Diamond in the Ruff (Pedigree) Read online

  Cranking the key, Zeek brought his rental to life and threw it into drive, following the shiny sports car.

  The Jag handled like a dream.

  A legal dream.

  Corra had driven cars like this a few times in her life, under shady circumstances, which she'd selectively mentally removed from her past.

  She didn't have the stress of getting caught by the cops tarnishing this experience. They were heading toward Newport, following the guidance of the GPS on her phone. Darcy likely didn't need it, but she insisted. She didn't like being told what to do.

  Early Saturday morning presented fairly open freeways, and her foot itched to test the engine. Corra glanced for potential speed cams or hidey-spots for patrol cars, her foot descended, and the car roared. From the corner of her eye, she saw Darcy throw her an amused look, his posture as relaxed as it had been rolling through the quiet streets of the town.

  It was like flying over the concrete, so much smoother that there was almost a disconnect from reality. She tipped the wheel, and the car responded like it was part of her. Lane paint, light poles, and traffic flickered past, and it seemed like they were already upon their exit. With reluctance, Corra's foot eased, and the car glided across the lanes and exited the freeway toward the shopping district Darcy had chosen for the evening's clothing needs.

  With a sigh, she rolled the sleek car to a smooth stop.

  Darcy suggested a quick bite to eat at a street cafe with a European flair. Then the shopping began. Darcy led Corra around to all the haute-couture shops he knew from hours of shopping with his mother and sisters. Blinded by the chic, ultra-bright spotlights-per-item in the austere stores, Corra bypassed all the modern trendy cocktail dresses with their heirloom price tags. If she was going to spend that much money on a dress, she was going to make damned sure it was something her descendants could appreciate.

  Exiting yet another shop, Corra growled. "Everything is ridiculously priced for stuff that will be declared out of fashion before the end of the weekend and severely outdated by next month."

  "Don't worry. I'll pay for it. You're having to buy a dress because of my parents, after all."

  She glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

  He seemed at a loss, not knowing where else to go.

  "Come on. I saw a few shops down a side street before we got here." She grabbed his hand and pulled him back in the direction of their car, and kept going till they were clearly on the fringes of the tourist-oriented shopping district.

  Her whole body relaxed at the switch in economic tone as she stared at the battered two-story buildings hosting thrift stores and Goth, pawn, weed, and spiritually eclectic shops. "This way!" she sang and dragged him forward.

  In the door's reflection, she saw his jaw go slack when she pulled him toward the vintage shop, and there was a slight resistance in her tugging.

  "You look like you've never set foot in a thrift store in your life."

  "I haven't."

  Opening the door, she smiled up at him. "Don't worry. Nothing in here will bite you."

  On entering, and looking marginally horrified, he stood before the mannequin closest to the door, draped in an old-timey dress, pearls, and full-length ermine coat. "You sure about that?"

  Deciding against assuring him that the coat was long dead, she pulled him farther into the shop. It was like dragging a cat with a harness through a park, filled with mumbling and muttering.

  She was bemused by the sudden change in disposition. He'd been totally at ease in the expensive, over-priced stores, while she'd felt like a puppy being dragged to a flea bath.

  The shop owner appeared from a curtain-covered doorway, greeting her with a wide smile beneath her bullring, light from the window crystals glinting off her rainbow hair.

  Corra relaxed and got to work.

  Thirty minutes later, mission complete and waiting while the clerk wrapped her finds, Darcy approached, credit card in hand, looking ready to bolt after being subjected to so much old stuff.

  With a glance at the card, Corra smiled up at him. "No thanks, I can manage." When he opened his mouth, she cut him off, gently pushing his hand away from the till. "Thank you, but no."

  He shrugged and instead reached for her purchases to carry for her. As soon as they were out the door, he was looking up and down the street for the way back to their car.

  Corra wasn't done yet.

  The gentleman that he was, he accompanied her in and out of every shop on the block, helping her carry her loot. After the first hour, his ramrod posture relaxed. She even suspected he was starting to enjoy himself a little. She'd caught him picking things up and inspecting them with more interest than to comment on the dust and must.

  He wandered over to see what she was deciding on in a display case. Several jeweled items rested in open cases atop the glass. She held a box with an antique yellow diamond ring up to the light. On seeing his approach, she quickly put it down and brushed it, a cameo brooch, and gold earrings aside to focus on a silver charm bracelet with images of squirrels and butterflies. "For Bryah."

  "I think she'll like it."

  She smiled up at him.

  Finally, she led him back to their rental.

  "Where next?" he asked, pressing the button to release the trunk.

  "I'm all done. What about you?"

  "I always pack something in preparation for my mother and her whims."

  Looking at him now, wearing normal, everyday jeans, she realized that aside from the Academy sweats and athletic wear, this was the most dressed down she'd ever seen him. He always seemed to wear slacks and a buttoned shirt.

  The ever-present ocean air flowed between them, carrying the faint scent of a shifter. Their heads both turned up-wind. With a glance at Darcy, she saw that he was testing the air too. "Is it the same scent from last night?"

  "Not sure. It isn't clear enough." He glanced down and quirked a brow at her. "Besides, it's hard to tell after all the incense-infused stores you've subjected me to all afternoon."

  "Should be immune to it after all the perfume-laden places you brought me through before that."

  They remained as they were, scanning the street. If the shifter was still there, they seemed to be trying to remain hidden.

  "Stay here," Darcy said, taking a step in the direction the scent had come from.

  Corra stayed him with a hand. "Leave it for now." She tilted her head toward the car.

  With another glance up the street, Darcy nodded, and they got into the car.

  Corra said, "It looks like we're being followed, so we can just keep an eye out and see where else they pop up."

  Looking at his watch, Darcy said, "We still have quite a lot of time before the dinner tonight. I know a place I think you might like."

  "Oh?"

  "Clearly you like old things."

  "Yes."

  He started the car with a shrug and steered them back toward the freeway heading south.

  "Welcome to San Juan Capistrano Mission." The cashier handed Corra and Darcy their guide map and tickets in the cool dark lobby before sending them back into the brilliant southern California sunshine.

  Corra breathed deeply as her eyes adjusted to the change in light, listening and scenting. The first thing she noticed was the muted atmosphere. The village sounds were buffered outside the walled mission, insulated by the trees and flowerbeds lining it. It was a whole other world that she breathed in. Her nose went wild with the scents of so many unfamiliar plants gathered together in the enclosure. As her vision adjusted to the light, her eyes scanned the low slate-covered roof supported with arch after arch. Small birds swooped from tree to tree while butterflies danced around the climbing bougainvillea. They'd stepped into a three-hundred-year-old paradise capsule, the centerpiece of a tourist village.

  "It's so beautiful," she breathed, afraid that speaking at normal volume would shatter the atmosphere. She glanced up at Darcy, who beamed at her.

  "I thought you'd like it."
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br />   She was twitching, unable to decide where to go first or whether to just stand in place and take it all in. Along the gardens of the central patio, toward the old wooden work buildings, or into the stone-and-stucco mission itself?

  Darcy handed her the map. "The guide suggests starting over here."

  He pointed at the bold type “1” on the page and pointed to a cluster of folks milling around a sign with handheld audio devices. Vision fully adjusted, her eyes swept the expanse of the courtyard. With another glance at the map, she stuffed it into her purse and slipped her fingers along Darcy's, then led him along the perimeter of the left wall toward the soldiers’ barracks and the working gardens beyond.

  An hour later, with her senses nearly overwhelmed by all the new colors and scents of all of the exotic flowers and trees, it was a relief to step into the confines of the old chapel. Brightly painted murals lined the sanctuary walls, drawing the eye toward the brilliant solid gold altar beyond the front pews. All of the outside sounds fell away at the doorway. The pew creaked as Corra slid along it to give Darcy room to join her.

  "I'm not religious, but I enjoy places like this," she whispered, leaning closer to Darcy. "Sometimes, while growing up, I'd visit the churches in old Montreal. I liked the peaceful atmosphere. It's quiet enough you can think."

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I think that's kinda the point," he whispered back, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Come on. My head's going to explode if I absorb any more of this peace and tranquility stuff."

  They followed the fine gravel path around toward a ruined church. Corra's attention was on Darcy's darkly tanned hand still enveloping hers. She could feel the hum of his energy in the heat of his palm against hers.

  He was so damned good looking. She liked him. She grudgingly admitted to herself she'd liked him from the start. She just didn't want to be toyed with by a whimsical tomcat. Whimsical with his attention and affections.

  Wherever this went, she was going to go into it levelheaded and eyes wide open.

  Following the dusty wall of the ruined church, he pulled her into its shadow, the air markedly cooler. The quiet here was almost as profound as it was in the enclosed chapel. Her nose was so infused with the perfume of the poppies and cacti that she could smell little else—except Darcy. Their proximity over the last couple of days was making his scent as familiar to her as her best friend, Bryah’s. It was growing on her; he was growing on her, his scent burning itself into her memory. They walked back toward the central water fountain. Lily pads floated above gliding koi.

  A cluster of tourists filed out of the revolving gate in the wall, and she and Darcy seemed to be alone in the courtyard. It was beautiful. Her hand was still in Darcy's as he stood next to her. She glanced up to see that he wasn't looking at the fish in the pond.

  His gaze was directly on her face.

  She blushed and smiled.

  "There it is," he said, returning her smile, eyes roaming over her face.

  She shivered under his attention, enjoying the intensity of his gold-green eyes as they landed on her mouth. She remembered the taste of his tongue as hers darted over her lower lip. Would he still taste as good?

  This time, he gently pulled her into his embrace, lowered his mouth closer to hers, and hovered until she took the last step, closed the distance, and turned her face to meet his kiss. As soon as she made the final connection, his arms tightened around her, pressing their bodies even closer.

  A frisson rippled through her in anticipation of his soft, warm lips on hers. Surely he felt her heart thudding in her chest. The kiss was sweet and tentative. Testing and tasting, nibbling. Chaste.

  The gentility of his kiss made her knees weaker than if he'd plundered her. It made her heart ache for more. More of what? More kisses, surely.

  More of him, definitely.

  All too soon, his lips left hers and brushed the corner of her mouth, his breath sweet silk across her skin.

  Corra opened her eyes. The setting sun cast a rose-gold light over his skin, shining through the jet curls of his hair, catching the light in his slitted eyes. She felt the tiniest rumbling against her chest.

  Was he purring?

  "We should go," he said. But the statement lacked conviction.

  "We should." She smiled and unwound her arms from his torso, not remembering when she'd locked them around him, and stepped back. They had a purpose for being in California that culminated in this evening's meeting with Darcy's family.

  This time, she took his hand and led him along the path to the exit gate.

  Time to face his family and get him his freedom.

  14

  The sky was dark. Corra stood on the balcony in her new shoes and vintage dress of midnight liquid silk, which fit her like she'd had it tailored for her body and stored in a time capsule just for this night. The breeze from the ocean brushed the tendrils of her up-swept hair and slid across her bare shoulders and exposed lower back like a lover’s caress.

  Darcy was in the shower to prepare for the night.

  Since their kiss in the magical courtyard, her thoughts had been a jumble, rotating around him. The ride back was quiet, both of them lost in their respective thoughts. Except when he needed both hands to maneuver the car, Darcy's hand had encased hers.

  His usually easy-going, outspoken manner had become more and more tense and silent the closer they got to the hotel.

  He clearly wasn't looking forward to facing his family on the matter. She no longer believed that his parents would consider helping her find out about her family.

  Retrieving her phone, she thumbed to her playlist.

  Steam billowed out of the bathroom as Darcy emerged to “Short and Curlies” blaring in the elegant suite. She laughed as his expression shifted from pensive to startled to exploding with laughter. He dropped his travel bag on the floor next to hers and approached where she sang and danced to the music, sweeping her into his arms.

  His eyes were alight with amusement as he looked down into hers.

  "You make me laugh. I think I'll keep you."

  Her heart skipped several beats as she looked into his eyes. She didn't believe he meant it but appreciated the moment.

  He kissed her, and she reciprocated. Then her tongue swept his bottom lip, and he instantly deepened the kiss. Reveling in the taste of him, she reluctantly broke the kiss as the song ended.

  "We should go. But I have something for your first."

  He reluctantly released her with a nod.

  Darcy followed her as she went to retrieve something laid out across the foot of the bed. Butterflies filled her stomach as she held up the garment, hoping he'd like it. Turning quickly, she collided with him, not expecting him to be so close behind. She laughed at the open curiosity on his face as he looked at what she held.

  "Here." She shoved the hangar toward him.

  Taking it, he held up the classic navy pinstriped vest. Even though it was new, it complemented her vintage dress.

  "It's perfect." He grinned at her, removing his tailored jacket to slide his arms through the armholes of the vest.

  Stepping forward, she helped smooth the fabric over his broad shoulders and desperately tried not to drool as he pulled the buttons together.

  Stepping back, she admired how damned fine he was, heart fluttering. As long as he didn't roll up the sleeves of his shirt or unbutton the collar, she could keep her shit together. Otherwise… otherwise she might not be held responsible for the wave of lust that would send her aflutter.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she got her hormones under control. They had work to do.

  Hand in hand, they left their suite for the private room the Karak family had booked for the gathering.

  Katz met them at the door. Her gold-green eyes, the same as Darcy’s, bounced between their faces with an excited smile. "Bennett, Wentworth, and Emma are on the balcony with Dad. We're just waiting for Willoughby."

  Corra laughed. "Is your mother a Jane Austen fan?"


  Katz grinned. "Dad has original copies of all her works."

  "I don't think Mom even realizes where Dad came up with our names. She's not a novel reader," Darcy said.

  "Mom's all reports and dry manuals," Katz said with a roll of her eyes, then let out a squee when the door opened behind them, her arms shooting out to embrace the final arrival.

  While she was occupied, Corra asked Darcy, "Were Austen books required reading growing up?"

  "They were. And the funny thing is I don't think any of us actually match the personality of our namesakes."

  She leaned back, eying him for a moment. "I'm not so sure about that. You may not have a rigid personality, but I'd still say you're plenty prideful, Mr. Darcy."

  Darcy scoffed and pulled her farther into the room to meet the rest of the family.

  Corra's nose told her that the Karak pride was an even mix of lion and caracal. She drew a deep breath and dove in, head high.

  She was a street mutt walking into the den of a corporate lioness.

  Darcy's siblings met her with equal measures of curiosity and friendliness.

  When she faced Mrs. Karak again, Corra required extra effort to keep her hackles from rising. She'd faced this kind of scrutiny her whole life. This time it wasn't herself on the line. It was Darcy's family's acceptance of his choices.

  Corra would play nice.

  In time they moved to the dinner table, exchanging pleasantries and little stories.

  She could feel Mrs. Karak's calculating gaze shifting between herself and Darcy, reading the interplay of her children with them. Even though everyone was making an effort to enjoy the family gathering, Corra could smell the underlying strain of the elephant in the room.

  When she made her move, would they rally to the hunt?

  Corra leaned closer to Darcy. The scent of his tension was constant despite his easy exterior. Her hand slid over the bunched muscles of his thigh to grasp his fingers in a light squeeze. As he turned his attention to her, she mouthed, “Short and Curlies,” eliciting a chuckle. He kissed her fingertips, the scent of his stress easing a fraction.