “We’d better move.”
He maneuvered her away from the chaos. Her entire body constricted from the implied intimacy. She maintained enough of her faculties to be aware of his hard fingers and the light gentleness of his palm loosely covering hers.
Oblivious to the mayhem around them, she followed his lead willingly with no idea or concern where he led her. His abrupt release jolted her back to reality. She blinked several times. He’d guided her outdoors onto a massive attached deck.
With a rueful smile, Darla took a giant step away from him. She had to. Before she lost control and hurled her body into him. This guy practically had her libido exploding. But was her reaction to him even genuine? With the end of her relationship not emotionally set in, how could she want someone else, someone she didn’t know, this quick?
More yells hailed from within chased by bumps and crashes.
“Do you think we should call the police?”
Eric peered inside. “If somebody hasn’t by now, they will soon.” The shatters of something breaking indicated the commotion escalated. His attention returned to Darla. “Maybe we oughta get you out of here.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” A mixture of relief and letdown charged through her. She sat her full goblet down on a nearby table. “A pleasure meeting you, Eric.”
She spun away and hurried toward the house. She almost made it the door before she stopped. The unruliness indoors sounded worse than before. Some of the guests were leaving. A dining room chair flew out a nearby window. Darla let out a short scream and whirled back to Eric. He’d leaned a hip against
the deck rail with a cigarette clenched between his lips. His drink sat on the banister while he concentrated on the lighter underneath, clicking twice before a blue flame appeared. He inhaled deeply as the flare licked the tip.
He removed the cigarette, exhaled, lifting his eyes to Darla. “Why are you going inside?”
“I need to find my friend. We’re together. I can’t leave her.”
He sucked in a long drag, blew out a hazy stream, and shook his head. “It’s not safe.”
“But I have to go back for Stephanie.” Darla took another step toward the door. “What if she’s caught up in that? She might get hurt.”
A small table soared through the same window. Quickly, she jumped to the side to avoid the flying wood. The fixture smashed into tiny pieces on the ground next to her.
Eric nodded at the mess. “So could you.” He took another puff. “She was talking to my friend, right?”
“You mean the shorter guy? Yes, she was with him.”
“Blaine Stewart. He’s a good man. He’ll make sure she’s okay.” He shoved off the rail. “You need to leave b’fore this gets any worse.” He motioned to the street in front of the home. “Is your car over here?”
“No. I walked. I live a few houses down, so I’ll go back the same way.” She stepped to the stairwell which led down to the beach.
“Let me finish my smoke, and I’ll come with you.”
Darla spun around and shot up a palm. “Oh no, that’s not necessary.”
“Don’t get excited.” Eric grinned and gestured down the shore. “My home is that way too.” He picked up his drink. “Neither of us needs to get caught up in this shit.” He lifted her wineglass and held it out to her. “Don’t forget this.”
Darla extended a hand for the glass. Their fingers grazed. She resisted the urge to tremble and wished for the courage not to care what he got caught in. She wanted to tell him she’d rather walk alone, which wasn’t true, although she needed it to be.
“Do you think it’s okay if we take our drinks?”