She was staring again.

Pyro Onyx leaned back against the bar and rested his elbows so the fabric of his white tee stretched across his broad chest. His all-too-human pectorals stood out in sharp relief. He lifted his glass and sipped his drink.

The mystery woman’s soft green eyes unfocused. Her pink tongue wetted her lower lip as though she tasted him.

He lowered his drink.

Her shoulders sagged, and she sighed.

“She’s staring again, isn’t she?” Pyro’s friend, Darcy, rested on a stool facing the bar. His dark beer sweated on the paper coaster.

“How can you tell?”

“You went quiet like you’re thinking about messing with someone.”

Pyro’s lip curled into a sardonic smile. “What else are you going to do on a Wednesday night?”

The student bar was dead. Around five o’clock it transitioned from serving frappes to serving cocktails, but after the nearby art school’s graduation last week, the students had gone. Most of Pyro’s usual playmates had gone with them.

And then this woman had walked in.

Long auburn hair she mostly piled into a bun atop her head, full curves a male could savor, and a sweet innocence pushed his primal urges into overdrive. Darcy had pointed her out, and Pyro found he couldn’t look away.

“She’s staring like she wants a taste.” Pyro kept his voice low even though the overly loud dance music masked their conversation. “I like giving women what they want.”

Darcy snorted. “She might be shy.” He unbuttoned and rolled back his cuffs. “Or she might be wondering how you can down six drinks in an hour. It’s inhuman.”

Pyro glanced at his cocktail. “Alcohol doesn’t affect dragons.”

“I meant the calories. I drink two beers and I’ve got to hit the gym.” Darcy straightened and patted his flat gut. “I don’t have the alien shifter metabolism.”

Pyro took another sip. Sweet, cold Siberian liquor twisted with lemon.

Across the room, the woman tracked on him as though he was water and she was dying of thirst.

She was the reason he kept meeting Darcy here. There was something about her. He couldn’t make up his mind.

It wasn’t her delicious curves. He’d made up his mind about those long ago.

Full breasts were cupped by a pink, button-up blouse that made him moan. A well-rounded ass was hugged by a floral skirt. Classy strings of pearls adorned her neck and earlobes, and he wanted to tug them between his teeth. White flats with tiny bows cupped her feet.

When she wasn’t gazing at him with undisguised hunger, she was writing notes with a tufted pink pen.

She was literary. High class. Utterly unlike the women he normally took to a hotel.

What would she do if he walked over to her table?

Run? Collapse?

Give in?

His cock hardened in his jeans. He wanted to find out.

And he didn’t normally deny himself the pleasure. But right now, his family company was imploding, and he was about to lose his freedom. Playing with a woman like her was the last thing he needed.

And that was exactly why he was so tempted…

His cell phone buzzed.

He pulled it out of his back pocket. His mother’s portrait stared at him.

A feeling of dread settled in his belly.

Was she checking up on him? Wasn’t it enough that she was destroying the family company and forcing him into an unwanted marriage?

He wasn’t going to answer it, but as he turned to the tall bar chair behind him and slid the device into his leather jacket, his thumb accidentally swiped to accept the video call.

His mother’s muffled voice addressed him with imperious command. “Pyrochlore! Where are you?”

Hellfire.

Darcy met Pyro’s discomfited gaze. His brows rose in amusement. He mouthed, “Want to take it outside?”

Pyro shook his head, gave a huge sigh, and held out the phone so his mother could see his face. She couldn’t disapprove of him more than she already did. The advanced dragon technology embedded in the device would block the bar dance music as if they were in a private booth and she had no idea what the inside of a human bar looked like, anyway.

“Mother. You’re looking well.”

The video showed his mother in full dragon form. Her long golden snout dripped with gemstones and her claws caressed a jeweled scepter emblazoned with the family’s aristocratic crest. The red skies of their estate on the Outer Rim of his home planet, Draconis, appeared in the background.

He spoke respectfully to the intimidating matriarch who had life-and-death control over him and his siblings — and had recently exercised it to destroy their dreams.

“How’s your visit with—”

“Pyrochlore. Your sister tells me that you are not fulfilling your duties as my second male and a proud member of the Onyx family.”

He gritted his teeth.

His recent call history was full of unanswered calls. He knew why.

After his mother had decided to ruin their export company by getting rid of their ports — so they literally couldn’t land on their own planet to sell their exotic Earth clothing — their company’s biggest rival, Carnelian Clothiers, had called a meeting.

Why? So CEO Sard Carnelian could join the fire sale?

Or just enjoy the fire?

Pyro’s overly optimistic siblings had gone ahead and scheduled the meeting. Pyro had promptly blown it off. His call history was full of his siblings’ unhappiness. And now they’d called their mother to chastise him.

“Sard Carnelian wants nothing from our company but to gloat,” Pyro growled. “There’s no point in honoring the arrogant aristocrat by meeting him.”

Her lips curled back from long fangs. “Dear little Sard? His Aunt Ferocia is one of my closest friends, Pyrochlore.”

Dear little Sard? His arch-rival was a giant of a male in dragon or human form. A real heavyweight.

“His company is—”

“But, of course, Ferocia and I care nothing about your companies. That business is a distraction from your true duty.” She drew herself up to her full height. Her eyes flashed red and smoke curled from her nostrils. “Which is to make me grand dragonlets!”

Darcy’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

Pyro shot him a death-glare.

He hunched away and covered his mouth.

Sure, the tall human could smirk. He didn’t have a literal dragon lady breathing down his neck.

Even at the tip of the Dragon Empire, as far from Draconis as any male could go, Pyro still wasn’t far enough away to escape.

He appealed to reason. “Mal’s already got a dragonlet on the way. You’re with him and Cheryl right now on their honeymoon.”

“Yes, the Earth female is lovely. So sad their human genes restrict them from the great convenience of shifting to another form.” His mother sniffed. “But you have not provided me with grand dragonlets. I have seven offspring! If you are still playing around with your ‘company’ instead of creating my grand dragonlets, I will shut it down and recall you all to Draconis right now!”

She had already kneecapped the company by giving away their ports.

But he owed it to his siblings to placate her. A miracle could still happen. Even though it wouldn’t.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t shut down Mal’s company while he’s not even here.”

“He’ll soon be a father which takes precedence over any pointless hobby.”

“This ‘pointless hobby’ reached the number one rank outside Draconis.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Pyrochlore, you promised you were courting an Earth female. If you do not produce her, I will accept the Empress’s offer of marriage.”

The dread changed into an ugly sweat.

“Are you sure the Empress’s marriage offer transfers to me? I’m only the vice president. Nobody should confuse me with an accomplished visionary like Mal.”

“Of course you are highly accomplished. Anyone looking at you can see your merits.”

Most humans only saw his punch-me leather jacket, ride-me bulging jeans, or pay-for-me thick wallet. Most dragons who looked at him saw a bastard, low caste male with radioactive red scales and, therefore, murderous intentions in his black heart.

But his mother saw none of those things. No, in her mind, she gazed on her second dragonlet, a once-eager youth chasing after his older brother as fast as his little wings could flap, unbattered and unbruised by the violent future dragon society had decided for him.

Even though he didn’t want to feel moved, his mother’s clear-eyed belief made the soft, vulnerable inside of Pyro’s impenetrable heart squeeze.

He hated her for that.

His mother’s belief turned to imperious command. “And, if you do not introduce your Earth female to me, then the Empress will see your merits in her marriage bed!”

His stomach turned.

“You have until the end of next week.” With a fiery flourish, his mother cut the transmission.

Pyro closed his eyes and rested his elbows on the bar. He balanced his phone against his forehead.

What a nightmare.

Darcy’s amused voice penetrated his depression. “So you blew off the meeting with Sard Carnelian, huh? Invite me to your funeral.”

He straightened with a groan. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Mal will be back soon. No honeymoon lasts forever.”

“And to think, that guy never used to take a coffee break.” Darcy lifted his beer pensively. “Love makes us into fools.”

An acerbic comment rose to Pyro’s lips. Mal hadn’t fallen in love. He’d just used Cheryl to get out of the Empress’s marriage offer. But that wasn’t true. Unbelievable as it seemed, Mal actually had fallen in love.

It had nearly destroyed him.

And it was a mistake Pyro was never repeating.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye.

The mystery woman was still staring.

Urges to blow off his problems and play bounced under his skin, teasing his hidden red scales. He was always in the mood for something new.

But…

Darcy swigged his beer. “Well, if you get too desperate for an escape plan, you can always marry your stalker.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Women only want one thing.” Two if he counted his wallet.

Both objects resided in his jeans.

Darcy studied him with pity. “You just haven’t met the right woman.”

“There is no right woman.” Pyro turned away from her hot gaze, feeling it on the contours of his backside like a sensual caress. “Why get disappointed?”

“Well, so what if she is just like the rest?” Darcy tapped the face of his Rolex. “Next week’s coming right up. And if you’re gone, I’ll have no excuse to go visit your siblings. It’s going to get lonely.”

“You need human friends.”

“Human friends are boring.”

Pyro smiled against his will. Darcy was too likable.

“Think about it.” Darcy finished off his beer, slid a dollar under the bottle for a tip, and stood. He was tall for a human, almost as tall as a dragon, and more charming than either species. “See you tomorrow, same time.”

“See you.”

Darcy left.

Pyro swirled his cocktail.

He didn’t let many people past his defenses, but Darcy had consistently been, well, Darcy. When Pyro needed a friend, Darcy had taken him in, treated him like family, and made him feel like an ordinary guy. Even now, with the destruction of Pyro’s clothing company causing a huge reshuffling of Darcy’s family’s fabric supply company, Darcy took the time to meet him — in between pulling the massive 16-hour days to accommodate the change.

“We’re friends no matter what,” he’d promised Pyro. “So we’re not doing business together. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Now, Darcy was keeping his word. He was one of the few people in the universe to do so.

Pyro finished his drink and pushed back from the bar. Reaching for his leather jacket, he slid his hands into the pockets and felt for notes. Invitations. Women to take his mind off the depressive air.

Tonight, he found none.

Time to head out. Not home. A louder bar, a more desperate clientele, an armload of women intrigued by his alien attributes and all too willing to “try him out” for a night.

One last glance at the mysterious female, and…

She was no longer staring at him. She fumbled with her notebooks, closed and lifted them, and searched in her bag. Under her table. Frowning, she began going through her notebooks again.

She’d misplaced something.

On the floor, the telltale tuft of pink emerged from beneath another table.

Ah, she’d misplaced her tufted pink pen.

An excuse to walk over?

Nah. He’d hate to sit down for a chat and see through her enticing, innocent veneer to the grasping, manipulative woman inevitably behind the mask.

After all, there was always the chance she wasn’t like everyone else.

That would be the most dangerous of all.

Danger beckoned to him with honey-covered claws.

Ah, what the hell.

He switched directions, ambling toward her.

She looked up and stared at him with wide, shocked eyes.

He was already enjoying himself. One momentary kindness wouldn’t kill him. Pyro leaned down to scoop up her pen. He’d be her knight.

Her deadly, radioactive red knight.

Amy was caught.

Burned.

That’s what spy shows called it when their cover was blown, right?

The bad boy dragon shifter crossed the half-empty bar toward her lonely table and the sizzling phrase “burned” never seemed so appropriate.

Her heart thumped faster and faster.

Maybe he wasn’t headed for her table. Maybe he was headed for the table behind her. The one with the drooling brunette in skinny jeans and a barely-there tankini. It wasn’t enough clothes for chilly Portland in early June, but Pyro preferred his dates stick-sized and half-dressed.

Amy’s button-up blouse, knee-length floral skirt, and conservative flats didn’t fit the student bar scene. Neither did her mostly empty glass of diet Pepsi. So there was no way the devilish male, who looked like sex poured into jeans and a leather jacket, would ever notice her.

He scooped down to pick up Amy’s dropped pen.

Oh, no.

He was coming for her.

She was in trouble. Her hands started to shake. She clutched a notebook and pretended to read.

Pyro slipped the pen onto the rest of her stack of notebooks. “Hey.”

Even that one rugged syllable sounded like full-fat sin. Forbidden, delicious, and so much trouble.

Act casual!

“H-hi.” Her voice squeaked.

He rested his palm on her table. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Yes.” She lifted her pink notebook higher, pretending she hadn’t noticed everything about him. Bury herself in her lesson plans. Fifth-grade reading, Common Core, new math. “I’m, um, busy.”

He laughed in surprise. “Sure, you are. What are you reading?”

She gripped the notebook like a shield. He’d caught her. He’d caught her. He’d caught her. She had to get away. “Nothing.”

“I’m not surprised. Your book’s upside down.”

Her book was … huh?

Oh no. It was upside down. She’d been writing in her spy journal — fourth drink, video chat, looks depressed — and then shoved it under her stack of planners and missed that the top one was oriented the wrong way.

Her heart, which already thumped so loud she could barely hear the blaring dance music, ratcheted up another notch. The bar’s sultry air pooled like water in her lungs. She felt lightheaded.

He flipped the next chair around and sat in it as if he had every right to do so. “I’m Pyro.”

“I know.”

He laughed, surprised, and recovered his usual glint of danger. “I thought you might.”

Mmm. The dark chocolate chuckle sounded even more gorgeous up close.

Oh, wait. What had she just said?

Amy dropped the notebook like it was on fire. Roughly that was the same temperature as her face.

And her body.

He was going to call the police. Her school. Or, worst of all, her parents.

Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old terrified of having a stranger call her parents.

They would be so disappointed. Amy, why did you go to a bar? Didn’t we tell you that’s where bad decisions are made? And the school administrators would be shocked. Her fledgling career would be over. Everyone would know. She stalked someone in a bar. That could go on a permanent record.

The longer Pyro smiled at her with the dangerous red glint in his eyes, the more the bar just grew hotter and hotter, like she’d shotgunned their Insane Buffalo Sauce and washed it down with a full bottle of Tabasco.

She was not cut out for this spy business.

Amy gasped for breath. “I mean, uh, I’ve seen you here—”

“All week.”

“—and someone, uh, said your name, and I … uh …”

“Remembered me from your magazine.” He nodded at the incriminating, full-color, glossy magazine peeking out of her book bag. The one with the title, Hot Dragon Aliens Seek Human Mates — Shocking New Facts emblazoned with huge pictures of the gorgeous males that had flown down, surprising Earth, about five years ago.

The red threads in his eyes glowed. Because the glint was subtle but unmistakable, it was a look she’d carefully tracked, and it definitely meant he was angry.

She was so very, very caught.

“And your name?”

Her mouth opened and closed.

A cynical smile curved one corner of his wickedly kissable mouth. “Don’t want to tell me your name?”

Celebrities had a million admirers. She was completely different from his usual hookups. He wasn’t supposed to notice her.

He wasn’t supposed to notice!

While she struggled to decide what to do, he lifted his hand to summon a waitress. Normally that wouldn’t work at a student bar, but everyone was well aware of the billionaire who dressed like a bad girl’s wet dream. The bartender herself ran over to take his order.

Pyro finished and swung back around to Amy. “Well?”

“Why do you want my name?” Amy asked, bracing herself.

“Because you know mine.” Beneath the anger, a new interest burned. Like he was planning something naughty. “And I want to have a little chat.”

A chat? A chat didn’t sound so dangerous.

Of course, he might discover her true reason for stalking him. The reason aside from his mesmerizing pectorals and movie star charisma.

She could get in serious trouble.

Sharp fears twisted in Amy’s empty belly. Trouble was something she could not afford right now. She wasn’t at her best. The whole world had tipped sideways the moment he turned and locked on her table.

She stacked her notebooks in her book bag and stood.

He leaned back in his seat and looked up at her. Surprise warred with cynicism. “You’re running away?”

“It’s time for me to go.”

“You don’t usually leave for another hour.”

Erk. Had he been watching her as closely as she’d been watching him? But she wasn’t important. Why had he noticed her?

The answer came upon her all at once.

He’d noticed because she creeped him out. Women had creepy stalkers all the time. Men had them less frequently, but as a rich celebrity, he probably got more than his usual share. And now, one-bad-decision-Amy had joined them.

How disappointing.

Amy tried to keep the stammer out of her voice. “I have to leave early today.”

“Why?”

Because he’d caught her. Because she knew she was in trouble. Because the best thing would be to get out of his sight. Forever.

Because his intense gaze made her vulnerable. He’d laughed twice already because she’d surprised him. She wasn’t his usual type – and wanting his yummy, predatory gaze on her was nothing but wishful thinking. She wasn’t his chocolate cake on a cheat day no matter how much she fantasized.

Imagining his fine, white teeth nipping her anywhere made her shudder. Yum. Yes, she’d sign up to have his mouth all over her. God, would she sign up.

“I’ve felt your eyes on me all week,” he said. “I want to know why.”

Right. That was reality. I’ve felt your eyes on me all week. Like gooey tentacles oozing into my privacy.

With her heart beating too hard and a lump in her throat choking off a very well-deserved apology, she swung her bag over her shoulder. “You should have come over sooner.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward with a naughty grin. “But I’m here now.”

Two drinks arrived at their table. A creamy tumbler drizzled with chocolate and caramel landed in front of him. A plain soda slid in front of her.

He’d bought her a drink. A soda, but still. No one had ever bought her a drink before.

Was it honestly possible that he wasn’t disgusted? He was certainly mad. But maybe he wasn’t about to ruin her life.

“Sit down.” He used one of the Twix bars to stir whipped cream into his alcohol. “Just for one drink.”

Oh, his was one of their sweet signature drinks. Velvety chocolate, smooth caramel. A billion calories.

Liquid seduction.

He noticed her intent gaze and offered the cookie dripping in whipped cream. “I’ll even give you my cookie.”

Why did evil have to look, taste, and smell so darned good?

She held back her moan. “I can’t.”

“Go on.” He leaned forward and smiled, slick as sin and smooth as the devil himself. “Live a little.”

This was such a very, very bad idea.

But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t in trouble.

And if she wasn’t in trouble…

Amy’s roommate had asked her the other day: Don’t you get tired of being perfect all the time? Don’t you want to stay up late, binge watch Netflix, and consume a whole pan of brownies?

Don’t you just want to live a little?

Sure, she wanted to live a little. An overweight, twenty-six-year-old virgin who made daily calls to her parents because she no longer lived with them definitely wanted to live a little.

She sat in the chair and picked up the fresh soda. Lesser of two evils. “What do you want to know?”

A new respect lit his gaze. She’d stood up to his temptation. He crunched the sweet, sweet cookie. “Why’ve you been watching me?”

“You’re eye-catching.”

“Right.” One corner of his mouth quirked and that cynical anger glowed in his eyes. “Tell me about you.”

“I’m a boring person.”

“I don’t believe that, mystery girl.”

He thought she was mysterious? Yeah, right. “I’m Amy.”

“Amy,” he repeated, silken, and the bar grew hot all over again. “Thanks for sitting down and chatting, Amy.”

To disguise her flustered feelings, she slung her bag over the back of the chair. Turning back, she swirled her straw in her soda. A maraschino cherry? Ooh. She sipped the forbidden sweetness. “What do you want to chat about?”

“Why did you suddenly start visiting this bar every afternoon?”

Because her roommate Melody had blackmailed her. And a secret part of Amy had wanted to give in. Stalk Pyro. Live a little.

“It’s not sudden. I’m doing a certification program at the art school down the block.”

“They graduated last week.”

“Not certificate programs.” She sucked down the diet soda, chasing the forbidden cherry sugar. So delicious, like a drug in her veins. “We’re not on the undergrad schedule.”

“And you developed an interest in this bar?”

“It’s convenient to study.”

His mouth quirked again. “Study me?”

Arrogance like that might be out of place on another guy. But Pyro said it with his charming, devilish smile and his tone made her melt faster than a chocolate bar on a hot dash.

Talking with him normally was easy. She’d made plenty of conversation with hot guys genuinely curious about her. Or, genuinely curious in her meticulous notes, organized study sheets, and potential for free tutoring. Occasionally they asked a personal question, like how a brainiac like her lived without ever having any fun.

“Study for my … well, for my classes. I’m a substitute teaching assistant at Excelsior Preparatory Academy. The main teacher is letting me lead some lessons. It’s an excellent career opportunity.”

He waited.

Fine. “I admit I’ve seen you here a few times. Before this week, I mean.”

“I didn’t see you.”

And that surprised him? She tried not to snort. “It’s true.”

His eyes narrowed.

She’d seen him entering, and, after a late class once, she’d seen him leaving. “I’m sorry it made you uncomfortable. You’re probably getting a lot of attention because of your … uh, your situation.”

Irritation crossed his features. He smooshed the second candy bar into the half-drunk cream. “Nah. It doesn’t bother me.”

Pyro, despite looking like James Dean on an extra-sexy day, was actually a business dragon from another planet. His company exported, of all things, Earth clothes. And his business had done so well he’d caught the eye of their ultimate ruler, the Empress.

Intergalactic wedding bells were ringing.

According to Amy’s glossy magazine, nobody turned down the Empress. Except for Pyro’s older brother Malachite, who’d married an ordinary Portland art student named Cheryl. She’d actually graduated super recently from the art school down the street. Such an act was super unusual because dragons didn’t marry for love.

According to the sheer numbers of women who’d thrown themselves at Pyro in the past week, if he wanted an escape too, he had his pick of willing saviors.

Amy would be lying if she said she hadn’t entertained a few of her own fantasies. “So you actually want to marry your Empress?”

“It’s not about ‘want’.” He crunched the cookie and drained the glass.

She could almost feel the sweet cream sliding down her throat. Like, ice cream. Smooth, seductive ice cream.

Melody owed her for this.

Amy licked her lips. Making sure there was no drool. “Is that any good?”

He stopped, the glass still tilted. “What?”

“Your drink.” She swallowed. “You know.”

He lowered the glass. “You want a taste?”

Oh yes. She wanted a taste. “You finished drinking it.”

“There are other ways to enjoy the flavor.”

Heat flared between them. Reactions burned deep in her core, slicking her with heady awareness.

She wanted to be one of those flirty girls who leaned over and kissed him on a whim. Teased his lips. Savored the sin.

But that wasn’t her.

Amy shook her head. “I just wanted to know.”

He set the glass down.

“In comparison to the Frosty Malibu. Or the Fuzzy Russian.”

She’d tracked his way through the drinks menu in excruciating detail. Especially once he’d gotten to the specialty drinks — Sex on a Siberian Beach, Snickers Triple Shot, Mint Cocoa Loco. His tolerance seemed sky-high, not only for the alcohol but for the sugar.

“How was it?” she begged.

Without answering, he pushed to his feet.

Oh. He was leaving.

She’d bored him.

Well, she was boring. Amy fiddled with the homemade plastic charm bracelet peeking out of her sleeve. Spying on a dragon shifter for her roommate had been the most exciting, most deviant thing she’d done in her whole life. Now it was over.

At least she hadn’t told him the real reason she’d been stalking him. She’d gotten away with that much.

Amy shouldered her bag to leave.

Pyro leaned over, an elbow on the table and a devilish glint in his fiery eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

So it wasn’t over.

Her heart thumped.

She pretended to toy with the idea. “And go where?”

“Wherever.” His fingers curled around hers and he tugged. “Let’s go.”

He was touching her bare hand. With his rough, masculine thumb and rugged fingers.

She could die happy right now.

Amy rose and followed two hesitant steps. “I don’t understand. Where are we going?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“For what?”

“Amy.” His knowing gaze made her flood with heat. “Don’t you know when a male asks you out on a date?”

Date?

He drew her to the door. Her feet carried her across the tile while her brain struggled.

“Date?” she finally repeated. “With me?”

He tossed a careless grin over his shoulder. Heart-stopping gorgeous.

Pyro was asking her on a date?

She slowed. “But it’s a school night.”

“So?”

“I have to get up early. So I can’t stay out late. I can’t eat anything off my diet. And I can’t spill on these work clothes.”

“You have a lot of conditions.” He put his hand on the knob.

She came to a full stop. She couldn’t just leave. “I haven’t paid my bar tab.”

He called to the bartender. “I’ve got hers.”

The bartender nodded, eying Amy with a knowing look.

Oh.

The reality of the situation sizzled into her like the sugary sweetness of that first forbidden sip.

Pyro was asking her out on a date. Straight-laced, no-excitement, elementary school teacher Amy.

She was going to be one of those skinny, gorgeous women who plastered themselves to him in six-inch heels and flawless red lipstick. That was going to be her.

Except she was wearing flats and nude gloss.

Her heart thumped again. “I, uh, have this big book bag.”

He hooked a finger under her bag and hung it on a coat hook next to the door. “Any more objections?”

Her wallet was inside. Her phone was inside. Her life was inside.

Live a little.

He took her silence as acceptance and eased her out the door. Spring rain coppered the sunset-reflecting streets. People passed by with hiking jackets and a few umbrellas.

Pyro twined her arms around his neck and hooked an arm around her thick waist, cinching her against his hard male body.

She sucked in a breath. Masculine musk and electricity. Hot, like a frayed wire. Dangerous.

He turned. His stubble brushed her forehead. “Hold on.”

She was not a skinny girl. Amy clung.

He chuckled. “Not that tight.”

Oh, god. She was already acting wrong. “Sorr—”

He zoomed into the air, lifting them both off the ground as if gravity no longer applied. Her stomach flew to her toes and her flats dangled over the shrinking street. Her apology rose to a surprised shriek.

A few people glanced up and pointed.

Yep, she was dangling in the air like a chunky Lois Lane clinging to a smokin’ hot Superman. He didn’t even have to change forms. Dragons had a gravity-switching mineral in their blood that activated at will, whether they transformed into scales-fangs-claws dragons or remained human in a leather jacket and ripped jeans.

They rose high over the city.

She, Amy Adamson, was going on her first ever date.

With a hot bad boy dragon shifter.

On a school night.

Pigs could fly — as she right now proved — and she had no idea whether to be thrilled or terrified.

Pyro held the hot little liar to his body and savored her luscious curves.

“Doing okay?” he murmured in her cute ear. Her pearl earring enticed him to take a teasing bite, but he settled on rasping her sensitive skin with his jaw and feeling her shiver.

“I’m okay,” she said breathily. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He abruptly stopped rising and reversed, swooping low between the skyscrapers.

She squeaked and tightened again, pressing her softness against him.

He grinned. “Sorry.”

“I’m … fine…”

Such a little liar. Just like all the rest.

“Great.” He swooped gut-clenchingly low between buildings to skim the river. “I’m speeding up.”

She gasped. “You’re what?!”

“I thought you weren’t scared.”

“It’s not how I normally travel,” she admitted.

“But you can handle it, can’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

Teasing her like this should be illegal. He grinned again, knowing she couldn’t see it. “Amy?”

Her arms tightened. “You can go faster.”

“You asked for it.”

“I … what?”

He stormed across the river separating Oregon from Washington. Mist splattered them. She squeaked and strangled him. Adorable. He made their path erratic as they swooped along the waved under sensor range.

She trembled.

He nestled her closer.

The answer to what to do about Sard Carnelian — and his siblings’ insistence he meet with his arch-rival — had come to him during his little chat with Amy.

Of course she was a liar. She’d seen him at the bar but he hadn’t seen her? Impossible. No woman had held his fascination the way she had. There was no way she could have crossed his path before without him noticing her. 

So, that was a lie. Just like when she’d pretended to ignore him and claimed she was reading an upside down notebook.

You’re eye-catching. The bar is convenient to study.

Her little half-truths were so slick. Slicker than most. The product of a high-class education.

And those half-truths had given him an idea.

His phone was filled with messages from his siblings demanding he meet Sard Carnelian.

“Go to Carnelian Clothiers as soon as you get this message,” his sister had demanded hours earlier, her tone crackling with unusual authority. “Don’t come back to your office until you find out what he wants.”

So, fine. He’d go to Carnelian Clothiers and find out what Sard wanted. 

Right now.

Like he’d told Darcy, he just loved to make people happy.

Carnelian Clothiers’ new building was too close to Vancouver, Washington. The overly entitled aristocrats were seen in Portland area restaurants, polluting the air with their snotty attitudes. That’s one reason Pyro chose dive bars. A sighting made his blood boil.

Pyro snaked up the bank and thundered across empty fields.

The new building stood alone at the edge of undeveloped land. At this time of night, it was guarded by a skeleton crew.

He landed at the edge of the overgrown grasses. The ground was soggy. Low fog obscured the stars, haloing the parking lights. He looked over the building. On the third floor, an open window…

She shuddered. “Are we there?”

“Yep.”

“Thank god.”

“I thought you weren’t scared.”

“I’m cold.” She shivered harder. “I hope the rest is indoors.”

Her too-thin skirt and blouse were damp.

He felt an unfamiliar twinge.

Guilt? … Huh.

Changing his skin temperature, he heated from the inside. “Where’s your coat?”

“I left it at the bar.” She nestled against him. “You’re warm.”

And her curves were delightful. He wanted to take her back to his lair and warm her. Thoroughly.

But they couldn’t. He had things to do.

Pyro eased into shadow and flew to the dimmest corner, rose, and hovered by the open window. “Your wish is granted. The rest is indoors.”

She raised her head.

“Shimmy in that open window and turn off the alarm.”

She frowned. “What?”

“It’s a lever at the end of the corridor. It looks like a fire alarm pull but blue.” If the intelligence about his rivals had been accurate.

If not, well, he wouldn’t stick around to find out.

“You want me to break into a building and turn off an alarm?” She squinted. “Won’t we get in trouble?”

“This is how we avoid trouble.”

“Where are we?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Then why don’t you go in the front door?”

He bestowed a winning smile. “Don’t you trust me?”

She bit her lip.

“If I open the front door without a key, angry dragons will pour out and it could get ugly. I’d rather sneak in so no one knows.”

Her brows knit together in adorable confusion. It was like she’d never broken into a building before. “You forgot your key?”

Ah, hellfire.

“Yes. And I don’t want us to get interrupted. Go in and pull the lever.”

There was that twinge again. He was actually starting to feel guilty for this. Did he forget what she was? The innocence was an act. She was a liar.

“My parents forgot their key once.” She gripped the sill and swung her leg over, flashing skin up to — were those peach satin panties? “We were supposed to leave on vacation, but my mom forgot her purse — and keys — inside. My dad had to break a window. After that, he kept a key in a hanging plant pot by the garage.”

“I’ll try that next time.”

She wandered the hall cautiously. “It’s dark. Where’s the light switch?”

“Use the emergency lighting.” No need to alert everyone.

She shrugged and strolled carelessly to the main hall, turned and mused. “Which way? Oh, a blue lever? I think I see it.” She disappeared.

He watched for activity.

Overhead, obscured by low clouds, the Carnelian spaceship was filled with aristocrats sleeping, oblivious, in their dragon dorms. All the better to lord it over the common dragon.

He gritted his teeth.

She came back. “I pulled it.”

He rested his hands on the sill.

Silence.

The intelligence had been accurate. The Carnelians had not fully secured the new building. They’d ignored any humans entering the building above the first floor and their dragon sensors were easily deactivated by a lever.

Pyro landed on the gray carpet. Utilitarian, functional, cold. The walls were flat beige. No imagination. No creativity. No color.

Just like a dragon.

That’s why their creativity had to be stolen. Whether from low caste bastards like Pyro’s family or from humans, aristocrats ordered and took.

He was just treating them with the same lack of respect.

She hugged her elbows and looked around. “This looks like an office building.”

“It is.”

He strode down the hall, bold and attentive. If they met a human cleaning crew, he’d bluff his way through just fine. A dragon would identify him immediately. These corridors were too narrow for a clean fight.

Good thing he fought dirty.

She trotted to keep up with him. “Where’s your office?”

About fifty miles behind you. “Not on this floor.”

She stuck close. He almost reached out to reassure her.

Almost.

Elevators were too risky. If anyone was monitoring the cameras or the security systems, they’d already be caught. Stairs it was.

He headed up to the fourth floor and peeked out into the halls. Motion. He eased the door shut. His heart thundered in his throat.

He felt alive.

She tilted her head at him. “Not the right floor?”

His heart spiked. He smiled tightly and shook his head. She looked at him with such innocence. Combined with the heady cocktail of danger, he wanted to tug her against his chest and bury his mouth in her wet kiss.

But he had a job to do.

He gestured for her to continue on up to the next floor.

The fifth floor was the warehouse. Finally.

Short of breaking into Sard’s office and reading his diary — if he even kept one — the warehouse was where Pyro would find the Carnelian’s next product launch.

He eased through the door. Automated lights clicked on, highlighting their path. He froze, listening for the shouts.

But … nothing.

She peeked around him. “It’s clothes.”

“Indeed.”

He waited for the avarice to sharpen her tone. For her hands to grab the fabrics and designs and ask — or demand — to have them. That’s what women did. He’d seen it often enough.

But she gaped at the floor to ceiling collection of launches and rejects from a hundred product cycles. He led her through the clothes rack warren, attentive for the sound of her fascination to change to demands.

She marveled. Harmless oohs and aahs.

Finally, he prompted her. “See anything you like?”

“Everything.” She assured him as if worried that her noises hadn’t given him enough approval. “I’ve never been to a fashion company before. This is really cool.”

“You don’t want any of the outfits?”

“Don’t you need them for your work?”

“These are old. They were already launched or rejected.”

She dropped silent.

He wanted to push her. Watch her fingers claw in greed, proving again that she was a slick liar.

But a stronger urge was building in his chest. A dangerous desire to dress her.

Except for the small glimpse of an impulsive adventurous streak when she’d agreed to the date, she now closed up, hugging her elbows to make herself smaller and pushing a jangling bracelet up her sleeve to obscure its design.

He itched to undo the buttons hiding her from nape to navel. Reveal her captivating curves and seduce a smile with luscious silks. Take down her controlled bun and weave his fingers in the soft, escaped tendrils.

Reveal her and then ravish her.

What was more dangerous than giving into sensual interests in his rival’s new office?

“Go on,” he urged. “Pick something out.”

She slowed. “Anything?”

“Anything.” The irony of his next statement made a smile rise to his lips. “My gift to you.”

“Do you have a coat? I’m still cold.”

He pulled a sealskin parka off its pinned board and helped her into it. It draped over her like a giant fur blanket.

“Thanks.” She snuggled into the furs. “It’s warm.”

“It’s yours.”

She popped out a laugh. “Um, no. I appreciate it to borrow, though.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Thanks, but it’s not worth the headache.”

Her determination impressed him for the second time. Self-denial wasn’t big with women. He knew from experience. But when Amy held her ground, he felt an unwilling tug of respect.

She was different from the others. Unwilling to compromise her morals for a fleeting hit of pleasure. She was —

No. She wasn’t different.

“Headache?” he asked.

“My roommate is anti-fur. It’s not like we need to kill an animal for a coat in this day and age.”

“Forget her.”

“Oh, but I agree.” She snuggled it again. “Still, I always wondered how a real fur coat felt. It’s heavy. I must be wearing half an elk.”

How … odd. She sounded so honest. So innocent.

So seductive.

The tug of respect gave way to frustration. “Choose something lighter.”

She trailed curious fingers across a lemon-yellow kimono.

He’d love to see such silk cupping her curves. “That one?”

She snatched her hand back. “I was just thinking...”

“It’s okay to have desires. Give in.”

Her clear gaze focused on him. She licked her lips, and he felt a hot pulse in his groin. As if she’d licked his hard cock.

He’d never spent much time around a female like her. A female who wasn’t forward about her desires. Drawing her out enticed him. It was a more enjoyable challenge than he would have guessed.

She broke the gaze first and touched the silk again. “I’ve always wanted to travel. Visit Japan. See Alaska. You’ve traveled across the galaxy.”

And a lot further.

She released the kimono and twirled around the storeroom, arms spread and the furs draping like wings. “Working here, you must see so much of the world. I’m envious.”

There. She stated her envy. Her avarice.

But she didn’t sound the way the other females had.

Had he made a mistake?

No. All females were the same. Her differences intrigued him, but underneath, she was selfish and manipulative.

“You can travel,” he said. “Just buy a ticket and go.”

“Yeah.” She let her arms drop. “I have a lot going on right now.”

“So?”

“So I can’t just leave.” She huffed a laugh and hugged herself. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“And yet here you are.”

“But I shouldn’t be.”

“But here you are. So your limits are only in your mind.”

Her eyes unfocused. Like his words held importance, and she respected their weight.

Like there was more to him than a hard fist and an exotic cock.

And he wasn’t used to a female noticing that, either.

Usually by now on a date he had his tongue so far down his date’s throat she wasn’t doing much more than moaning. Or orgasming.

Talking … it was different. Refreshing.

Fun.

They continued around a corner.

In the middle of the workbench stood the Carnelian’s newest product: A Victorian-era bustle dress in raspberry silk with naughty black satin underskirt, lacy frills at the square neckline and small puffed sleeves, and a black lace choker.

Reaching into the historical eras already? Oh, those sad, uncreative aristocrats. The Research and Development arm of Pyro’s company had plenty of modern outfits still to debut to the Dragon Empire; that, perhaps, was why the Carnelians had repeatedly stolen from them.

For the past five years their companies had been rivals, Sard Carnelian had consistently used his aristocratic name, connections, and outright thievery to become the number one ranked company outside of Draconis. But Mal dogged him every step of the way. Six months ago, Sard Carnelian miraculously started predicting their launch ideas — and scooping them.

It turned out their graphic design intern, Cheryl, had an unrequited obsession with Mal and liked to draw him strutting around the office in the newest samples. Then, without thinking about it, she posted her art online. Sard discovered her and became her biggest fan, stealing not only the company’s ideas but her own artwork to sell to art-hungry dragons.

And, at the end, he’d also gone so far as to steal her.

She had escaped, torching their old office building in the process — a feat that made Pyro proud — but Sard Carnelian was an aristocrat. The Onyx siblings were low caste bastards. Sard would never face justice for what he’d done.

Pyro committed the Victorian outfit to memory.

Based on this outfit, it wasn’t clear what Sard would want from a meeting. Pyro had thought it might be obvious. But he was still glad to have broken in and seen this pre-launch outfit. Somehow, he’d figure out how to use it to damage the rivals who had stolen so much.

“Ohhh.” Amy strolled to the mannequin and touched the silk reverently. “This is gorgeous. I don’t suppose you have one in my size.”

An evil thought seeped into his head and made him smile.

He sized her automatically. After joining the company, it was one of the first skills he’d learned. “It’ll be tight in the shoulders and loose at the waist. You have more of an hourglass.”

She rested a hand on her waist. “Can I try it on? Just for fun? Do you think anyone would mind?”

“Not a bit.”

Sure, every moment they lingered was a moment someone in a control room could notice discrepancies in the alarms.

But what would irritate Sard Carnelian more than having his perfect prototype ruined by Pyro’s date? Soaked in sensuality, crumpled, and tossed aside like a rag?

She stroked the silk. Longing softened her features. “I used to dream about dressing up like Anne of Green Gables. Look at those cute boots. The toes are so delicate.”

Pyro grinned and unzipped the outfit. He hadn’t noticed the shoes. “They’ll look great on you.”

She hugged the dress, smoothing the silk. “It’s even finer than I imagined. Where are the dressing rooms?”

“Right here.”

She gasped and held the dress tighter against her fully clothed body. “You’re kidding.”

Adorable.

“Models change on the floor,” he said. “No modesty.”

She bit her lip. Longing stole over her. She stroked the silk.

“Do it,” he urged. “Give in.”

Her eyes narrowed. Determination fought with hunger … and lost. She backed between two racks full of clothing. “Don’t look.”

Was she honestly hiding her delicious body from him? The fierce female glared at him with threat. “Don’t.”

“Seriously?” he asked aloud in disbelief.

“Yes!”

Delaying his gratification because of her modesty was unusual. But fine. This game was also fun.

He covered his eyes with one hand. “Okay. I’ll imagine.”

“Don’t! No peeking and no imagining. Walk away. Go.”

He strolled between racks, respecting her wish. Her request tickled him. Dragons shifted naked. Any clothes were ripped to shreds. And, until his family and the Carnelians exported human clothes to the rest of the shifter universe, most ignored their human commonalities and lived in their animal forms.

Earth females had dragonesque attitudes to nudity. Or so he thought. Perhaps he should have spent more time with this shy type.

Her modesty intrigued him. Anticipation added a stimulating heat to what would be Amy’s eventual claiming. Denying himself made his imagination more fertile.

She pushed through the racks. “Okay. I’m decent.”

She was much more than decent.

Her sensual form poured into the ruffly lace and sensual silk. Black ribbon and bone corset cupped her breasts. The raspberry color complimented her full lips, nipped her waist, and flared over womanly hips.

But most important was her confident smile. She was proud, feminine, and decadent.

Then, her confidence slunk away and Amy linked her fingers in front of her. “No good?”

“Very good.” He hooked a finger under hers and drew her forward, twirling her. A few places needed tucks and the shoulders were tight — simple tailoring — but overall it fit. “Very, very good.”

She finished her twirl and halted with a shimmering smile. But not the confidence of before.

He needed that confidence again. She felt more real. Solid.

Well worth ravishing.

He released her and pulled out his cell phone. “Pose. I’ll take a few pictures.”

She obeyed his directions, quickly and obediently, but he never managed to recapture her original confidence. She was confused more than once. Like, when he told her to pose “sexy,” her toes pointed together and teeth bit one finger. “I, um, don’t know what that would be, exactly.”

Her unconscious trusting innocence socked him right in the gut.

He wanted to carry her to the soft batting, strip off the dress, and teach her exactly what he meant.

He put away his phone. “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated. “It’s a little late to say this, but I want to apologize.”

He’d been about to cup her cheeks and draw her into a sudden, passionate kiss. He changed trajectory, resting his hands on her tender shoulders instead. “Apologize?”

“About before.” She smiled shyly and looked at her feet. “I’m sorry I pretended I wasn’t watching you. I panicked when you came over. I didn’t think you would notice me. I’m not your usual type.”

This wasn’t what he’d expected.

“What’s my usual type?” he asked, automatically sliding his voice into his usual dark flirtation.

She glanced up at him, a knowing smile silently telling him they both knew. “Different.”

So, she wanted to be honest? He pushed her. “When you said you were ‘leaving early,’ that hurt.”

Her smile wiped away. “Sorry. You are eye-catching and I was supposed to study, but the truth is, I should’ve left long before I bothered you.”

Yeah. Right. She just suddenly had this urge to confess. “Why tell me now?”

“Because I’m having a good time.”

Breaking into his rival’s warehouse and wrecking their product launch had been a good time?

Her confession made him deeply uncomfortable.

To mask it, he allowed the cynical gleam to color his careless smile. “Glad to hear it.”

“This is so out of character for me.” She rubbed the satin on her thighs reverently. “I never go out on a school night. It feels like a fairy tale or a dream. I’ve never enjoyed so much dress up.”

“You should model. You’re a natural.”

She laughed a real laugh. “And you’re a charmer.”

Charmer? Him?

He’d been called a lot of things recently — mostly a bastard, reckless, and no-good. Charming definitely wasn’t among them.

Like her sudden honesty, her heartfelt laugh touched a vulnerability deep inside. Fierce protective instincts suddenly roared to the surface.

He wanted to dress her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to carry her away to his lair and rip apart anyone who threatened her.

This was the danger he’d sensed from her in the bar all week. That she could squirm under his defenses and trigger emotions he thought were dead.

No, he didn’t think they were dead. They were dead. He had killed them himself.

And she resurrected them.

That wasn’t allowed. She wasn’t a human he could love. He didn’t believe in love. Only pleasure — and taking it while it was still possible.

“Charmer, huh?” He tugged her into his arms.

She stumbled and steadied herself on his biceps. He liked her off-balance. Dependent on him. She felt like a silk-and-lace dream and she smelled like clean linen, vanilla, and jasmine.

Crushing his protective feelings, he strove for his usual careless tone. “Would a charmer do this?”

Her smile wavered. Her gaze focused on his lips and then moved to his eyes. She was innocence personified. Her tone rose hopefully. “This?”

Pyro liked giving people what they wanted.

He lowered his head and captured her lips in his kiss.

Pyro was kissing her.

Her. Ordinary, unexciting Amy.

A smokin’ hot dragon shifter dressed her up like a queen, drew her to his hard, masculine body, and carried her senses away with a sizzling passionate kiss.

His lips nibbled hers and his tongue brushed her seam.

Her body turned to his seductive heat with uncontrollable hunger. Sensation after sensation washed over her. She soaked Pyro up, hungering for more. The very air crackled around him with dangerous heat. Radioactive electricity.

She wanted everything he gave. He was her addiction. Distilled liquor, sweet male. She needed him. All of him.

He stilled and drew back.

She let out her held breath with a heartfelt sigh.

Nothing would ever top this night. Getting caught, going on a date, the wild ride across the city, and sneaking into his company to this kiss was completely out of character for her. She’d finally lived a little. It felt amazing. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

Why had she waited so long?

Someone shouted.

Pyro jumped back.

Across the warehouse floor, two men in suits raced toward them. Oh, how odd. They looked angry.

Pyro grabbed her hand. A dangerous grin curved his lips. “Time to go.”

One of them shouted. “Stop!”

She ran after him through the racks of outfits. Her ankles wobbled in the unfamiliar boots. “Don’t they recognize you?”

“Pyrochlore, stop!” one of the men shouted.

They definitely recognized him.

Pyro pulled her forward, dove behind one rack, and threw another into the men’s path. The men both leaped over it, flying effortlessly. Pyro grabbed her hand and ran.

One of them raised a … wait. Was that a gun?

“Isn’t this your company?” she gasped.

His grin sharpened. “Not exactly.”

“What?!”

Pyro grabbed her and dove low, screaming for the side of the building. The backs of her heels dragged on the floor. He cupped an arm under her legs, lifting her to safety.

Her heart leaped to her throat.

They were angry. This wasn’t Pyro’s building. He’d tricked her. This was their building. She was wearing their clothes! No wonder they were upset.

And instead of facing them responsibly, Pyro was running.

Well, flying.

She squeezed her eyes shut as racks collapsed and exploded fabric around her. The sheer mess was incredible. And she was partially the cause of it.

He barreled toward a window.

An angry high schooler had once put his fist through a classroom window. The glass had shattered — and cut his forearm in long, jagged streaks that had required stitches.

She shrieked. “Stop!”

“We can make it.”

“The window’s closed. Someone could get hurt!”

He slowed.

Thank goodness.

With a twitch of irritation, he dumped her on the floor and threw the window open. Then he wheeled to face their attackers. From the corner of his mouth, he snarled, “Jump.”

“What?”

“Jump!”

“But—”

“I’ll bail out and catch you. Go! Now.”

She stared down at the hard concrete. Five floors. Every survival instinct screamed.

“I can’t,” she sobbed.

“Trust me,” said the male who’d led her into this trap.

That snapped her out of survival mode and forced her to think.

She pushed away from the window and turned. The two males flew at them with furious growls. Pyro rotated a shoulder and lowered his center of gravity, baring his teeth in anticipation of a fight.

She felt sick.

Her back thumped against the solid wall and she held up her hands in surrender. “We give up!”

The male in the lead checked. The second male thumped into him, funny-looking gun still drawn.

The lead male spoke softly. “Put away your weapon.”

The second male obeyed.

Pyro snapped his teeth. “Aw, come on. I can take you.”

“There’s a human present.”

“Nobody I care about.”

Shock slapped her. She was nobody he cared about?

Outside the window, shouts said the whole building was coming alive.

The first male wore sunglasses and a dead expression. The Terminator about to annihilate them both. “Pyrochlore. You will answer to Sard.”

“Make me.”

The second male shuddered. Dark blue scales erupted over his head like he’d been showered with a bucket.

Pyro erupted in the same way.

His jeans split and his jacket shredded as his torso broadened and spiked with fiery red scales. His arms and legs elongated, and the joints folded backward. A tail burst from his buttocks and his face morphed into the peaked ridges of a dragon.

He filled the small space. A dark growl resonated in his scaly chest. His eyes gleamed red and his long fangs snapped in challenge.

The dark blue dragon bugled.

Between the two dragons, the expressionless male held up his hand in a warning. “Remember the treaty. We must not harm a human even by accident.”

The two dragons snapped at each other.

The leader held a finger to his black earpiece. “Pyrochlore. You are surrounded. Your only choice is to answer Sard’s summons. There is nowhere for you to go.”

Pyro turned and smashed through the wall of the building.

Tiny glass shards slivered past her bare arms like deadly confetti. The floor shuddered. Drywall gaped where there had once been a window. Cold night air gushed in.

The other dragon pushed toward the gaping wall and gnashed his teeth.

“Leave him. Return to your human form.”

The dragon shivered. Blue scales sucked up into his skin, morphing him back to a naked human form. “How dare he insult Sard? Syenite. We can’t let him get away.”

“He will face Sard soon enough.” The leader known as Syenite turned his opaque sunglasses on her. “Come.”

She took an unsteady step. Her hands shook. So did her knees.

Through the gaping hole in the building, a flock of dragons chased the fiery red leader. Wheeling and darting, Pyro evaded his pursuers. He flew off.

It looked like he would get away.

Leaving her behind.

Nobody I care about. That’s what Pyro had said when the others mentioned her. She was a human he’d teased, smiled at, kissed. But it had been a lie. A joke. He’d tricked her into coming here.

She was nobody he cared about.

Syenite’s icy voice penetrated her dark thoughts. “Sard will speak with you now.”

Amy turned.

He gestured for her to precede him like a cop summoning her to face the judge.

She knew that name. Knew it from her magazine. Of the dragon families on Earth, only two companies exported clothing. One was the Onyx family. The other was a company led by Sard Carnelian.

Oh. God.

She was going to be sick.

They traversed the wrecked floor. The other employees — dragons wearing men’s business suits — cleaned up her mess. Syenite led her to an elevator.

“What is your name?” Syenite’s impersonal voice demanded an immediate answer. Staring into his sunglasses revealed only her terrified face.

“Amy. Amy Adamson.” She twisted her fingers together. Cold air crossed the plunging — stolen — Victorian neckline and made her shiver. “Am I in trouble?”

He didn’t answer.

The elevator opened on another floor. Beige and gray like the ones below, it was well-lit and filled with impassive dragons. So many suits and no smiles reminded her of a police station. Or a secret service.

Syenite stopped her outside a giant, thick office door. He entered first. “Sard?”

Despite the cold, her hands sweated. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach crossed hunger and fever. She needed to use the bathroom. Possibly to throw up.

The other guards stared at her without speaking. She swallowed. The noise was loud in the silent hall.

The last time she’d been in trouble, real trouble, had been junior high. She’d scratched a girl who’d stolen her pink panda eraser and called her a fat-bottomed redhead with no soul. And even though she’d gotten off with a warning — and a phone call to her parents — sitting outside the office, waiting her turn, had been so terrifying she’d sworn to never, ever put herself in this position again.

And then there had been the principal’s words. You’re a bright girl. But if you don’t make smart choices, you’re going to ruin your life. It could happen in a single instant.

Her hands trembled.

She clenched the Victorian dress.

The doors opened again. Syenite stepped outside and faced her. “Sard will see you, Amy Adamson.”

Oh, god.

She crept into the office. It was just like facing the principal. She stood stiffly in front of the desk. Please don’t call my parents.

But the towering CEO on the other side of a mammoth desk didn’t look like the kind to call anyone’s parents. With his barrel chest encased in a button-up red dress shirt and matching demonic red eyes, he looked more like the kind to drop a concrete-weighted body off a pier. Silver piercings lined his brows and metal gleamed in his bared teeth. He did not invite her to sit and so she remained standing.

“You broke into my building and vandalized our next product launch.” Sard Carnelian’s dominating voice boomed with menace. “Explain.”

“I didn’t realize it was yours. I’m so sorry. I never would have ever…” Her chin folded and her voice abruptly cut out. Tears burned the back of her eyes.

Would crying make him angrier or soften his fury?

He didn’t look softened. “What is the meaning of tonight’s invasion?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never vandalized in my whole life. I swear.” She sniffed hard and forced her trembling voice to continue. “Pyro told me it was his building. He said I should try on whatever I wanted.” She squeezed her fingers together. “Please don’t call the police.”

His gaze narrowed. “We’ll see.”

Oh, god.

“Now, you tell me the truth. Isn’t this Pyro’s answer to my proposal?”

Proposal?

Sard stared at her hard.

She shook her head. “I don’t know about a proposal.”

“Perhaps you will know when you talk to the police.” He picked up a phone.

Worry stabbed her. “No! I’m telling you everything. I don’t know anything about any proposal.”

“Then what is the meaning of his invasion tonight?”

“A prank?”

Sard’s jaw clenched. “Is this some human joke?”

“I don’t know! It just seemed like…”

It seemed like the kind of cruel prank an uncaring boy would pull. Talk a chubby good girl into breaking into his rival’s building, play dress up, and abandon her there to deal with the fallout.

The cruelty cut deep. Another wave of tears swept over her.

Sard remained silent.

She sucked in a deep breath and got a hold of herself. “I don’t know Pyro. We spoke for the first time tonight. He picked me up. This was supposed to be a date.”

His chin dropped. “Date?”

The shock in his voice striped her with fresh shame.

Of course any outside observer would realize Pyro had never been interested in her. He’d pranked her just like he’d pranked these other dragons. The knowing look in the bartender’s eyes? Probably pity because she could see what Amy had missed — that he was leading her on a torment.

During the hours she’d stalked, observed, and dreamed about him, she’d never seen this cruel streak. He projected sinful, wicked smiles and sweet, casual flirtations. Tonight, she’d thought it was her turn.

Sard was still gaping. “You’re not his employee? Associate?”

“I met him in a bar.”

Sard let out a huge sigh, rubbed his bald head, and leaned back in his giant office chair. His chunky silver eyebrow piercings gleamed in the light. “Have a seat.”

“The bustle of your dress—”

“Sit.”

She folded herself neatly into one of the small, hard chairs and clasped her hands in her lap.

“You met Pyro tonight,” he muttered, dropped his hand, and leaned forward again. “You don’t know who I am?”

“You’re Sard Carnelian, dragon shifter aristocrat and owner of Carnelian Clothiers.”

He blinked.

“I read about you in a magazine.” She sat as straight as possible, as if good posture and correct answers would get her out of this mess. “You’re engaged to be married to a female dragon on your home planet, and the marriage will take place in a few weeks.”

His mouth twisted to the side. “You’re well-informed.”

“The magazine said so.”

“Hm.” He rolled his knuckles on his desk as if he wasn’t sure what to do with her. “And you have no connection to the Onyx Corporation, Mal Onyx, or Pyro?”

“I’ve seen pictures.”

“Of course it wouldn’t be so easy.” He scratched the back of his head. “You really had nothing to do with tonight’s events?”

“He told me it was a date.”

Sard growled a string of syllables that might be curses in his alien language; he didn’t bother to translate them into English.

His desk console beeped and lit up. He pressed the lit button. “Speak.”

“We found her clothing, sir. No identification.”

He glanced at her.

“I left my ID at the bar,” she explained swiftly. “In my book bag. You can come with me. I’ll show you whatever you want.”

He returned his attention to the console. “Bring her clothes here.”

They sat in absolute silence. Her, petrified. Him, staring at the ceiling and holding what appeared to be imaginary debates with himself.

Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t call the police.

The police wouldn’t call her school. Her mentor wouldn’t call her parents.

She’d escape back to her real life and never, ever get in trouble ever, ever again.

Another suit brought in her clothes. Sard permitted her to change in an adjacent office in privacy. She wiggled out of the incriminating dress and boots and back into her safe, rumpled, everyday clothes.

The Victorian dress was too nice to fold. It wasn’t even too badly wrinkled. She returned it to his office and rested it on a chair. “I’m so sorry about this dress.”

Sard still seemed to be debating what to do. He was distracted. “It’s historical.”

“It’s beautifully constructed.”

He glanced over her. “How are you leaving here?”

Then … maybe he wasn’t calling the police. This ordeal was almost over.

Her knees trembled. Relief. She sank into the chair again. “I have no idea. I don’t even know where I am.”

“No.” He hit a button on his desk. “You’ll drop Ms. Adamson off at the nearest bus stop. Prepare.”

“Sir.” The impassive voice replied in the affirmative.

Oh. Thank goodness.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Thank you,” she gushed.

Sard released the button. His gaze narrowed on her bracelet. “What is that?”

“This?” She untied the plastic friendship bracelet from her wrist and handed it over. “The midwinter break craft for sixth grade. I wore it to show my art certification classmates. It doesn’t go with my outfit but I was afraid to take it off and lose one of the charms.”

He fingered the attached plastic charms. “These lines … these patterns… How do you know them?”

“They’re modified Zentangles.”

He looked up.

“A Zentangle is a doodle with a purpose. It started as a method and a kit.”

In fact, the classroom kit came with no eraser — the message was to let go of mistakes and think of errors as alternate paths to creativity. It was a philosophy Amy still struggled to practice.

She tapped the plastic. “These charms were our capstone ‘friendship’ project drawn on Shrinky-Dink paper and baked. I incorporated an introduction to meditation practices as part of the lesson. It’s a great craft for kids.”

“This is a human craft?”

“Doodles are ancient. Everyone can doodle. Making patterns using the Zentangle Method is newer, but it’s still been around.”

He picked up the phone and barked orders. “Cancel the Victorian. I don’t care how close we are to launch. I have a new product. ‘Zentangles.’ It’s exactly what we were looking for.” He hung up.

She worried the plastic. This was getting out of hand.

“May I?” He lifted the charms as though inspecting fine jewelry. “This human craft is fascinating. Can I have this?”

A mafia king — er, dragon shifter CEO — wanted her friendship charm bracelet? Um … okay. “Sure.”

“Can I have it to sell?”

“Sell?”

He closed his fingers around the bracelet, hiding it away, and leaned forward again. All business. “I’m going to duplicate it and sell it to the rest of the universe. Will you sign a contract stating that is an acceptable use of your art?”

“Does this mean you’re not going to call the police?”

“Police?” His teeth gleamed with metal. “Ms. Adamson, we’re negotiating business. I see no need for police. Would you like a sandwich?”

“No, um, thank you. Can I go?”

“Just as soon as I secure your agreement…” He carefully thumbed through a file of paperwork. “…must have the correct copyright for mass producing these ‘Zentangles’…”

“Copyright is outside of my expertise,” she said. “And anyway, every Zentangle is unique.”

He paused and looked up from beneath his brows. “Every one is unique?”

“Grab a pen and let your imagination flow.”

The door of his office opened and Syenite stepped inside. He must be her guide to the bus stop. The wonderful, pitch dark, middle-of-nowhere night bus stop.

Sard stopped her from rising. “How would you feel about creating a large number of unique charms? Say, ten million?”

Uh…

“I’m happy with my current job. Teaching rocks. I get summers off.” She edged forward on the seat. “I mean, I will once I’m permanent and not just a substitute.”

“I will make you happier.”

She sincerely doubted that. “Ten million charms are more than a single person could ever produce.”

“No.”

“Actually, yes. One drawing takes about fifteen minutes, so that’s two and a half million hours, which is a little over a hundred thousand days … let’s simplify and divide … so we estimate producing ten million charms would take one person, working without breaks or sleep, over two hundred … two hundred eight-odd years.”

He frowned. “You reached that conclusion too quickly.”

“Basic math is an elementary teacher superpower,” she assured him. “If your heart is set on getting ten million finished Zentangles, you should approach the creators of the method. They could divide up the work. There are hundreds of certified teachers and way more students.”

“So many copyrights to secure,” he grumbled, rubbing what appeared to be a burn mark on his large desk. “I would rather pay only you.”

“Why not pay for me to become a Certified Zentangle Teacher? I could teach the method to all of you.”

“You cannot teach dragons how to produce these ‘doodle’ patterns.”

“Teaching is what I do.”

“Dragons do not have human creativity.”

“Well, actually, the whole philosophy behind Zentangles is to empower ‘uncreative’ people to discover and nurture their own inner—”

“What is your current salary?”

Argh. Freedom was so close. She could taste it. “Uh … it’s a little late…”

“Are you hungry? I can offer…” He picked up a dish of candy. “You’re not pregnant?”

“No.”

“Brimstone candy.” His business-like smile sharpened. “Let’s discuss your summers off.”

“I’m a little tired.”

“This won’t take any time at all.”

Empty promises were how Pyro had started this so-called evening.

She clenched her fists in her lap.

Pushy, arrogant dragon shifters. Just because they were hot alien billionaires who could transform into dragons and fly, they thought they could do anything.

Then again, she was still inside Sard’s warehouse. Which she had broken into. By accident. And vandalized his company’s clothes.

Ugh. If only she hadn’t given in to temptation…

At the end of the day, this trouble rested on her shoulders. Her bad decisions. She’d stepped off the straight-and-narrow to see the sights. Well, now she’d seen them. They resembled the inside of a principal’s office presided over by a mafia king suddenly so nice now that he wanted something from her.

Was it possible to decline without offending Sard? Perhaps she should just agree. Promise him she’d think about it. She wanted this nightmare to be over.

But Amy didn’t make false promises. It wasn’t honest.

“Can we please talk about it another time?” she asked finally. “I’d really, really like to go home.”

Sard’s eyes gleamed and his mouth began to form what was certainly some form of “No.”

From the doorway, Syenite cleared his throat.

Sard’s smile froze for an instant, as though being forced to remember something unpleasant. But his tone conveyed nothing but solicitude. “Of course! You’re tired. We’ll reschedule. Syenite, see Ms. Adamson to her residence. Borrow that parka she was wearing. We don’t want our future artist getting cold.” He rose. “Would you like to keep the dress?”

She shook her head violently, standing as well — dismissed! — and nearly falling over with gratitude. “Thank you so much for your understanding. I’m so sorry about tonight. I’ll never come here again.”

“Of course you’ll come here again.” He enveloped her hand in his fist and shook firmly. “Syenite will return you to produce these unique Zentangles. Ten million.”

“Ten million,” she repeated, still shaking his hand.

“Sometime soon, when you feel less ‘under duress.’ You don’t feel under duress, do you?”

“Oh, no.”

“I can keep this bracelet, right?”

“Please. I want you to have it.”

“Wonderful.” He finally released her.

She stumbled backward, out of his office. “Thanks. You’re too kind.”

He sat at his desk. “Until we meet again, Ms. Adamson.”

But when in his deep, ominous voice, the simple farewell sounded like a threat.

Pyro watched the Carnelian office building from deep within the cold, wet grass. He’d thrown off his pursuers — without killing or badly injuring any of them — and had doubled back.

His brother, Kyan, assured him Amy was still inside. Now they strategized how to break in and steal her back.

His ear bud hissed. His brother’s soft voice announced, “Movement on the fifth floor.”

He trained his gaze on the offices. Sard wouldn’t dare injure a human. That violated the treaty and Sard had no reason to antagonize his suppliers any more than Pyro did.

But he wouldn’t put it past Sard to come up with some excuse to keep Amy.

She was sweet. Innocent. Desirable.

Why hadn’t she jumped?

He gritted his teeth. She should have trusted him and jumped out the window. He would have caught her long before she hit the ground.

But she hadn’t trusted him. She hadn’t jumped.

She’d looked terrified.

Recriminations stabbed him. He knew she was different. Impetuous risk-taking wasn’t in her nature. Unlike him, she was careful. Responsible. Trustworthy.

A good girl who had no business looking at, much less agreeing to date or kiss a damaged male like him.

Unfamiliar shame sliced into his heart.

He sucked in a breath and shook it off. He had no reason to regret what had happened here tonight. No way. It was her fault.

She had no business getting close to him, but since she had agreed to date and kiss a damaged male like him, she shouldn’t have suddenly balked. She should have trusted him. She should have —

There.

He picked out the movement from the roof of the building. Amy was wearing her flowery skirt and pink blouse; also the parka. She put her soft arms around one of Sard’s employees and they rose into the air.

Pyro fought his urge to rend the other male to shreds. What was his name? Syenite?

“Don’t fight,” Kyan warned.

“I wasn’t going to,” he snapped, rising and skimming over the fields like a distant shadow.

“Your heart rate is increasing.”

He fought his inner reactions. Of course Kyan could hear his heartbeat; probably vitals were built into the black ops earbuds he was borrowing.

Pyro continued talking himself out of his fury.

He’d just met Amy. He refused to let her be important to him. He barely knew her. Right? She must put her hands on many males. Just like all the females he spent time with.

But thinking that only made him tense up to fight all the possible males who might try to enjoy her sweet touch. Fury crackled under his skin.

“Pyro. Stay low.”

He swerved closer to the grass.

Think.

The aristocrats were likely to dump her at the most efficient location such as a transit station. He’d forgive her for not trusting him, swoop in, and pick her up. They’d continue their wild night with less dangerous talking and more silent seduction. Easier to love and leave her that way.

But Syenite didn’t turn toward the nearest station. They flew on into the night.

“Where’s he taking her?” Pyro asked, lifting above the ground and shadowing.

His brother, Kyan, hissed in his earbud. “Back to Portland.”

“Why?”

“Giving her a ride home?”

Sard would only do that if he found Amy of value to him.

The itchy sensation of her betrayal scratched at him. What had she given to Sard? Her observations? Had he given her any secrets worth sharing?

His shame disappeared in the fire of rightness. See? She’d betrayed him somehow. Just like everyone did. No point in getting upset. How stupid of him to feel disappointed.

Pyro should just leave. Fly off, find another female, forget this night ever happened.

But he didn’t.

He followed them into the city. Syenite released her in front of an old apartment building. She spoke to the male as if they were good friends. And the emotionless dragon actually responded.

Pyro’s fingers elongated into sharp claws.

He wanted to rip Syenite’s spine out. Amy was his.

No, no, no. He shook his head to clear it. Amy was not his and never would be. She’d made new friends with the aristocrats. Who wouldn’t? They were everything a low caste dragon like Pyro would never be.

He watched her walk into her apartment and then he shoved off the roof and flew into the night.

She was just like the rest. No one to get upset about. No reason to feel possessive or hungry or shamed by his own behavior. Those pointless feelings would go away as soon as he drowned them in new stimuli — a new bar, loud music, a dance party.

He was fine. Totally fine.

Completely carefree.

Syenite dropped Amy off on the steps of her apartment. It was like being dropped off by the police — if the police had personal jetpacks instead of squad cars.

He’d held her impersonally, if such a thing was possible, and she did take them up on the offer to borrow the parka. It made the trip considerably more comfortable. And, unlike Pyro’s heart-racing swoops and swerves, Syenite flew sedately in what was essentially a straight line.

She handed him the parka and hugged her elbows in the early June chill. “Thank you.”

“I will pick you up tomorrow.” He started to leave.

“Wait! Tomorrow’s, uh, I’ve got work.”

“The day after tomorrow, then.”

“That’s also bad.”

He waited.

She bit her lip. Mostly she wanted to put tonight and everything associated with it away from her. Forever. “How about I call you?”

He gave her the number and then asked her point blank. “When will you call?”

She tried not to wince. “Later?”

He was silent for a long moment. Only her worried face reflected in his dark shades.

This night. Would not. End.

Just like one bad decision would come back to haunt her over and over and—

“Do not fear Sard Carnelian,” Syenite finally said. “He is kind.”

She coughed. “Kind?”

“You said so yourself.”

What? Oh. You’re too kind. She’d thrown away those words as she’d scrambled out of Sard’s office. She hedged. “Yeah, well, he asked if I was ‘under duress.’”

“There was a misunderstanding with our last artist.”

“Uh huh. I don’t want to have a misunderstanding either.”

“You have no misunderstanding. Your judgment is accurate. Sard is very kind.”

How bizarre to hear such heartfelt words in a flat tone from a male who’d shown zero emotion even when breaking up a fight between fully fledged dragons. “You seriously think Sard Carnelian is kind?”

“Very.”

Dragons, in general, were unfathomable.

Well, Sard hadn’t called the police on her. In that sense, he was kind. But she felt an uncomfortable sensation of blackmail whenever she remembered his last words.

She scratched her head. “What makes you say so?”

“I am his head of security. My role is to remain at his side day and night. Yet, he chose me to fly you to your home and dismissed me for the night. He did this to allow me to spend the rest of the night in the city with my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend?

She had to pick her jaw up off the apartment steps. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Our relationship is recent but strong.” He showed Amy the background screen of his cell phone. A curvy, giggling woman with glittering gold eyeshadow and purple hair kissed his stone-faced cheek. “She saved me from an undesirable marriage.”

“The Empress proposed to you, too?”

“No. The Empress has private designs on the Onyx family. She is Pyrochlore’s burden to bear.”

But apparently, unwanted dragon marriage proposals were universal.

“I thought dragons don’t marry for love,” she said, quoting her magazine article.

“Until meeting my girlfriend, that was true.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “The dragon who proposed had injured my brothers and our estate. Marrying her would have restored us to a higher status, but I would not have enjoyed my contractual duties. In contrast, every moment with Evalina is a bright, shining treasure of undeserved happiness.”

Huh. “Well, congratulations.”

“I have never been so happy,” he said flatly.

She promised to set up an appointment sometime and Syenite finally let her go. Then, without her keys or ID or anything, she got Melody to buzz her into the building and rode the rickety elevator up to her floor.

Their door hung open.

The evil scent of chocolate butterscotch brownies wafted out.

Her stomach growled. She felt exhausted and wired. And she’d missed her one opportunity to try dragon candy. Brimstone. It must taste better than it sounded.

Amy closed the door firmly, crossed the living room in three strides to end up in the kitchen, and collapsed in her peeling, old chair.

Her roommate, Melody, sat in the other chair and fanned the steaming brownie plate. “You’re back.”

“I’m starving.”

“Brownie?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you will.” Her roommate cut a reasonably sized piece of gooey, steaming, fudgy brownie and put it on her plate. She passed the knife to Amy. “It’s late. Where’ve you been?”

She didn’t want to tell.

Melody waited patiently. Her dark chestnut hair folded into two cute shoulder-length braids tied with ribbons emblazoned with the logo of her favorite video game. Tonight, she wore a velvet Goth Lolita dress with poufy purple sleeves and a cream apron. Her knee-high socks were decorated with a different video game logo and she was adorned with silver chain mail jewelry she’d designed herself.

Amy sliced a giant wedge off the corner. “I got caught. By Pyro.”

Melody’s brows rose. “Was he very angry?”

“I didn’t tell him the real reason.”

“Real reason?”

“That it was for you.” She shoveled a huge mouthful in. The decadent dessert filled her with tingles of deliciousness.

See? Who needed hot dragon shifters? Butterscotch brownies were at least as good.

She chewed and swallowed enough smooth sweetness to pinpoint, “For your fan fiction.”

“Oh. Right. My fan fiction.” Melody let out a relieved sigh and picked up her fork. “I’ll just have to make up Pyro’s habits. Using my imagination.”

Melody was one of the top twenty fan ficcers on three different websites; her current work in progress was her first try using real celebrities. Dragon aliens were so far from everyone’s real-life experience they might as well be fictional for most people. Less than two hundred dragons total lived on Earth. It was a fluke that two entire businesses had set up a few miles from her home in Portland, Oregon.

“I got you the dragon shifter magazine,” Amy said. “Oh, I left my bag at the bar.”

“It’s in your room.” Melody licked her purple-painted fingers and sat back, sated. “You didn’t come home, and you didn’t answer your texts. I sent Josh to check on you. He came back pretty alarmed. He thought you’d been kidnapped.”

Uh oh. Melody’s video game-addicted boyfriend wasn’t excitable, so if he’d gotten worried, who knew what might have happened? “You didn’t call my parents.”

Melody made a flubbing noise. “I’d sooner call all the hospitals and the police.”

Amy released her sigh. “Thank you.”

“Solidarity.” Melody rose, fist-bumped her, and grabbed her arm braces to cross the kitchen.

Due to a rare childhood illness, her leg bones had grown different lengths. She was fully capable of getting around with braces but she hated the looks she got, so she rarely left the house. Her parents tried to respect her, but they also worried over-protectively. She well understood Amy’s relationship with her family.

Amy licked her own pale pink fingers. The big plate of brownies called to her.

“You should really start a bakery,” she said, trying to talk herself out of another piece.

“I could never do that.”

“Why not?”

But her roommate just laughed. Like always.

The brownies sang a sweet, sweet song.

One more hit of sugary sweetness. One more taste of don’t-worry-everything’s-fine numbness. One more bite and Pyro’s cruel prank would no longer sting.

She’d thought she’d surprised him and held his interest. She’d thought, for a few minutes, they’d honestly connected during their conversation in the warehouse. She’d thought his kiss was real.

But she’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.

“Are you going to the bar again?” Melody asked.

“No way. My excitement with dragon shifters is over. Forever.” And that depressed her. She cut another triple-sized wedge of chocolate serenity. “I’m so busy. And he’s probably never going there again.”

Melody nodded slowly. “I’ll start working on your reward. One batch of cinnamon crinkle cookies and two loaves of chocolate chip bread. Right?”

“Yeah.” She pinched a piece of brownie into a gooey ball and chewed it like a forgetfulness pill.

She’s nobody I care about. His cruel dismissal echoed in Amy’s ears.

She pinched another piece of brownie and, with the tine of her fork, traced the beginnings of a Zentangle in the frosting. It was going to take a lot more chocolate to forget this hurt.

Melody must have known somehow. Sympathy radiated from her. “Want to watch trash television and rot our brains?”

“I have to finish working on my observation lesson.”

“So, yes?”

Amy covered her face. “I really shouldn’t.”

Melody’s voice rose, chipper, as she disappeared into the living room. “Which show? Rich B*tches or So I Married a Convict?”

The click of the TV in the living room was the sound of Amy’s discipline snapping. She needed to veg tonight. Her lesson was almost ready. Enough for her mentor to see her progress and give guidance. She’d finish the details during the commercial breaks.

Amy rose and grabbed the brownie plate. “Whichever show isn’t a rerun.”

“They’re both reruns, but Rich B*tches is the one about the supermodel who thinks she’s marrying a multimillionaire and gets catfished into marrying a convict.”

Ugh. That described tonight a little too well.

Melody’s voice teased her from the other room. “Hey, do you think if we had interesting lives, we wouldn’t have to watch everyone else’s?”

Tonight had been interesting.

Syenite’s phone number crinkled in her pocket like a warning. Failing in her diet and watching trash TV didn’t hurt anyone. Not like breaking into a company, ruining their clothes, and groveling before an irate owner.

Had that even happened? In her tiny apartment, it seemed impossible.

Never again.

“Nah.” Amy dumped the dragon shifter’s contact info in her bag and went to the living room.

Melody propped up her short leg. “Oh well. We’re so boring that we’ll never find out.”

Vegging hurt no one. Only herself.

“Pyro … Pyro! … PYRO.”

He groaned and rolled over on his back.

Sunlight streamed through his unshaded windows and reflected off his pinball and sports video machines, illuminating his lair.

The movie theater-sized screen dominating the middle of the room showed a gigantic image of his younger brother, Kyan. The heavily scarred former mercenary was harsh on the eyes in the morning.

Pyro pinched his eyes shut. “What did I miss?”

“The officer meeting starts in five minutes.”

He yawned and rolled over. “Wake me when I’ve missed it.”

“You’re leading it.”

“Mmph?”

“While the CEO’s gone, you lead the meetings.”

He moved his mouth away from the pillow. “What do you need me for? You have Amber.”

Kyan was silent.

Bilgefire.

Pyro forced himself out of the triple king-sized bed, thudded onto the messy hardwood, and crawled to his closet. “I’ll be right there.”

In any other dragon company, the eldest female always ruled. Amber refused her responsibility with the same fervency that Pyro did. The vice president position made sense — he was second-oldest — and allowed him a great deal of freedom. Mal did the visionary work. Pyro offered just-so-crazy-it-might-work suggestions. Sure, he was theoretically in charge of things, but Mal was always there and he was always working.

Until now.

Pyro rolled into jeans and a T-shirt. In the center of his circular suite, he opened the empty elevator shaft and flew up into golden sunlight. The Las Vegas strip emerged below him and the gorgeous, dry sun of early summer warmed his skin.

He flew across the states, crossing west until he’d almost reached the coast, and then he floated down to the Onyx Corporation office building.

Their skies were empty. The private interstellar spaceship that had brought them here five years ago was gone.

As expected.

He descended into the glass shaft and hovered. Opening the glass door, he floated into his office and closed the glass behind him. With Mal’s absence, everyone would meet in one of the main conference rooms. He exchanged his jeans for business attire in his office closet, straightened his collar, checked his cuffs, and strode out into the hall.

Onyx Corporation head offices buzzed. The intern’s desk in front of Mal’s empty office had a new intern, a male with thick glasses and a nervous smile. Behind him, the warren of upper management cubicles hummed with energy.

He entered the conference room.

Four of his siblings stared at him.

He swerved to the espresso station at the corner of all rooms and tamped in a scoop of freshly ground Brazilian roast. “So, who has the agenda?”

Silence greeted his question.

He poured a glass of frosty milk from the mini fridge into the metal pitcher, steamed and frothed it, and created his morning peppermint mocha with extra espresso. Then, he took his usual seat to the right of the empty CEO’s chair, leaned back, crossed his ankle over his knee, and sipped.

Everyone stared back.

Operations Manager Jasper finally cleared his throat. “In Mal’s absence, the vice president is the acting CEO.”

“You don’t want to trust the fate of this company to me, do you?” He set his coffee on the table and opened his shaky hands.

His siblings stared back at him without blinking.

This smacked of a conspiracy. But fine. He’d play their game.

“Then fine. Here’s the agenda: Let’s talk about the only thing that matters.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “What do we do now that our mother got rid of our ports and we can no longer land on Draconis to sell our exports?”

Silence.

Finally, smooth salesman Alex leaned forward. Not a single hair of his light blond locks fell out of place. “What did you learn during your meeting with Sard?”

“His next product launch is historical. Victorian.” Pyro found the photos of Amy on his phone and passed them around.

Jasper studied them for the longest. They made the rounds of the table and returned to Pyro. He put his phone away.

Alex frowned. His exotic eyes, one turquoise and one lavender, studied Pyro with sharp attention. “Sard wanted to meet with you to show off his next product launch?”

“No.”

“Then what did you speak of?”

“We didn’t speak.”

Amber, Jasper, and Alex looked at Kyan.

The former mercenary was the only one who could keep track of Pyro. The only one who could keep track of any of them. His methods were neither legal nor known outside of highly classified dragon intelligence.

Even so, he wasn’t all-knowing. His gruff voice, the result of a laser blast too close to his vocal chords, remained soft. “You were inside the building a long time.”

“Do you really want to be under the aristocrats? Owned by them?”

His siblings shook their heads.

“Neither do I. And that’s the only possible reason that thieving Sard would negotiate.”

“You did not meet with Sard?” Amber’s voice was flat but fire crackled around her auburn eyes and hair. “You went to his building and you did not meet with him?”

“Good, it sounds like you can hear me,” he snapped. “He knows we’re stuck. And, unlike us, he doesn’t have a crazy mother throwing away his company in a fit of rage.”

“You can’t know what he wants until you hear the words from him.”

He waved her off. “I know.”

“As acting CEO, it is your responsibility to explore every possibility to save this company.”

“Mal wouldn’t give his company to the aristocrats. Neither will I.”

“Is there no other possibility?” Jasper asked. The steady Operations Manager was a careful speaker and a deep thinker. He rarely acted outside of authority. “None?”

Pyro opened his hands wide. “I don’t see one.”

They fell silent for a long time. Pyro let each caffeine-soaked swallow heighten his hate of Sard Carnelian and the rest of the smarmy aristocrats.

Alex leaned forward. “Then, distasteful as it is to bow under command of Sard Carnelian, what choice do we have?”

“Destroy the company. Flames from the ground up.” Preferably with the thieving rivals inside.

“This is your proposal? We neither try to sell our company nor try to negotiate with another family who has ports. We should destroy it?”

He leaned back. “Yep.”

The empty chairs — Mal’s CEO chair and his youngest brother, odd Flint — gaped. If Pyro’s plan went through, all the chairs would be empty. And on fire.

But that would never happen.

His siblings would never allow him to destroy this company. All he had to do was force them to acknowledge he wasn’t Mal. Then they’d take the responsibility off his hands and ensure their oldest brother’s company didn’t burn.

Amber tapped her fingers on the conference table. Her tone was subdued, but not shocked. Apparently taking control from him was something they’d planned.

But then her words penetrated.

“I’ll conduct the end-of-business closing costs and outstanding balances. Jasper, clear our inventory.”

“When did you want me to surplus our office equipment?”

“As soon as you have a buyer. We need to find a new placement together or else we’ll be spread across the universe again. Alex?”

“Old friends in Serpenta IV are interested in a security officer. Salesmen are always useful. I talked them into taking a specialist in logistics.” Alex nodded at Jasper.

“Nothing financial?” Amber, Chief Financial Officer of the Onyx Corporation, asked hopefully.

He hesitated. “They will not accept a female unless she is the new owner.”

Because on Draconis, females ruled companies. They didn’t work in a lower position like finance. Amber only got away with slacking because she was so far from the heart of the Empire, and technically, the Onyx Corporation was owned by their mother. That was how she could destroy it on a whim by giving away their port privileges.

Amber studied her black tights. “Thank you for asking.”

“You can stay with our mother until you arrange a marriage.”

She nodded.

“Mal will remain on Earth with his human wife,” Jasper said, ticking off everyone on his fingers. “We will disperse.”

The hell? They were actually going to destroy the company? All because of his little joke?

“What about Flint?” Pyro asked, just to play along.

Alex met his gaze. No judgment stained his two-tone eyes; just cold resolve. “He will do as he wishes, as always.”

“And me?”

“I assume you will also remain on Earth with whatever Earth female you marry.”

“And if I don’t?”

They quit playing around with making their self-destruct plans and stared at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Amber asked bluntly.

Steady Jasper also frowned in confusion. “You have no particular female you want and a plethora of willing lovers. It should be easy to secure a bride.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“You have a lot of women,” Alex agreed.

“The most of any dragon shifter,” Kyan said.

“A shocking number,” Alex said.

“Hey,” he said. “They come to me.”

“So don’t be lazy,” Amber said, chiming in. “It might take more time and effort to secure a female than you think.”

“Or I could not bother,” he said. “Become the Empress’s consort.”

Now they stared at him with shock. It was almost insulting. They accepted his suggestion to burn down the company like it meant nothing and then they looked like the world was ending when he said he’d marry the Empress.

Amber finally said aloud what they were all clearly thinking. “Do you have a death wish?”

He shrugged one shoulder. The rush of familiar adrenaline crackled under his skin, radioactive. “I’d be an aristocrat.”

“You hate aristocrats.”

“But as the highest one, I could order the rest around.”

Amber frowned. “You won’t last a week.”

“Aw, come on. Worried about the Empress? I know how to please females.”

Jasper and Alex both shook their heads furiously. Kyan looked at his phone as if he’d just received an urgent security call.

“She’s barely female,” Alex finally said.

At the same time, Amber made an un-dragonlike snort of disbelief. “You? Please females?”

“I please every female.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Every time.”

She shook her head. “There’s a big difference between pleasing a female in bed and pleasing her in marriage.”

He lowered his lids. “You’ve never been married.”

“Mal shared your unwarranted arrogance. He barely wooed Cheryl.”

“He secured her in the end.”

“She’s human. When Mal caused her anger, she didn’t attempt to chew his arms off.”

Pyro felt a sudden, intimate awareness of his hand curling around the warm ceramic mug of coffee. The scarred forearms encased in sleeves. The fine houndstooth sliding against his arm hairs.

“It’s an honor to be chosen,” he growled, mouthing the words plenty of the Empress’s former ex-consorts must have used before going to their doom.

“You survived the Colony Wars,” Amber said, more softly. “I have no wish to see you fall in Draconis Palace.”

A soft wave of tenderness thunked into his hard heart. He rubbed his chest and focused on what mattered.

This situation was all the fault of aristocrats.

If his snotty Onyx grandmother had acknowledged Mal on his first birthday, their parents’ marriage would have been validated and their subsequent dragonlets would have been born aristocrats. But his grandmother had refused to let the dragonlets of a brimstone miner darken her estate. Their mother had been forced to give them up, their no-name father had died too young, and they’d been spread across the Empire, forced into the worst situations to survive.

As soon as their grandmother died and their mother took over the family, she’d recalled them to her home estate, but it had already been too late. They had the wrong education, the wrong credentials, and no relative would give them a chance.

And so it went to this day. Aristocrats were still determining the course of their lives. Pyro couldn’t do a thing about it. Why not give in? Maybe he could burn the palace down before he drew his final breath.

Kyan finally spoke in his quiet, deadly voice. “Here are the women you spent time with this week.” He held up his phone.

Ten tiny faces appeared. Pyro glanced at them. Sure, that looked about right.

“Select one for your wife,” he ordered.

Pyro bristled. “Since when does a younger brother order an elder?”

“Choose. Now. Or I will choose for you.”

The former mercenary was serious.

As much fun as it would be to challenge Kyan for overstepping, Pyro didn’t want to face him if the male was serious.

Kyan didn’t crack a smile.

“Fine,” he said, just to change the subject. “I’ll secure my wife tonight. But you’re third in age. If the Empress is consistent, her marriage offer will leave me and land on you.”

Kyan’s jaw tightened.

How could she possibly propose to him? His scars were brutal and so was his personality. But then the Empress had expressed interest in hot-headed Pyro. And blunt Mal.

It wasn’t them she wanted. It was what they represented.

Success. A top company of bastard males from the Outer Rim. Low caste bastard males couldn’t dare make fools out of the higher caste aristocrats or succeed despite their limitations.

Even going to the ends of the Empire wasn’t far enough away to live in peace.

“Alright. You secure your wife.” Jasper ticked tasks off on his mental checklist. “The rest of us will shutter the company.”

Okay. This little joke had gone far enough.

He sighed. “You can’t close the company.”

Everyone stopped, once more, and stared at him.

“This is Mal’s company. You can’t destroy it on his honeymoon.”

“So you have an idea for how to save it?” Amber asked flatly.

“Figure something out.”

His siblings regarded each other with irritation.

“Well?”

“Pyro, we don’t have any ideas. If you don’t either, then we must dissolve—”

“We’re a number one company!” At least for another week, until the next ranking list was published. “We shouldn’t be dissolving or selling. We should be pivoting.”

“Into what industry?” Amber demanded.

He had no idea. “So that’s it? We’re over? It’s time to cut and run?”

They stared at him silently.

Hellfire. Maybe he shouldn’t have spent the last few days trying to drown his troubles in the student bar wishing alcohol had any effect on the dragon metabolism.

“What does Flint have to say?” he finally asked, invoking their absent youngest brother.

Everyone turned to Kyan.

“The same thing he’s said from the moment Mal recruited him. Enjoy this little ‘vacation’ on Earth because it’s not going to last.”

Pyro rubbed the back of his neck. “He couldn’t honestly have expected the Empress to propose or our mother to give away our ports.”

Kyan shrugged.

Who knew what Flint expected? The reclusive dragon spent his time reading esoteric histories and staring into orreries. Pyro’s best guess was that he was living “somewhere on Earth.” Only Kyan knew where.

Dead end.

Pyro turned to Amber. “Why don’t you marry into another company and give us their ports?”

Her eyes crackled. Red scales shifted beneath her skin in dire warning. “For the same reason I don’t want to take over this company.”

“You’re the female.”

“So?”

“Take responsibility.”

She bared her teeth. The incisors lengthened into fangs.

His brothers fidgeted uncomfortably. Pyro had never antagonized Amber to the point of her bursting into dragon and flaming him. Females were larger, more dominant, aggressive, and they could belch flames.

“Pyro.” Kyan interrupted softly. “You always said we were held back by the rules of Draconis. We’re no longer on Draconis.”

He slammed his palm on the table. Claws burst from his fingernails and raked the heavy wood, curling it up into little curls. “And we’re still subjected to the aristocrats’ rules!”

“So find a way around them.”

His scales stabbed under his skin, prickling with warning. “Help me out here. We have the creativity. We have the talent.”

“Mal put this in your hands to decide.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

They stared at him. At the end of their ropes, they had no one else to turn to.

Fine.

“I’ll reschedule the meeting with Sard.” He scored new lines of anger into the table. He couldn’t help one last whine. “You didn’t let Mal work on company business when he was acquiring his human wife.”

“Mal was more hopeless,” Jasper said.

“He had no women,” Alex agreed.

“Only the intern directly outside his office,” Jasper finished.

Accurate, but irritating.

“So why didn’t you hire an intern for me to marry?” he grumbled, as the meeting ended.

“You don’t need assistance organizing a wife.”

No. He didn’t.

Looking at the tiny photos on Kyan’s phone had made one thing startling clear: He’d been with masses of human females. Even this very week. But only one face stood out to him.

Amy.

She was going to be furious.

He cracked his knuckles as an unholy grin stole across his face.

Good thing he liked to live dangerously.

“This is a great lesson.” Amy’s mentor, graying fifth-grade teacher Corinne, said.

Amy sucked in a deep breath. She’d worked so hard. Thank goodness the distraction from two days ago hadn’t shown in her work. “Thank—”

“But.” Corrine’s spotted metal giraffe barrettes jangled in her ears as she shook her close-shorn head. “You can’t teach it.”

Her stomach dipped. “What?”

“Not for the observation.” Corrine spread out the pictures Amy had carefully sourced and mounted on construction paper. “Diversity is a noble teaching goal. But not when controversy-shy administrators are watching.”

Her heart started beating fast in her chest. This couldn’t be happening. “But there’s diversity here.”

Corrine smiled dryly. “Within a certain income bracket, yes.”

Excelsior Preparatory Academy was ranked second in the state for academic excellence; the first-ranked school was fifth in the nation. A high percentage of their students went on to attend Harvard, Stanford, and other Ivy League schools. For the privilege, the parents paid through the nose, and they did not offer scholarships for need.

Amy had received a personal invitation to join as a substitute assistant teacher after her final portfolio was awarded a commendation by the Board of Education. She had studied past award winners, stalked top educators, and sent Melody’s homemade cookies to anyone who reviewed her portfolio and gave advice. She’d worked very, very hard.

Innovating on real-world problems was one of the reasons her portfolio had beat out many other highly qualified candidates. It was “edgy yet full of heart,” the Board of Education had said in their award letter. Students thought and engaged deeply on a personal level that lead to real change.

“But we do have diversity,” Amy insisted. “We do have different income brackets, colors, languages, backgrounds—”

“The administration prefers our faculty to be blind to differences,” Corrine said. “Your lesson is the opposite of blindness. It’s pointing out differences, including making students aware of differences they may not be able to see.”

“To celebrate them. It’s a celebration.”

Corrine rested her hands on the rainbow-confetti Amy had cut for student reflections. “I like the lesson. You’ve chosen a heart-warming introduction story, nice videos of current celebrities who have visible and invisible differences, and a relevant reflection activity. It’s a great lead-in to more advanced topics such as Model United Nations. But you can’t do it in this school. Not if you want a permanent position.”

It felt like she was in trouble all over again.

Corrine’s classroom suddenly felt far too warm. Amy’s palms sweated. Her lavender silk shirt stuck to her lower back.

“Now, what about that lesson on colors and figurative language?” Corrine tapped her tablet to a website where another educator’s tried-and-true lesson was posted for the world to use. “You read a poem, the students comment on the metaphors, and then they write their own.”

Amy twisted her hands in her lap. “I think Bethany’s class did a similar project last week.”

“And so our students are well prepared for it.”

She twisted her hands.

Corrine smiled at her gently. “You do want a job here, don’t you? We’re only expecting one retirement this year. You have a real shot at a permanent place.”

Of course she did.

“Repeating a lesson that’s already been done well by another teacher isn’t going to set me apart from other candidates,” Amy said.

“Put your own spin on the lesson.” A note of reprove entered Corrine’s voice. “Of course it should be your own. You have the weekend to work on it. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

The hour changed. Amy gathered up her things, thanked her mentor for taking the time to review her lesson, and headed to the fifth-grade reading room.

The real problem was that the colors lesson didn’t feel like her. She’d studied the plan extensively. Figurative language was all fine and good, but she wouldn’t teach it using this poem. And if she started bringing in real-world examples focused on divisive issues she cared about, her lesson would slip into controversial territory again.

As a teacher, she had an important role to show all sides of a controversy fairly. Think about history and give students the tools to make decisions. Work toward positive change.

But there was no side to reading a poem about colors. It was a fine lesson. Corrine would make it interesting. But it didn’t speak to Amy. At all.

The rebel in her wanted to proceed. Screw the administration. She’d do her lesson her way.

But that wasn’t responsible. She’d lose her chance and, once the regular assistant teacher returned from maternity leave, have to go hunting for a new position next year. And she’d probably get in trouble.

Don’t you get tired of being perfect? Don’t you want to live a little?

Ha! If she lost her job, there was always Sard’s job offer. What would drawing ten million Zentangles be like? She could sit in a cubicle with the terrifying CEO breathing down her neck and churn them out.

Ugh.

Amy would do the color poem lesson. She’d go home, curl up with a plate of Melody’s crinkle cookies and a bowl of homemade fudge ice cream, and put on Rich B*tches. And then, properly sedated by the addictions that kept her numbed, she would review Corrine’s lesson.

Amy slid into her chair as her students were taking their seats and pulling out their reading books. Almost immediately, her mood improved.

She loved reading hour. Even though, as the assistant, she was only supposed to sit and make sure they read for an hour, she squeezed bonus educational juice out of the activity.

“Good afternoon. How do we feel about reading today?” she asked.

Most of her twenty students sat attentively; a few of the “regulars” jostled around in their seats, needing the extra minutes to transition.

“Written on the board behind me are the words you said last week were interesting, unusual, or you didn’t know the meaning. Come on up and write the definitions.”

Forgetful students pulled out their dictionaries; others carried their personal whiteboard markers to the board and jostled for space.

She used the words as a five-minute vocabulary exercise emphasizing multiple meanings. There were sides to any controversy; even the ultimate controversy of the English language.

Once they were back in their seats, she moved to her final interactive portion. “Open your books, review where you are, and give us your one-second summary of what happened last time.”

She started with her most concise students to set the tone. It gave them a chance to interact with their books, and it fulfilled the basic human need to share stories. Plus, by the time the quarter ended, students might be hooked by another’s story and check out extra books to read over summer.

Her students finished their summaries and opened their books, eager to find out what would happen next.

Corinne gave her great freedom. Twice a week, Amy got the whole class to herself like this. In addition to working with the school librarian finding exciting books to match students’ interests, she’d inserted mini-lessons on story structure, heroism, emotion, and even figurative language.

Yep. She’d already snuck in her own mini-lesson. Done her way. The way she’d liked.

Amy leaned back in her seat and stared out the window.

Normally she’d read along with them, but her book — Passionate Teaching — only mocked her. Teach what you believe in, the chapter subheading instructed. Make not only the way you teach but the subject itself something that you care about deeply.

Double ugh.

The verdant green lawn gleamed in the sunlight. Upper-level lacrosse players tossed their hard, white rubber ball from stick to stick. Brick and glass buildings shone with the pristine care of the landscaping team.

Amy made four dots on her planner paper and drew the frame connecting them, then divided it with her string and began filling the quadrants with meditative Zentangle forms.

Her parents were so proud when she’d gotten this substitute position. “You’re on your way,” her dad had said, patting her shoulders.

“Don’t screw it up,” her mom had added. “Stay smart.”

And then they’d both chanted the phrase embedded into Amy’s soul. “One bad choice can ruin your life.”

Like the other night. With Pyro. When she’d thought she was going to be arrested.

She’s nobody I care about.

Amy set aside the unfinished Zentangle and picked up her book. Her kids were reading feverishly; a few were jotting notes. Talk about responsible. That had always been her, too. When she went through a rebellious junior high phase and public school got too distracting, her dad, a history professor at the local community college, threatened to pull her out and homeschool her. But that would’ve meant giving up on friends, band, and the small freedoms she had left. She’d doubled down on homework until her test scores reached perfect and never changed.

Getting this job was her last mission. Her final promise to her parents. They’d be able to relax and know she was as responsible as they’d always wanted. She’d make them so proud. She’d talk about “safe” figurative colors until she gagged.

Something odd swooped across the sky. Too big to be a bird, too close to buildings to be a plane.

Was that—?

Her belly pinged.

It couldn’t be.

Was that a hard, delicious, heart-stopping male clad in a leather jacket, shades, and jeans? And was he searching for her?

Pyro swooped over the lacrosse players, causing surprise and pointing, and buzzed silently around the high school class buildings and the library.

She jolted to her feet.

A few of her students looked up from their books.

“Class, keep reading.” She grabbed her spring jacket from the back of her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

She raced across the hall and thundered down the stairs. He was going to disrupt every class on campus. She shoved open the glass doors and raced out into the private, tailored courtyard.

Pyro caught sight of her and checked. He descended into a sheltered garden, his rough form hidden by Japanese maple and trellises. “So you do work here.”

He looked too good. Loose jeans invited her to tug his empty belt loops, a tight blue T-shirt highlighted his corded muscles, and a devilish smile reminded her in intimate places that he knew the flavor of her kiss.

And she knew his.

She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here? This is a restricted campus.”

He smiled disarmingly. “You’re looking teacher-ish.”

“I am a teacher.”

His gentle fingers caressed the tendrils that had escaped from her sensible bun, lingering by her pearl earring. “It looks good on you.”

Need twisted need between her thighs.

She squeezed them together. “What do you want, Pyro?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Another wave of heat flooded her. His rough voice rasped and his words caressed her like liquid sex. Rough and fearless masculinity. He wouldn’t run from administrators or change his lessons. Carefree, his true self filled her with longing.

But that wasn’t smart.

“Here I am.” She tightened her elbows. “Now what?”

“Now, we dance.”

He stepped forward, catching her by surprise, and lifted her onto her toes. His hands made two solid brands on her thick waist. He moved her effortlessly, humming an unrecognizable tune as he floated her around the courtyard.

In another life, she might have laughed. Giggles bubbled up inside.

He’d come to see her. He liked her. He teased and danced with her.

She’s nobody I care about.

And here he was.

His hard thighs caressed hers. His abdomen pressed against hers. His commanding grip was firm and powerful.

Campus security guards rustled nearby.

She was an idiot. Getting excited for silly reasons when she should be getting nervous about the rapidly approaching trouble. Security could detain him. She’d have to explain his presence to administration. He’d probably fly off, abandoning her once more.

“Seriously, Pyro.”

She fought to keep the smile off her face. Oh, she couldn’t help it! Despite everything he’d done, he was a hot guy teasing and dancing with her. Hot guys just didn’t do that. Even though she knew he was bad news, she couldn’t quell her excitement.

She must be a masochist. “Why are you here?”

“You didn’t come to the bar yesterday.”

No. No, she hadn’t. She tightened her arms. “And?”

“I need your help.”

Excitement thrilled through her. A hot, desirable, dragon shifter needed her help.

No, no, no. He’d needed her help before. Boy had she helped him.

“Help breaking into another rival’s warehouse?” she asked cynically.

He stopped and gripped her shoulders to look directly into her eyes. “Amy, I truly regret what I did to you the other night. Sard Carnelian stole our ideas and kidnapped a treasured friend. He will never be brought to justice. I used you to gain access to his building in a way that I could not and take revenge. This abused your trust. I apologize.”

Her hurt feelings abated. “You said I was a nobody, and you didn’t care about me.”

“I don’t remember that.” His lids half-lowered. “I remember our kiss.”

She flushed with heat. She remembered that, too. In intimate detail. “It was when we were cornered by Syenite and the other dragons.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Those words had nothing to do with you.”

“It was the worst night of my life.”

“I know.” His sincerity shone in the mesmerizing red and brown threads of his irises. “Can you forgive me?”

She shouldn’t. She really, really shouldn’t.

The dark blue flash of uniforms trooping down the cobblestone walk said their private time was over.

“What kind of help do you need?” she asked, already knowing she would try to help him.

“I have to marry a human female or risk being married to the Empress.” He rested his finger under her chin. “The human woman I wish to marry is you.”

Shock and then hunger reflected in Amy’s sweet, forgiving eyes. He was her obsession and temptation just like he’d been for hundreds of other women. She’d go off with him. Do whatever he wanted. Marry him.

She just needed a little push.

“Say yes,” he pushed.

She licked her lips and tucked her loosened hair behind her ears. Her gaze flashed behind him at the noises of humans stomping on the stone. “This is sudden.”

“You know my situation.”

“Why me?”

“Because you know me.” He nuzzled her. She smelled so good, like flowers and feminine arousal. “You know all about me. Come away with me now to Las Vegas.”

“Vegas!” She jerked back. Unhappiness marred her features. “Vegas is … people drink on the streets and gamble. It’s not a good place.”

“It’s a great place. Marry me.”

She blinked. “I can’t.”

Of course she could. “Why not?”

“I don’t have any clothes, anything ready—”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“And I, um, can’t.”

“Amy—”

“I can’t talk now.” She pushed him back a step. Worry fought with determination. “I have to finish teaching the afternoon’s classes.”

“Forget classes.”

She snorted as if he’d made a funny joke. “I have to go. You have to go. Security guards are coming.”

His scales shivered under his skin, crackling for a fight. “Let them.”

“No! This is a very elegant school, Pyro. And you will only raise the wrong kind of questions.”

He cracked his knuckles. “I don’t mind answering.”

“You cannot jeopardize my job. Go.” She pushed him. “I’ll meet you.”

The urge to tease her fought with the self-preservation to take off and make her happy. He lifted off. “Tonight.”

“Tonight!” She waved and turned to meet the trio of guards. “Hi. Sorry about the disruption. My friend was unaware of school rules.”

Friend.

The guards looked around, never bothering to glance up as Pyro hovered barely over their heads.

She knew and wiggled her eyebrows at him to go.

“Visitors need to be announced at the main office,” the lead guard said, his voice full of censure. “No exceptions.”

“I know. I told him. He only dropped by for a moment.”

“No exceptions.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise you.”

The guard leaned forward. “We don’t tolerate deviations from the rules here.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“No deviations. You have my word.” She eased into the building, basically running from the guards, until they finally backed off. Her last glare at Pyro was filled with warning.

Eh. Fine.

Pyro flew from the school.

It irritated him that she had to basically apologize for his existence. Such was the lot of a low-class dragon. Aristocrats did as they liked. Lower caste got out of the way. Apologized for living. Endured the worst.

It wasn’t that different, whether human or dragon.

On the other hand, look at how easily he’d earned her forgiveness. A few sweet words, heartfelt promises, and she was back to swooning with arousal.

Amy wasn’t hurt by the warehouse incident. Probably she’d gotten an offer from Sard out of it. He couldn’t trust her.

But he also couldn’t stop the curling hope that he was wrong. That she was different.

And, dammit, that was the whole reason he was angry to begin with.

He killed time with Darcy while he waited for school to get out.

“Tired of your stalker?” Darcy rested on a stool facing the loud sports bar. His dark beer sweated against the coaster. “We finally changed locations.”

Pyro tossed back his whiskey in one gulp. The fiery amber liquid burned his throat. “I’m marrying her.”

“Congratulations. Where’s my invitation?”

“I’ll send you a postcard.”

“Lame.” Darcy smiled into his drink while Pyro ordered his third shot in the hour. “I am glad, though. You finally found the right woman.”

A sliver of unease curled around his spine. Darcy would pity him again if he confessed that no, he was just taking the first offer to make his siblings happy. He tightened his grip on his shot and said nothing.

They talked about other things until Darcy had to leave, and then Pyro finished his drink and pushed back from the bar. Reaching for his leather jacket, he slid his hands into the pockets and felt paper.

Notes. Invitations. Offers to take his mind off the long night, the empty apartment, and tomorrow.

He crumpled them.

Why couldn’t he stop his secret hope that there was more to life than just pain? That someday, he would meet Darcy’s “right woman” and find the love he had always been denied?

That Amy might just possibly be that woman?

No. He couldn’t even hope for such a thing. That was way too dangerous.

He dumped the notes unread into his glass and headed out. Not home. Not a louder bar, a more desperate clientele, an armload of women intrigued by his alien attributes and all too willing to “try him out” for a night.

To Amy.

His cock pulsed.

Probably because he hadn’t slept with her. Once he slept with her, he’d get over this weird fascination. She’d reveal her avarice, just like the others, and disappoint him once and for all.

If she didn’t…

No, she would. Keeping a hold of this belief protected him when it happened. That protection was the only way he’d survive.

She was just stepping foot off the school grounds and getting into the passenger’s seat of a white Mercedes when he landed in front of her. “Amy.”

“Pyro!”

“School’s out.”

She hugged her bag to her chest. “Um, I was thinking we’d meet at home.”

He stepped forward. “Why wait?”

Her lips parted. The flush of hunger and scent of arousal made his own cock clench. She might protest but he knew the truth. He had her. Right where he wanted her.

“Amy?” The driver, an older woman, leaned across the wide seat. “Who’s this?”

“A f-friend.” She tucked her hair behind her ears as she looked between the two of them, flustered. “Don’t worry, Corrine. He’ll give me a ride home.”

“Are you sure?” Corrine’s gaze raked him head to toe, and her expression pinched. She clearly disliked him on sight. “I’ve never heard of this ‘friend’ before.”

“It’s fine. Sorry. Thanks.” Amy closed the door, sealing Corrine inside, and strode to Pyro.

He pulled her to his chest and flew into the air, taking her breath away and keeping it.

“You stuttered,” he noted, stern.

“Well, I didn’t know what to call you.”

Irritation surfaced. It wasn’t the first time a person he’d liked or trusted had struggled to introduce him as someone who mattered. “Oh?”

“You proposed, but I didn’t say yes, but that’s more than a friend, and we’ve kissed, so yes, I didn’t know what to say.”

Her flustered self eased the tension knotting his shoulders. “So make it easy. Say yes.”

“But I hardly know you.”

“You stalked me for weeks.”

“One week. And that was different, and I already apologized for invading your privacy.”

He twirled them in the air, oriented on their destination, but flying more gently than their last wild ride. “What are you so afraid of?”

She bit her lip. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Why would I make fun of you?”

Her eyes darkened. She shrugged and rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m nothing like the women you normally date.”

“That makes you special.”

“Why?” She squinted at him with worry. “Why am I special?”

He was stuck for an answer. The lines he used without thinking failed and he was forced to confront her very real, very honest question. “Because you asked that question. And because you are.”

She didn’t look reassured. “You tricked me once before. How can I ever trust you again?”

A stripe of pain lashed his heart.

He hardened. “You’ve got no choice but to trust me. Or don’t. Tell me right now whether you want to go or whether you want me to drop you right here.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder, under the leather jacket. Her cold fingers branded his skin.

Their shadows were the only thing that moved on the desert wilderness below.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Decide.”

“Are you really going to drop me in the middle of nowhere if I say no?”

An angry part of him wanted to say yes. He’d do it. Just drop her. Since she thought that’s the kind of jerk he was, he’d prove it to her.

The other, more intentional part gnashed its teeth. “Just say yes or no.”

“Can we just…”

He tightened, preparing for her answer.

“Can we just go on a date?” Her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleamed with hopeful liquid. “Like, out to dinner; maybe see a movie, grab dessert. We can talk. Be awkward like everyone else. You know?”

“A date?”

“A normal, ordinary date.”

He picked up the speed. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Great.” She relaxed in his arms and was suddenly much more delicious to squeeze against his hard body. He snugged her closer. His jaw brushed her ear. Her breath caught.

Oh yes. He could enjoy this.

“Um, where are we?” she asked. “It looks like Eastern Washington.”

“Somewhere over Idaho.”

She gasped. “Where are you going?”

“My house.”

“But … I mean, where do you live?”

“The top of the Stratosphere.” In the vast distance, the outline of the Strip appeared. “Las Vegas.”

Las Vegas. Nevada.

“We’re not in Oregon?” Amy squeaked. Her voice was ripped away by the sonic forces of their crazy flight. “We’re in another state?”

The pilot of her new misadventure grinned. “You got it.”

God. He’d tricked her again. She’d thought they were going on an ordinary date in Portland and he’d let her believe it. He wasn’t even sorry.

“I don’t want to…” go to Vegas.

Amy cut off her protest because it was a lie. Her heart thumped with the force of her longing.

She wanted to go to Vegas. She’d always wanted to go to Vegas. Now, she was going with a crazy hot male who made the most outlandish action logical. Her world was turning upside down. And it was possible, just possible, that if she stayed around him a little longer, he would bestow upon her one more mind-blowing kiss.

Which didn’t happen to a girl like her. She’d been so surprised during their first kiss that she’d forgotten to really experience it. A mistake she would not repeat. Kisses from a male like Pyro needed to be hoarded. Meticulously collected like rare, beautiful specimens. Pinned to a board. Treasured and savored over the long, lonely nights she’d inevitably spend alone.

Especially once he came to his senses and realized he was nuts for proposing to her. He had hundreds of women. Thousands. And walking around Vegas near scantily clad, gorgeous showgirls would remind him exactly how much Amy didn’t measure up.

So, she should enjoy this as long as she possibly could. Every part of it. Every little bit.

But she couldn’t help pointing out, “My highly organized life has been chaos ever since you walked into it.”

He laughed. “You’re welcome.”

They passed the borders of the scrub desert and descended on the city of impulses and urges. Sin City. Her city of dreams.

Her parents’ city of nightmares.

The last big fight she’d had with them was when her high school band had taken a performance trip to Las Vegas. Plans to stroll around the fake streets of the Paris eating a croissant, sail little gondolas through the Venetian, and watch the musical fountains cascade at the high-class Bellagio shattered with their final, unalterable refusal.

“But Las Vegas is like visiting the whole world in one city,” she’d begged. “I’ll never ask for another trip in my whole life. I swear.”

“Vegas is no place for kids,” her dad had said sternly, repeating her mother’s refusal word for word.

“But I’m almost an adult! And just because someone else makes bad choices doesn’t mean I’m going to. Please? I’ll be so responsible.”

Her parents had put both feet down and stomped. Their vocal disapproval had almost cost her bandmates the trip, too, which had isolated her even more. She quit band early to focus on college admissions.

Now, Pyro floated her over the city that symbolized every dangerous sin her parents had ever tried to protect her from. She squinted into the hot desert winds to drink in the shining gemstones. From up here, it looked innocent and pretty.

“Can you slow down?” she asked.

He did, giving her a helicopter view rather than the sonic rocket.

She picked out the dark pyramid of the Luxor, castle turrets of the Excalibur, the rollercoaster around the skyscrapers of the New York, New York, and the shining Eiffel Tower of the Paris. These hotels smooshed together like the monuments of the world had been plucked from their origins and dumped into one little patch in the middle of a vast, empty desert.

Far to the south gaped the Grand Canyon, another trip she’d never gotten to take because it was too dangerously close to the city of greed and bad choices.

Live a little.

She gripped onto her crazy hot dragon alien and lived.

He flew for the narrow silver tower at the far end of the Strip standing alone like a rocket ship to the future. As they approached, a second, smaller disc appeared above the tower in sharp relief.

Pyro aimed at the second silver disc. In the center, a small portal opened. He descended into a silver shaft. Blue and purple lights blinked along the inner walls. He landed on the bottom and a door slid open.

“Welcome to my place,” Pyro said.

She pivoted in his arms and stepped into a male fantasyland. Curved, tinted windows lined the exterior walls and displayed a stunning view of the Strip. The disc was large enough to hold a restaurant or a big party but it was jam-packed full of guy things. Classic pinball and video game machines lined the walls and a soda machine blinked next to a full bar. A truly magnificent bed rested on one half of the room, its lush gray sheets rumpled.

She let her book bag drop onto the floor. The smooth hardwood gritted with dust. Apparently, maid service didn’t extend to a detached, floating disc above their hotel.

He opened the soda machine, took out a can, and popped the tab. “What do you think?”

“It looks…” Cluttered, confident, utterly male. “…comfy.”

His brows rose, and a surprised laugh emerged as if he did not expect her to say that. Like when they’d been on their first date, she’d continued to surprise him just by being herself.

He drank half the soda, walked behind the bar, and pulled out an exotically shaped bottle. “Want a drink?”

“I better not.”

He cocked a brow. A devilish grin tempted her. “Doesn’t that mean you’d better?”

Yes, she wanted to try all the drinks. Expand her horizons, guzzle sugary syrup and burning alcohol, savor the forbidden concoctions that haunted her dreams.

But Las Vegas beckoned. Finally. Right outside!

“I want to experience Las Vegas sober,” she said.

His brow remained cocked. “You’re the only one.”

She didn’t doubt it. “I want to experience it fully. I don’t want to miss a thing.”

“You might regret it.” But he capped the bottle and offered alternate refreshments.

She accepted sparkling lemon water and perused the rest of the apartment. Her new experiences started right here, at ground zero.

One pinball machine in the center of the room, a knight emerging from an exploding castle titled Medieval Madness, had a massive fist-shaped dent in the glass spider-webbing outward to obscure the playing view.

She paused. “What happened to that one?”

“It’s my favorite.” He sipped his drink.

She laughed. “Right.”

“It is.” He offered no justification for its destruction.

Worried about what she might discover if she inquired too deeply, she moved on.

Behind a movie theater-sized TV, stairs wound around the middle column to a second floor. An empty kitchen, dining room, and giant unused fireplace lived in the family room or office. That floor looked barely lived in.

He floated up the fireman’s pole between floors, showing off his dragon skills. “Find what you’re looking for?”

“Sure.” She sipped her lemon water, one arm crossed and holding her elbow. “Just trying to get to know you. A man’s home says a lot about him.”

One brow rose. “What does my lair say about me?”

She thought of the well-used game machines, movie theater, and rumpled bed. “You like to stay entertained.”

It heightened the mystery of why he’d suddenly proposed. Amy was the opposite of entertaining. Something didn’t add up.

“And you haven’t even seen my games closet.”

“You have a games closet?”

He walked her down the stairs to an enclosed room she hadn’t noticed on her first tour. One region branched off into a palatial bath; the other led to an open closet stocked with women’s and men’s clothing. The last cabinet was filled with a thousand board games stacked four or five deep, some well-used, others still in the plastic.

She rested her hands on the top game. “Clue! I used to love this game. I was always Miss Scarlet.” The player card made her look like a seductive temptress. “How about you?”

“I’ve never played.”

“We’ll have to! You ask probing questions to unravel the mystery.”

He leaned against the door. “And what happens once you’ve unraveled the mystery?”

“You know everything about the other players and you win.”

His grin widened. “You like to know everything.”

“It’s one of the reasons I became a teacher.”

She enjoyed research but even more enjoyed revealing the research in an interesting way to students. Watching their faces light up with the ah-ha! warmed her heart and gave her a great sense of fulfillment.

Pyro brought out a bag of small lozenges and crunched. A sulfuric scent emerged from the bag and she thought she recognized them from Sard’s candy dish.

“Is that brimstone candy?” she asked.

“Yep.”

Pyro tapped his chest with his fist, grimaced as though he were feeling heartburn, and belched. A small stream of flames emerged from his mouth and abruptly winked out.

Her arms felt the heat. “Whoah! What are you doing?”

“Males can’t make fire naturally like females.” He chewed another candy and then grabbed Clue and positioned it in front of him at arm’s length. He opened his mouth.

She figured it out just in time and yanked the board game out of his hand just as a stronger flame erupted from his mouth.

“Aaah! Stop!”

The flames continued, unobstructed, to the opposite wall of the closet and burned a dark spot on the honey-colored wood.

He tossed the remainder of her sparkling lemon water on the smoking spot. It hissed and turned to hot steam.

Turning to her, he frowned. “Give me that.”

“You’re going to burn it.”

“And?”

“No!” She clutched the box to her chest. “What are you doing?”

“Preserving your memories.”

“What?”

He gestured at the box. “Destroyed, it won’t give you regrets. Your good memories are safe.”

“You can never make new memories either! And some might be even better.”

He shrugged. The sacred old memories were worth more than the chance to make new, better ones.

Wait. Did that mean he’d destroyed his favorite pinball machine to freeze his good memories in time forever?

Did he fear regrets, mistakes, and losing his good feelings so much he destroyed the things he loved before they could hurt him?

Pyro headed into the bathroom, washed his mouth out, and brushed his teeth.

She followed. “Clearly you have a short-sighted view because you don’t know what you’re missing. Let’s play right now.”

He gargled and spat. “Don’t you want to go out? Experience the town sober?”

Oh. Yes, of course she did. She put the box back. He followed.

“Don’t look so disappointed.” He hemmed her against the games, rested one arm over her head, and stroked her cheek with a silken, hot finger. “There are other ways we can pass the time.”

She heated to a thousand degrees.

He was going to kiss her again.

She sucked in a breath.

He leaned forward and once more his firm lips seduced her mouth.

Yes. She melted into his embrace.

He nibbled, sucked, teased. The dangerous, unstable brimstone flavor was barely masked by crisp, responsible wintergreen mint. And then his own male flavor overwhelmed her.

She tried to hold on to her senses, cataloging sensations and losing track as she fought to stay conscious. His scent, masculine and proud. The gentle suction of their lips meeting, finding each other, growing hungry.

This might be her last kiss. She needed to remember every detail so she could relive it, always.

His fingers cupped her cheek, and the control started to slide away. His nose brushed hers. His hard body was mere inches from her taut nipples. So close, she felt the slide of fabric between them, and it was all she could do not to moan.

A sliver of his teeth sensitized her and then came a soft thrust of his tongue.

Oh god. It was sexy. So sexy. She throbbed, coming to full awareness, her feminine core slicking with readiness.

She wanted more. So much more.

Amy wanted—

He pulled back and, in a slightly confused tone, he stroked her lower lip with the flat of his thumb. “Amy. Open your mouth to me.”

She parted her lips.

He searched her gaze, seeking an answer to a mysterious question, and then he leaned forward and deepened their kiss.

Thank you.

Heat and wetness flared across her soul. The entire world refocused on him. Pyro’s tongue filled her mouth and plumbed her depths. Desire throbbed need into her feminine center.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. Everything started and ended with this fiery, chaotic, gorgeous male. Pyro. Her fantasy made real. Her male.

He pulled back again, studying her as though to gauge the effects of his kiss.

How could he possibly think straight?

She rested her weight against the games case to prevent her shaking legs from dumping her on the ground.

That was the difference between them. He was casual. Experienced. A real playboy.

She was so shattered by one kiss she didn’t know if she’d ever recover.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, even though food was the furthest from her mind.

He stepped away to give her breathing space, turned, and selected a plunging teal dress from the racks. “Put this on.”

She pulled herself together and fingered the luxurious, sleek fabric. It was designed for a beautiful woman. Like a TV model. “It’ll never fit.”

“It will fit exactly.” He leaned down and grabbed her matching five-inch heels. “And these.”

She clutched the incredible heels. “I can’t walk in these.”

He straightened and grinned. “Who says we’ll be walking?”

Something was wrong.

Pyro couldn’t put his finger on it, so he proceeded with his plan. He clothed Amy in the stunning threads he’d collected just for her, fitting her so perfectly she gazed at her reflection in awe. The teal augmented the green undertones in her eyes and strengthened the warmth of her auburn hair.

“Is that me?” she whispered.

“It’s you.” He hooked an arm around her waist and snugged her soft derriere against his ramrod hard cock.

“I look like a model.” She rested her hands on him for balance. “I’m not even wearing makeup.”

“I can fix that.”

She glanced back at him, surprise and interest lighting her face. “You’re a stylist?”

“I have connections.” He carried her out of his “comfy” home — her word, not his — and into the classiest salon in the heart of the Bellagio, stealing a bridal party’s appointment to have Amy done.

“Not too extreme,” she requested nervously while the expert stylist fluffed her hair and talked highlights and mid tones. “Just a little lipstick is fine.”

Pyro handed the manager his black credit card. “Do your worst.”

“Yes, sir.”

And she had a whole bevy of stylists painting her nails and toes, massaging in facial toner and lotion, and adding a few lightening foils to bring out her “natural” highlights. When he collected her an hour later, she was getting her eyeshadow finished, chatting about reality TV.

“But I can’t stop watching and I hate myself for wasting my brain,” she was saying. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s all fake.”

“It’s not all fake,” the stylist said.

“Come on. Do you really believe all those women had no idea they were marrying convicts?”

“Okay, the actual events are staged. But the emotion, the drama, the realization that reaching for your dreams involves risk? Striving means pain?” The stylist brandished his brush for emphasis. “That part’s real. Dreams are dangerous. Reaching for them hurts. And that’s why people keep watching.”

She blinked and then snorted. “And here I thought I was just wasting my life.”

“Each episode is a cautionary tale to make you feel better about vegging on your couch. It keeps you from taking the plunge and becoming … your true self.”

The stylist turned Amy to face the mirror and whipped off the gown and revealed her finished appearance.

Her expression blanked with shock. She rose slowly, wobbling in the heels.

Pyro took her hand and helped her to a small, well lit viewing dais ringed by floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Amy put a hand up to her face, stopped before touching her skin, and smoothed the teal gown at her thighs.

“What do you think?” he asked, unable to read her expression. It wasn’t delighted, but something deeper.

“I thought I looked like a model before. Now…” A smile broke through like sun cracking storm clouds. She twirled once, letting the skirt flare around her ankles. “I could almost be one of those contestants on a reality TV show.”

“I could get you on a reality TV show,” Pyro agreed.

She turned to the beaming stylist. “Thank you. You worked a miracle.”

“You have good bones,” he assured her. “Lovely structure. I’ll watch for you on TV.”

She laughed, and it was a genuine sound of natural delight. They exited the salon into the tiled portico. She smiled, excited and carefree. “Where shall we eat?”

Pyro tugged her into his arms. “I’m hungry for you.”

Her smile fled and a new, feminine scent of arousal flooded his nose. He pressed her close so his arousal ground against her softness.

She … hesitated.

He hovered over her plump mouth.

Her lips parted and her pupils dilated. Encouraging. But she didn’t close the distance. She didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t lift her chin. She just waited, smelling like hunger and acting aloof.

He paused a beat and then eased closer.

She sucked in a huge breath and held it.

What the hell? Did she feel nothing? Was her hunger all in his head?

He eased back.

She released her breath, blinked several times, and forced a smile. “I’m hungry for real food if that’s okay.”

So casual. Like nothing had passed between them. Like he hadn’t been about to kiss her. Like she wasn’t, even this moment, emitting addictive, arousing pheromones.

He couldn’t figure it out. Being around her was like stoking a roaring fire but being so numbed he couldn’t sense the heat. He wanted to stick his hands directly into the flames. Then would it burn?

“Sure.” Even though his brain battled doubts, he knotted his fingers in hers to keep her close. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can we eat anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” he said, for at least the third time that night.

“Well … I’ve always wanted to visit Paris.”

He flew her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and they strolled into a private booth — without waiting — for an intimate meal. She accepted a small sip of his champagne, marveled over the dishes, and oohed at the view. Her eyes sparkled and her laughter popped. And every time he touched her, the sparkling gemstones in her eyes seemed to freeze and she turned to him, accepting his touch. Welcoming it.

But she never returned his overtures. She never initiated, never teased back, never pulled him closer.

It made him work harder than ever to figure her out. Learn about her family, her friends, her dreams, her habits. Things he never shared with anyone. Not even his own sister.

She brought up their first “date” again. “Why did you need me to break into Sard’s warehouse? Why can’t you sue him for industrial theft?”

“Because he’s an aristocrat.” Pyro tapped the red shell of his lobster with his tined fork. “I’m a low-class bastard with no rights.”

“No one cares about dragon classes on Earth.”

“Human rules apply to humans. Dragon rules apply to dragons. Even now he’s plotting something. I’ll find out what when we meet.” He stabbed the steak. “Unless I torch his building first.”

“You should put aside your differences for the meeting.”

His brow rose. “He’s an aristocrat. Our differences can’t be ‘put aside.’”

“Start out neutral.”

“You do understand our company’s going to be destroyed? And he’s going to help?”

“Save your anger until the best moment. Start out calm. You control the conversation, not him.”

Hmm. “Interesting theory.”

“Basic classroom management.”

“Torch the building after he’s stolen another of our products or kidnapped another employee?”

“Right,” she said. “And, uh, make sure everyone’s safely out of the building first.”

It was an idea. And the first time he’d ever talked about this issue seriously with anyone. His siblings dismissed his anger and Darcy knew it was his role to help Pyro forget. Amy was supportive. Helpful. Honest.

Talking with her like they were friends first was so totally foreign it made him reconsider. He wanted to keep this. Even if the rest of their relationship didn’t work. He wanted her on his side believing in him.

She licked her lips, seemingly unconscious of how luscious it made her look. “You talk about torching others’ things a great deal. But I wonder if you’re not most dangerous to yourself.”

“How so?”

“You have a different woman every night. You destroy the things you care about before they can betray you. You break off before you can get hurt.” She pointed her dessert spoon at him. “You can’t commit.”

Like hell. He could commit. And he had committed.

But they were never talking about that.

He snorted. “Did you figure out this mystery because I joked about your board game?”

“And your pinball machine.”

He shook his head. She had no idea.

“The way you talk about your family’s company. How you’d rather see it destroyed than taken away from you. And how you keep everyone away from you, even your own siblings, rather than risk getting too close. You’re afraid of losing them and so you’d rather push them away with jokes and flames. You won’t commit.”

This was no longer funny.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, short and clear, and hardened against what was certain to be tearful fallout. “You think you’ve figured it out? You don’t know me.”

She cocked her head, not offended or even put off. “You’re right. I don’t know you. Why did you propose? Of all the women in the world, why am I the one sitting across from you right now? It’s a total mystery and I will figure it out.”

No tears. She’d surprised him again.

And the surprise interrupted his anger. She was strangely good at short-circuiting his destructive tendencies.

“Why are you the one sitting across from me?” Amusement eased into his chest, loosening the tight knot. “It’s not a mystery to anyone else in this restaurant.”

“They saw us walk in together,” she said, completely missing his point.

He drove it home. “You’re gorgeous. Sexy. Completely irresistible.”

She blinked rapidly. Her sweet lips parted in shock and then adorable embarrassment washed over her in a pink blush. She accidentally nudged her fork off the table, and then, while leaning down to pick it up, brushed her napkin off the other side and upset her water.

“I don’t — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, finally, brushing imaginary crumbs off her heaving, full-bodied, delicious bosom. “This isn’t me. I’m just wearing unusual clothes.”

He grinned, enjoying this. “The clothes are a nice bow on top but the stunning package is all you.”

And she didn’t seem to know what to say.

He could get used to this.

After dinner, when he asked her if she wanted to head back to his home, her expression turned pleading. “Can we walk? Down the Strip? There’s so much I want to see and I might never be here again.”

“If you married me, you’d live here.”

She bit her lip.

He knew that gesture. He stopped her and gripped her bare shoulders. It took all his will not to demand the truth right now.

Was he never going to be enough for her? He could make any meager human fantasies come true. He had money, connections, and charm. Wasn’t she interested in that? Like the rest of the females?

Had she seen deeper, felt the missing pieces of his damaged heart, and realized he would always be a low caste, no good bastard no matter how much he accumulated to disguise it?

She suddenly gasped and pointed at something behind him. “Look! It’s a man painting. On the street!”

“What?” he said gruffly because it was so far away from his thoughts that he could barely comprehend her.

She grabbed his forearm and dragged him over to an airbrush artist’s booth. “See?”

Mirrors reflected the artist’s movements. He selected a fresh sheet, covered it with pinks, blacks, yellows, and blues until the Strip emerged beneath a huge pink moon. He hung it on an easel to dry. A friend solicited the small crowd for tips and one of the viewers purchased the final print.

“He’s so talented.” She sighed and pulled Pyro on. “My art certificate portfolio is due soon and I would not have the guts to perform in front of strangers. Oh, over there! It’s a magic show!”

Her enthusiasm was strangely infectious. Pyro forgot they were supposed to be moving back to his lair for sex and instead found himself looking at sights he normally flew past at blurring speeds. Pausing, she made him observe everyday occurrences with new eyes.

They passed the New York, New York.

“I want to play the Coney Island games,” she announced.

He obliged, leading her inside and then rising to fly over the crowds to the stairs.

“Put me down,” she insisted. “I can see unpainted planks. I’m sure the casino is supposed to be experienced from walking.”

He let her down. “But you know it’s fake.”

“But the emotion is real,” she said, repeating part of the conversation with her stylist.

And, as she gazed upon the alleyways and musicians and miniature restaurants re-inventing the boroughs of that distant city, her smile glowed.

He wanted her smile directed at him. That wonder, that innocence, that sweetness. For the first time in a long, long time, he ached for a female’s attention. Not just any female. This one. Amy.

That’s why he allowed her to talk him into playing the arcade games.

“I have these at my home,” he complained, putting in his credit card and cupping his hands for the mounds of quarters.

“Not this one.” She pointed at an “electric chair” ride. “Who electrocutes themselves for fun? Seriously.”

He poured the quarters into her surprised hands, fed money into the electric chair, and gripped the handles. Electricity tingled and then jolted into his body, sharp and painful, while the machine made a screeching noise and belched steam.

She watched in horrified fascination. “Is that actually fun?”

“No.” When it was over, he released the handles and strutted out. “You want a turn?”

She shook her head violently but a small part of her looked impressed. They continued around the arcade. She squeaked and raced to a game with holes and mallets.

“Now that you’re softened up, I challenge you to a game of Whack-a-Mole. And I have to warn you I was the champion at the Halloween Games.”

“Let me guess.” He picked up the soft, fabric-covered hammer. “You were playing against kids decades younger.”

“Well, now I’m playing against you.” She grinned and gripped her own mallet, excited.

And it was fun. It was.

They toured the rest of the arcade feeding quarters into every machine until they were spent out and she wanted to do something else. This time, when he lifted her into his arms, she didn’t protest. Her feet were starting to hurt in the tall shoes — she didn’t say it, but he could tell by the way she walked and winced — and anyway, he felt a weird need for an excuse to hold her.

Even if tonight didn’t end in sex.

Even if this moment, right now, was all they had.

He skimmed close to the ground so she could experience the casino as it was intended. Just before the exits, she suddenly gasped and pointed.

“A bar that serves chocolate cocktails! You have to stop.”

He let her down. It was such a popular bar there were no chairs, so they stood at the polished wood. She perused the menu and then he raised his hand and ordered.

“It has alcohol,” he noted, watching the busy bartender mix five types of liquor, including Lady Godiva spirits and white chocolate vodka, and pour it into a syrup-swirled martini glass sanded with glistening crystals of sugar.

“I know.” She cupped the martini glass, inhaled, and sighed. “This is my final rebellion. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to boring old responsible Amy. Don’t let me do anything I’ll regret.”

Her trust both reassured him and opened new questions.

He lifted his own drink — a thick mudslide — and leaned an elbow against the bar. “What would you count as a regret?”

“Mmm.” She closed her eyes with bliss and savored her sip. “Oh, wow. This will definitely be a regret. But so worth it.”

Her bliss, her moan, her pink tongue teasing the rim made his cock harden.

She didn’t answer his question.

He waited for her to work through half the drink, when her complexion changed and her eyes glistened. “Is sex a regret?”

“I don’t know.” She set the martini down and stole a newly available seat, propping herself on the bar and settling in to speak with him with her usual candor. “I think I’ll enjoy it. I hope so. I’ve never had it.”

“Never?” She was the first female he’d met who didn’t take sex whenever desired. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t met the right guy. The ones I liked weren’t interested in me or vice versa. And I heard it’s painful the first time.”

“Painful?”

She nodded. “If it’s painful, I want to go through it with someone who cares. Not a nameless dude I meet in a bar.”

He lifted a brow. “You met me in a bar.”

She glanced at him from the side. A clever smile curved her lips, and she sipped the drink, savoring it, before replying. “I knew your name.”

His cock flooded again. These were the signals to move forward.

But her revelation also gave him a surprise. “I’ve never heard of sex being painful.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” She patted him on the chest. Her palm glanced off his pectoral as though she’d mis-aimed. “I’m not your usual type, right? You prefer women with experience.”

“Experience which is never painful.”

“Don’t make a buzzed teacher launch into sex ed.” She cradled her mostly empty drink; her pink tongue slurped up the sugar crystals, and it was hard to tell which was making her more loopy, the alcohol or the sugar. “Google ‘painful first time’ and you’ll learn. But keep Safe Search on. Trust me.”

He did as she suggested while she finished her drink just because he was curious.

Most dragon females had sex in dragon form. They sprayed their chosen males with lust hormones, driving them insane until the act was complete. Sex in human form was exotic and therefore unnecessary.

Since coming to Earth, he’d enjoyed sex in human form. He possessed greater sensation and control. Human females were more interested in exploring sexuality than utilitarian dragon efficiency.

Why would Amy deny herself such pleasure?

He thought about it as, at her request, he took her back to his lair and closed her in. Pulling her into his arms, she went willingly, tasting of chocolate and need. But she still didn’t respond.

“Do you want me?” he finally demanded. It was a question he’d never asked in his entire time on this planet. Never once. And yet, with Amy, he asked it. “For sex?”

Her answer, if it was the wrong one, might just break him.

She wiped her lips. Her eyes were wide, dilated, and she nodded. “You must know you’re desirable.”

A little of the tension eased. “You don’t react.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I kiss you. You don’t pull me close or kiss me back.”

“I don’t?” She seemed genuinely surprised. A slow smile broke over her face. She covered half of the smile. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Why does that amuse you?”

“Two reasons. Well, one. Okay, two.”

He pulled back. “They are?”

“First, this isn’t me.” She indicated the teal dress, the new hairstyle, the makeup. “The stylist had it backward. I’m not myself right now. I’m wearing this ‘gorgeous person’ costume and this ‘cover model’ mask. Who knows what I’d do? You can only trust the real me.”

Okay. He’d bite. “Who is the real you?”

She grew nervous. Her fingers twined behind her back. “You want to know?”

Yes. He wanted to reveal this mystery.

“I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into his bathroom. Water ran and splashed. She was taking a shower, and he wasn’t invited.

In any other night, he would have invited himself.

But this time, he cracked a soda and put on a movie. He was curious. Anticipation heightened his interest.

Sometime later, the closet door closed and reopened. She emerged with her hair down, the ends wet. The makeup was scrubbed off again. She’d found a pair of gray and green flannel pajamas that softened her curves.

He paused the movie and rose to his knees on the bed.

She linked her hands behind her. “This is the real me.”

“I don’t see a difference.”

She frowned and pointed at her beautiful, nude face and enticing, flannel-wrapped curves. “I’m completely different.”

But she was still an earnest, sweet, heartfelt woman with curves that made his mouth water and his dragon roar. “Come up here.”

She hesitated and then obeyed, clambering onto the mattress and crawling across it to him. She sat back on her ankles. Shyness suggested the alcohol had worn off, but the glow in her cheeks meant it hadn’t entirely gone.

“I look different,” she said.

“You look sexy.”

She glanced away. “No.”

He pressed her to the mattress so his hardness nudged her hip.

She made a surprised noise.

His mouth sought hers, silencing any hint of protest and consuming her, using his vast technique to promise she would only experience pleasure, never the feared pain.

She, predictably, held her breath.

He lifted up, resting his weight on his forearms. “You don’t want me?”

She blinked as though coming out of a dream. “What?”

He nuzzled her. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin. Inviting him. Seducing him.

Confusing him.

He nipped her lips, trying to tease a reaction from her. “You’re lying here. No reactions.”

Her lashes fluttered. “Oh. Sorry.”

Sorry?

He pushed up onto one hand, putting real space between them. “You’re sorry.”

“Yes. I … it’s my fault.” She rose and one hand covered her face. “It’s embarrassing, but, you kiss me and I sort of lose my senses. I want to remember everything. I get stuck.”

“No experience with kisses?”

Her embarrassment deepened. “I told you. I was busy in college. It’s not an excuse, but … okay, it is an excuse. I thought true love would happen later, so I wasn’t looking, and it never came my way. Until now. This is all new. I want to experience everything.”

He didn’t know how to proceed. “You want me to stop.”

“No. But you are moving kind of fast. It’s overwhelming.”

He was overwhelming her.

Can you really please a woman? His sister’s snort of disbelief returned to him like an accusation.

He tucked Amy into the crook of his elbow.

“You’re stopping?” Disappointment threaded her tone.

He nuzzled her. “I’m going at your pace.”

She looked up in confusion.

“This is new to you. Right? Lying next to a guy, watching a movie.”

She nodded.

“Then, when you’re ready, you kiss me.”

“I kiss you?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Her gaze turned to the screen. “You’ll miss the movie.”

“I’ve seen it a hundred times. I won’t miss a thing, I guarantee it.”

Her heart rate spiked. He could hear it thundering out of control in her chest.

He felt a matching excitement.

Had he ever laid back and received a woman’s kiss? He’d been surprised by kisses before, but as soon as they were initiated, he took over and performed.

Being the recipient, enjoying the touch of a female, was a pleasure he’d overlooked before. With Amy, he would have this new experience.

With her, he’d have every new experience.

She trailed a hand over his bicep and forearm. “You’re toned. You must work out.”

“Low body fat and high dragon metabolism.”

Her interested gaze trailed up his body to his lips. Enticing him like a magnet, willing him to take over the seduction. Take control. Make her the passive recipient.

He stuck a hand behind his head to reinforce that he would lie back and wait.

She slowly, with determination, lowered her head.

Their lips touched.

Her lips were soft, sweet, and they trembled. He was aware, for the first time, of the full sensation of her plump mouth. Her forearms rested on his chest. Her delicate breath ghosted his cheek.

Each sensation was new. Distinct.

Pleasurable.

She nibbled on his lips, hesitant, like she was exploring and trying to duplicate the movements he had so mindlessly used on her.

His arousal increased like she’d reached her hand around his cock and squeezed. He groaned.

She lifted her head. Surprise shone in her eyes. Then, pride.

Pride was right. She’d gotten him hot from bare contact. Mostly anticipation.

She lowered her head again and, with a little more confidence, explored his mouth.

A kiss had never tasted so full, so sensual. So exquisite and yet oddly satisfying.

Normally he wouldn’t think of stopping until his partner was thoroughly sated and so was he. But for the first time, he felt something purer than a physical connection. Something deeper than destiny. Passion this intense couldn’t be explored in a single hour. Maybe not even a single night.

He would go at her pace. He would become a male she could rely on. He would … he would commit. Just because committing had cost him once didn’t mean he was afraid. He feared nothing. He would make love to Amy with total faith.

And when his guard was down, she could grab his heart in both hands and destroy him.

Pyro had fallen asleep.

Amy lifted her head. The even breaths whistling from his mouth and the twitches behind his closed eyes defined sleepy.

She shut off the movie — some cop drama on low volume — and curled against him. He was an outlaw prince. Completely untrustworthy even when he made her feel so safe.

She teased a finger along his open shirt to the rim of his boxers. The mound of his arousal enticed her interest.

Another day.

She also fell asleep and woke early, showered, and selected clothes out of his closet. When he finally rolled out, disheveled and mouth-watering, she had to swallow hard. His half-smile sleepily invited her back into his bed. At her refusal, he turned the gesture into a gentle caress and a toe-curling kiss before he grabbed his own shower and they headed to the Strip for a late brunch.

Pyro was different.

Although he still had his wild streak, swooping to the Grand Canyon and balancing on the tip of the Luxor’s Pyramid, his whims had lost their deadly challenge.

Because of her. The change made her heady with power.

“Hey, what are you doing next weekend?” she asked over a delicious forkful of wine-braised prime rib dinner. “It’s the last days of the Rose Festival and it would be super fun to…”

He ducked his head and concentrated on his meal like it mesmerized him. “Hard to say.”

Oh.

Her good feelings dropped. She’d misread everything. He was not having as good a time as she was.

Of course, because he was used to doing fun things and only she experienced them with amazement—

He picked up his champagne flute. “I might be on a ship back to Draconis.” He took a big drink, his gaze skating to her, away, and then drifting back again as though he couldn’t stop himself from gauging her reaction.

Realization broke upon her like a dousing of sparkling water.

This weekend wasn’t about pushing her horizons, trying out the things she’d always wanted, and living a little. It was also about getting to know Pyro and deciding whether to save his life.

He had proposed. Seriously. And she was beginning to get the sense that he’d chosen her not because she was most convenient but because she was genuinely important.

If Amy didn’t marry him soon, he would leave Earth and travel to Draconis to marry the Empress.

Forever.

Marriage was a commitment. One that Amy hesitated to make because if she spoke those vows, she’d take them seriously. When he’d first proposed, she hadn’t been so certain he’d do the same.

But after these few days, she saw Pyro in a new light. There was more to him than the sinful, sexy, gorgeous dragon in a leather jacket. There was also a kind, cautious, vulnerable male hidden under his carefully cultivated veneer of dangerous, wicked charm.

It was complicated to put her thoughts into words, so she stuck with a non-committal, “Oh.”

His lips formed a tight arc — an impression of a smile — and he drained his drink so he could refill his glass.

They finished dinner and dessert and strolled down the Strip. A stunning wedding party posed for photos in front of iconic gold and marble Roman-inspired Caesar’s Palace.

Pyro said nothing; but he squeezed her hand.

Her heart thumped.

How had she forgotten his proposal? She gazed at the brilliant smiling bride and beaming groom. Their happiness could be hers if she took a risk.

If she lived…

“So, what now?” Pyro asked, deliberately changing the subject. “A show? Another chocolate cocktail? Did you want to gamble?”

No. None of those appealed. Not when she was seriously considering his proposal.

Like the flashy dress and uncharacteristic makeup from the other night, going on wild and crazy adventures wasn’t really Amy. She enjoyed the heck out of them because they were so different from her ordinary, steady, unexciting life.

How would Pyro handle her ordinary life?

She turned to him suddenly. “Would you mind very much just going back to your place? I’m a little tired and I think it might be fun to have a night in.”

The light in his eyes gleamed. “I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s going to be boring.”

He laughed softly, in her ear, as they lifted off. “I never stay in.”

“Sorry.”

“I mean everything with you is a new experience. Even the familiar seems new.”

Well … that was so nice of him to say. “Charmer.”

He laughed. The natural rough edge scraped against her ear with a pleasant tingling, like stubble on her cheek. “Only you would say that.”

They flew to his home. Getting out board games, she spread Clue across one of his barely used tables. And then, after deducing it was Professor Plum in the Kitchen with the Lead Pipe, she made him play a stack of other favorites.

“My parents never went out,” she told him as she shuffled a card deck for a round of Hearts. “They said it was too expensive but I think they felt ashamed of being photographed. They’re not ugly or that out of shape, but they always avoided any place in public where they might end up on video. Like a Fourth of July celebration or the opening night of a highly anticipated movie. Mostly we just stayed in. We played a lot of games.”

“Alright.” Pyro snagged the deck from her with a devilish smile. “We’ve been playing your games. Now let’s play one of mine.”

Her skin jumped. Half a full-caffeine cherry soda sizzled in her glass and the clock showed it was nearly ten o’clock.

“I don’t gamble,” she warned.

“Now’s the time to start.” He dealt five cards and set aside the deck. “You get one chance to trade. The loser has to take off their shirt.”

“Strip poker!” She slid her fingertips across the forbidden cards. “I’ve never played.”

He grinned wickedly. “Lucky me.”

Oh. Yes. So deliciously sexy.

The physical had taken a new hold on her this weekend. She felt constant desire. The barest touch, the slightest whiff or glance, and she’d be slicked in her core, ready to experience the fantasies she’d only read about.

He was ready. Experienced. Open.

And yet he seemed to have this new well of infinite patience. That, in itself, was seductive. Where he slowed, she suddenly wanted to push faster. And when he eased to a stop, she only wanted to thrust more boundaries aside, feel and savor and love him.

The question was always in his eyes. Did she want more?

More sex. More marriage. More Pyro.

Strip poker led to one place. Nakedness. Was she ready for that?

Did she want to move forward?

She fidgeted. “Can I get a practice round?”

“You don’t need it.”

The smart thing would be to say no. It was late. She barely understood the rules and gambling was wrong. Dangerous. One bad choice away from ruining her life.

So of course she’d always wanted to do it.

And now here was her chance. Strip poker. It only cost her modesty.

Tempted by a seductive dragon.

Pyro tapped the deck against the table, watching her from the corners of his red-threaded eyes. Not pushing her, but waiting. Challenge crackled in the air. Tension unspoken.

Live a little.

She picked up the cards.

His grin widened — white teeth flashed, gorgeous — and he took his hand. Examining them expertly, he narrowed his gaze. “How many cards do you want?”

She spread her cards. Higher numbers were better…. She slid him two, and he took them and dealt her two new cards.

Exchanging his own, he revealed his cards. “Pair of Jacks. What have you got?”

“I only have a pair of twos. And a pair of threes.”

His cocky grin slipped. “Two pairs?”

She showed him.

“Congrats. You’re a natural.” He stood and lifted off his shirt, exposing his glorious chest.

The male was ripped. All hard mountains and slender valleys. Her mouth went dry. Her fingers already knew how he felt and wanted the seductive slide of his skin again.

Her core throbbed.

He collected the cards. “Another hand?”

She shouldn’t. “Deal me in.”

This time, he laid out two pairs. “Nines and Kings.”

“I have a pair of queens.”

He evaluated her, deciding which article of clothing she should take off.

“And another queen.” She laid out the third card.

He blinked. “Three of a kind?”

“Does that beat two pairs?”

His lids lowered. He was up to no good. “Well…”

“Mr. Onyx, don’t you dare lie to a teacher.”

His grin widened. “Three of a kind wins.”

And his hands lowered to his belt buckle and undid the clasp, teasing her with an addictive view of his chiseled abs.

Her beginner’s luck held. She reached her camisole and panties, he sat in the chair completely nude, all of him on display. His thick cock was rock hard for her and he had no problem leaning back like an art sculpture of ideal masculinity and letting her enjoy the view.

“I won,” she said.

“Congratulations.”

And then she felt the tension. “Um, now what?”

His lips quirked into a lopsided smile that made her melt. “Come here.”

The tension crackled. Was this when they both acted on the building, steamy pressure? Or did she let it dissipate? He said he would go at her pace…

She stood and approached.

He tugged her onto his lap.

Her thighs straddled his so she was facing him. His body felt nuclear hot beneath her skin. His wide hand palmed the small of her back.

Oh. Wow.

So much sensation. She struggled to catalog it. Yes, this was Amy, and yes, she sat face-to-face in a naked male’s lap. His cock bulged between her legs.

And she liked it.

“My plan backfired. You’re wearing too much clothing.” He slid his finger along the thin strap of her camisole.

She sucked in a breath. Her nipples pearled beneath the sheer fabric, lifting to two points.

“…but I like this, too.” His gaze consumed her with new hunger.

She struggled for balance. For reason. This was crazy. She was so crazy.

High with her win, high with sugary soda, high with wanting him, she teetered on the edge of what any sane person would call a very questionable decision.

And so she tried to distract herself and put distance between them. “Is this life ‘in the fast lane’?”

He laughed like she’d made a good joke, then finally subsided and stroked her cheek with a long, meandering finger. “If I’ve been missing this, maybe I’ve been living in the fast lane too long.”

She rested her hands on his broad shoulders. The bones of his collar were wide and flat. Strong.

And he was naked beneath her…

His gaze skittered up to hers. “Want to take a shower?”

Do you want me?

He’d asked her that once. At the time, he’d clearly meant for sex. But this whole weekend was about wanting him for marriage. For sex, marriage, and more.

Faced with this tantalizing desire, an unusual traditionalist thread wrapped around her spine, giving her strength she didn’t know she possessed.

Yes, she wanted sex. Yes, she wanted him.

It’s okay to make a commitment. She’d said that to him. But she should have said it to herself.

Amy wasn’t like his other girls. She wasn’t flirty. She didn’t just sleep with a guy no matter how he made her mouth water.

He’d said he couldn’t tell the difference between her impulsive, gorgeous, fashion-model self and the dumpy, ultra-responsible teacher in flannel pajamas.

What if they were the same? What if the real her was both responsible and impulsive?

And what if this was her only chance to truly live? Her chance slipped away with the weekend. Monday she’d return to school. An ordinary week. She’d teach classes, attend her art certification course, eat homemade brownies and watch trashy television with Melody, and just exist.

Or she could make a change right now. Commit. Not only to Pyro. To the confident, fun-loving, impulsive woman who wanted to live.

To herself.

She sucked in a breath. Another.

He grinned at her, his fiery gaze crackling with delicious temptation.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Live.

She blurted the question. “Want to get married?”

He jerked his wandering gaze from her chest to her face. Surprise fought with concern. “Right now?”

“Well, maybe after you put on pants.”

He smiled; her joke had caught him unawares. He stroked her cheek. “You haven’t slept with me.”

“We slept in the same bed yesterday.”

“But you haven’t tried me.”

She tilted her head.

He gestured at his thick, powerful cock. “Sex.”

Oh. Ohhhh.

Heat waved over her. Her nerve ends tingled with excitement. “You promised it will be good.”

Again he seemed surprised. “But you haven’t tried.”

“I believe you.”

He stood abruptly, helping her to her feet, without answering her question.

She backed away and shimmied into her skirt. “It’s okay if you changed your mind. If you don’t want to marry. I mean, if you’re not still interested.”

“Where’s your purse?”

She went to get it.

He pulled on his jeans, zipping them over his half-aroused cock, and put on his same T-shirt and toed on his loafers. He reached for her. “Let’s go.”

“Then — huh?”

Lofting her in his arms, he flew out of the disk and crossed the sky. Just before midnight, they landed in front of the Las Vegas Marriage Bureau.

She hugged her purse to her chest. “You should have at least let me put on a shirt!”

His grin as the metal detectors played over them was pure mischief. “Can’t have you changing your mind.”

Even though the drafts blew up her camisole in a very exposed way, it was exhilarating. She risked her entire future with no forethought.

You make one bad decision and it ruins your whole life.

Going to a courthouse in the middle of the night half-dressed to marry a guy she’d known for three days was most definitely a bad decision.

She’d never felt so alive.

They filled out an application, showed ID — hers was a normal driver’s license while his was a metallic passport shimmering with holographic symbols — and amazingly the clerk accepted it. Right as the doors were closing, they had their legal certificate.

“Did you want me to send someone for your family?” he asked.

Oh no. She went cold. “My parents wouldn’t be interested.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.” They’d talk her out of it. And she would let them. “I’ll tell later.”

Next step was to arrange an actual ceremony. How did anyone ever get married in Vegas by accident? Pyro flew to three crowded 24-hour chapels before one had an opening.

“How do you just know where these are?” Amy demanded, rubbing her chilled arms as she waited for a female Elvis impersonator to unlock the dress rentals room of The Littlest Graceland Chapel of the King. “Does this place have an adjoining bar?”

He laughed. “No, my brother is texting aerial photos.”

After midnight? “That’s nice of him.”

“It’s something.” He concealed his true feelings behind a mysterious smile.

She expected to be overwhelmed by dresses, but Pyro guided her. “No, no, no. This rack is all wrong. That one too. See? The white is too blue, the hips are too narrow, and the torso is too long.”

When they finally found a perfect fit, he regarded smudges and wrinkled lace critically. “We can buy a custom dress. Don’t change your mind because of an imperfect ceremony. I’ll make your fantasies come true.”

But marrying him was already her wildest fantasy. Honestly, she didn’t know what fantasies she’d have to come up with next.

She strove to reassure him. “Dragon marriage is valid after a year, right?”

“On your dragonlet’s first birthday.” His jaw flexed, the only sign of his emotion. “Or not at all.”

Oh, yes. His grandmother had refused to recognize him and his siblings. That rejection must have been so harsh, her heart had melted when she’d read it.

“Well, what I mean is, let’s just do the human wedding right now. Vegas style. Rental dress, flowers, rings. And, say, in one year, we’ll have a real wedding. Invite our families. Do it right.”

“Right?” His arm around her waist snugged her to his suited side. “Or like on reality TV?”

“Right. And also fantasy.”

He gave up grumbling about the dress, easily found himself a suit, and they performed the ceremony. An entire band of Elvis impersonators married them, from the officiant to the chorus of ushers. Amy swore to love, honor, and cherish Pyro ‘til death do us part.

And he swore it right back — “and also to make your fantasies come true.”

She lifted her brows. That wasn’t in the official vows.

He devastated her with a lopsided smile.

Live a little.

“You may now, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, kiss the bride,” the officiant said.

Pyro’s eyes gleamed with threads of radioactive red. He swung Amy into his arms. His lips touched hers with familiar combustion. Her wiry nerves collapsed under his delicious, sure touch.

But his earlier questions returned a thousandfold.

Living on the edge was bound to lead to regrets.

Would this become her biggest regret?

Amy’s lips tasted like pineapple gloss and nervous excitement. And she broke it off early before Pyro had even begun to get a fraction of the reassurance he suddenly craved.

Taking his hand in her gloved fingers, she squeezed. Her eyes glistened a little too bright. “Let’s go home.”

Familiar lines rolled off his tongue. “Yours or mine?”

“Yours!” She wiggled in her curve-hugging dress. “I live with a roommate, you know. It would kind of get in the way of the whole ‘wedding night’ tradition.”

He allowed her to lead him back to the rentals where she returned her dress and changed back into street clothes — well, her skirt and that delicious, sheer camisole — and then she curled her arms around his neck and buried her face in his suit-clad shoulder.

“Alright. I’m ready.”

The tremble in her voice said she was anything but ready. And that only ratcheted up his own tension.

Tonight suddenly felt like the most important night of his whole existence. Funny that it should feel that way after he’d married.

Again.

He pressed her to his chest and lifted them gently into the night.

She’d married him before a demonstration of his bedroom prowess. Such a thing was unheard of among dragons. Obviously there must be lots of sex to produce dragonlets, which was the only way to validate a marriage.

Humans were so odd. Marrying him without having sex suggested she liked something else about him. His personality. Or his real self.

Impossible.

What was there to like? He was an unreliable, hotheaded bastard driving a successful company to destruction — or into a devil’s bargain with the aristocrats he and his siblings hated.

There was nothing for Amy to like but what was on the outside.

He alighted in his lair with the questions remaining unresolved.

She clung onto his lapels. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and nervousness again.

Her excitement and nervousness infected him, raising those same emotions in his chest.

“What now?” she asked, almost a whisper.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired?”

She shook her head.

“Dirty?”

She frowned. “That’s not a nice thing to ask.”

“I’m not a nice human.”

Now, she did react. He was teasing her, and she recognized it. “You’re a nice dragon.”

“I’m not that nice.” He tugged her with him, backward through the rooms, to his bathroom door. “It’s time for that shower.”

She shivered even though the room was within an optimal temperature range. “I might be a little dirty.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She yanked at her camisole, jerky movements as she fought losing her nerve.

He closed his big hands over hers. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh? Are you sure?” Then, jolting with new realization, she pulled free and reached for his buttons. “I’ll undress you.”

Part of him wanted to stop her. She didn’t need to be so fearful around him. He’d handle everything.

The other part of him was curious, and curiosity won. He spread his legs and stood proudly while her trembling fingers unmasked his nude body. Even though she had seen his torso so many times this weekend, when the last button revealed his broad chest and narrow waist, she sucked in a quick breath.

He flexed.

She slid reverent fingers across his tight muscles. A soft smile lit her face.

He kept calling this “her innocence” but maybe the truth was more her reverence. She didn’t take the smallest thing for granted but honored and savored each step. It made him want to honor and savor her.

Now, they were married.

One.

He lifted her camisole over her slender shoulders and splayed his fingers over her exposed belly and back.

She covered her bra as though trying to hide her chest from his gaze, but she snuck peeks at him in the wall mirror.

“Like the view?” he teased.

“I have to keep telling myself it’s real. It’s either snoop in the mirror or pinch myself.”

He turned her so she could see herself fully. His hands looped around hers.

She swallowed and looked away.

He nuzzled her sensitive ear. “I thought you wanted proof.”

“It’s too full-on. I have to face uncomfortable facts.” She shivered and adorable bumps rose on her skin. “I’m not at my ideal body weight and you’re all my ideals.”

It took him a moment to process her meaning.

American women feared curves. Amy had especially lush ones that enticed his hands to squeeze and his cock to bury itself in. But now she thought that they mismatched because she was so squeezably soft and he was hard as the center column of a spaceship.

“We look good together,” he assured her.

She looked up at him. Her green eyes gleamed clear and worried. “Do you think so?”

Something ached in his chest. Her trust was so meaningful. “Yes.”

Her brows cleared. She believed in him.

He was done with thinking.

Pyro dropped his mouth to hers, claiming her with his lips. She opened to him, yielding to his hot, wet possession. Amy. His tongue thrust into her recesses, driving worries from her mouth until the only sounds that emerged were hungry moans and needy whimpers.

That was how he needed her.

He tightened his arms, pressing her derriere against his hard cock.

She melted into him.

Suddenly it was more important than ever he make her glad she married him. She would then want to stay married. Not toss him over once she’d gotten her fill. She must not get sick of him. He must please her thoroughly.

So she’d never let him go.

Pyro broke the kiss to nip up her jaw to her small ear. He tugged the lobe.

She gasped. Her knees folded, resting her weight on his immovable forearm around her waist. His other hand transformed into claws and severed her bra.

The fabric sprung apart, unveiling her swelling, creamy globes topped with tender, pink nipples.

He worshiped her, exploring the first sweet breast and then the other. Feeling their weight in his cupped palms, he brushed, squeezed, twirled the pert nipples. She gasped, moaned, and finally ground against his ready cock.

He pulsed against the fabric. Beads of precum dampened his trousers.

Still stroking one nipple, he unzipped her jeans, thrust his human fingers beneath her panties, and cupped her damp mons.

“Yes,” she whispered. Eyes squeezed closed, she rolled her head back to rest against his shoulder.

Her movement exposed the long expanse of her slender neck.

He tongued her hot skin.

She whimpered with need. “Pyro.”

Working his fingers between her folds, he coated himself in the silken cream of her feminine arousal. And his other hand, the arm that was still holding her upright, stroked her nipples.

Her breath came in short gasps. She shuddered.

He pressed a finger into her slick channel.

Clamping down on him, she thrust against his hand, working him deeper. “Oh, please. Oh, god. Pyro!”

Her arousal flooded him. He lost control and sucked on her neck hard enough to mark her.

She made a pure sound of exquisite pleasure and then shuddered. Her channel clenched around his fingers.

In the mirror, her release was magnificent.

She sagged against him, trusting him once more keep her safe. “Oh. Wow. What was that?”

He removed his hand from her sensitive areas and finished unpeeling their clothes. “That, Amy, was foreplay.”

Foreplay?

Amy’s logical brain struggled to reassert control over the mental barrage of after-sex tenderness flooding her body.

Vulnerability, deep love, and a sense of well-being she’d never felt before welled in her like a deep sea of contentment. Like, everything would turn out okay in the world, no matter what.

Then Pyro rested her in the center of his bed, and she realized that she was naked and he’d just flown her across his home without her even noticing.

She eased up on her elbows. “Wait.”

He hovered over her, patient, but the fiery crackle and red threads in his intense irises suggested he would not wait long.

Her pussy throbbed from her recent orgasm. That’s what the amazing sensation was, wasn’t it? She’d never had one that wasn’t self-induced. From another person — from Pyro — the orgasm was intense, uncontrollable, explosive passion.

Could she handle it again?

Because she’d taken too long to spill out the words tumbling around her mind, he surged forward and captured her mouth in his kiss.

At once familiar and yet achingly sensual, he pushed her boundaries. She wanted to go all the way. Become a woman — a wife — in a consummated marriage.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach.

She pushed him back, untangling her tongue. His delicious taste and fiery heat still imprinted itself on her. “I’m afraid it will hurt.”

“It won’t. I won’t let it.”

He surged forward with another all-consuming kiss, and she slowly relaxed onto her back. I won’t let it. She believed him.

He tongued her skin, and the sizzle heated her blood again. Fire pounded between her legs. She wanted his cock there, filling her.

No, she needed to calm and pay attention. Catalog the sensations. Memorize lovemaking with Pyro so she could relive it, re-enjoy it, even when he was long gone.

She licked her lips, struggling to hold on.

The last orgasm had shocked her with sudden pleasure. Pyro had done everything right. He’d touched her, and she’d exploded. He was a maestro playing her as his finest instrument and instead of an ordinary old piano, the orgasmic songs bursting inside her were exquisite symphonies.

His hot breath sensitized her still throbbing nipples, streaking new desire into her core.

“Um.” She gasped and rose up on her elbows again. “Is this how dragons make love?”

He laid kisses around her taut nipples. “No.”

“How … how do they?”

“In dragon form. More efficient.”

She trapped her scattering thoughts. “Are you going to do that?”

He finally rose. “Transform? No.”

“But.” Gasp. “It’s what you are.”

He transformed his hand. Ridged scales shot from his skin and sharp claws slid out like knives. “I will never hurt you.”

Nerves fluttered again.

He was a playboy, a bad boy, a reckless charmer with no interest in or awareness of consequences. And she was handing over not only her virginity, her first adult relationship, and her marriage vows. But, piece by piece, her very soul.

He transformed back to human and plumped her needy breasts. Her fears dissipated into pleasure. Capturing one nipple, the hot stroke of his tongue drove her into the bed, arching as a near-orgasmic shock pleasured her.

“Trust me,” he murmured, sucking her between gentle teeth.

She arched again, gasping.

He already owned her. Body, heart. Her soul was all she had left.

Pyro switched to her other nipple, forcing her focus on him, and then he kissed her trembling belly to her thighs. Flexing her feet in seductive circles, he took away her fears and centered her in this moment. Now.

She could fear sex. Fear pain.

Fear life.

But fear of living held her back. It drove her to eat pans of brownies, zone out on trash TV, and run from anyone who might confront her inner self.

Living would involve pain. She would have regrets. Wasn’t it time to go after her true desires?

Pyro’s seductive kisses approached her throbbing, hot feminine center. “Open for me.”

Her thighs trembled.

Comply or run away?

He stroked her gently with his hands, his gaze roving over her with possession and satisfaction. Not judgment, not fear. He was at home with himself. With her. She was the one who needed to let go and live.

Live.

She spread her legs.

A hot wave of hunger crossed his face. He flicked his gaze to her eyes. Fierce gratitude shone in the red threads of his irises as if he knew what it cost her to bare herself to him. He dropped his mouth to her hot feminine bud and latched on.

Pleasure burst across her body, shuddering with the first warning waves of a second orgasm.

She arched. “Pyro!”

He worked her with his tongue and his fingers, every weapon in his arsenal, stroking her to the peak of pleasure. All she could do was clench the soft bedsheets that smelled like him and hold on. Her orgasm shattered into crystal confetti, colorful and heart-racingly delicious.

He rose and eased between her thighs. His hard, sweet cock brushed her legs as he positioned himself.

Resting over her while she caught her breath, he nuzzled her with his nose. “Want to try?”

In this soft, vulnerable moment, she wrapped her arms around his buttocks. Yes, she did.

He smiled as though she had answered a test question correctly. Between her legs, the soft-hard heat of his masculine length rubbed her well pleased pussy lips. It coated his thick, hot cock in their slick sex juices. The head pressed against her tingling entrance.

His eyes sought hers. In this moment of connection, he wanted to see her? She held his gaze with certainty.

He eased in.

The first inches filled her fuller than she had ever been filled before.

He moved slowly, straining from the effort. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. It sheened his body in a reddish glow.

The full, hard length of him worked deeper and deeper until he came to a full stop. The base of his cock rested against her stretched pussy. In to the hilt.

Wasn’t there supposed to be resistance? There was no resistance. Her body recognized him and accepted him. He was her male. They connected as one.

He seemed to feel their unity even more deeply than she did.

His arms trembled, and he dropped to his elbows, resting his forehead against hers. A masculine moan tore from his lips. He buried his mouth in hers, silencing his vulnerability, tangling their tongues with reckless passion.

She ignited.

Palming her breasts, he squeezed her nipples. Pleasure flooded her. He curved his abdomen to swipe his tongue.

Her channel shuddered. She gasped. “Pyro. What are you—”

“Trying not to move.”

“You can.”

He lifted his head. The red threads gleamed brilliantly.

Without asking a second time, he eased away, out of her.

No.

She grasped his buttocks, trying to stop him from going.

He surged in, filling her to the hilt.

A deeper throb of pleasure ripped through her body.

Was it possible? Again?

He eased out of her and thrust in again, deep and filling, hitting the same throbbing pleasure spot.

She gasped. Again. Yes, it was possible. Deeper, more incredible, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

Oh. This was sex.

This was good.

Amy clenched his buttocks. “More.”

A groan of pleasure emerged from his lips.

He surged into her, thrusting directly into her pleasure spot. She gave in to her body’s demands and held onto him as her anchor in an intense pleasure storm.

He reared back, pushing his weight into his thrusts. Owning her, possessing her, releasing her. His gaze held hers. Uncontrolled passion merged with his masculine pleasure moans.

She exploded.

Pleasure flooded Amy’s body, tingling her lips and toes. She arched as her third release whipped through her, changing her whole identity from a woman who had experienced a few orgasms to one who had experienced the ultimate pleasure.

Pyro grasped her hips and growled. Fresh heat seeped into her, pushing her pleasure into the heavens. Her mind blanked white. A holy experience wrapped her in soft feathers.

She collapsed onto the bed.

He collapsed onto his palms, gasping for breath and shaking his head like he was stunned.

Still buried to the hilt, they rested, connected. Husband and wife.

Hopefully, he thought that was as great as she did.

“Mm.” He asked, muffled. “Are you going to tell your family about us now?”

Of all the things to ask right after sex! She snorted. “No.”

He lifted up on one elbow, surprised for some reason. “So when are you going to introduce me?”

“Later.”

“When?”

She stroked his gorgeous bicep, enjoying the feeling of his skin under her — even though it was starting to feel stretched too far in awkward places. “Maybe after the birth of their first grandkid?”

He actually looked hurt. “Seriously?”

“No. I’m just kidding. I’ll do it when I get home.”

But the instant her parents found out, this beautiful new start would turn ugly.

I’ll introduce you later.

Hearing those callous, dismissive words from Amy was an unwelcome echo from the past. It killed the buzz he’d been feeling just moments before.

She couldn’t know that those were the exact words his first wife had pushed on him to wreck their marriage.

Anyway, this time, maybe it would be true. Amy was human. Humans didn’t care about dragon hierarchy. Aristocrats or low caste. She’d said so.

He chose to believe her.

Amy stroked his stubbled cheek.

Pyro caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm.

The soft brush of his teeth made her startle. His incisors had started to change to partial fangs as he’d lost control.

But instead of fearing or rejecting him, she snuggled him nearer.

He wrapped her in his warm, safe arms. With an absentminded blanket pulled over them, she dropped off to sleep.

Pyro expected to sleep, too. He was exhausted enough.

But he didn’t.

A deep unsettling feeling lay on his chest.

Amy had given him a great treasure. Her trust. He needed to be the kind of honorable male who deserved it.

That meant no more dicking around.

You always said the rules of Draconis were the ones holding you back.

When he was absolutely certain she was out, he eased from her embrace and showered. His brain raced a hundred miles a minute. Normally sex was a pleasant exercise, but this time, it felt like he’d broken loose a whole new outlook.

All thanks to Amy.

Thanks to her, he was free of the rules of Draconis. He was married; the Empress would have to move on. Hopefully to torture another family. One who would welcome the blessing of elevation to aristocratic status.

His hatred — and Mal’s — of the entire aristocracy was unusual, honestly. Most dragons would claw their dearest ones’ eyes out for the chance to serve the Empress, much less marry her. So, let the “honor” go to one of the dragons who coveted it.

Which left saving his company.

He dried and dressed. Not in his usual jeans and tee. He put on a business suit and opened the files of Carnelian Clothier reports. Sales intel from Alex. Financial profiles from Amber. Spy notes from Kyan.

Sure, he’d glanced at them before. Long enough to confirm that his biases were correct. They worked twice as hard as the aristocrats for half the advantages. But this time, Pyro read the reports for a different reason.

Ammunition.

Whatever Sard was planning, Pyro would go into their meeting the way he had gone into engagements — skirmishes — in the Colony Wars. With the clear-sighted awareness that the enemy hated him, wanted to destroy him, and was prepared to use any method to do so. Recklessness had gotten him out of situations where caution and fear would have gotten him killed. But it had been a certain kind of recklessness. He hadn’t thrown himself into the line of fire just to brave a barrage of bullets. He’d done it to take out a tactical target, escape a death-spreading laser, or thwart an ambush.

Calculated risks backed up by solid intel.

If his company was backed into a corner and Sard was waiting with an ambush, Pyro needed to be ready to pivot. Calmly. Whether that was breaking the arrogant aristocrat’s offer or twisting it to suit his own needs, he would do it for Amy.

His hot-headed reputation was perfect cover. He’d never felt so chilled inside.

And then, once he had what he needed from Sard, he’d torch the building on his way out.

Amy awoke late on Sunday to an empty bed.

She rolled over, searching for Pyro. And liquid. Her saliva felt like cream cheese. The shadows suggested it was late morning. She tumbled to the ground and crawled on shaking hands and knees to the bathroom for a goblet of water.

Good thing it was Sunday.

Why was the house so quiet?

She checked her appearance in the mirror. Well, she was a mess. A mild headache pinched her temples, like she’d been drinking alcohol, except she hadn’t. And her stomach felt queasy.

She wanted to be a diva. Run a huge bath in his huge bathtub, ring a silver bell for bonbons and soda pop, and steam herself until this headache went away.

Was it wrong to want all that?

No. Surely not. Today was her wedding morning, for goodness’ sake! Her first real day as a wife to a hot, billionaire alien dragon shifter. Was having him in her bed at her beck and call too much to ask?

Actually…

She sat on the edge of the tub and examined herself carefully in the mirrors Pyro seemed to embed on every surface.

A dark hickey on her neck made her blush. She’d felt an unexpected spike of pain when he’d bitten her there, but she had liked it, wanted to be marked, and there was also the rush of pleasure from his fingers between her legs, and an instant later, she’d orgasmed for the first time from him, hard.

Oh, and maybe there’d been a small spike of pain between her legs, but it had been subsumed by the orgasm.

Was that possible? To get deflowered from fingers?

She’d have to check the internet. With Safe Search on. She was still a teacher. Teachers had to worry about search histories.

Amy used the bathroom sink for basic clean-up and self-care, belted on one of Pyro’s short black bathrobes that fell well past her knees, and staggered out.

Altogether, she was less sore than she’d expected. Climbing the stairs taxed her thighs, but she’d make him massage her. And then carry her all day. He’d fly her to breakfast. A decadent Sunday brunch of eggs Benedict and cherries jubilee on a silver tray. After he’d poured her luxurious bubble bath and tenderly stroked her aching forehead.

But where was Pyro?

He wasn’t upstairs.

He wasn’t downstairs.

He wasn’t anywhere.

Where was he?

She checked her phone. No messages. Wait. Did she even have his number?

Oh, my god.

Did she?

Amy set her cell aside and sat on the edge of the rumpled bed. Maybe he’d gone out for brunch. He could be gathering chocolates, fruits, flowers. The essentials a bride should have on her wedding morning.

Because the other possibility, seeping coldly into the pit of her stomach, was that he had gotten what he wanted and abandoned her.

Just like at Sard Carnelian’s warehouse.

Across the room, the giant movie screen turned itself on. A hulking, scarred male stared out at her. “You’re awake.”

She jolted off the bed in shock and scrambled back, tightening her robe. “Who are you? Where’s Pyro?”

“He’s in a meeting. I am Kyan.”

Weird name. She sat on her knees on the hardwood, fabric tight up to her neck, no skin showing. “What are you doing?”

“Pyro asked me to check on you. I have been doing so every half hour.”

“You’ve been watching me sleep?”

“It was the most expedient method of checking on you.” His gruff voice brooked no disagreement.

She disagreed anyway. “It’s rude. And creepy.”

He remained silent.

Her brain started to work. Kyanite was the name of one of the Onyx siblings. “Are you the brother who sent aerial photos of chapels last night?”

“Yes.”

So, thanks to him, she was married. It didn’t excuse him essentially creeping into her bedroom and watching her sleep. What if he’d seen her naked parts?

And Pyro wasn’t here. He was in a meeting.

Okay.

That realization filtered in along with a building resentment. Who left their newly wed wife to go to a work meeting? Someone who didn’t care.

She means nothing to me.

Amy got to her feet shakily. “Who holds a meeting on a Sunday?”

“Sard Carnelian.”

She stopped and looked at him. “Pyro’s meeting with Sard right now? How long’s that going to take?”

Kyan’s expression froze. When he didn’t know the answer to something, he said nothing.

Her head suddenly ached fiercely and her stomach rolled. She rubbed her temples. Monday morning would come too soon. “How am I supposed to get home?”

“I will be there in fifteen minutes.” The movie screen shut off.

“Fifteen? Wait! Come back.”

The scarred dragon shifter did not come back.

She hurried through a quick shower and yanked on clothes from Pyro’s well-stocked closet. Piling her unwashed hair into a messy bun, she glared at her unsettled image in the mirror.

This was not how she envisioned the morning after her wedding or the morning after she lost her virginity.

But, she wouldn’t put it past that impassive male to barge in on her half-dressed the way he’d apparently done while she’d been sleeping. She hustled.

Amy was just slipping on her shoes when the elevator shaft opened and a male even more intimidating than he’d appeared on the gigantic movie screen hulked into Pyro’s home.

Kyan dwarfed everything he neared. Normal chairs seemed tiny and his head brushed dangerously close to the ceiling. His steel-toed boots clunked on the floor. A chill seemed to follow him into the room even though the air blowing in behind him was hot desert.

This close, the blue in his gaze was piercing and his long trench coat only highlighted that his fists intimidated anvils.

He stared down at her. “Ready?”

Refusal was death.

Even though his voice was quiet, she felt like she was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. And the officer wielding it would have no problem breaking her in half.

She swung her book bag over her shoulder promptly and stepped closer. Should she lift her arms? She didn’t think she could reach his shoulders. Maybe on her tiptoes.

He leaned over and lifted her like a parent scooped up a child. Carrying her through the doorway, he used one hand to shelter her head from the doorframe and then they were in the shaft, up and out in the hot Las Vegas sun. Below, the shrinking passageway closed.

She rubbed her dry face. The sun shone with authority. “I should have put on sunscreen.”

He flung the trench coat over her head. It weighed about fifty pounds. She held onto the edges, sheltering from the chapping wind and the furious sun.

They flew back in absolute silence across three states to familiar gray clouds, puffy cumulonimbus with dirty bottoms, and threatened rain. Instead of crossing the Columbia River and setting her down in Portland, Kyan deviated to follow the river’s north bank to an office building in the middle of a field.

Uh oh.

“Um, I thought you were taking me home,” she said. Meekly. With maximum politeness.

“They want to talk to you.”

“They? They who?”

He did not reply.

Her nerves squiggled like eels in her belly and her heart revved to the max. Like that nightmare where she’d forgotten an essay was due today, and she hadn’t typed a single word.

He dropped to the roof, into a clear glass shaft, and floated to a stop in front of a see-through, curved door. Entering, he deposited her in a lush office. Thick blue carpet, mahogany desk, trickling fountain, ornate ceramic vases on pedestals, and plants implied a feng shui serenity.

It didn’t work on her.

She was terrified. This luxury was the opposite of calming.

Kyan hung his trench coat on a hook, opened the office door, and strode down a hall. Clearly, she was expected to follow. And at a good clip, too.

She trotted through a warren of cubicles. Most were empty on the Sunday afternoon. She gulped. No witnesses.

Kyan opened a conference room and gestured for her to precede him.

Inside, three stunningly attractive business people sat at a conference table. They turned, some in mid-sip, and stared at her.

She stopped.

Kyan strode past her and sat in the far seat with his back to the wall. His mammoth fist curved around a steaming cup of coffee that had clearly been prepared for his arrival.

The seat at the head of the table was somewhat glaringly empty.

Sure enough, the blond man to its right stood and indicated the head seat. “Amy Adamson. Thank you for joining us on such short notice. Won’t you please sit?”

Despite his polite words, the ironic gleam in his unusual eyes — one lavender and one turquoise — suggested he knew she wasn’t here by choice and sitting wasn’t a request. His motions of a polite conversation were just that. Motions.

She knew the two-tone dragon shifter for sure. Sixth son of the Onyx family. Alexandrite “Alex” Onyx.

Which meant she knew the others in the conference room too. Jasper, the fifth son, had a broad face and nondescript “pleasant” demeanor. Kyan she’d already met. To her left rested the imposing sister of the family, Amber. As a female dragon shifter, Amber was the only one in the room who could spontaneously breathe fire.

Otherwise, the demure female was more petite than Amy and had deeper red hair. She seemed positively quiet in a gray sweater vest, peach under-dress, and darker gray leggings. Her feet were cloaked in matching peach Mary Janes.

Amber started the interrogation. “We have a few questions.”

Amy braced herself.

“Would you like a coffee?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

Amber looked at Alex.

He rose again. “We have Brazilian dry roast. Freshly ground.”

She shook her head violently.

“As an espresso? We have all the flavors. Cheryl is particularly fond of black and white mochas.”

“She once asked for a pumpkin spice latte,” Jasper said.

“Of course we have chai.”

She cleared her dry throat. Was this what they called softening a person up? Good cop, bad cop? “Maybe some water?”

Jasper rose and exited the conference room. Alex moved to a corner espresso machine. “Are you sure? Our coffee is the freshest quality from the highest caliber of vendors.”

“I prefer herbal tea.” Which was a lie, actually. Coffee was a sinful addiction she mustn’t indulge. Herbal tea was healthier and more calming. After a weekend in Pyro’s company, she suddenly felt the need for those things. Times a thousand.

Alex poured a steaming cup of water and carried it to her along with a silver tray of tea accouterments. Sliced lemon, golden honey, raw sugar packets, and a selection of herbal teas from high-class tea sommeliers.

She selected peppermint by rote — awakening and soothing — and dipped the nicely scented bag in her white mug.

A moment later, Jasper returned with a chilled glass bottle of water. He cracked the plastic cap for her and inserted a straw. Then he sat back in his chair.

Everyone stared.

She swallowed the acid pooling in her stomach.

Nobody said a word. The silence stretched so thin it felt like the very world was going to snap. Or she was.

Amber finally broke the silence again. “What is it you want?”

Amy jumped. “Want? Want for what?”

“Want,” Amber repeated, as though she had been perfectly clear the first time.

Amy wanted to make it out of this room alive. She prayed to God she’d never stray a single calorie from her diet or study plans or career path if only He would let her leave here without getting in trouble.

“I want to see Pyro,” she said.

Everyone turned to Kyan.

He set his jaw. “The meeting with Sard hasn’t ended.”

Everyone turned back to her.

Amy gripped the heavy conference table. Deep scratch marks in the wood had been polished smooth, but they were still visible. Someone had been violent right in her seat. A dragon.

“Can you be more specific?” Amy asked. “Like, what do I want right now, or what do I want out of my life, or a deeper, more existential, what do I want?”

“Sure,” Amber said.

So … all of those. Or any of them.

Amy chose the second option, hoping it was closest to getting her out of this room. “I want to be a permanent elementary teacher at Excelsior Preparatory Academy. Right now I’m only a substitute/assistant.”

They waited.

“I, uh, want to finish my art certification. And someday I’ll get a master’s in education.”

Alex leaned forward. “You are an artist?”

The others also leaned in with interest.

She shook her head violently again. “Oh, no. Not unless it’s a kid’s craft or an artboard. I make some mean cutouts. And doodles.”

Everyone looked at Jasper, who shook his head regretfully. “We do not have a need for such crafts at this time.”

Huh? “Oh, no. I told you, I don’t make art professionally.”

Jasper frowned. “It is difficult.”

“What is?”

“To find the best place for you. We do not have an educational division in the Onyx Corporation.”

What? What? What?

“I already have a job,” she repeated slowly, in case her nerves had caused that part of her conversation to mislead them.

“You’ve married Pyro,” Jasper returned steadily. “That makes you a senior officer. The only question is where you’ll be placed.”

Wait.

“I married Pyro and so now I’m supposed to work here?” She didn’t remember that in the magazine articles she’d devoured. Apparently, reporters didn’t know everything. “But I don’t want to work here. Can I just be a shareholder?”

“We are not public,” Jasper said.

“And I’m not interested in a job.”

“Cheryl also wasn’t interested. She is now our Art Director.”

Amy imagined herself in heels and glossy makeup in her private executive suite. She saw herself turning on her computer and doing … what, exactly?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think marrying into a position is the best way to run a company,” she said.

“It is how dragons have always merged resources. You have no company so you will join ours.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said firmly. “Anyway, married couples shouldn’t work together. Right now I could murder Pyro and I’m sure if we worked together I’d get so mad I’d want to claw his eyes out.”

The stillness felt so acute she heard the air conditioning of the office click off.

Jasper finally swallowed. “Please don’t injure Pyro.”

“Uh, no, I hadn’t planned on doing that just yet.”

“Just yet?”

“Well—”

“And please don’t try to claw his eyes out,” Jasper said. “He needs those to see.”

“I’m not actually—”

“Right, Amber?”

Amber, who’d been staying quiet, suddenly smiled. “It is good to be forceful. Pyro will understand your wish.”

This misunderstanding had gone too far. “I’m not actually going to claw his eyes out. I’d apply for a divorce long before resorting to violence.”

Again, the silence worried her. Like divorce was as bad as murder or dismemberment.

Well, if he was still at risk from his Empress, maybe it would be.

“Can we ease your anger with wedding gifts?” Alex asked smoothly.

“I’m not angry right now,” she said. “I mean, I am, but I’m more disappointed.”

“We understand wedding gifts are an important human marriage tradition.”

“Pyro’s lair was pretty well stocked,” she said.

“I should hope so.” Alex’s smile didn’t fully reflect in his eyes. “Or he is in no position to seek a wife.”

Ah. Right. Dragons had to “provision a lair” before seeking mates.

So, what else did she want? These dragons were rich. They could give her anything. Did she want yachts? Mansions? Trips around the world? Tennis bracelets?

Well, she was prone to getting seasick, wasn’t sure about home ownership, and Pyro could fly her anywhere — and frequently did.

Diamonds might be cool.

She thought of her camisole and jeans. They were still crumpled up on the floor of the closet. “I’ll have to talk to Pyro.”

“Nothing we can give you right now?”

“I need some clothes washed.”

At her description, Alex clicked an intercom. “Send a hundred camisoles to this address. Also, a hundred pairs of jeans in our AX model size.”

“I don’t need a hundred,” she protested. “I don’t even need one. Just a washing machine.”

He ended the call with a smile. “Now you will not wish to divorce Pyro. And you will be happy to accept our job.”

“I don’t…” Ugh. She rubbed her forehead. Her headache lingered and although they spoke English, she felt like she needed a translator. “What is up with dragons offering random people jobs? This is the second time in a week one of you has offered me unwanted employment.”

The dragons moved in their seats in surprise.

Alex leaned forward again. “Sard Carnelian offered you a job?”

“Yes, drawing Zentangles.”

“What are those?”

She encircled her wrist; the bracelet had been confiscated. Well, she had given it to Sard. Anything to get herself out of his office. “Do you have a napkin and a pen?”

They found the objects. She took a deep breath, starting her meditation, then drew the four corner dots, the border, and her sections. She filled each section with repeating palm leaves, pineapple scales, and bubbles. It was relaxing; even in the middle of this interrogation, she finished her square feeling more in control.

“Zentangles are a form of structured doodle using repeating motifs. The borders and whatnot are for guidance. Go with whatever looks good in the moment. Through deliberate practice, Zentangles are a method for uncreative people to discover their inner creativity.”

The dragons studied her napkin.

Jasper covered his mouth. Amber leaned back in her chair and looked thoughtful. Alex continued staring.

Somehow, she felt like she’d exposed a secret. “What is it?”

Alex tapped the square. “This bears some resemblance to dragon family crests. Heraldry identifying aristocrats. However, the designs are unusual.”

“Sard said the same thing. He wanted to commission ten million.”

“Ten million?”

“Unique designs. I offered to teach a class instead.” The important thing was the method. Anyone could draw Zentangles. Even dragons. “He declined.”

Jasper appeared to do a quick calculation. “Ten million unique designs would be enough to adorn the non-aristocrat families on Draconis and the Outer Rim.”

Alex looked up. “Would Sard dare sell heralds to non-aristocrats?”

“It would be lucrative.”

“But risky. Copying the aristocracy too closely risks the notice of the Gentleman’s Society. No one survives one of their inquests.”

They mused over her design.

Amy understood the gist of their discussion even if she didn’t get caste societies. India and Britain had long histories, and she’d taught them, but like Jim Crow laws of the last century, the pointless cruelties seemed unconscionable.

In America today, all that mattered was cold, hard cash. Few things were denied the truly rich.

Amy’s goal as a teacher was to help her students whether they were rich or poor, sick or healthy, of one ethnicity or another, receive an equitable, high-quality education.

“Draconis Palace hasn’t enforced sumptuary laws in a generation,” Amber finally said. “The Gentleman’s Society has not investigated human-form clothing. They will not investigate a human ‘doodle’ craft.”

Amy cleared her throat. “Should I have told Pyro?”

“Yes.” Alex leaned back. “This knowledge could have changed our fates.”

“Jewelry?” Pyro repeated, wondering if the heavyweight CEO of Carnelian Clothiers was making fun of him. “You’re moving from clothes to jewelry?”

Sard Carnelian’s teeth gleamed silver. They met at a neutral location, a private bistro room in downtown Portland. “We sell accessories and shoes. The next logical evolution is jewelry.”

“Why tell me?”

“You wished to know our next launch. I thought you would be interested in our plans.”

Pyro breathed through his teeth.

Amy’s advice to remain calm was as hard to follow as he had anticipated. But he’d taken her advice and he’d successfully drawn out Sard’s plans, even if he’d had to sit on his dominant hand to keep from smashing it into the aristocrat’s smug face.

This was for Amy. For his siblings. For Mal.

“So?” he growled.

“This is our intended debut.”

Sard spread out a series of punctured tiles. Each one was decorated with lines, swirls, and repeating shapes.

Seeing it set Pyro’s teeth on edge. He didn’t recognize any, but he made a point not to memorize aristocratic crests, not even the levels closest to the Empress.

Still, remembering his mission, he asked. “What is this?”

“Zentangles. A human design of jewelry for necklaces, bracelets, and the like.” Sard paused a beat, and then added, “Of course, we will also take custom orders.”

Sure, like official aristocratic crests.

Pyro picked up one of the plastic squares. Although primitive, the markings were close enough that anyone could read between the lines.

And it would never fly. He wasn’t the only dragon who hadn’t memorized the thick ledgers of official crests. Selling these as jewelry was like selling ballistic-launching weapons disguised as play toys.

A low caste dragon might accidentally get privileges. Like fairness. Respect.

And nobody could have that.

He dropped the tile with a clink. “What do you want with my company?”

“In exchange for our port privileges, you’re going to distribute our new jewelry.”

Of course. Dump the risk onto the low caste bastard.

He gritted his teeth on his growl. “We’re getting dismantled.”

“Not if you marry humans.”

“It is always at risk from my mother. She sees no need for two clothiers.”

“When we merge, there will be only one.”

The smarmy aristocrat had an answer for everything.

“Projected profits will be in the billions.” Sard’s red-brown eyes glowed. “We will surpass companies in the heart of the Empire.”

And that alone would probably cost their lives.

Pyro pinched one of the tiles. “If this is such a profitable object, why don’t you distribute it?”

“Because I’m being recalled to Draconis.”

Pyro didn’t know how to respond. None of his intelligence had stated that. “When?”

“Days.” Sard rested both palms on the table between them. “My fiancée has no interest in colonial art. Not even the clothing. My family is retaining the company.”

“Then, the problem?”

“My brother will replace me. He is an aristocrat in good standing. He will expect to be surrounded by the same.”

“You’re aristocrats.”

“My employees are fallen.”

Meaning they had failed important duties and gotten kicked out of the family manor. Forced to make their own way in the world. No promises, no riches, no cushy comforts.

Just like every low caste dragon.

Pyro growled. “They’re still aristocrats.”

“Perhaps a non-aristocrat doesn’t appreciate that there are levels within levels—”

“Spare me.”

Sard’s jaw clicked shut. His eyes flared red, and it looked like he was having trouble controlling his reaction.

Why, because a low caste bastard dared to speak roughly to him? This was why they couldn’t work together. Ever.

Pyro was done with being insulted. “Get to the point.”

“The point,” Sard enunciated, with the hint of a rasping growl, “is my brother will replace my current employees with other males unless you and I enter a contract forbidding changes.”

“You trust him to honor a contract with low caste bastards?”

“Any sane business dragon would hesitate to disband the number one ranked company outside Draconis.” Sard’s teeth gleamed. “He is young but ambitious. And if we freeze our employee rosters with one contract, he will hesitate to break it simply to dismiss my males.”

Sard wanted Pyro to distribute his treasonous crests in exchange for allowing them to use his ports to export their clothing. The Onyx Corporation would live on. And all Sard wanted for the privilege was a contract that froze the current employee structure of his company?

No.

“What are you really asking?” Pyro narrowed on his arch rival. “You don’t have a sister. And Amber’s not marrying one of you. Exactly how do we tie our companies?”

Sard hesitated so briefly it almost seemed purposeful. “Become our subsidiary.”

Pyro’s blood pressure shot through the ceiling. His breath tightened like a fist in his chest. Red scored his vision.

You control the conversation.

Amy’s face flashed in front of his eyes. She was the reason he was sitting here, on his hand, instead of back in bed. Being responsible. Upholding his duties.

Extending his claws, he scored deep gouge marks in the bistro table.

The aristocrat’s expression remained frozen on his face.

Pyro finally spit his answer. “We will never bow our heads to aristocrats.”

Sard’s gaze narrowed. Scales shimmered across his hands as he fought his own transformation. “Do you think you are the only ones at risk? Do you think bowing your head stops with an aristocratic crest? No. That is where sickening, pointless humbling begins.”

“Excuse me while I cry for your hardships.”

Sard poised as if to attack him. Because he knew the truth.

Pyro could torch both companies. He could say the word and destroy both of them. Him and Sard together. No to the merger. Sard lost his employees. The Onyx Corporation burned.

And knowing that calmed his instant rage. It made him reckless. But in control. And that made him honest.

“Don’t hire us to do your dirty work,” he growled, watching the chain reactions of fury move along the arteries beneath Sard’s shimmering skin. “You’re putting our name on your little charms, aren’t you?”

“The profits—”

“Oh, sure, I’ll care about money while my skin is hung in the Hall of Betrayals.”

“My skin would be hanging beside yours,” Sard snapped.

“Maybe an aristocrat doesn’t know this, but most bastards would rather be poor than dead.”

Sard regrouped, sucking in a deep breath and controlling his scales back to skin. “I thought you would understand.”

“Oh, I understand.”

Recklessness jumped under his skin.

Mal would never run his mouth off. He’d have a plan. But Mal had made the mistake of leaving Pyro in charge. And Pyro wasn’t going to play at pleasantness. He didn’t stab people in the back. He stabbed them in the face where they could see him coming.

“You get back your number one status. A billion sales as fast as we can distribute them. Because what dragon doesn’t want a crest? Even an unofficial, pretend one? And smudging the classes like this ends in a witch-hunt and charges of treason.”

“Class differences are already smudged by our clothing.”

“Human-form clothes are allowed because they’re ‘merely decorative’. Crests are specific to dragons. This little tile is not going to get past the censors.”

Before Earth, there had been no market for human clothes. Pre-Earth outfits had been boring, utilitarian, and designed for neutral diplomatic or military use.

That’s why the stunning colors, patterns, and sheer variety had taken off like homing rockets, blowing holes in dragons’ coin purses as they obsessively collected the jewel-tone outfits and shiny accessories.

Because no rules had been established, the highest politician could clothe herself in the same outfit as the lowest brimstone miner. As their ongoing sales proved, many dragons were willing to transform themselves into squishy “lesser” human forms. In all classes.

“You get it, don’t you?” Sard laid out his hand, palm up, in a gesture of solidarity. “This is larger than us. Larger than our companies. Distributing crests widely shakes the very bedrock of dragon society. You hate aristocratic privilege? Join me in destroying it.”

“Why would you want it destroyed?”

“I have my reasons.”

Fine, be cryptic.

Pyro grinned. “And I have my reasons for not wanting to be skinned, dead or alive. Sharpen your own flaying knives. The Onyx Corporation isn’t disrupting the Empire’s order just to make you a billion in coin.”

Sard grimaced. He stared at his curled fist and then one side of his lips flattened into a smirk. “That’s rich. You’re afraid to upset the order.”

His vision reddened again and every muscle in his body tightened. He was going to rip this aristocrat’s spine out. “Your meaning?”

Sard glanced at him. Disgust clearly showed. “Your family turned down the Empress. Twice. And you still live.”

Pyro’s fists shook … but that wasn’t what he’d expected Sard to say. He’d expected Sard to sneer at Pyro for refusing an aristocrat’s orders.

Sard was right. Most dragons would not dare to deny the Empress. If they didn’t give in out of fear, most would do so out of greed. It was lucrative to become an aristocrat.

“It’s a new generation,” Pyro said instead.

“She would have strung you up a few decades ago.”

Yes, well, Mal preferred death to marrying into the aristocracy. Pyro felt the same way.

“I haven’t informed her of my marriage,” he finally said.

“You will.”

Irritation jumped under his skin. Pyro flashed his teeth. “You didn’t congratulate me.”

Sard twitched. Irritation accomplished. “Congratulations.”

It was weird to hold the cards in this encounter. But it seemed Pyro actually did.

He knew what Sard wanted. He knew what the arch-rival hoped to gain. And his knowledge gave him, a low-class bastard, actual power over the fate of the aristocrats.

They’d both come to the table five years ago and held their cards close to their chests. Sard had cheated prolifically. And now Sard was the one standing up and walking away from the game.

Of course, Pyro was also getting forced out, so they ended in the same place. But he held power. He had a choice.

Become the subsidiary of Carnelian Clothiers. Distribute class-disrupting jewelry.

Every day Pyro had to look one of the aristocrats in the eye and say, “Yes, sir,” he’d feel the pain of his soul burning.

Pyro stood with both hands on the table. “We done?”

Sard flexed his fists. His incisors flashed. “When does Mal get back?”

“As soon as our mother lets him and his pregnant wife out of her claws.”

“Your mother is an extraordinary dragon.”

Pyro searched the CEO’s tone for a hint of derision, but he found nothing but respect. Strange. “She has extraordinary tenacity.”

“That also.” Sard blew out a stream of air. Then, he looked Pyro in the eye. From this position, looking up, it felt like a gaze between equals. “I made a promise to my dragons. I will not betray their loyalty. You have my offer. Decide in three days.”

Pyro grinned. “You’ll have my answer when I’m ready to give it.”

The aristocrat ground his teeth.

Pyro flew back to the office pumped.

For the first time since his first wife had left him, he’d been able to be in the same room with an aristocrat without it turning into a bloodbath.

And he’d upheld his promise to his siblings to steer the Onyx Corporation like a responsible officer.

Amy would smile. Shyly, like when he’d adjusted her wedding dress, or wantonly, like when he’d taken it off later. No, perhaps proudly. Like he’d done something right for once.

He’d done a lot of things wrong in his life, so it was great to finally do things right.

Pyro flew down the glass shaft, landed in his office, and strode to the conference room where she would be getting to know his siblings.

The conference room was empty.

He stopped by Jasper’s office. “Where’s Amy?”

“Kyan took her to her home.”

Hellfire. Pyro wanted to celebrate with her now. Share how the conference went, watch her face beam with pride, and then celebrate in a more sensual way in the privacy of his office.

Oh, well. At her place then.

He turned on his heel.

“Amber believes you should give her space,” Jasper called.

He checked. “What? Why?”

“Because she intends to murder you and claw your eyes out.”

“Claw my eyes out?” Humans didn’t possess claws so it would take effort to inflict that level of damage. “What’s got her so mad?”

“You did, Pyro.” Jasper’s worried honesty cut to the bone. “You made her disappointed.”

Kyan dropped Amy off below the steps to her apartment — beside two pallets of plastic-wrapped clothes. The camisoles packed down smaller but still required a forklift to move and would not fit in her elevator.

“You have to take these back,” she insisted.

“Dragons do not take back gifts.” Kyan flew away.

She wanted to scream invectives at him. Just to vent her frustrations. Pyro would do it. She took a deep breath.

Her building supervisor exited out the front door.

Amy let her scream die away and composed herself into the nice, quiet, friendly tenant who would never cause anyone any trouble. Ever. “Hello, Mrs. Maples.”

The older woman regarded the pallets with dismay. “These are blocking the entrance. It’s an unsightly hazard.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I tried to get the delivery people to take it back. This isn’t even what I ordered.”

“So long as you get it taken care of.” Mrs. Maples shook her head and continued off.

Dragons were nothing but a pain. And a hassle.

The afternoon mist congealed into a wimpy drizzle, soaking the plastic and adding weight to the clothing.

Ugh.

Amy ran up to her apartment, grabbed plastic bags and scissors, and began the process of transporting clothes up to her apartment. Two hours later, arms and legs aching and headache gone from irritation to near crying, she set the last bag inside her door and collapsed on the thread-worn couch. She should have asked for something easy to carry. Like a hundred packets of dental floss.

Oh, who was she kidding? She hadn’t asked for a hundred of anything!

Stacks of clothes mounded around the living room like snowdrifts of denim and silk. Outside her living room window, the sun touched the horizon. It was a school night, and she hadn’t done any work all weekend.

The weight of her bad choices pressed her into the couch like lead.

At that exact moment, Pyro walked in her door.

Her good girl veneer collapsed.

“Where were you?” she demanded, tears pressing against the back of her throat and anger forcing her to her feet.

She wanted him to apologize. She wanted him to open his arms, stroke her back, tell her he’d been an ass, and promise it would never, ever happen again because they were married now and she was his beautiful, hard-working, deeply treasured wife.

“Where was I?” His harsh voice stopped her in her tracks. “I was doing what you wanted, Amy. Being responsible.”

His accusation slapped her.

She crossed her arms. “So ‘responsible’ is abandoning me with your crazy relatives the day after we’re married?”

The red threads in his eyes flared. “They’re not crazy.”

“Oh, except when they dump two hundred unwanted articles of clothing on my front step as a ‘wedding gift’.”

“That’s generosity.”

“Generosity didn’t just haul fifty loads by hand up to my apartment.” She left the whine in her voice so Pyro would understand just how hurt and exhausted she was.

He shoved it back in her face. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“From who?”

“Me.”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t even have your cell phone number.”

“You never asked for it.”

“Then I couldn’t exactly ask for your help, could I?”

“You could have waited for me to arrive.”

“Except I didn’t know if you were coming. Now or ever.”

He dropped his hand. A growl entered his tone. “What are you saying?”

“You abandoned me. Again. Only this time it was on my wedding morning.”

“So I should have blown off the meeting? Irresponsibly letting my company get destroyed?”

“Maybe you should have rescheduled,” she snapped.

“You were the one who wanted to get married so fast.”

She knew it. He didn’t care about her. He hadn’t even wanted to get married. She’d pushed him.

“You don’t really like me do you?”

He stared at her like she’d grown two heads. “How’d you get that crazy idea?”

“You destroy the things you like. You refuse to commit. But we’re married.”

“So?”

“So if you really liked me, you never would have proposed.”

He shook his head.

She gestured impatiently. “You reject anyone who could hurt you.”

His gaze narrowed. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” This was going off track. They’d discussed it so much in Vegas but he acted like he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m different from your other girls.”

“That’s why.”

Huh?

Her question must have shown on her face because he answered the unspoken query. “You are different. And I have, once or twice, kept my distance from things I might lose.”

“Once or twice?” she repeated dryly.

“Once or twice.” He focused on her. “The difference is I’m taking a risk. Committing, like you wanted. My commitment is to you.”

Her heart swelled.

He liked her. Deeply liked her. So deeply he was even willing to risk his greatest fears. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cover him with kisses and cry that she, too, was changing because she’d taken a risk on him. It was scary and beautiful and exciting and hopeful and new. And, if they both held on, then maybe they would both change into the people they most wanted to become.

But she’d been seriously traumatized today, and she needed his validation before she could focus. “And I got stared at while I was sleeping, then interrogated by a bunch of pushy strangers.”

“They’re my family.”

“While you were off. It’s just like before. When you abandoned me at Sard’s warehouse.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” he growled. “I told you to jump. I would have caught you. You didn’t trust me.”

“I barely knew you.”

“And you gave Sard his next product launch.” He raised his chin, betrayal reddening his cheeks. “Alex told me. Our biggest rivals. Billions of coins.”

“First of all, I had no idea that I was even in your arch rival’s warehouse until I was sitting in his office being threatened with the police. Second of all, I was terrified.”

“Dragons will never hurt humans.”

“Having the police called and reporting my crime to the school would have hurt me a lot worse than anything Sard could do.” She shook her head at Pyro. “And even if I’d known that Zentangles looked like aristocrat crests, I wouldn’t have cared. He could have my stupid charm bracelet. I hope it makes your planet happier.”

“He offered you a job.”

“So did your family.” She snorted at him. “News flash: I’m not working for either of you. We’re married. That’s what matters. I don’t owe the rest of your species anything.”

He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. At the mention of their marriage and her refusal of Sard’s job offer, the redness left his skin and calm returned. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go home.”

She sat on the couch. “I am home.”

“This is an apartment.”

“It’s my apartment, tonight’s a school night, and I have work in the morning.”

“So?”

“Are you going fly me from Las Vegas to work on time?”

“Yes.”

“How can I trust you, Pyro?”

“Trust me because I'm your husband.”

“And that changed what, exactly?”

His jaw flexed.

“You’ve used me from the very beginning.”

“I never used you.”

“You led me to Sard’s warehouse knowing we’d get in trouble. That it was illegal. You used me to gain entry. And you’re still using me. Now it’s to avoid marriage to the Empress.”

“So what are you saying?” he demanded. “You want to end this?”

There. It was out.

They weren’t even married twenty-four hours and for the second time someone was talking about divorce.

Celebrity marriages. They never lasted.

“Do you want to?” she asked quietly.

His jaw clenched and released. He looked … not furious. Disgusted. With himself, with life. And deeply cynical.

“Be honest,” he finally said. “You were never going to introduce me to your parents. Were you?”

His tone was flat. Bitter. Angry.

Wait.

“Huh?” she said.

“I’m your dirty secret. An unsuitable male who tempted and corrupted you.”

Well, he did tempt her. A lot. But she didn’t blame him for that. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re planning to keep me from your family as long as possible and then leave me once they find out.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing that.”

“But that’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “Isn’t it? You have to make them happy. I’m irresponsible, untrustworthy, and a bastard. Just tell me. Tell me right now.”

Fine. Truth.

She patted for him to sit on the couch next to her. He hesitated a long moment, then finally sat. Elbows on his knees, poised to spring to his feet, every muscle stiffened.

She sighed. “My parents are overprotective. They have high ideals and don’t like surprises. Eloping with you over a weekend is going to be very surprising.”

“You didn’t tell them about me at all,” he accused.

“Until you visited class on Friday, there was nothing to tell. Look, I am going to tell them. I just want to ease them into the idea.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

Honestly? She had no idea.

“Do you want to meet someone less judgmental who’s still important to me? Let me introduce you to my roommate.” She went to Melody’s door and tapped lightly.

“You live here with another person?” Pyro stood too close behind her. His eyes and nostrils narrowed and his claws flexed with possessiveness.

“I could never afford rent on my salary. And my parents wouldn’t let me move in with a stranger.” She tapped again. “Melody?”

The door remained closed.

“Your roommate is not here,” Pyro decided, easing onto his heels.

“She’s always here.”

“I will force the door.” He reached past her for the hinges.

“No! No.” Amy rested both hands on his forearm, and he stopped. Thank goodness. Her security deposit was saved. “I saw Josh’s coat by the front door. I’m sure they’re playing video games with headphones.”

He still flexed his claws. “How are you so certain?”

“Because that’s what they do every weekend I’m not here.” She returned to the kitchen. As predicted, on the counter cooled a batch of chocolate-covered coconut cookies. She handed one to Pyro. “This is Melody’s. She’s amazing.”

He ate the cookie in two bites. “Sweet.”

She bit into the creamy, chocolatey, chewy goodness. It had that almost-still-warm feeling from the oven she craved in her baked goods.

“I’ll introduce you next time.” She took his hand. “And I will introduce you to my parents. Just, trust me, okay?”

His eyes remained half-lidded. But he stopped arguing and tugged her into his arms, seeming to find comfort in holding her.

Her legs shook with exhaustion. She rested against his solid strength.

He nuzzled for her kiss.

Awareness roared into her blood. Her feminine center throbbed.

This was the male who had taken her virginity. Made her a woman. Filled her with his cock.

And his musky taste was more addictive than any sweet. Hunger curled in her with a throbbing ache.

He deepened the kiss, simultaneously dropping his wide palms to her derriere and squeezing.

A sore muscle protested, and she made a muffled oomph.

He frowned and pulled back. “No?”

“Oh, I’m just a little sore.” She wiggled, and the muscles that had been worked out first with sex, then a second time hauling the bags, reminded her that she wasn’t in that good of shape. “A lot of trips. And unfamiliar activity.”

His brows lifted. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I had this whole fantasy about waking up, receiving a bath and a massage and another bath, and I’m still kind of upset that didn’t happen.”

“Why didn’t it?”

She was going to smack him. “Are you serious? Because you left. And that guy you had watching me sleep only gave me fifteen minutes to get out of your house.”

“You should have told him to wait.”

“Who tells that guy anything?”

Pyro seemed to reconsider and then led her out their sliding glass door onto the teeny balcony crowded with potted herb sprouts and cherry tomato starts. He closed the sliding door behind them and lifted her into the air.

Her ballet flats dangled. “Where are you taking me?”

“Amy, I vowed to make your fantasies come true.”

She wiggled unhappily. Not to get free of his arms, since she was hovering over the metropolis, but to make her feelings known. “I told you. Tonight’s a school night. I can’t go back to your house.”

“We’re not going to my house.”

“Then where are we going?”

“A bath. And a massage. And another bath.” He angled down to a building in the middle of the field.

She recognized it with dread. “This is your office.”

“We’re not going inside.” He crossed the roof to a black tarp. “I’ve got to borrow the car.”

“The car” was a small spaceship. He retracted the black tarp covering it and put her into the passenger’s seat with instructions not to touch anything. She folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her knees together to obey.

He operated the driver controls, and they rose into the air silently. The view vibrated through her window. Vancouver streaked away like it had been stretched into maple syrup. Possibly so had the entire United States.

“Where are we going?” she asked for at least the third time. “I mean, what bath are you taking me to?”

“A Turkish bath.”

She waited for a beat, and then she asked the obvious question. “In Turkey?”

“Yep.”

She twisted to face him. “Give me your cell number.”

He did, and she keyed it into her cell phone. Then she rested her phone on her lap. “I left my ID back at the apartment. And my wallet. And I don’t even own a passport.”

“No one’s going to check your ID.”

Excited nerves squinched in her stomach. She’d always wanted to travel. Experience the entire world. And Pyro handed it to her. Like a genie with infinite wishes…

Er, well, maybe in Pyro’s case, it was more like a cursed monkey paw.

No, no. She was going to be positive. And hopeful. And also positive.

He was making an effort to reverse the disaster of the morning. She needed to appreciate his effort, not nitpick his method.

They descended on a modern city straddling the lines between East and West, a skyline she’d only seen in books. Ancient minarets stood solemnly next to shiny new skyscrapers. Rivers threaded through the packed neighborhoods.

Pyro parked in a back alley and led her to enter a nondescript side door.

But he didn’t follow.

“It’s single-sex,” he said, that devilish grin plastering over his face. “And I have to run an errand.”

“What kind of errand?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Pyro…”

“This is the best bath. Give them this.” He pressed a piece of folded paper into her hands. “They’ll take care of you.”

She clutched the paper. “Where are you going?”

“To visit old friends.”

“Don’t lose track of the time.”

“If I’m not here when you get out, call...”

She clenched her cell phone. Right. She had his number.

“…this guy.” And Pyro took her phone and keyed in another number. His brother’s face scarred appeared on her screen.

Ugh. “I changed my mind. Let’s just go home.”

“You wanted a bath.”

“I usually shower on a school night.”

“Amy.” He squeezed her shoulders. Outside the alley, the foreign scents and noises of an ancient city passed them by. “Don’t be scared. Live a little.”

“But I really don’t think Kyan likes me.”

“Don’t let his appearance frighten you.”

“And I don’t want to inconvenience him a third time in one day.”

Pyro tugged her close and kissed her forehead. His words were private in her ear. “Kyan has always faced judgment. When he was young, other dragons slashed his face so he would know his place was below them. Be honest with him like you are with me. Okay?”

Bullying was so sad. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

“Good.” Pyro patted her shoulders. “It won’t matter because I’ll be here to pick you up.”

“But if you’re not, I should call Kyan.”

“Right.” He turned her and pushed her through the dimly lit doorway. “Have fun.”

Nerves mounting with every step, she walked down a long, silent, dingy hall. Worn carpeting did not look very inviting.

Was this the right place? Could she trust Pyro? Was she just setting herself up for another shock?

At the end of the hallway, thick beads covered a doorway. She pushed through.

A plush, brightly lit reception room greeted her. Ah. That was reassuring.

An older, unsmiling woman with spectacles summoned her to the polished wood reception desk. Amy handed the woman Pyro’s paper. The woman read it with a frown.

Flowers sprayed from huge vases and intricate stained glass shone with inner light. The whole place smelled like calming incense, which was good because Amy’s heart was about to beat out of her chest.

“Come.” The woman switched to accented English and gestured for Amy to follow her down another long hall — this one brightly lit, adorned with more stained glass and sweet-smelling flowers — and gestured for her to go into a locker room. “Leave clothes. All clothes. Go door. Okay?”

Amy clutched the hem of her shirt. “Okay.”

“After, go there,” she pointed behind her, “for tea and sweet. Understand?”

“I understand.”

The woman nodded and departed.

Amy took off her clothes, stored them in one of the lockers — straight out of any high school gym, nothing foreign about it — and stared at the only other exit from the locker room. A few women, older, passed her in both directions, some entering they mystery room and others leaving.

Was she brave enough to go in alone?

Why did every single activity with Pyro push her so far out of her comfort zone that she wasn’t sure she was going to survive the next minute, much less enjoy any of it?

Ugh. She couldn’t wait here all night. What would she tell Melody when she complained about this later?

Amy followed the next woman into a tiled bath straight out of a storybook.

Women had spread dampened towels on a heated dais in the middle of the tile. Washerwomen took them, one at a time, over to a side shower and scrubbed them with exfoliating soap. And in another area, more women rubbed the nude bodies with shiny oil, and then repeated the process all over again.

This was the best bathhouse in Turkey…

She took a small, wet towel from the stack next to the entrance and hugged it to her naked chest, then spread it on an open slot at the dais and wiggled on top of it. She was completely exposed…

…but so was everyone else. No one paid any notice. Even though her hair was red and the rest were dark brunettes or blacks.

The dais was a giant heated stone. Steam off the wet towel rose, opening her pores. She rested her aching head on the dais and baked.

Two hours later, Amy oozed out into the side alley, muscles tingling with rose-peppermint lotion and tongue still savoring creamy-smooth Turkish delights.

Pyro wasn’t there. His phone rang, unanswered.

Well, at least she had a backup plan.

Kyan appeared a short time later with the “car”. She got home after midnight. He was obviously pissed despite what Pyro had said. Because when she asked where Pyro was, Kyan snapped, “Jail.”

And when she gasped and asked why, he turned to her with a glare. “It’s your fault.”

Pyro had problems.

He strode the buzzing halls of the Onyx Corporation executive floor, buttoning his suit as his red scales receded from his hands. He’d intended to turn over a new leaf but apparently, Earth leaf-turning was harder than it sounded, and here he was, late again to the meeting he was intended to run.

His siblings turned to him in a very familiar gesture as he burst through the door.

He skipped the coffee and took his seat. “What did I miss?”

His siblings looked at each other.

Jasper finally cleared his throat. “As acting CEO, you start the meeting.”

“Nothing? Great. First item of business — Sard’s offer.”

Amber’s eyes narrowed, and she stopped him. “What about your wife?”

“That’s the second item.”

She blinked in surprise.

“But if you want to talk about her first, that’s fine.” He held up one hand and counted off the things he had done on his fingers. “I’ve married Amy. It’s fully legal according to human laws. All that’s left is to announce our marriage to my mother when she returns from her estate tour with Mal and Cheryl.”

“Amy spoke of divorce,” Amber said.

“When I left her last night, she was pleased to remain married.”

Jasper pointed at Kyan. “When he left her last night, she was hysterical and never wanted to see you again.”

Well, that explained why she hadn’t replied to his good morning texts. And here Pyro had thought she must be in class. Responsible Amy wouldn’t use her cell phone in class. Now her silence appeared more sinister.

He fixed on Kyan. “What did you say to her?”

“The truth.” Kyan stared back. “She asked where you were. And who was at fault.”

“And you didn’t consider that unnecessary information?”

He remained silent.

Pyro fought his irritation. The smoothed claw marks from his last frustration stood out to him from beneath the newly sanded conference table. It would be so easy to let them out to slice more wood.

He’d left Amy at the baths to clear up a misunderstanding. Deal with his outstanding warrant so he could be the kind of male who could walk her down a street, in any country, without worry. And Turkey was just the start. Ignoring misunderstandings out of laziness hadn’t done him any favors.

“I’ll talk to her. Again. But,” he held up a warning finger, “this is the second time she’s talked to one of you and then desired a divorce. Clearly, there is a problem with your communication styles. I need the rest of you to shut up and help or stay out of my way.”

His siblings stared in shock.

“Anything further on this topic?”

Silence.

“Next. Sard’s offer. We’ve had a day to consider it. What’s our response?”

They went over the offer clause by clause. In the end, nothing was certain except that they would get the use of his ports to distribute their clothing — under his label — and take on the very risky, possibly lucrative, but most certainly treasonous distribution of jewelry.

“It would be easier if he stuck to rings and pendants,” Jasper said. “Ordinary settings of gemstones like humans are so fond of wearing.”

“Gemstones are easily created in labs. We couldn’t compete with Draconis copies.”

If Draconis jewelers had the balls to copy these fake crests, liability for their distribution might not land only on the Onyx family. The further it spread, the more difficult it was to arrest just one family. Even the family that started it.

Amber must have been reading Pyro’s mind, because she said softly, “He was right that it’s larger than our companies.”

“Yes, it could go before the Palace.”

“The Empress wouldn’t execute us over jewelry.”

“Why not? We’re not aristocrats. She can’t strip our titles.”

“She could strip Mother’s title and estate. Where would she go? Earth?”

They spent a few minutes considering the grand matriarch of the Onyx clan, who spent most of her time in scaly, jewel-covered dragon form, living among humans.

Unfathomable.

Pyro called on Kyan. “Did you contact Flint?” A strategy this dangerous should be run past their youngest sibling.

“He was beyond the reach of my communications.”

So. Like Mal being gone, the decision was up to them.

They were going to save this company or destroy it.

Alex leaned forward. “We are not considering Sard’s risk. His family assumes ultimate responsibility for subsidiaries. If the Empire decided to enforce sumptuary laws, they will punish him, too.”

“Here’s the part I don’t get.” Pyro laid out his palm. “Is he so greedy? Why risk all?”

“His sister.”

Everyone turned to Amber.

She spoke quietly but surely. “Sard had an older sister. Her first marriage to a minor aristocrat was invalidated to force her into a different marriage. She committed suicide.”

No wonder Sard had been impressed by Pyro’s mother. Her marriage was invalidated seven times. If not for the early death of Pyro’s father, they might have had seven more siblings, each one a plea for her grandmother to finally recognize the validity of their marriage.

“What happened to her bastard son?” Jasper asked.

“I do not know. But Sard’s family is controlling. I do not think he was supposed to come here. And I think the only reason he was allowed to remain so long is because the company was number one.”

A ranking the Onyx Corporation had recently stolen. By hard work. But nonetheless.

Sard had lost the top rank and been recalled to Draconis. Now a younger brother was taking over the company intending to dismiss Sard’s “fallen” employees and install his own “pure” aristocrats.

Pyro almost felt sympathy.

Almost.

Jasper laid his palms on the table. “I want to do it.”

Shock rocked Pyro. Cautious Jasper, who never stated any opinions on products or strategy, wanted to merge companies and distribute a questionable contraband?

Alex stole Pyro’s question. “You do not fear the consequences?”

“I was working in an Outer Rim factory when Mal came to me,” Jasper responded. “I lived in dorms with many other males. I have thought of them many times since coming here.”

“And selling a false crest will help them how?”

“The factory is not bad work. No one is endangered. But we are interchangeable as the parts in the machines. Nothing is uniquely ours. No small piece or symbol in which to feel pride.”

Pyro forgot that difference between the human and dragon worlds. Why colorful human clothes were so popular and why exotic human spices and flavors evoked such cravings. In the dragon world, only utility and efficiency were prized. The rank of bloodlines, and, in a very few cases like Alex’s, the gem tone color of scales.

Having a small crest, even an unofficial one, would give Jasper’s former coworkers something they could never possess in any other way.

“There are many things we cannot do to help those males,” Jasper finished. “But this is something we can. I want to do it.”

Pyro sucked in a breath and rested both hands on the conference table. “Well, I’m not getting down on one knee for any aristocrats. You want this done, you come up with a counterproposal that keeps us in command.”

“In two days?” Alex asked dryly. He had the most experience with contracts, human and dragon.

“In as many days as it takes. I’ll inform Sard we have a counter-proposal. The rest is up to you.”

The meeting ended.

Pyro checked his watch as he strode down the corridor to his office. There was just enough time…

“Where are you going?” Amber asked, floating behind him. In human form, her legs were significantly shorter than his, which was odd because in dragon form she dwarfed the brothers. As females did.

“Thailand,” he said. There was just enough time to clear up one more misunderstanding. “Tonight, Amy will introduce me to her parents.”

Amber nodded in approval.

Not that Amy had agreed to introduce him. In fact, she specifically hadn’t agreed. But he wouldn’t wait. The last time he had waited the introduction had never come.

Amy wasn’t like the last time. She was completely different. Pyro willed himself to believe that.

“Then she is in class now?”

He stopped. “Why?”

“I wish to help.”

Great.

But it wasn’t like he could tell his sister not to do so. As a female, she had a short temper and could easily toast him with her natural fire-breathing abilities.

“Don’t say anything unnecessary,” he growled.

“I never do.”

He flew out of the office, leaving Amber behind and wondering what damage control he’d have to do this time when he got back.

“Nice nails,” the fourth-grade teacher’s assistant mentioned in passing.

“Thanks.” Amy poured herself a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge during her midmorning break.

“And are those highlights?”

“They are.”

“Great color. It gives you a whole new look. And I just love that lacy undershirt. Are you dressing up for any reason?”

Pyro had made her beautiful. She’d gotten married this weekend. His relatives had forced a hundred camisoles in different shades on her.

Well, she hoped her new look would impress her family as much as the teachers.

She eased into her chair and smelled the forbidden but very necessary liquid. “Just time for a ‘me’ day.”

“It’s very nice.”

She sipped from the borrowed mug. Normally she brought something herbal and decaffeinated but she’d forgotten her full travel mug on the counter this morning. After first period, her body had demanded caffeine.

Now, as the coffee passed her lips and her brain obediently kicked into super-wired mode, she prayed for a miracle.

She’d stayed up way, way, way too late last night laboring over the How Do Colors Feel? poem. Not only did her activities still feel dislocated and teacher-y, they didn’t even engage her. She scrubbed her face and stared at the well-erased lesson planner, then recycled the page and got out a fresh sheet.

That afternoon, she and Corinne went over the clean, neatly written lesson plan together. Corinne tapped her lips. “It just doesn’t feel…”

“Like A work?” she asked with a cringe.

“Like you.” Corinne set aside her own well-stained coffee mug and stretched.

She was a bouncy fifth-grade teacher with a barrettes obsession; she always had some adorable animal or chemistry molecule in her hair, one for every day of the academic year.

Amy was considering a decorated sock collection.

“Why do you think you’re struggling?” Corinne asked. “Is it the subject? The material? Or…” Her critical gaze roved over the same highlights, nails, and camisole the others had complimented. “Are you not fully devoting yourself to this assignment?”

All of the above.

Amy erased the dot of an “i” on her page and re-marked it. “I’m fully dedicated to creating a lesson students will engage with and administrators will love.”

“But?”

It wasn’t the subject matter or the material.

Ever since Corinne said she couldn’t use her original plan because it would make administrators uncomfortable, Amy had pushed every new idea past the same inner censor and found them to be uncomfortable-making too. She fixated on issues that caused students to think — and administrators to squirm.

What if students accidentally disclosed things administrators didn’t want to hear? What if someone got embarrassed? Nothing about her plan was safe. Nothing about her teaching style was safe. She wasn’t safe.

How strange. She’d lived her whole life doing the smart, reasonable, safe thing and since coming into contact with Pyro she’d realized that the one area in her life where she excelled, where she’d devoted her energy and passion, was full of risk.

Teaching was dangerous. Her style of teaching especially.

“Teachers need to be able to teach any subject and any material engagingly,” Corinne prodded gently. “Not only their favorite topics.”

“I know.” Amy hung her head.

Hopefully, her conversation tonight with her parents wouldn’t come to the same unsatisfying conclusion.

“Well, you still have three days. Let’s meet again.”

Amy lifted her head. “Three days?”

“You didn’t hear? Administrators overheard me telling another teacher about your exceptional work and they asked if we should have you do a demonstration lesson in front of parents on Thursday’s Parent Night.”

All the oxygen sucked out of the room. Her voice squeaked. “Me?”

“It’s a great opportunity to showcase yourself. Be memorable, funny, and show off that natural talent you have with engaging a class.”

“Corinne…” she moaned. “Thursday? Thursday?”

Her mentor smiled sympathetically and patted her hands. “Work hard.”

She dragged herself out of the meeting, through the last class of the day, and began packing a larger-than-usual book bag for her journey across town to her parents’ house.

This public teaching demonstration was the opportunity she’d waited for all year. Subbing at the school as an assistant was great for experience, but more importantly, it put her in contact with the employers who could take her career to the next level.

A demonstration lesson in front of them and the parents was the opportunity she needed.

Her polished lesson had to shine.

Except she had no polished lesson. Tonight was shot because she’d promised Pyro she’d broach the subject of their marriage with her parents. He had a complex about her not introducing him. She absolutely couldn’t back out now.

Which left tomorrow to finalize her lesson. Wednesday she’d want to do a practice run with props. Maybe even try out parts of the lesson on her unsuspecting reading class to gauge on how interesting they found the activities. Then she’d recalibrate her lesson for the demonstration.

Her belly squeezed.

Regrets. She knew she’d have regrets.

She should’ve gotten married after school was out. But by then the Empress would have forced Pyro into marriage.

Dragons! They were so inconvenient.

Amber walked into her classroom.

Amy was swinging her overly heavy book bag onto her shoulder when she suddenly noticed the dragon shifter female. She checked her movement. The bag bossed her around a bit, and she finally regained her footing.

“Visitors need to check in with the main office,” she said. “This is a closed campus.”

“Okay.” The diminutive woman made no move to rectify her lack of a guest pass. She was again wearing Mary Janes, a conservative plaid skirt, a burgundy blouse and dark tights.

“Can I help you?”

“No. I’ve come to help you. There was a misunderstanding.”

Amy let the bag thump on the floor and indicated for Amber to take one of the student desks. They would have a few minutes before security or janitorial staff asked questions.

Amber folded her hands in her lap and regarded Amy with serious eyes. “Yesterday, Pyro was not in jail.”

Oh. That was a relief and kind of nice for her to come down to say. Amy had gotten his good morning texts but had been too afraid to respond with her questions.

“What happened?” she asked. “Where was he?”

“He was speaking with law enforcement about his outstanding warrant.”

Outstanding warrant? That was less reassuring. “For what?”

“Disturbing the peace and aiding a terrorist.”

Oh. Wow.

Amy rubbed her forehead. “He dropped me off at a bathhouse. He said he was visiting friends.”

“The bathhouse is owned by the family of the man Pyro rescued. Their son drove his bus into a mosque. The police branded the activity terrorism, and Pyro did not correct their understanding of his involvement.”

“So he saved a man’s life?” That made him a hero. “Why wouldn’t he correct that misunderstanding?”

Amber shrugged. “He used to find jail time restful.”

“People jail dragon shifters?”

“We obey all local laws. It is part of our treaty.”

The treaty again. Okay. Whatever. “Kyan said the situation was my fault.”

“Because Pyro is taking responsibility. He did not care who misunderstood him. Now he is making an effort to clear up the misunderstandings because of you.”

Wow. That was…

Wait a minute. “How many ‘misunderstandings’ are we talking about?”

“I do not know the exact number.”

“Ballpark is fine.”

“Ballpark?”

“Rough estimate.”

“Thirty-five.”

“He has outstanding warrants in thirty-five countries?” she gasped.

“Some are in the same country but in different jurisdictions,” Amber replied stoically. “That is why I do not know the exact number.”

Oh god, she’d married an outlaw. The lyrics from Renegade played in her head. Pyro’s jig was up, news was out, they’d finally found him…

Her parents must never know.

Amber rose and started for the door. “I wanted to tell you before he visited your family tonight.”

“What?! No!” She bolted to her feet. “He can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He promised.”

Amber paused in the doorway and tilted her head. Clearly, a promise meant nothing.

“He can’t just show up.”

“Why not?”

“Because when he meets my parents, he needs to dress well. But not too well. And he needs to be on time, and polite, and bring a bottle of wine. And that’s just for starters! And they have to know he’s coming.”

“Tell your parents he’s coming.”

“Don’t let him do this. Please.”

Amber lifted her brows as if to say that no one let Pyro do anything. But instead, she only said, “It is a very significant thing in dragon society to meet a family. Do not deny Pyro this meeting. Did you know his own family rejected him?”

“I read something like that.” Amy crossed the classroom. “And that’s why I have to prepare my parents. So they don’t do the same! He can’t come tonight. He just can’t. Tell him.”

“I will tell him.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“But I do not think my message will do any good. His first wife did not introduce him to her parents, and it destroyed their marriage.” Amber turned and strolled down the hall.

Wait. Did she just say…?

Amy called after the disappearing dragon shifter. “First wife?”

“Amy!” Her mother pushed open their whitewashed front door, enfolded her in a hug, and pressed on an orange-lipstick cheek kiss. “What a wonderful surprise.”

“It shouldn’t be a surprise,” she protested, gasping in her mother’s stranglehold. “I texted you when I left the school, and I’ve been coming for Monday dinners since I moved out.”

“But you had to miss last week. So it’s a wonderful surprise to see you again.” She released Amy to the beaming, equally crushing embrace of Amy’s father. “Come on in.”

She removed her shoes next to the door, and both parents walked her into the living room.

Their new-to-her house was a comfortable, middle-class, three-bedroom outside of Beaverton on a maple-lined lane. Fresh bark dust smell of the terraced landscaping gave way to vanilla apple deodorizers, pale olive carpeting, cream couches, and vases filled with fake flowers.

She’d once accused her parents of pretending to have a perfect life, but now that she was here, the soothing colors and familiarity made her feel loved and safe.

Her father pulled glasses from a rack on their wine caddy. “Did you want a glass of chardonnay?”

Amy shook her head.

Her father poured himself the clear wine and topped up her mother’s.

It was still weird that they drank. When Amy had been a kid, they’d emphasized over and over that the mere scent of alcohol converted normal people into drug addicts. She’d had nightmares of accidentally catching a whiff and metamorphosing via some sort of Power Rangers-esque transformation.

Then, they’d gone and relaxed and bought the wine caddy sometime after she turned of age. Actually having wine in front of her had only started in the last year or so. It was like they’d been lying to her in childhood and made her wonder what else her parents had been concealing.

Her mother checked on her baking ham and seated Amy on the flower-embroidered love seat. Her parents arrayed themselves like an interrogation squad on the sofa.

Her mother started. “You look nice. I spoke to Mrs. Wrigley about you.”

“My fifth-grade teacher?” Amy couldn’t imagine that. “You tracked her down?”

“On Facebook! I had her full name from your museum field day permission slip.”

They saved everything. Her academic accomplishments and failures lived in a giant gray filing cabinet in her dad’s office. Probably all the way back to her finger paintings.

The weight of their love was a little heavy sometimes.

“So, what’s new with you?” her dad asked, adjusting the crease on his gray slacks and straightening his sweater vest.

Since she’d texted a few hours ago?

But their bright, beaming faces were just so glad she’d visited. She forced herself to rehash the new things they already knew adding details. “I’m going to do a demonstration lesson for parents. On c-colors.”

Whoah. Was that a stutter?

“Oh, how wonderful!” Her mom gushed and hugged her dad’s shoulders.

His smile beamed brighter like she’d won the lottery.

“You’re this close to a wonderful job. In the field you want. Doing exactly what you want to do. You must be so busy!”

“I am.” She didn’t want to delve into her lesson. So she switched to her other uncomfortable topic. “The reason I came here today was I needed to tell you about someone.”

They waited eagerly.

Her throat went dry. She forced the words. “An important person.”

“Another teacher?” her dad asked. “What was her name?”

“Corinne,” her mother said.

“No. An important person who’s not related to work.”

Her mom made an "oh" of understanding.

Her dad didn’t. “From your art certification class?”

“No.” Uh oh. She’d forgotten she still had that class on Wednesday. So, basically, she only had tomorrow to finish her lesson, and she did not want to pull an all-nighter. Lack of sleep would affect her performance as badly as an ill-planned lesson, and she was still struggling to catch up from her weekend.

“Are you okay?” her mom interrupted. “You look tired.”

“Yes. No, he’s a … uh … businessman.”

Her dad still looked confused, but her mom settled in attentively. “What business?”

“Clothes.”

Her parents looked at each other. Her mom nudged her dad, and the confusion left his face, only to be replaced by a different curiosity.

Clothing was not academic, and they had always talked about how Amy should find herself a serious partner to match her “intellectual achievements.” If not a tenured professor, then a humanitarian. But not a “crunchy granola” humanitarian. A sweater-vest-and-wire-rimmed-glasses-wearing humanitarian who published articles and contributed to a UN think tank.

Business was probably questionable for them. And they would certainly shy away from a businessman who wore leather jackets, sized women just by looking at them, and had outstanding warrants. Thirty-five of them.

Or a first wife…

“How did you meet?” her mom asked, settling in for a story.

“Well…” she hedged. “I saw him from, uh, across the room and, uh, we just got to talking…”

“Have you been on a first date?”

God, what could she tell her parents? They were so expectant. So loving. So … so … middle class normal.

The doorbell chimed.

Amy went cold.

He wouldn’t.

Her dad glanced at her mom with a frown. “You’re not expecting anyone?”

She shook her head pensively. They didn’t answer the door when they didn’t know who was coming. Her mom said it was to avoid making marketers and religious proselytizers feel bad.

The doorbell chimed again.

Please let it be a Jehovah’s Witness. A Boy Scout. Someone collecting donations for rescue cats.

Her dad got a funny expression on his face. He rose. “I guess … I guess I’ll see who it is.”

Amy leaped up and sprinted for the front door. “I’ve got it!”

“Amy! Wait—”

She caught a glance out of the side window. Leather and frayed jeans? Her stomach sank and her heart started thumping in her chest. This was way worse than she could have possibly imagined.

She stopped. “Uh, Dad, don’t open—”

Her dad opened the door. “Can I help you?”

Pyro stood on the pleasant front step in the same outfit she’d first seen him in at the student bar. He handed over to her dad a bottle of clear liquid labeled VODKA.

“Hi. I’m with your daughter, Amy. My name’s Pyro.”

Pyro knew immediately he’d gotten it wrong.

Amber had told him to dress “not too well” and to “bring alcohol,” which, from his past experience with humans, meant not to intimidate with suits or obvious displays of money or education.

But the shocked looks on the face of the older male who opened the door, the older female peeking down the hall behind him, and the abject horror on Amy’s face told him he’d erred the wrong way.

“I’m sorry?” the older male said.

The female gripped Amy’s upper arm. “This is the person you were talking about?”

Amy’s expression squeezed. “Ah. Yes. I was just explaining…”

His heart hardened into a solid meteor.

No. She wasn’t. Clearly.

He was unwelcome. Unwanted. And definitely unsuitable.

“I’m sorry?” the older male repeated.

“Uh, Dad—”

“Let him in, Barry,” the older female said, pulling him back to open the door for Pyro. “This is Amy’s important person. I’m Fiona. Won’t you stay for dinner?”

He’d come this far. Pyro shouldered his way in and followed them to their dining room.

And he was thirsty from the trip back from Thailand, so he accepted two glasses of wine.

Amy stared in horror. Her father stared in disdain. And her mother clipped her words with barely suppressed aggression.

“So, you’re Amy’s important person.” Fiona piled ham, potatoes, and corn on a plate and thumped it in front of her father. “Amy was just telling us about you. Where did you meet?”

Amy put up her hand. “Um, I’m really sorry, but Pyro can’t stay for dinner.”

“Oh, but he’s right here.”

“But he’s leaving.” She pleaded with him silently to leave.

And he got angry.

Furious.

This was the truth. Right here. She’d married him to try him out. It didn’t matter how he’d changed. That he’d spent the last days trying to put things right and be responsible. She’d never see him as a good husband. Her parents never would either. He wasn’t welcome. He was a low caste dragon bastard and he always would be.

He rested his elbows on the table and grinned at the humans with all his teeth. “We met at a bar.”

Amy closed her eyes with a sinking expression.

“I see.” Her mother seated herself and picked up her silverware. If she breathed on glass, it would frost over. “You spend a lot of time in bars I’m guessing. Barry, grace.”

“A bar?” her father repeated, not picking up his wife’s cue. “But Amy doesn’t drink.”

“Amy was stalking me,” Pyro explained.

Her mother’s eyes grew colder. “Hmm.”

Her father was just confused. “Amy, what were you doing in a bar?”

She faced him. Sadness gave way to worry. “It’s complicated.”

“She was in there for days, following my every move. Couldn’t tear her eyes off me.”

“You are quite a sight,” her mother said. “Barry. Grace.”

Her father gave thanks for the food, and the family picked up their forks as if by rote and began cutting their food into pieces.

Pyro drained his glass.

“Another?” her mother asked shortly, lifting the bottle.

“Mom—”

“Sure.” He held out his glass, and her mother poured.

He was so angry that he felt like flipping the table. Watching their faces when he lost control. But this was upsetting to Amy enough, clearly. And he wanted to punish her.

She’d made him think that she cared. That she loved him. That she wanted to be with him. Not a dragon. Not an alien. Him.

But that was clearly a lie.

Getting his hopes up made him the fool.

He drained the glass, barely tasting its contents.

Her mother minced her ham into tiny pieces. “Then you had a first date.”

“I’ll never forget our first date.” He fixed on Amy. “The adorable look on your face when we got caught breaking into my rival’s warehouse.”

“Breaking in!” Her father’s voice shook.

She placed a calming hand on his. “Dad, it’s not what you think.”

“What am I supposed to think?” he asked his daughter stiffly.

Now was the time for her to be strong. To explain she had married Pyro and was standing beside him. That, sure, he’d pushed in here and done everything wrong but that she wanted him anyway and they were making a life together.

She bit her lip and averted her eyes.

Silence.

Burning rivulets traveled up his arms toward his heart like the dots of flames that sometimes crackled off enraged females. He couldn’t spew fire. Not without chewing handfuls of brimstone. But his scales twitched like they were going to help him try.

Her father turned to Pyro. “What are your intentions toward our daughter?”

He shrugged. “Now that we’re married, we both got what we wanted.”

Amy glared like she was going to murder him herself. But so what? He was only telling the truth.

Her mother dropped her fork. It made a sharp clattering sound on the plate.

Her father blinked. “Married?”

“Amy!” Her mother’s voice hushed with anger. “How could you?”

Amy sucked in a huge breath, turned away from him resolutely, and faced her parents. “I can explain.”

His fury grew and grew. He almost couldn’t hear himself. “You’re surprised.”

They focused on him. The clear bad guy.

He raised his palms. “She didn’t want you there. Even though I offered—”

“Stop.” Amy turned to him with irritation. “Just stop. Okay?”

Her father shook his head as though erasing the last announcement from his mind and focused on what he was thinking before. “I do not believe your intentions are honorable.”

“My intentions—”

Her mother’s sharp tone cut through everyone. She lasered on Amy. “When did you get married?”

Amy swallowed. “Saturday.”

“Technically, Sunday.” He checked his empty glass.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No! It just … happened.”

“I see. Where did it ‘just happen’?”

“Vegas.” He poured himself another.

“Vegas!” Both her parents were completely shocked.

“But that’s okay.” He set the empty wine bottle on the table and lifted his glass in a gesture of cheers. “I just got out of jail tonight and I wanted to meet you and celebrate.”

Her parents stared at him like he had three heads.

He had burned this marriage down. To the ground. Better now, when he was still full of doubts, than after Amy’s false promises had lulled him into a contented, fulfilled faith. He drained this last of the wine in one long gulp.

Bouncing her flat palms on the table, Amy nailed him with a look that brooked no disagreement. “Can I talk to you outside, please?”

He stood, leaving the empty glass on the table, and shouldered on his leather jacket. To her shell-shocked parents, he waved. “Nice to meet you.”

They didn’t respond.

Amy grabbed his arm and yanked him out the front door. She pushed him around the winding concrete walkway, through neatly whacked shrubs, stopping outside the carport.

He pointed at her white socks. “You forgot your shoes.”

She crossed her arms. “Was that fun?”

Fury flared. “You tell me.”

“You just sabotaged any chance of my parents ever thinking good things about you.”

“Come on. Like there was ever any chance—”

“This is exactly the reason I asked you not to come. You were destructive and mean. Why did you hurt me like this?”

She was hurt? She was hurt?

Sure, her voice wobbled and her chin trembled like she was holding in her tears. And that tore him up inside.

He focused on the point. “I’m the last guy they’d ever accept for your husband. And be honest. They don’t even know I’m not human.”

“I was getting to that.”

“Sure you were.”

“Well, now we’ll never know will we?” Her question ended in a sob. She covered her trembling lips and squeezed her eyes closed.

Dammit.

“Amy…” He reached for her. To soothe her pain. Because even at the height of his anger, she got under his chest plate and crushed his heart. That power no other woman possessed. And that’s why he was so guarded against her abusing it.

She held up her hand to stop him.

He flexed his fingers on air. He ought to be used to rejection by now. But by her, especially, it hurt more than any ordinary pain.

She sucked in a trembling breath and faced him again. “You promised to make my fantasies come true but you can’t even be civil for a single dinner.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

“I thought you wanted to make a real effort.”

“I did.”

“That I was different from your other girls.”

“You are.”

“Including, by the way, your first wife.” She waved her hand at her face as though trying to dry her unshed tears and snapped out an accusation. “Who I didn’t even know existed.”

That was his fault too? Forget it. “Yeah, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. But at least I was willing to try.”

“I tried!”

“No. All the time you were just saying no. No to meeting your parents, no to trusting me, no to my family. No, no, no.”

“That’s because—”

“The truth is you saw an image of me in that glossy magazine and got these dragon-shaped stars in your eyes. The real me will never measure up. I’m not the reality TV guy. I’m not even a guy.”

“That’s not— Well, the last part’s true, but the other part—”

“What did you think you were getting when you married me?”

Her mouth opened and closed.

“Because from here, it looks like you just wanted to screw. Which I offered you. Even without getting married.”

She rubbed her bare arms, frowning, and glanced over her shoulder back at the house.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. “No response, huh?”

“There’s clearly a lot…” She shook her head and faced him. “Look, I have to go.”

She had more she wanted to say? He was desperate. He wanted one of those things to be, Yes, I wanted more than a screw. I wanted you.

How desperate. He made himself sick.

Still, he said, “I’ll come by later.”

“No!” She held up both hands. “Tonight’s bad.”

“Then—”

“This week is bad. It’s all bad. Seeing you is the last thing I want to do.”

That cold shard in his chest was clearly the knife she’d just thrust between the partitions of his heart. He couldn’t get his breath. A dull ringing sounded in his ears.

“I don’t have time,” she was saying. “Not with—”

“Fine.” He stepped back from her and let the fury wash over him. His scales burst out of his skin like a firestorm. Clothes shredding, his limbs elongated and stretched, and he shoved off the ground, streaking for the sky. Flying straight for that strange yellow sun on the horizon.

When he smashed into it and disappeared in a flare, it couldn’t possibly hurt as much as the agony right now in his heart.

Overhead, Pyro streaked across the sky, the shreds of his leather jacket and jeans falling to the sidewalk like tearing off the mask.

He looked unapologetically free, fiery red wings pumping and claws straining for the sun. Must be nice to be a dragon shifter and fly away from his problems. This must be how he’d avoided the consequences that befell land-bound people. In thirty-five countries.

She hadn’t even gotten to ask about his first wife.

Doubt twisted in her belly.

Maybe she’d been too harsh.

He hadn’t really come all this way just to hurt her. There had been a moment of surprise on his face when he’d first arrived. But why? Why had he come — and dressed like that?

If she’d taken a moment to work it out with him right there on the doorstep, unafraid of her parents’ judgment, wouldn’t he have been reasonable? And explained himself?

Sometimes, he seemed invincible, and other times, he could be hurt so easily. Her parents had clearly hurt him just as much as he’d caused them anger and pain.

Well, she’d deal with his hurt later.

Amy turned back toward the house. Had her parents seen his transformation or flight? She climbed the steps around the carport. They both watched anxiously from the window. Her dad turned away as if trying to control his anger. Her mom crossed her arms.

Nah. They’d seen nothing or else they’d have different reactions. The hedge had blocked his escape.

She took a long, deep breath and squared her shoulders. Then, she turned the knob and entered their house. Brushing pine needles and bark dust off her socks, she got two steps down the hallway before her mom turned on her.

“Were you drunk?”

Amy stopped.

Her mother’s tone sounded just like the one time she’d had so much fun with the art club that she’d accidentally missed her curfew.

But she wasn’t a teen anymore.

Amy turned to face her mother. Behind her, deeper in the living room, stood her father. His expression was shadowed and she could only imagine the same accusation scarred his face. Like she’d personally hurt them by making bad choices and not lived up to their expectations.

Thinking that made her angry. Like Pyro sometimes got angry, just by looking at the expression on someone’s face.

She put her hands on her hips. “And if I was?”

“Amy, we forbid you from going to that city. People gamble. They get drunk in the streets. We knew something like this would happen.”

“One bad decision,” her dad said softly.

“Exactly. One bad decision and you’ll ruin your life.”

“My life isn’t ruined.”

“Is this ‘Pyro’ threatening you?”

“What? No! I know what it looks like. He just … he comes off the wrong way when you first meet him. But he’s not a hooligan.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Does he treat you differently now? It won’t last.”

Her father stepped forward, into the light. “We’ve known people like him. They don’t change.”

Her heart beat hard in her chest. “When have you ever known ‘people like him’?”

Her parents looked at each other with resignation. Like, she was young and naïve, and they were going to have to break her with the truth.

Her hands started shaking. She sucked in a quick breath and let it out again fast. “What does that even mean? ‘People like him.’ You don’t know anything about him.”

“We know his type.”

“You don’t even know what he really is.”

“He’s involved in crimes.” Her mother shook her head. “Is that smuggling?”

“No!”

“Is he a drug addict? Or just an alcoholic?”

“It won’t last,” her dad added, referring again to the way he treated her differently from his other assumedly criminal activities.

“He’s not any of those things,” she insisted, feeling like she was standing in a hallway of sand and it was sliding out under her feet. “You don’t know.”

“He drank over half the bottle of wine in minutes,” her mom pointed out.

“That’s because alcohol doesn’t affect him like it does the rest of us.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“You need to break up with him right away,” her father said. “I know a good lawyer.”

“Look! Can we just forget tonight ever happened? I know he gave a bad impression, but he’s not a bad person.”

“Amy, this isn’t like you,” her father said. “We’re struggling to understand where we went wrong.”

“You didn’t go wrong. This isn’t about you.”

“The longer you prolong this relationship the more dangerous it is.”

Again she felt like the hallway was sliding. “I’m an adult.”

“Then act like one,” her mother said acidly. “We didn’t raise you to be stupid.”

“No, you raised me to be ‘perfect,’ and the moment I step outside, you’re ready to disown me or worse, force me back into your safe, perfect, suffocating nest!”

They stared at her. She was shouting, she knew she was shouting, and that was unlike her too, but Pyro made her do these crazy things and she also felt weirdly free. Like she was getting two decades of crushed, swallowed, bottled up feelings loose and letting her parents know honestly how she really felt.

“I’m never going to have this perfect house.” She gestured at their pristine, calming living room. “And waiting for the perfect husband means I’ll be single and miserable for the rest of my life. I’m always trying to diet so I break down and end up fat. What happens after I get this job? I’ll probably have a nervous breakdown.”

“Are you done?” her mom asked with deadly calm.

Her anger shrank like when she was small.

“There are things you don’t know about us also,” her mother said. “All we ever wanted was for you to be happy. We didn’t put you on a diet or force you down a career path.”

“No, you didn’t force me to do anything. You made it clear that if I were fifty pounds lighter, I’d be pretty like when I was little, and if I got this teaching job, I’d be respectable and set for life.”

“It’s a very good job—”

“I know it is. And I think I even want it for my own reasons. But I can’t be completely certain so long as you’re standing over me ‘correcting’ my every move. Forbidding me from traveling to the wrong cities, hanging out at the wrong places, meeting the wrong people. Like I’m not already twenty-frickin’-six.”

“Don’t you swear at your mother,” her dad said.

Okay. Right. Because she was still a child and always would be.

Amy sighed. “Sorry. You’re right. I have to go.”

“No, you have to sit down.”

“No.” She put one palm up, vaguely searching the hallway for her shoes. “I’m sorry. But I have to still finish the teaching demonstration to get my perfect job.”

“You’re being mean,” her mother said, and another note of hurt entered her voice. “And that’s not like you.”

“Sorry.” Amy slid on her shoes. “We’ll talk another time. I have to go.”

The trip across the city to her apartment took an hour on the bus and she used the time to swing between irritation and shame.

They had no right to judge Pyro. Sure, she’d judged him when she first met him, but it was wrong of her to do it then and it was double-wrong of them to do it now. Especially since she was telling them he was different.

But she also had no right to blame her problems on her parents. They didn’t hold a gun to her head and force her to apply for a permanent teaching position at a prestigious school. Blaming them because she had procrastinated on her lesson plan was just laziness.

She needed to take responsibility for her choices, good and bad. Stop living her life in fear and start living. No matter the consequences.

She needed to have faith. Not only in Pyro. In herself.

As she got off the bus, a serious dragon in dark shades landed in front of her.

Hopes rose. She could apologize—

No. His build was completely different from Pyro, and she recognized the impassive dragon in an instant. “Syenite?”

“You did not call for an appointment. Will you accept Sard’s job offer?”

Right now, the idea of blowing off the lesson, her parents, and even Pyro held quite a bit of illicit appeal. She’d been under a pressure cooker for so long. It was like when she suddenly burst and ate a plate of brownies, or turned off the NPR for mind-numbing trash TV. She could drop everything and become an artist. Go to a studio, drink herbal tea, stare at the skyline, and draw…

Nah. She’d get bored after a day.

“I can’t quit my job to work for Sard,” she said. “That’s my final response. But if he’s interested in my teaching a workshop or private lessons, he knows where to find me.”

“Please reconsider. We have many gifts of clothing, money, or—”

“There is literally nothing you could offer me that’s going to make me change my mind.”

She left him on the steps and headed into her apartment building. On her floor, the front door was ajar. Again. She pushed it open.

Josh and an older man she didn’t know were sitting on living room chairs.

“Hey.” She greeted Josh and hung her thin spring jacket on the crowded coat hooks.

“Hey,” he returned. Even seated he was tall, with springy black hair and an infectious grin. But right now he seemed nervous. “Is this mess yours?”

The floor was still mounded with piles of clothes.

Ugh. “Don’t even ask.”

He laughed and lifted his palms. “Forget I said anything.”

“Thanks. I will.”

The older man stood and approached too close. He was completely gray. His dusty jeans and flannel jacket and undershirt were varying shades, and even his skin seemed tinged with pale gray. His gray-blue eyes hid behind thick glasses and he had dandruff on a mostly bald, but also graying, head.

Josh scrambled to his feet. “This is my dad.”

“Nice to meet you.” She put her hand between them to force the guy back, pretending to offer it to shake.

After a brief hesitation, he did so. “You’re Amy?”

“Yes.”

“You know any lizard people?”

“Dad! You can’t just talk about that.” Josh grabbed his hand and let go. “See you, Amy.”

“See you.”

She watched them leave. So, that was what an alcoholic looked like. Gray. Amy shut the door firmly.

“Josh? Dinner’s ready.” Melody hobbled into the living room. “Oh, Amy. Welcome back. I thought you were eating at your parents’ tonight.”

“It didn’t work out. Um, Josh and his dad just left.”

“You met his dad?” Melody suddenly looked tense. “Did he say anything weird?”

“He asked me about lizard people. Josh hustled him out pretty fast.” These days lots of people had questions about dragons so she didn’t think it was too unusual.

Melody’s smile slowly returned. “Okay. Well, did you want chicken parmesan?”

She was suddenly starving. Probably because she hadn’t eaten dinner and fighting used up calories. “Yes.”

Their little kitchen table was set for three, so she removed one of the settings while Melody dished up. It was nice to have a meal together just the two of them. A little pocket of normalcy.

She let Melody cover dinner conversation with the latest games she was playing with Josh. It was just nice.

“Oh, yeah.” Melody swallowed her last bite of yummy chicken and jerked her head at the living room. “What’s with the jeans and camisoles?”

“A long story.”

She raised her brows.

“I’ll clean up after the demo class on Thursday. I promise.”

Melody grinned. “So what exactly happened this weekend? All I got was your mysterious voice message that you’d be out of town.”

Amy studied her licked-clean fork. “Also a long story.”

“Aw, you don’t really want to work on your class stuff, do you? I just churned homemade ice cream…”

After the fight with her parents, she needed to tell a nonjudgmental person about Pyro. Melody dished up still-soft caramel mudslide and Amy spilled.

“…and then in Vegas I married Pyro.”

Melody dropped her spoon.

“Those are wedding presents from his family. One hundred camisoles and pairs of jeans. I just told my parents. You can imagine how that went.”

“No.”

“Seriously? They freaked.”

“You didn’t marry him.”

Oh, god. Not Melody, too. Amy sighed. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but it almost made sense at the time.”

“You did? Really?”

“I don’t know if he likes me. There’s the whole Empress thing. Sometimes it seems like it’s going to work out … but it can’t possibly. He’s sweet, fearless, and completely likable, while my best qualities are being dull and responsible. Every time we fight and I want to kill him, he tries to hug me.”

Melody seemed to be processing. She picked up her spoon again. “That’s normal. Hardly any guy can use words like Josh. Most prefer to apologize with their body.”

Apologize with his body?

Melody had had a slew of boyfriends long before Josh and scattered pearls of relationship wisdom. Amy reconsidered her impression of her and Pyro’s last fight.

When he’d reached for her, Pyro had been trying to apologize?

Instead of letting him, she’d made him so angry he burst into dragon and flown away. Possibly forever.

How depressing.

Pyro had a quick temper, but it also seemed like he lost his anger halfway through a conversation and was already trying to put the argument behind him when Amy was right in the middle of ramping up. Their fights would be better if she kept calm. After all, the person who stayed calm remained in control.

He’d been judged a lot. She’d judged him, too. Of course they had a lot to learn about each other. He’d said so, and she’d tried to believe him, but she’d actually just judged him again.

So…what to do now?

She could give up. Chalk this up to a crazy, impulsive, what-happens-in-Vegas weekend. A bad decision that ended now. She could divorce him and return to her ordinary life. Forever.

But she wasn’t the same anymore. Because of him … and because of her.

One great thing about him was his fearlessness. If she was less fearful, wouldn’t she live a freer life? She’d watched no trashy TV since they’d gotten together. She was too busy living on the edge — well, over it, really — of her comfort zone to numb herself with other people’s dramas.

Did she want to be stuck in this rut or did she want to be the wife of a dangerous, unpredictable, gorgeous dragon shifter?

Amy got out her phone and tried to call. No answer, as usual. Pyro never seemed to answer his phone. So, she texted him an apology.

“He’s not coming here,” Melody suddenly said flatly.

“Huh?”

Her roommate was totally against him coming over. Which wasn’t fair. Amy didn’t care if Josh came over.

“Oh. No. I mean, he did the other day, when the clothes were delivered, but I told him to leave me alone until after the class presentation.”

“On Thursday.” Melody seemed to be calculating. “Okay. That should be okay.”

“What should be okay?”

“Nothing. Just don’t have him over until after Thursday, alright?”

Okay, so Melody was okay with Pyro coming over. Just not right now. “Why?”

“You have a lot of work to do.”

Well … okay. “Sure. He’s probably not coming over.”

“Definitely. Promise.”

It was funny that suddenly Melody was worried about Amy’s school performance since she’d distracted her from her work for a few hours now.

But, whatever.

“I promise,” Amy said.

Melody’s serious face calmed. She stood, grabbed her arm braces, and hauled her dirty ice cream dish to the sink. “Good. Be careful.”

Amy’s phone buzzed. She grabbed for it, distracted. “Hm?”

“Your dragon shifter isn’t anonymous. There are some crazies in the world.” Melody dumped the dishes in the sink and sprayed them with water.

On her screen, Pyro’s name appeared. Amy covered it and stood, backing away.

Melody didn’t seem to notice as she muttered to herself. “It’s dangerous.”

Amy eased into her bedroom and shut the door as she hit the answer button. “Pyro?”

“Yeah.” His rough sexy voice caressed her ear. “I got your text.”

Okay. He didn’t sound angry. And the background noise was quiet, making it easier for her to speak from the heart.

“I wanted to apologize for tonight.”

He remained silent. She could hear his breathing, and so she forged on.

“I knew how important it was to you to be accepted by my parents. And, I had this dream of how to make everything perfect so they would only see your good points and easily accept you. But that was my mistake. I couldn’t let go of the dream.”

“And?”

“I should’ve woken up and faced reality. I’m sorry.”

He was silent for a long time.

She wanted to fill the silence with more apologies, explanations, justifications. But she wasn’t sure that was the right thing to do. Pyro was fearless, but he still had feelings. She needed to respect his true thoughts.

Finally, he said, “What does that mean?”

“Well, the next time we meet my parents, we’re going to—”

“Next time?”

“Yeah.” She paced her bedroom. “I was going to wait a week for them to cool off, but you do still want to meet them, right?”

“Then you’re not going to get a divorce?”

She snorted. “No. Still no. Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t want to.”

A tingling sense of happiness slid over her skin. “Good. Okay. I’m glad.”

He was silent again.

Her heart squeezed. “I forget that you had it so rough.”

Parents and in-laws could cause problems on Earth, but most of the time they couldn’t get a marriage invalidated or declare kids to be illegitimate. Not even on the ugliest reality TV.

“That’s a relief.”

“Yeah.” And then she decided to be brave. Curling a strand of hair around one finger, she added saucily, “If you were here right now, I’d give you a big kiss.”

His voice thrummed with interest. “And?”

“And … uh …”

Amusement curled his tone. “Just a big kiss, huh?”

“I’d also run my hands over your body.”

“Sounds nice.”

She didn’t want to be nice. She was trying to be dirty. But she didn’t have the experience for it.

Be fearless.

She sat on her bed and closed her eyes, imagining what she’d do. “I’d undo your buttons one by one, kissing your skin as I went, until your shirt parted and I revealed all of you. And then I’d unbuckle your belt and unzip your jeans, tugging them off, so that I could have my way with your cock.”

Silence again. Was his breathing a little heavier?

He cleared his throat and the ragged edge of his voice sizzled against her fantasy. “And then?”

“Then I’d, um … take you in my mouth and run my tongue over you, making you hot and wet.” She swallowed, facing her nerves again. “How do you like that?”

“I like it. Let me in.”

“Huh?”

“I’m on the balcony outside your apartment.”

Oh. Oh! She jumped up and ran out into the main room. Melody was done with dishes, thank goodness. A crack of light shone under Melody’s bedroom door.

Hanging up the phone, Amy scurried into the kitchen and unlocked the sliding glass door. Pyro balanced on the railing like a daredevil. He was wearing a plain T-shirt and boxers; his feet were bare like she’d woken him from sleep. “I came to get a real taste.”

He was so gorgeous he made her mouth grow dry with hunger.

“You can’t be here,” she hissed.

His lazy grin took in her dishevelment as he hopped onto the balcony and crowded her. “Going to send me back?”

“My roommate said no.”

“And what do you say?”

She swallowed. Sneaking a guy into her room was something she had never imagined doing, not in a million years. Good, controlled, perfect Amy? She wouldn’t do that.

So what was real Amy going to do?

Amy wanted him. Her husband. Hard, sexy, gorgeous Pyro.

She grabbed his hand and drew him inside, hurrying him to her room. As she closed her bedroom door, another one opened. Her heart rocketed into her throat.

Pyro nuzzled her, teasing her to hot awareness with his teeth.

Only the distraction of listening for noise outside her room kept her from tearing his clothes off like in her fantasies and seducing him on her bed.

A tap on her door cemented her fears. “Amy?”

Caught!

Adrenaline surged through Amy. She motioned Pyro into her closet while Melody tapped again.

Smoothing her blouse, Amy opened the door a sliver. “Yes?”

Her roommate looked worried. “I just wanted to say that I hope you didn’t take what I said earlier the wrong way. You deserve excitement and happiness and good things. I hope it works out with Pyro. I’d love to meet him.”

Pyro bumped something in the closet.

Amy closed the door a little tighter. “Thank you.”

“Just not until after Thursday. I do not want to see him in this apartment until next week. Yes.” Melody smiled tightly, pushed off her arm braces, and headed back to her room. “Night.”

“Night.” Amy closed the door and leaned her back against it, breathing out slowly. This sneaking around business was going to kill her.

Pyro peeked out of the closet. He held up a tight red dress. “How come you don’t wear this?”

Ah! Her sexy, impulsive, someday-when-she-had-a-boyfriend teddy. She tried to snatch it and keep her voice down. “It doesn’t fit.”

He eyed her critically, probably sizing her. “It’ll fit. It’ll look great on you.”

She grabbed it and held on. “You’re only going to take it off me, anyway.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flared, and he released the red lace to grab her hips and grind her soft belly against his undeniable arousal. “That’s the point.”

She tried out a saucy comeback to disguise her breathlessness. “I feel your point.”

He rewarded her attempt with a slow, sexy grin that made her clench and tingle. “You’re going to.”

She tried to think of another clever remark, but before anything could come to her, he’d tossed aside the outfit and dropped his mouth to hers, covering her in a hot, hard, wet kiss.

She lit on fire.

He devoured her, his tongue delving deep into her mouth and owning her, branding her as his. And he draped her arms around his neck, urging her to take command of him. Man and wife, husband and woman.

She peeled off his T-shirt and boxers, revealing his full nudity to her hungry gaze. He grinned and flexed.

“Faster than strip poker,” she commented, again reaching for the casual sass she imagined his other women must have had.

He grabbed her wrist and cinched her to his hot body. “I challenge you to a rematch.”

“Later.” She encircled his cock and squeezed. “You have one of my fantasies to fulfill.”

His eyes flared red, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Yes.”

She forced him onto her bed and worshiped his long length, stroking and caressing. Apologizing with her body for what they’d both said tonight. It wasn’t their first miscommunication and it wouldn’t be their last. But she would listen harder and have more faith.

He groaned and slid her clothes off, covering her body with his length. She wrapped her legs around his, twining them. He gripped her face, tormenting her with demanding soul-consuming kisses, and thrust.

His cock slid into her slick channel like an electrical charge coming to ground.

He filled her with delicious satisfaction that set off a chain reaction of throbbing, needy hunger.

She needed him more. Closer. There.

He reared back so his cock base ground against her swelling bud. Every thrust shattered her with ecstasy.

She gripped his buttocks.

Their bodies ground together with delicious friction, his cock massaging her channel while the thick head pressed against her pleasure spot. Her whole body clenched in white chocolate whipped release. She gasped his name and bit his shoulder.

He groaned. Liquid heat flooded her womb. He collapsed over her, resting on his elbow, sheltering her while his comforting weight pressed her pelvis into the bedspread.

She stroked his forehead.

He kissed her thoroughly, tonguing her as deliciously as if he were ready for another round.

But after everything tonight, there was one thing she still needed clarity on. She pulled back. “What about your first wife?”

He hesitated from swooping in to complete the kiss. “What about her?”

“What happened?”

“Now? Don’t think about that.”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. “Pyro.”

“You’re nothing like her.” He kissed her thoroughly.

She enjoyed his kiss and the solid width of his still-hard cock between her happy, tingling, orgasm-shattered thighs.

Then she pushed him off, toweled up the mess, and put on a fuzzy bathrobe to stave off the natural chill of the apartment. “I want to know.”

He growled something about helpfulness and balled up the towel, resting against her headboard like a male model. “It’s late. Don’t you have to finish a lesson?”

“For Thursday.” She tugged his unbending form onto the bed, making him lie flat, and angling herself on top of him as if to hold him in place, to keep him from escaping. “You’re invited to my demonstration lesson, you know.”

His expression blanked. “I didn’t know.”

“Thursday is Parent Night. They open the campus. Dress in a suit and no one will ask.”

He frowned at the ceiling. “I have to deliver our counter offer to Sard.”

“The demonstration is after regular hours. I want you to see me in action.”

He teased her slyly, squeezing her derriere through the thick fabric. “I saw you in action.”

She snuggled in, wiggling. “Come.”

“Okay.”

And then she pushed again. “So how did you meet your first wife?”

His pleased expression fled. He sighed, jammed a pillow under his head, and growled. “I don’t see how it makes a difference. She was an officer in the Colony Wars.”

Amy felt herself growing jealous. “Was she very beautiful?”

“No.” He snorted. “That’s why I thought I had a chance. She was an aristocrat.”

“You didn’t hate them back then?”

“I did. So we were doomed from the start. She never told her family about me, and after we got out, she married another aristocrat.”

“After she divorced you?”

“Marrying another is how dragons divorce.”

That sounded cruel. She stroked his long, worried cheeks. “Human divorce requires more paperwork.”

His brows lifted as though he found that reassuring.

“I’m not going to divorce you,” she emphasized for the umpteenth time. “You won’t understand this because you’ve dated and even married, but you’re my first real relationship. Most people find themselves in high school or college, but I missed that self-discovery, and it’s happening right now. It’s overwhelming. At any moment, I might fly apart and shatter into a million pieces. But this is also the most unbelievable, refreshing, exhilarating experience of my life. If I survive.”

One corner of his wide lips curled. “I feel exactly the same way.”

Amy didn’t believe him. “How can you feel the same way? You have so much more experience.”

He stroked her long hair tumbling gracefully from her loose bun. Sure, he had more experience in bed, but she had him beat in confessions and honesty. And he was beginning to think they both had the same level of experience with true, naked, beautiful love.

But there was no way he would confess that. Not even to her. “Trust me.”

A disbelieving smile crossed her face. Then, she stroked his cheek, as though she’d made a decision to trust him after all.

His heart shredded into pieces and glued back together into a new shape. Did she honestly trust him? He was terrified to push her and find out…

Pyro woke in Amy’s bed.

Her phone alarm buzzed urgently. She moaned, threw an arm across his chest, fumbled for the device, and shut it off. She rolled back and sighed.

Rumpled in the bed, her sweet curves pressed against him and his hard cock wedged against her derriere. She nestled against him, her hips wiggling.

Last night she’d confessed everything to him. That she didn’t want a divorce despite his serious backslide of immature, burn-it-all-down antics. How this relationship was changing her. And how she wanted to see it through to the other side together.

He didn’t deserve her.

But he wanted her.

And Pyro was okay with taking what he wanted even when he didn’t deserve it. Hell, someday he might.

He moved her thick red hair and kissed her neck.

She sighed and curved seductively, pressing her backside against his hardening cock.

He sucked on the delicate skin while his hand curled around and cupped her breast.

She pressed against his hand, swelling with an adorable hungry moan. He massaged her and then slid his hand over her curvy belly to the slit between her legs. She was hot and wet.

“I can’t,” she moaned, pressing her desire harder against him. “I’m going to be late.”

He bent her leg, exposing her channel, and positioned his cock to her entrance. “We’ll fly.”

She made little sounds of pleasure as he slid his hard length into her tight grip. Her channel squeezed him and she moved her hips, accepting his thrusts and quickening them. He pinched her nipple and teased her earlobe.

She gasped his name and arched.

Her channel gripped him rhythmically milking his cock with her orgasm. He gave into her body’s demands and unloaded into her throbbing womb.

She lay, skin glowing with sheen and satisfaction, in his arms where she belonged. He’d never been happier. This was the woman he wanted in his bed. Always.

So he better not screw it up.

She sucked in a breath and wriggled free. “Ugh. Can I just stay in bed?”

He kissed the crown of her red head. “You have my permission.”

“Just kidding.” She oozed out of the bed and crawled across the floor. “Shower. I need a shower.”

He snuck out of her apartment while she was in the shower, careful to avoid her roommate, and crossed the brisk, early morning to get a suit from his office and make a few other quick stops. When she texted to demand where he was, he told her to come outside. She met him on the front step with surprise.

He handed her a caramel mocha and a sweet-scented paper bag. “Chocolate croissant.”

“I shouldn’t.” But the glow in her eyes as she eagerly sniffed the mocha and opened the bag told her real feelings.

“Just today,” he agreed, without meaning it, and lifted her into the sky.

Carrying her carefully across the city, he made sure she had enough time to eat if she wished before depositing her outside the gates to the private school.

Her phone buzzed as she was crumpling the bag, and she looked at the screen and grimaced.

“Bad news,” he guessed, taking the bag.

“My mom wants me to come over. But there’s no way that’s going to be a short conversation.” She pressed a hand to her forehead like it pained her. “Ugh. My lesson plan isn’t going well. Like Melody, I don’t want to see anyone until after the demo class.”

Right. He could respect that. “Not even me.”

She hesitated and kissed him. “Except you.”

Did he hear her right?

A mischievous smile curved her lips. She hurried into the gates with his contraband mocha. “I’ll text you.”

His heart swelled with promise.

He watched her disappear into the grounds, nodded at an overly curious security guard who cautiously nodded back, and then soared into the clean morning air, startling the man.

Amy trusted him. She had faith. He needed to not screw this up.

He just needed to not screw this up.

Pyro returned to the office and called a meeting to lay out his ideas for the counter-proposal, taking their feedback and re-shaping it.

“Sard will hear our counter offer on Thursday night,” Alex said, organizing with his counterpart at Carnelian Clothiers.

“No,” Pyro declared. “I can meet Thursday morning or anytime on Friday.”

His siblings studied him worriedly.

“You shouldn’t antagonize him at this stage,” Alex advised. “Considering how radical our proposal is we should make every effort to meet him at his convenience.”

“I have an existing appointment on Thursday night,” he growled. “Reschedule.”

They blinked at him. He read their thoughts on their surprised faces. What appointment could he possibly have that was more important? Sure, he hadn’t had anything worth scheduling before. This time he did, and they could get used to it. He was a vice president.

“Mal is returning to orbit later tonight,” Jasper said, switching the subject to the other most important topic.

“He can go over the proposal if he wants to make changes,” Pyro said.

“I meant that Mother is going to be reachable also. You should introduce Amy.”

“I will do so on Friday.”

They regarded him with worry.

“That’s close to the deadline,” Amber said.

“Mother won’t like it,” Jasper said. “She may become upset.”

“Amy has an important work event. She’s asked for no interruptions until Friday.”

His siblings looked at each other and then at him.

Jasper finally spoke. “Don’t you find it worrying that she continues to refuse to work for us?”

“No,” Pyro said. “I don’t.”

Jasper blinked.

Alex took up his question. “It is tradition for dragons to marry into a company.”

“She’s not a dragon. And she has a job she loves. I’m not going to force her to give up her passion and neither are any of you. We’re on Earth now. We’ll make our own traditions.”

His brothers stared.

Amber gave a small smile.

“What?” he asked.

“That’s very reasonable of you,” she said.

He snorted and stood. “What did you expect?”

The meeting finished. He worked the rest of the day and into the night finessing the details of the plan as well as conferencing with his individual siblings and company managers to work out minor issues related to running a successful company on the brink of a great precipice.

Then, Amy texted him, and he flew to her for a late night recharge in her deliciously soft arms. She was tired and seemed discouraged so he relaxed her in all the ways he knew how. She purred for him her satisfaction.

With her permission, he crawled out of bed and returned to the office in time to talk with his older brother, Mal, via the 3 AM broadcast to Draconis when atmospheric conditions gave them the clearest connection.

Mal congratulated him on his marriage and refused to review the counter proposal.

“I’ll read it when I get back,” he said with a forced smile.

Then, he mouthed silently, “Send it.”

His wife, shy Cheryl, appeared on the screen as she wrapped her arms around his midsection. “You’re not telling Pyro to send you the contract secretly, are you?”

He fluffed her hair. “I promised no work during our honeymoon.”

“That’s right. And your mom’s blocking your mail so there’d be no point.” She blew the overly long, plain brown hair out of her eyes and smiled at the screen. “Hi, Pyro.”

“Cheryl,” he acknowledged.

It was something of a miracle his workaholic brother Mal had ever looked up from his reports long enough to see a female, but he could have done much worse than the shy former intern, Cheryl. She was one of the few humans who had always treated Pyro normally. Her eyes had only ever focused on Mal. That faithful attention had finally been rewarded when Mal woke up and realized she was there.

Just like Pyro’s faithful attentions would be rewarded by Amy when he kept it together, saved the company, successfully delivered his counter offer to Sard, and introduced her to his mother. All without screwing up.

He just had to make it a few more days...

Cheryl dragged Mal off to finish their honeymoon, and Pyro’s older brother went with a long-suffering but clearly pleased expression.

Pyro pulled a Mal and spent the rest of the night in his office. Finessing the counter offer contract, going over the advice Mal had given him over the years for how to present counter offers, delving deep into his subject. He didn’t mean to spend the whole night, but Thursday dawned and his eyes were gritty when he laid his head down for just a moment…

Amy’s phone call buzzed him awake. “I forgot my bag!”

He squinted at the screen. Midmorning; he’d gotten a few hours on his couch. He stretched and rubbed his kinked neck. “Where is it?”

“On the back of the chair on the dining room table. I called Melody, but she’s not home and neither is Josh. I’m so sorry. It has today’s plan and everything!”

He rose. “The plan for your demonstration lesson?”

“Yes! And for the afternoon class, too.”

He checked the time. Still a few hours before he met with Sard. Alex had set the meeting for earlier. No matter what, Pyro would ensure it was over by the time of Amy’s demonstration class. He wanted to be the kind of reliable male she could count on.

“I’ll get it.”

“Would you?” She sighed on the phone. “You’ll have to come to the school first and get my key. I’m so sorry.”

“No problem.” He rose up the shaft, burst from the building, and flew across the cities split by the Columbia River. The sun fragmented over storm clouds. “I’m on my way.”

“I’ll meet you at the gate.”

She did as she’d promised, pressing her apartment key into his hand with a grateful kiss on his lips. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

He grinned, warming from her words. “Remember who’s the hero when you’re giving out rewards.”

She laughed, looking brighter and more hopeful than she had in days. Wired. She tasted like sugar and coffee. “You can count on it.”

He hummed under his breath as he flew back across Portland. It was great to be alive. The bitter anger that always chased him with the unfairness of the world faded away under the warmth of the sun.

Only a few more hours and everything would come together. He’d get his reward — all his rewards — and could spend the rest of his life enjoying new contentment and prosperity.

Who would have thought a screw-up, no-good, wretched bastard like him could find a happy ending with a smart, sweet, irresistible woman like Amy?

He landed on Amy’s balcony, and then remembered her key only worked for the front door, and had to enter the building from the lobby, taking the elevator to her floor and crossing the carpet.

Huh. Her door hung conveniently open.

He entered the familiar apartment. Neatly stacked camisoles were now organized by color.

His phone buzzed again. Amy.

“Did you find it?” she asked.

“I just got to your apartment. Your door was open.”

“Melody must have gotten home. The front door hangs unless you pull it hard. But we’re in a good neighborhood and our neighbors are used to it.”

“I’ll close it when I leave.” He shut the door firmly. “Nice stacks.”

“Melody’s convinced that we need to open an eBay store just for— Yes! I’ll be right there! — Okay, I’ve got to go.”

“Go already,” he laughed.

“Hurry up! The teacher can’t have her cell phone out in class.”

“Alright, alright.”

She hung up.

He laughed at the phone and rested his hand on the kitchen counter. There, hanging on the back of a kitchen chair, was Amy’s book bag packed to overflowing with her notepads, pens, and materials. He picked it up. It was as heavy as it looked.

The roommate’s door opened. A man stepped out. Older, gray, and balding, with thick glasses.

Pyro sighed. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any trouble. “I’m a friend of Amy’s. She asked me to pick up her bag.”

He pushed his glasses up on his nose. There was something in his other hand. “Are you a lizard alien?”

Lizard alien? People didn’t tend to describe dragons as lizards. “Why are you—”

The man lifted his hand.

Electricity arced across the room and jolted into Pyro. His teeth snapped together hard enough to ache. Hot claws slashed his skin, forcing his scales to the surface and underneath his human skin again. He collapsed, paralyzed.

The man stood over him and pressed the device to his forehead.

He tried to tense but his muscles didn’t respond. They felt solid as lead.

Don’t screw up…

Where was Pyro?

Amy angled her phone under the teacher’s desk and surreptitiously checked her screen. Nothing. She shut it off, fighting the urge to immediately look at the screen again. Her kids were going to notice.

How long did it take to pick up a bag? Pyro had been in her apartment for half a class period at least.

A dark shadow passed her window.

Finally!

She jumped up. Pyro knew better than to come onto campus, so something must have…

Wait. Shadows seemed to pull closer to the hulking shape even in broad daylight… It wasn’t Pyro outside her window.

Dread filled her stomach.

Some readers looked up.

She told them, “I’ll be right back. Keep reading,” and headed to the courtyard where Kyan landed.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Where’s Pyro?”

The scarred dragon shifter didn’t mince his words. “You tell me.”

“You don’t know?”

He turned away.

She grabbed him, stopping him. “Kyan! Is he okay?”

“Why do you care?”

Anger warred with her fear. She released him and crossed her arms. “Pyro said you don’t dislike me, but when you ask a question like that, I have a hard time believing it.”

He blinked. “How should I ask?”

Was he actually trying not to be rude? She sucked in a deep breath. “Well, he’s my husband. Of course I care. Why even ask?”

“You told Pyro many times you didn’t want to see him. It caused him hurt. Why change your mind?”

“Because I love him.”

He stared at her like he didn’t know the meaning of her phrase.

Whatever. That was her reason. She grilled him. “What do you know?”

“His last known location was your apartment.”

“He was picking up my bag.” She bit her lip. Something was wrong; if Kyan thought so too, then she needed to find Pyro. Now. “What do you mean, his ‘last known location’?”

“The tracker in his cell phone became non-functional.” He waited for a beat, and then added, “As did the tracker embedded behind his jaw.”

“Behind his — what?”

The teacher from the classroom next to hers exited the building. “Amy, what’s this? Who’s that — and where is his guest pass?”

“It’s an emergency.” She lifted her arms.

Kyan stared at her. “What?”

“Take me with you.”

His gaze narrowed.

“What?” the other teacher said.

“My husband’s missing,” she told the teacher over her shoulder. “Can you watch my class?”

“Certainly. But who is this?”

She ignored the teacher and returned to Kyan, who was still regarding her with disagreement. “You’re going back to my apartment, aren’t you? To investigate? It’s my apartment so I might notice things you don’t.”

He acquiesced, lifting her into the air to the teacher’s shocked gasp.

“Thank you!” she called out to the teacher.

They flew across the city.

She peppered him with questions as they traveled. “Did you contact everyone? His siblings? Sard?”

“I have only just become aware of the issue.”

Was it her, or did he growl like she was telling him his job? Whatever. In this case, it seemed justified. “What about his other friend? The guy he’s always getting a drink with.”

“Darcy.” Kyan held a phone to his ear. “I am with Pyro’s wife. Is Pyro there? … He is. Good. We will join you. … He was? When did he leave? … Your answers are unsatisfying. Speak more concisely and less human.”

“Oh, give me that.” She took the phone. “Hi, is this Pyro’s friend that always got a drink at the bar next to the art school?”

A slight hesitation, and then a pleasant male voice said, “It is. Are you Amy? Don’t worry about a thing. Pyro was here a minute ago. Whatever he’s late for, I’m sure he’ll get there soon.”

Her teacher-honed BS meter pinged. “Are you covering for him?”

“No,” Darcy said smoothly, a salesman’s smile clearly audible in his voice. “He’s on his way.”

“We think he’s in real trouble,” she said. “If you’re lying, it’s only going to delay us from calling the police.”

Darcy was silent for a moment. “Does Kyan believe he’s in trouble?”

She glanced at the stone-faced security officer. “Kyan is the one who came to me.”

Darcy sighed. “I haven’t seen Pyro all week.”

Kyan’s jaw clenched.

“Thank you for your honesty,” she said. “We’ll contact you when we know more.”

“Amy. You shouldn’t worry. This happens all the time.”

“What happens?”

“Pyro up and leaves. It’s his way of blowing off steam. Give him space. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

No. That was untrue.

Looking at the facts, Pyro had disappeared on her suddenly three times. But each time, he’d done so with good intentions.

He’d abandoned her fighting his way out of Sard’s warehouse but had intended to carry her to safety too. He’d abandoned her on her wedding morning to meet with Sard and save his company. And he’d abandoned her in Turkey only after making sure she’d have a ride back home and because he’d been clearing his record.

Responsible. Faithful. Dedicated.

“You don’t know,” she said finally. “It’s unlike Pyro to drop out of contact like this.”

“Most wouldn’t say that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pyro drops out of contact all the time.”

She gritted her teeth and squinted into the wind. “Not when it matters. And not with me.”

Kyan glanced at her. Darcy, while still clearly believing Pyro was fine, asked for an update when she found him and hung up.

They landed on her steps and she led Kyan up to the apartment. The door hung ajar.

“He said he was going to close it.” She entered the apartment.

Kyan followed silently.

Things looked normal. A couple of her clothing stacks had fallen over, but they weren’t perfectly balanced.

In the kitchen, her book bag spilled across on the linoleum. She scooped it up. “He was definitely here.”

“How do you know?”

“This is what he came here for. It was hanging on the back of the chair.” She pointed across the kitchen. No way it could tumble so far naturally.

Kyan touched his ear. A near-invisible ear bud blinked subtle yellow. “Widen the search. Covert. Notify Amber.”

Amy rose and searched the apartment for clues. The door to Melody’s room was also ajar. She normally shut it after she left. Amy started toward Melody’s room.

Her phone buzzed stopping her. A text from her mom read, “Come over right away.”

Ominous.

Instead of replying by text, Amy opened her phone app and called. “Do you have information about Pyro?”

Her mother hesitated an instant. “Yes.”

“Is he there with you?” There was a small, strange possibility that he had suddenly gotten the urge to patch up his reputation with her parents instead of bringing her book bag. It was possible. “Is he okay?”

“Come over. I’ll tell you everything.”

She looked at Kyan. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Hanging up on her mother’s flustered response, she opened the balcony door, left it unlocked for an easy return, and Kyan flew her the short hop to her parents’ house without directions. Meaning, he knew where it was.

At the moment, she was grateful he knew what he was doing.

She settled on the doorstep and knocked.

Her mother answered the door, surprise changing to concern. “Five minutes! You weren’t kidding. Who’s this?”

“Pyro’s brother.” She pushed past her mother, into the house. Kyan moved lithely behind her. “Where is he?”

Her mother shrank back. “Not here.”

“But you know where he is?”

She lifted her chin. “Amy, we have to talk.”

So, no, she didn’t. A wasted trip. Amy looked at Kyan with a subtle shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Mom. We’re in the middle of something.”

Her mother sharpened her tone. “Sit down.”

“Mom—”

“Now.”

Okay. She didn’t have any ideas. Maybe a frank conversation with her mom would give her some.

She looked at Kyan. “Will you check with Sard?”

“I’ll contact you.” He ducked out the front door and disappeared.

Amy closed the front door and faced her mother.

Her mother’s back was turned as she arranged pillows on the couch. “I thought you had class today.”

“I do.”

“Sit.”

Amy obediently took a seat on the couch. But she left her shoes on.

Her mother stared at her shoes and then raised her voice. “Barry? Amy’s here.”

“Already?” His voice grew louder as he meandered down the hall from his den. “I thought she had class.”

“I left,” she said shortly. “Pyro’s in trouble.”

Her mom looked at her dad.

He sighed, knelt, and took her hand. “Someone like that will always be in trouble.”

She jerked her hand free and stood. “You don’t know.”

Her father looked up at her, older suddenly than he had seemed. “Yes, we do. Don’t we, Fiona?”

Her mother nodded. “Amy. Take a seat.”

She sank onto the edge of the couch, crossed her arms, and one leg over her knee. Kyan would call her as soon as he found Pyro. She had a few minutes to sit.

Her dad rose and stood beside her mother. Just like he always did when Amy was in trouble. Two against one. The wall.

Her mother started. “The truth is, Amy, we don’t just say ‘one decision will ruin your life’ lightly. Your father used to be in an Irish gang.”

She looked at her mild-mannered, self-effacing, quiet father. “Excuse me?”

“In Boston,” he said. “In the 70s.”

“Uh… But we’re not Irish.”

Her parents looked at each other and smiled.

Her mom told her, “We are, actually.”

“Our last name is Adamson.”

“The FBI agent chose that when we went into the Witness Protection Program. I’m Rourke and he’s O’Shaughnessy.”

She had no idea what to say. Her parents were making a joke. Telling her this bizarre crazy story to use as leverage to convince her not to stay married to Pyro.

“I was bartending at the pub,” her mother said. “He drove out to Vegas with the bosses for the weekend and, because my family was against it, I met him there secretly and we married. On the way back to tell the news, we drove up in time to see his bosses gunned down, right in front of us. We were the only witnesses.”

“That night in the motel room, your mom found out she was pregnant with you,” her father added. “It changed everything. So, on the advice of my brother, we went to the FBI.”

“Are you actually serious?” Amy rubbed her head. “I thought you were an only child. You’re both only children.”

“I’ve got four brothers and your mother has six. There’s a whole passel of cousins back in Boston. Your great grandad’s still alive.” He shook his head. “He never wanted me to go to Vegas.”

“And your grandparents always warned me to stay away from that reprobate.”

Amy shook her head. “I can’t. This makes no sense. Why tell me now? After twenty-six years?”

“The leader of the other gang died in prison six weeks ago. We contacted our families and are heading home for a visit this summer. We’ve been meaning to tell you but you’ve been so busy.”

This was just the last thing she’d ever expected. “Basically everything you ever told me was a lie.”

“No.” Her mother held her father’s hand. “We got out of the life to make a life a for you. And you’ve done such wonderful things that it’s clear we made the right decision. So we don’t want you to lose focus just before you reach your ideals.”

“One bad decision can ruin your life,” her father said.

She goggled at him. “Joining an Irish gang? Bartending and dating a gang member? I think there was more than ‘one’ bad decision.”

“Hey,” her mother said sharply. “Watch it.”

Kyan knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Someone’s entered your apartment.”

She didn’t want to know how he knew that.

Amy rose and started for him. “Who?”

“A female.”

Probably Melody. But maybe her roommate knew something. And anyway this shocking conversation was done. “I’m ready to go.”

Her parents followed her to the front porch.

“Amy, this is the bad decision I’m talking about.”

Her father added, “We learned our lesson so you don’t have to learn yours.”

“Okay, then here’s another lesson.” She pointed to her parents. “You met in a bar and married in Las Vegas. Obviously, it worked out.”

“We lost touch with our families. We lost our very identities. For decades.”

“Well, I’m not in any danger of that.” She twined her arms around Kyan’s bulky neck for the flight. “I’m showing up for Sunday dinner with Pyro. And you’ll see.”

“Amy! What’s wrong with his hand?”

She glanced over her shoulder. Kyan’s hand was covered in gray-blue scales like he’d been in a dragon fight and forgotten to shift back. He flexed, and the scales receded into his skin.

Her parents stared with confusion.

Okay, so Pyro’s true identity would come out now. “He’s a dragon shifter. And a billionaire. Sorry.”

Her parents both looked stunned.

“You’re joking,” her father said.

“No. You should know better than anybody that not everyone is as they appear.”

She tapped Kyan’s shoulder to go. He lifted them off the front step, navigated the eaves, and rocketed across the city to search for the male she needed more than anything to be alright.

In the air over her apartment, a cluster of unfamiliar, black tactical gear-wearing dragon shifters hovered. They clustered around a central character she did recognize: Sard Carnelian, irate CEO of Carnelian Clothiers.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked.

Kyan, being his usual taciturn self, didn’t bother to answer.

They descended to her unlocked balcony and everyone crowded into her kitchen.

“Be careful of the cherry tomatoes.” She craned her neck at the CEO and his guards. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t know?” His crossed wrists were bound with neon string and the sour expression on his face said it was not a fashion statement. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Did you have something to do with Pyro’s disappearance?”

“Obviously not. He’s clearly using this opportunity to insult me and frighten you. You’re going to pay for involving me.”

She tuned Sard out and searched the apartment for Melody. The front door hung ajar, again, and the fan whirred in the bathroom.

She tapped on the bathroom door. “Melody? Can you come out when you’re done? Uh, we have guests.”

Her roommate made a muffled noise of agreement.

“This is an affront,” Sard grumbled. “I have nothing to do with this.”

“Sorry to involve you, then.” Amy grabbed a freshly baked blondie off the counter. “Here. Have a cookie.”

He took the blondie but didn’t eat it. Focusing on her, since Kyan’s tactical team ignored him, he growled. “Pyro is an unreliable hothead. Pretending to have a counter offer and then skipping out on our meeting makes me look like a fool. Trusting him was your mistake and now I’m paying for it.”

“He wouldn’t disappear during such an important negotiation,” she replied angrily.

Kyan slipped through the open door to Melody’s room.

“He disappears all the time.”

“Have a little faith,” she snapped, following Kyan. “If you’re going into business together, you’re going to need it.”

Sard’s eyes gleamed a darker, richer, bloodier red and his canines seemed longer like he was growling silently in fury.

She turned away from Sard and was confronted by … not what she expected.

Melody used to decorate her walls with her favorite fantasy characters. Once, she’d printed out the entire map of Skyrim and laboriously put in pins marking the location of every vein of ore discovered in the fantasy world. Now, that video game map was plastered over by a wall-sized map of Portland. Pins noted times and locations. The bar where Amy had met Pyro was marked in red.

Kyan stood with his feet shoulder-width apart. “What’s this?”

“Um, it’s for fan fiction?” Amy guessed.

His expression didn’t agree. And he must be right.

Were these places she had seen or met Pyro? Something was wrong. This took stalking to a professional level.

Melody, fresh from the bathroom, squeezed past Sard and stared up at the bulky dragon shifters in discomfort. “Wow, Amy. Who are your new friends?”

“Where’ve you been?”

“We lost track of Josh’s dad, so I was checking the bar.”

Right, because Josh’s dad was an alcoholic. “You never go out.”

“I know, but Josh has a tournament. What’s going on?” She frowned at her wall. “Why did you take the blanket down?”

“It was down when we got here.”

Her eyes got wide. “Oh.”

“That thing you had me do — following Pyro and writing notes about him — it wasn’t really for fan fiction, is it?”

Melody sat on her bed and rested her braces on her lap. A snort and a smile crossed her face. She rubbed her cheeks. “I can’t believe you bought that for so long.”

“Well, you are one of the top twenty fan ficcers on three websites.”

“Yeah, but—”

Kyan cut in. “What are you planning to do to him?”

“It was for his protection.” Her shoulders deflated. “There are bad people on the internet. Most are harmless trolls. But you can stumble across real evil, too.”

Kyan’s eyes turned a richer shade of blue and his knuckles flexed. “What have you done to him?”

Melody looked up in confusion.

“Pyro’s missing,” Amy said, cutting through the crap. “He made it to our apartment and then disappeared.”

Melody’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.” She dialed her phone. “Josh? I don’t care it’s a tournament. This is life or death! Where’s your dad? … Go check.”

They waited. Kyan, Sard, a tactical team of dragon shifters.

“I thought Josh’s dad was an alcoholic,” Amy said.

Melody glanced up at her as though she were crazy. “What?”

“You always wanted to keep him away from the bar.”

“Because that’s where you spotted Pyro.” She refocused on the phone. “He’s there? Alone? He might have run into Pyro. Are you sure he’s alone? You’re sure? Okay.”

She ended the call and looked up at them with a helpless shrug. “It wasn’t his dad.”

Kyan looked at his team. “We will confirm.”

They turned without a word and trooped out of the apartment marching Sard between them. Sard grabbed another blondie square on his way out to the balcony.

Kyan scooped up Melody. “You come also.”

“Oh! Okay.”

He collected Amy in his other arm and flew off the balcony following Melody’s instructions to Josh’s house.

“Josh’s dad isn’t an alcoholic. He’s crazy,” Melody told Amy. “And he’s obsessed with lizard people. After dragon shifters appeared, he stopped taking his meds and went into a spiral He was hospitalized twice for stalking and once for assault.”

“Assault!”

“Always humans though.” Melody turned grim. “He’s taking his meds again, and after he was last released, he wanted to visit Josh. We thought it would get him away from the bad influences so we said yes. It turns out he just heard the dragons lived near here.”

“You could have said something.”

“I wanted to. But what if he was cured? Anyway, I had no idea you would ever talk to Pyro face-to-face, much less marry him.”

Fair enough.

“Josh and I set up an elaborate tracking system to make sure he didn’t run into any dragons, just in case. The only dragon who hangs out nearby, and so was at risk, was Pyro.”

They landed on the front step of a plain yellow house where Josh lived with three roommates. The windows were blocked out with black plastic. Melody knocked on the door and jiggled the handle.

“Locked.” She frowned. “I didn’t bring my key.”

Kyan lowered his shoulder and pushed in the door.

Splintering wood shrieked, and the handle slammed against the back wall enough to dent.

There went the security deposit.

Josh’s roommates worked during the day, so the dragons fanned out to search the rooms and came up empty.

Melody pointed at the stairs. “Josh’s game systems are in the day basement.”

They poured into his blacked out basement. He sat upright in an office chair, hands on a red-backlit gaming keyboard, thick headphones muffling his ears while the flickering of an assault game reflected from the computer screen onto his totally focused face.

“Josh.” Melody yanked off his headphones. “Josh!”

He jumped, thoroughly startled, and still did not remove his eyes or his tapping fingers from the keyboard. “Argh! What?!”

“Where’s your dad?”

“I don’t know.”

“I called you minutes ago. Did you really check?”

“Yes. No!”

“Josh!”

“I’m in the finals. God! What the heck?”

Kyan wheeled Josh’s chair around, gripped onto both armrests, and stared deeply into the anguished eyes of the tormented gamer.

Although Josh was a large guy himself, he shrank back. His obvious intention to fling off the people who had just destroyed his chance at winning the tournament was checked by their scarred, hulking fury.

“Where is your father?” Kyan asked with deadly softness.

“I don’t know. I don’t… oh my god are you a dragon shifter? You have to get out of here.”

“Josh!” Melody got his attention over Kyan’s shoulder. “Pyro’s missing. Where’s your dad?”

“I don’t know. Upstairs.”

“He wasn’t. We just came from there.”

“Maybe the shed. In the backyard. He was talking about fixing it up.”

“Fixing it up like what, an interrogation room?”

“Maybe?”

Kyan released the chair and wheeled to his commandos. They trooped out the sliding glass door.

“Did he?” Melody’s braces slipped in the muddy grass.

“I don’t know. I was at yours all weekend.”

Kyan hovered off the ground to see in the one high shed window. Then, he flew back and nodded to remove Sard’s handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

Sard rubbed his wrists.

“So is he in there?” Amy demanded, ready to throttle them all.

Kyan nodded.

“Why aren’t you bringing him out?”

“The human is using dragon technology on Pyro. He could accidentally use it on himself and become hurt.”

“So?”

Sard answered when it appeared that Kyan would not. “Injuring a human violates the treaty.”

“But Josh’s dad could be torturing him.”

“He is.”

“You have to save him!”

The dragon-shifter refused. An entire tactical team led by a huge mercenary stood back and waited while the love of Amy’s life was being hurt.

She bit back her scream.

Josh squared his shoulders. “I’ll go in.”

Kyan stopped him. “You could become hurt.”

Josh looked relieved.

Before Amy could take his place, the dragons formed an impassable blockade. They prevented anyone, even Amy, from getting close or risking injury.

“Somebody has to stop this!” Amy cried, pushing against Kyan.

She might as well have been pushing against a wall. A silent, grim, battle-scarred wall.

Sard spoke again. “Being critically, even fatally injured by unbalanced humans is a risk all dragons accept when they come to Earth.”

Two of his bodyguards, Syenite and a second dragon shifter, landed beside Sard. He confirmed his statement with them. “Isn’t it?”

His bodyguards nodded.

“So, what? You���re just going to wait here until Josh’s dad gets bored or Pyro dies?” she demanded.

The answer appeared to be yes.

“I’m so sorry,” Melody whispered. Tears filled her eyes. “I had no idea it would come out like this.” She turned to Sard. “And I’m sorry that you got dragged into this too.”

The CEO lifted his chin. “Give me two hundred plates of those white chocolate cookies and I will forgive you.”

Melody nodded miserably.

“What? No.” Amy stopped that right away. “What is it with dragons and your ‘hundreds’ of things? You can have two plates of blondies. Two.”

He looked less pleased but still accepted her judgment. “Two.”

Amy got out her phone. She had three missed calls from her mom and two more from Corinne.

Whatever.

Everyone else might be willing to let things take their course, like Pyro was some unfortunate victim or disposable guy, but she wasn’t. Just like everyone thought Pyro was just being irresponsible and only she believed he was in trouble.

A bunch of dragon businessmen weren’t the highest authorities. Even if one of them seemed more like Special Ops than like a clothing manufacturer.

Amy’s call connected.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“Police.”

Everyone turned to her in shock.

She stared them down. Why were they so surprised? When bullies gave you a bloody nose, you called the teacher, and when crazies tortured innocent victims, you called the police.

“I’d like to report a crime in progress.”

Pyro was having a bad day.

What time was it? What week was it?

He squinted at the tiny, grimy window. This small room had once smelled like soil and metal. But not anymore.

His stomach rolled and his scales ached under his scorched human skin. His shirt, torn open, exposed a great searing cut across his rib cage. Only the cauterizing effects of the surgical laser kept him from bleeding out all over the metal folding chair.

And only the paralyzing cuffs kept him from transforming into a dragon and escaping this confinement.

The gray-skinned man dripped with sweat. His stink mixed with the acrid stench of charred skin and hair. He waved the small pen-like laser in Pyro’s face.

“Which politician is a lizard?”

Pyro sucked in a pained breath and let it out. He’d already tried “nobody,” “everybody,” and selecting a few names he remembered from Darcy. None of the answers had satisfied this male. Probably none ever would.

“Don’t try to control my mind,” the man warned, yet again. His cheek twitched, and he pointed to it. “I can tell when you’re trying.”

Pyro knew better. But frustration made him snap, and he goaded the man. “If I were controlling your mind, you’d stop and let me go.”

The male changed the laser from slicing red to cauterizing blue and traced it over the edge of his cut. His brief victory at manipulating the man disappeared. Pain annihilated conscious thought. And then, seconds later, the pain ended, and he gasped for breath. A new scent turned his stomach.

Burning bone.

How much more could he take?

The old him would have reasserted control by continuing to goad the man, up to daring the man to kill him already. Baited him until the guy lost control, leaving Pyro the ultimate — though dead — victor.

Pyro had too much to live for right now. He had to get back to Amy. Deliver his siblings’ counter offer to Sard. Save the company.

If it was even the same week.

No help would be coming. Everyone assumed he’d blown off his responsibilities. He’d screwed up often enough that this was normal for him.

Amy had lost her faith in him. His family had given up.

Maybe no one would ever come. Maybe his efforts at survival would end in his death. Alone.

Life was short and hard for low caste bastards, and it ended in a swift, un-mourned death. That’s what he believed once. Ironic that when he finally tried to change his fate, his original prediction came true.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the man said, sweating. “Which politicians are—”

A knock sounded on the door.

The man straightened abruptly and held the laser on red to Pyro’s temple.

Outside, an unfamiliar voice called. “Dad? It’s Josh. I know you’re in there.”

“Josh?” The barrel of the laser dug into Pyro’s aching temple. “How’d you know that, Son?”

“You’re not in the rest of the house and your outside coat’s by the back door.”

The male weighed his answer. Paranoia made his cheek twitch.

“And also you just answered me,” Josh added.

“What do you want?”

“Melody stopped by. She hasn’t seen you in a while and she got worried.”

He grunted. “Tell her I’m fine.”

“She brought over cookies.”

The pressure on Pyro’s temple lessened. “Which ones?”

“White chocolate brownies.”

The pressure increased again. “White chocolate is the unnatural work of our alien oppressors. It’s how they get in our minds. You know that.”

“Oh. I forgot.”

There was a silence.

“Uh, she also brought those, um, dark chocolate — no, semi-sweet — uh, milk chocolate cookies. With the pecans. That you like so much.”

“The double-chocolate bars?”

“Y-yeah. They’re in the kitchen. Still f-fresh and warm.”

The male shifted his weight to his back foot. “Tell her I’ll be right in.”

“Okay. Don’t wait. They’re fresh, you know. I-I’m going to eat them. And, uh, she’ll take them home.”

“I get it. I’m coming.”

Footsteps receded from the door.

The man waited for a beat, then dropped the laser and backed away from Pyro. He lifted the paralyzer, a small rectangular device, in warning. “Don’t get any ideas. I’ll be right back.”

Pyro sucked in a breath.

The male seemed to take his silent breath as disagreement. He pointed the paralyzer. Arcs of blue electricity zapped Pyro, clenching his aching muscles and jolting his joints like a helpless puppet. He tightened and went slack, hanging from his restraints. From the corner of his eye, sideways, he could just see the male pocket the paralyzer and the surgical laser and open the door. He left.

Time passed. His hearing was broken, again, and that’s why he saw — but did not hear — the prison door open again. An unfamiliar shape moved silently across the floor. Were those steel-toed boots, the cuffs of black pants, and the bottom fluttering edge of a trench coat?

Pyro was lifted off the floor, chair and all, out of the dark room into blinding daylight. The ground receded rapidly. They were flying. Across the city, it seemed.

Kyan’s voice penetrated his ears. “We have a physician.”

Good old Kyan. The one brother who never gave up on him. Pyro’s eyes filled with moisture.

Sard Carnelian’s voice growled a counter-order. “We have a medical facility.”

Sard Carnelian?

“We will bring him to your facility for treatment by our physician then,” Kyan said in a quiet voice that would not be overridden.

The paralyzer wore off as Kyan flew Pyro across the river and west toward the ocean, then up to the spaceship hovering over the Carnelian office building. Deep in the interior of the spaceship, Pyro was finally released from his bonds — and the chair — and laid out on a medical air cushion, shirt cut away, to reveal all possible injuries to one of Kyan’s tactical teams.

Staring up, Pyro saw Kyan’s deliberately blank — and therefore, extremely worried — visage. He summoned a grin for his brother, but the half-hearted effort only seemed to disturb his brother more, so he gave it up. “How bad am I?”

Kyan’s gaze switched to the monitors overhead.

The slightly sarcastic, utterly dismissive voice of his youngest brother tsked. “According to these readouts, it’s only a flesh wound.”

“Flint.” He craned his neck but he could only see the silhouette of the elusive male studying the screens. “Where did you come from?”

“Clearly there’s been some damage to your head.” His brother moved into full view. The light made his gray eyes owlish and odd. “But it was likely damaged long before today.”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with me?”

“Clearly, Pyro, as you have shunned the Empress, are moving to align our low caste company with aristocrats, and intend to sell contraband crests as ‘human jewelry’. You have what an ordinary intellect would call a ‘death wish.’”

He grinned. For the first time in possibly his whole life that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Keep me alive then.”

“Your constitution will do that.” He hovered over the screens. “This will sting.”

Hot irradiating swarms of bees stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. He clenched as his breath froze in his body and he saw the black abyss.

“Relax,” Flint muttered. “No shifting for at least a week. No strenuous exercise. Your whole chest could collapse. Understand?”

He groaned.

“Although I expect you will not stay flat on your back when your wife’s demonstration class is in less than an hour. You will attend. That kind of idiocy will exacerbate your injury, especially if you collapse of body-wracking fatigue.”

“Amy,” he moaned.

“Yes, yes. She’s your world. The ingenuity of humans is astounding, isn’t it? To think of how much damage one male can do to a dragon with three scavenged pieces of a dragon field medicine kit.”

Flint loaded a medical strip, shook it, and slapped it on Pyro’s bare abdomen. “This will see you through the class. Then, go to your Vegas apartment and lie on your back for at least a week.”

The drugs in the medical strip moved through his veins like liquid fire, dulling the already-fading sting of the chest repairs. “What is it?”

“Caffeine and sugar.” Flint stood. “Alcohol has no effect on the dragon metabolism, but we are overly susceptible to simple molecules. You will feel unnaturally well for another four hours and then you’ll crash.”

“Flint.” Pyro caught his youngest brother’s attention. “Thanks.”

The male blinked owlishly as though unused to gratitude. Then, he straightened and said, “You’ll be cursing my name before tonight ends.” To Kyan, he said, “You can let the others in now.” And he exited swiftly, almost at a run, as though he had no desire to meet anyone.

Kyan hesitated and rested his hand on Pyro’s forehead.

“You found me,” Pyro grinned, wishing for something more comforting to say.

His closest brother’s jaw tightened and released. He would surely be feeling recriminations he’d ever lost Pyro to begin with.

“So my kidnapper used dragon tech on me?” Pyro repeated from Flint’s mention. “Who’s trading that?”

Kyan shook his head. “It was military grade. Not consumer.”

“Contraband? Who leaked it?”

Clearly, that was a question Kyan would spend many sleepless nights trying to answer.

“You never lost your faith.” Pyro swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Amy.”

“What?”

“Amy never lost her faith.” Kyan released his forehead and, before Pyro could delve in, opened the door.

Amy rushed into the room and stopped at his bedside. “Oh, my god. Are you okay?”

He grinned, loving her heartfelt worry. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

“There was a hole in your chest. Down to the bone.”

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about your class.”

“Are you serious? I haven’t thought of my class all day. I was scared to death about what might have happened to you.”

His heart swelled. She had faith in him. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“It was worse!” She shook her head at him. “Then I called the police. They came up with the idea for Josh to lure out his dad. Once Kyan got you out, his dad had nothing to fight for. The police trapped him in the kitchen. He surrendered.”

“I was scared I wouldn’t see you again.” He tugged her closer, turning on the air cushion so he floated to face her and twining her fingers with hers to kiss the back of her hand. “Will you comfort me?”

“Yes.” She stroked his rough cheek.

One of the medical terminals flickered to an interplanetary connection and his mother’s commanding face appeared.

“Show my dragonlet! Show him this instant!”

He cracked a grin. “Mother.”

“Pyrochlore!” She blinked her huge dragon eyes and snorted curls of fire from her smoking nostrils. “Some idiots tried to deny me from seeing you. On the brink of death!”

“I’m better.” He twined his fingers with Amy, who was sat ramrod straight and stared at the screen in silent awe. “Thanks to my wife, Amy.”

“Hello,” she said meekly, wiggling her fingers in a nervous wave and then clenching her hands in a fist in case that might be seen as an improper greeting. “Um, nice to meet you.”

“So to you I owe my son’s life.” His mother puffed out her chest. Her gemstones shimmered and clinked. “You will both come to Draconis immediately to receive my personal thanks and honor.”

Amy blinked. “Uh…”

“I can’t travel for weeks,” Pyro told her. “I have to lie flat on my back.”

“You can lie flat on a transport ship.”

“And Amy has to finish teaching classes. We will certainly come as soon as we can. Summer vacation.”

She blew smoke from fangs in a huff. “Do not delay. I was so worried when I heard. I must see you alive with my own eyes.”

He lifted up on one elbow. “And you’ll tell the Empress about my marriage?”

“Yes.” She ground her teeth pensively. “I do hope this will not delay your producing me grand dragonlets.”

Amy’s mouth opened and closed.

Pyro patted her hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. Kyanite.” Their mother’s gaze rose to fix on the scarred Security Officer, third in order of age. “You will present me with your human wife within two weeks or you will take the claw of Empress Horribus in palatial matrimony. Are we clear?”

Kyan’s jaw flexed. He nodded once.

“Good. Do not disappoint me.”

Kyan turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

She fixed again on Amy and Pyro. “You will journey to our estate as soon as you are able to travel. Farewell, my charming son.”

The screen turned off.

Huh. His mother thought he was charming too?

“That was your mom,” Amy said in awe. “She’s a literal dragon lady.”

“We don’t always get along,” Pyro said. “But she always has our back.”

“Thanks for having my back. Traveling to Draconis is the most amazing trip I could imagine, and I will be able to enjoy it as soon as it’s summer vacation.” She stroked his cheek. “You look terrible. How can you come to my class like this?”

He laughed, and it only hurt like being stabbed by a single assailant rather than hundreds. “I’ll shower first.”

“Maybe you should skip.”

“I’ll be there.”

A male moved in the doorway behind her. Sard Carnelian.

Pyro still had work to do. “As soon as I complete company business.”

She looked worried.

“I’ll be there,” he promised, rising on the cushion.

“I know you will.” She stroked the bandage on his chest carefully, then took a deep breath and turned away. “I’ll see you soon. I hope my class is worth your visit.”

Amy caught a ride from one of Kyan’s black ops team back to her apartment, grabbed her book bag that was the cause of the whole incident today, and flew on to the campus.

Her heart beat in her throat.

The parking lot was full and the halls brightly lit in the waning daylight. The campus was humming with excitement — the parents, eager to see their children’s accomplishments, and the students thrilled with the special opportunity to show off.

Her final test was just beginning.

She strode down the crowded hallway a few minutes before her demonstration. Some of her reading students had already filed in and were sitting at their desks, showing their reading logs to appropriately pleased parents.

She set her book bag on the chair, checked her appearance in the cabinet mirror — ran quick fingers through her windblown hair — and took a deep breath.

She let it out. She took another deep breath. She let it out.

Amy should be using this time to set up her colors lesson. But she couldn’t get the image of Pyro tied to a chair while Kyan carried him from the shed out of her mind.

No. Pyro was safe. He’d had a hole carved in his chest. But it was fixed now.

She let her breath out slowly and pulled in another deep breath.

He was fine. Joking about it like it was no big deal, even though the amazing skin-stuff they put on him and then covered with a thick, foamy bandage looked far too serious.

And he was going to be here, even. To support her.

The way she needed to support him.

Yes. She needed him to know just how important he was to her. Because the dismissive attitude of Sard, her parents, even his own siblings was something he’d had to live with his whole life. Never being taken seriously, he’d lived up — or, in his case, lived down — to their expectations.

Anyone could crush a child. And after enough people did it — parents, friends, teachers — it took dedication to lift that person up again.

That’s why she wanted to make a difference. She wanted to be a teacher who inspired. Empowered. Uplifted.

Made the world a better place.

Not everyone is how they appear.

Corinne caught her as she closed the cabinet. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You left in the middle of a class. You’re going to have to speak with the administration.”

“It was a family emergency,” she said.

“I heard.” Corinne turned and waved at the vice principal standing in the hallway with two board members, then turned back to Amy and lowered her voice. “I told them. They’re going to want to see a note.”

“Will a police report do?” Amy asked, unable to keep the dry tone out of her voice. She’d made an appointment to go to the station the next day. “Otherwise they can watch the nightly news.”

Corinne’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I think they follow police scanners. It was barely over and I saw reporters and cameras.”

The bell chimed for class to begin. Her students straightened in their seats attentively and parents filed to the back of the class, taking the extra chairs provided, or standing, while the administrators and others out in the hall approached the open windows to watch.

“Let’s talk about it after class.” Corinne squeezed her shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Amy turned to her lesson plan book, opened it to the colors material, and rested her fingers on the folder.

Corinne took her place out in the hallway next to Pyro.

He’d been waiting a few minutes. At her notice, he smiled proudly.

Her heart thumped. Not from fear. But because she finally realized what she needed to do.

He’d made it. After everything they’d gone through. The ways he’d misjudged her, the ways she’d misjudged him back. And how, in the end, they were both fighting to be together. Be there for each other. Do the right thing.

A little bit of empathy went a long way.

And so did fearlessness.

She set the color lesson aside and pulled out the file beneath. Turning to the board, she fixed profile photos.

“I was going to do a lesson on figurative language and a color poem. And it was very nice. But,” she turned to face the attentive class, who was extra silent and still, “as some of you already know, I had to leave our afternoon class on a family emergency. My husband went missing. We had to find him and then call the police. He’s okay now. It was a very frightening few hours.”

The room went absolutely still. Even the administrators in the hallway and the ventilation system seemed to drop silent.

“He was kidnapped by a person who feared his differences. But, like all of us, he’s much more than he seems.”

Pyro watched her with rapt attention.

Amy turned and pointed at the photos on the board behind her. “What are some differences between these people?”

Her students, super determined to be good, raised their hands and called out differences in eye color, skin tone, hair, age, clothing, and the small flags on the lower right of each picture.

She stopped them there. “Great. Those are careful observations. Now, what things are the same? What commonalities unite them?”

That took a little more effort, but soon her students were talking about how the photos were of people from Earth breathing air and were alive.

“It’s easier to see the differences, isn’t it? But, if you think about it, we have many more commonalities.” She tapped the board. “Let’s think about differences again. This will require using your imagination. What could be some invisible differences between these people? These are differences that aren’t obvious from looking, but that we would realize are differences when they told us.”

No one had a guess, so she prompted them. “Do you think their families might be different? One might be a father, and another is a grandmother, and another one might not have any brothers or sisters, and another might have many?”

“Pets,” one of her students said.

“Yes, exactly, pets. Some might have pets and others possibly don’t. What else?”

The students came up with their homes might be different. What they ate. Their likes and dislikes. She wrote the potential invisible differences on the electronic whiteboard and then moved on to her next point.

“Of course these are possible differences, but it’s also possible that they could be invisible similarities, too.” She tapped the food. “Maybe they like the same breakfast cereal or maybe they have pet cats. Right? We don’t know without investigation.”

The class nodded. This was clearly true.

“And here is one invisible similarity that is the reason I selected these particular people: They all, despite their visible and invisible differences, won the Nobel Peace Prize for working hard to bring peace, empathy, and understanding to the world.”

She let that sink in for a minute and then passed out personal narratives from the prize winners about how they had overcome differences. Turning their desks, her students read the narratives, looked up vocabulary, and reported out summaries of the visible and invisible differences each prize winner had overcome.

“Now, for ourselves, we’re going to investigate our invisible similarities.”

She passed out a worksheet to answer questions like, “What makes me angry is… What makes me happy is… My favorite thing is… My greatest fear is…” and then she instructed them to add a question from the board at the bottom: “My pet is…”

“After you fill out the worksheet, count up your similarities with the other classmates in your group.” Mentally, Amy ticked the learning outcomes for the lesson as she doled out the instructions. “Which group do you predict will have the most invisible similarities? Let’s find out.”

They shared in groups and she went around listening to the investigation. The groups also filled in pie charts of their similarities and translated the charts to percentages.

One of the parents stopped her. “Is your husband okay?”

“Yes.” She caught Pyro’s eye, still watching with interest from outside the class, resting his palms on the window. “He came to support me tonight.”

The parents were quite surprised.

“If no one objects, I’ll introduce him at the end of class.”

They were obviously curious to see the person who had survived kidnapping and torture.

She brought the class back together for their final report.

Her students predicted that the group composed of three best friends or same sports players would have the most invisible similarities, but after reporting out, a more creative group won. In the pet example, for instance, three had pet hamsters and the fourth had a pet rat, so they counted it as “We all have pet rodents” and got the most similarity points.

“I like how you worked together,” she said, silencing grumbles, “because it shows how differences might actually be similarities after you widen your view. If we did this activity again, I bet every group would discover even more similarities.”

Everyone immediately wanted to redo the activity, but she just had to time for them to get out their reflection journals and write a paragraph of what they thought.

While they were writing, she approached Pyro.

He studied the class with avid curiosity, like every single thing they were doing was completely new to him.

She rested her hands on his. “Do you mind doing a little show and tell?”

He glanced behind him at the administrators. “You don’t mind?”

“I want to introduce you to everyone I know.”

One corner of his mouth quirked.

That gorgeous lopsided smile made her heart flip. He had been rejected, discounted, and relegated to the unworthy shadows so long he’d put up a reckless front to protect himself. Even she had been fooled.

But Pyro was more than worthy to step into the light and be recognized for the smart, confident, caring male inside.

Yes, he was reckless. Yes, he ran headlong into danger and flirted with the edges of what was right. But that roughness only made his strengths shine with more beauty. He’d known true injustice in his lifetime and he had overcome it with fiery charm.

Amy recognized this as she walked him to the front of the class. “This is my husband, Pyro.”

Pyro waved.

“He’s a businessman. He has five brothers and one sister. He has no pets. He plays video games and pinball. And he came here to class today to watch me teach and meet all of you.”

They studied him intently. He grinned.

“He has many similarities to you, but one difference caused him to get hurt earlier tonight. Can you guess what the difference is by looking at him?”

Most everyone shook their heads or remained politely silent, but one of the students said, “Maybe.”

Pyro blinked. “You can? How?”

The student turned red and played with her fingers shyly. “You’re wearing a suit.”

A rumble of laughter came from the parents because many of them wore suits also, and so did the administrators.

The student squirmed.

Amy stepped in. “That was a brave guess. He’s very brave also, so that’s actually an invisible similarity you both have.”

The student straightened, pleased to be called brave.

“My husband has one difference that made him a target.” To Pyro, she lowered her voice and tapped his hand. “You want to show them?”

“The whole thing?”

Wasn’t he not supposed to shift? Trust Pyro to show off for her and hurt himself. “Just do your hand. No claws.”

He held up his hand and his skin shimmered to red.

Everyone leaned forward with an audible, “Whoah!”

“My husband is not human.” She wrapped one hand around his shoulder and leaned against him in support. “He’s a dragon.”

“Most people can’t tell.” Pyro rotated his hand to show the kids who were practically leaning sideways out of their seats to get a close look. “Unless I do this.”

One of her students looked at her. “Can we touch?”

“That’s up to Pyro.”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

The kids poured out of their seats and swarmed him. Exclamations of “It feels like my pet snake!” and “Ooh, my pet lizard,” floated above the chaos, along with one bright, odd observation, “It feels like my cat.”

What kind of cat did her students own?

“His other hand feels normal!” one of them exclaimed, and then everyone went back to feel both hands.

She stopped them before they got ideas to feel up anything else.

“I want to write in my reflection journal more about what I learned today,” one of her students said.

“That’s the mark of a careful scholar,” she said, and the entire class elected to stay after the bell and write more in their journals.

Meanwhile, the parents lined up to meet Pyro. He had well-earned cynicism about his fame, but the conversations were about normal, respectful, “adult” topics: the school, his business, and his pinball machines. One parent asked if the school would be sponsoring a field trip to the dragon shifter’s business; another wanted to know if future study abroad trips for high schoolers might include Draconis.

As the last parents filtered out of the room, Pyro spoke to her out of the corner of his mouth with a cheery twinkle. “Great lesson, teacher.”

She appreciated his compliment. At least he had enjoyed it, and she had too. “I may have just torched my job opportunities.”

“I was riveted.”

An administrator walked up to Pyro. “I didn’t realize you were Amy’s husband. We’ll need to get you a badge and take your photo for security so there won’t be any more questions. Do please stop by the office whenever you visit. We have candy for visitors.”

He looked at Amy with wide eyes. That was a change. “Now?”

“Yes, if you have a moment.”

The administrator dragged Pyro away.

Amy packed up her Nobel Prize portraits. The excitement and tension of the day drained out of her and a slight headache twinged.

Corinne stood close by.

Amy filed away the photos, unsure of what to say. She’d done the one lesson Corinne had told her not to. There was no easy way to apologize.

“Amy,” Corinne said.

She couldn’t run. She had to be fearless and face the consequences.

Amy closed her folder and faced her mentor, who’d taken her under her wing and given her so many opportunities and unending support, and affirmed her desire to be a teacher. And who she’d just betrayed. “Yes?”

“That was beautiful.” Corinne smiled whole-heartedly and squeezed Amy’s forearm. “You taught from the heart. Watching you, I felt reinvigorated about the whole profession.”

A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed. “Even though I did the wrong lesson?”

“Sometimes the best thing is to ignore your elders and go your own way.” Corinne’s smile changed to determination. “This school has the chance to hire an exceptional teacher. Wherever you land, you’ll do fine.”

The lump swelled. “Thank you.”

“And, if the administrators are smart, they’ll keep their once-in-lifetime chance to advertise dragon shifter study abroads and field trips.” Her cynical smiled lit on the unusually jovial administrators surrounding Pyro in the hallway.

Pyro’s smile looked forced as though he were hitting the end of his endurance.

Amy strode forward, finding a good place to insert herself, and told him, “Let’s go home.”

He perked up. Bidding the administrators farewell, he walked with her out to the beautiful courtyard and twined her arms around his neck. “Your home?”

“Our home.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder. “In Vegas.”

Pyro’s excitement fought with his tiredness.

The med patch had dispensed enough energy to get Pyro through Amy’s lesson and not a minute longer, emphasizing the youngest Onyx sibling’s diabolical mind. Pyro was so grateful to go home.

To his lair. With Amy. Where she belonged.

He couldn’t help teasing her on the flight. “And on a school night.”

“It’s almost the last week of class.” She hugged him gently, pressing her soft curves where he hungered for them the most. “Besides, I know you’ll fly me in on time.”

Her relaxed, confident tone was such a change from the must-have-everything-planned nervousness that had strangled her in the beginning. She sounded more certain of herself and more certain of him.

He would endeavor to deserve her faith.

“You were really watching the class,” she said. “Was it interesting?”

“Fascinating.”

“Not like school on Draconis?”

“I was given the choice between a miner’s hat and a soldier’s gun. And even that wasn’t much of a choice.”

He’d wanted to mine like his father but had been forced into soldier school after no mines would apprentice him. His “radioactive” scales and eyes assured the mines he had a dangerous attitude before he ever got a chance.

Perhaps a rounded education and career choices made humans creative. Dragons too might thrive if they received a balance incorporating language, history, math, and self-discovery.

But that was a question for another time.

They landed in his Las Vegas apartment … and then he needed to lie down. His chest ached and a draining sensation started behind his bandage.

She noticed.

“You look pale.” Amy helped Pyro to the bed and took off his suit, searched his closets for something more pajama-like to wear, and gave up and returned to him when he said he didn’t own anything like that.

She had changed into an adorable lavender chemise that looked far more classy cupping her full curves than it did on his closet rack. She brought him a bottle of water and climbed onto the bed next to him. “I don’t suppose it’s possible to get delivery.”

“Call Kyan.”

“I was thinking of getting the ingredients for making you a soup.” She spread her fingers across the white body-sculpted bandage. “How did the negotiations with Sard go?”

“No need to torch his building,” he assured her.

She wanted details, so he cast his mind back to the negotiations that had begun in the medical room, as soon as she left, while he was still half naked on the air cushion.

* * *

“I’m here to deliver the terms of our counter offer,” Pyro told Sard with a straight face. “I apologize for my lateness. I was held up by circumstances beyond my control.”

The heavyweight CEO snorted. “Never thought I’d hear those words pass your lips.”

Automatically the urge to growl rose. He stamped it down. “What words?”

“An apology.”

Funny. He let the weight of his silence prove his control of the conversation. Sard would neither intimidate Pyro nor derail him.

Sard waved his fingers. “Fine. Let’s have it. Your counter offer is?”

“You’ll produce the jewelry and you’ll become our subsidiary.”

He blinked.

“As our subsidiary, we control the hiring and firing decisions. And as terms of the agreement, we will freeze all current employment as you desire.”

“My brother will never consent to run a subsidiary.”

“He will take my position as vice president of the main company.”

Sard’s chin dropped. “And you?”

“Will head your subsidiary.”

He lifted his chin again and crossed his arms. “You’re going to rule over a bunch of aristocrats? There’s a low caste bastard male’s dream.”

His blood heated as Sard clearly intended it to. But he controlled his anger. “Any male who can’t accept the ‘dishonor’ is welcome to leave.”

Sard’s jaw clenched.

Pyro pushed on with the terms. “Regarding the Zentangles, we will not sell the finished product.”

“You must!”

“We will sell books and kits. Amy will teach summer classes on how to produce this unique human craft.”

“Dragons cannot produce art. They do not possess creative skills or ambitions—”

“That remains to be seen.”

He shook his head. “No. We have seen it. Dragons slavishly copy the creativity of other species. We lack the mental freedom to create. And that is why society has crystalized into aristocrats, low caste, and unquestioning obedience to rules that cause needless pain.”

“Zentangle patterns are intended to be slavishly copied until the creator feels empowered to combine them into a unique art form.”

“That will never happen.”

“Then perhaps dragons don’t deserve to be free.”

Sard blinked.

“You wish to burn down the hierarchy of society by releasing fake family crests and causing chaos.” Pyro smiled with all his teeth. “We wish to distribute the fuel, wicks, and matches to light a fire within each dragon to burn down his inner rules and become free.”

His gaze narrowed. “Is such a thing possible?”

“Is it possible for a low caste dragon to negotiate business with an aristocrat?”

Sard shook his head at the same time a new light entered his eyes. Here they were, discussing business in relative peace. “Paper products will easily pass the censors.”

Pyro nodded.

“I would rather distribute the finished product,” Sard grumbled.

“Your ‘uncreative dragons’ may surprise you,” he said, falling back on Amy’s philosophies. “Things are not always as they seem. Meaningful change begins from within.”

Sard grimaced.

Exporting the product as an educational kit had been Flint’s idea. Amy assured Pyro the craft was simple to learn and meditative to master. They would test her assertion on his and Sard’s employees. If true, once the craft made it into popular consumption, even if the art kits were recalled, it would turn into an endless hunt to suppress all dragon creations.

And the dragons, empowered with their own potential, might just begin to change.

“Very well.” Sard’s lip curled, exposing his dragon fangs. His deep voice shook the very walls. “If you mistreat my employees, I’ll have your scales pinned to my wall.”

“So long as they don’t consider obeying orders from a low caste bastard to be mistreatment,” Pyro growled back.

A slow grin spread over the heavyweight aristocrat’s face. He loosened his shoulders and shook his head, then gazed around the spaceship. His company, his legacy. The whole world. “It’s going to get hot in here. I hope you’re ready for it.”

“Of course I am.” Pyro flexed his claws, the radioactive red scales shimmering along his arms. “I like to play with fire.”

* * *

“And so you do,” Amy agreed.

Now, hours later in Pyro’s Las Vegas lair, he finished the story and relaxed as she stroked the new pink skin growing under the edges of the bandage. Her gaze played over this nude form to the hard erection bulging from his waist. “What’s this?”

“My feelings for you.”

Her soft smile turned wicked. “A good girl shouldn’t encourage you.”

“A very good girl should.”

She wet her fingertips and stroked him from tip to base and back, sliding with silky pleasure. He moaned.

Then, she frowned. “You’re still healing. Is playing around like this safe?”

He didn’t care. “Absolutely.”

She licked her lips, causing him to shudder, and then dipped her head, taking his length into her hot, wet mouth. Her tongue stroked the ridges of his vibrating hot cock. His balls clenched.

“Clearly this isn’t your first time,” he managed.

She lifted her head. “If you can form a witty comeback, I’m doing something wrong.”

He grabbed her soft arm and drew her up his body to straddle one thigh. “You’re doing everything right.”

“Prove it.”

He cupped the back of her head and drew her to him. “Gladly.”

Their mouths united and tongues tangled. Tasting, enjoying, savoring. The pleasure of sex with Amy was intense from the first kiss to final explosion.

He stroked her curling tongue, then dipped under her chemise and scooped free her heavy breasts. Swiping across her nipples, he sucked one candied peak into his mouth and massaged the other. She whimpered with pleasure. Her wet center slid across his bare cock.

He released her. “No panties?”

She shook her head, the wicked smile returning. “Do you like it?”

He liked everything about her. This new confidence was most sexy. “Yeah.”

She rubbed her slick center across his hard cock, making him groan, and then positioned herself over his tip. He steadied her. She slowly bore down, taking him in. Her tight channel squeezed his cock with delicious pleasure. She moaned as they connected, complete.

Here was where she belonged. His wife. Gorgeous, innocent, and so responsible it pushed him to be a better male. She deserved it. And so did he.

She moved, slowly at first, then with more expertise. Discovering herself as she discovered him. Learning together what felt good and what felt exquisite.

He guided her, chasing her pleasure. She slid her channel over his cock, trying different angles and depths and speeds. Every stroke took him closer to the hot edge.

She flushed and concentrated, so serious, so lovably hot. And then she gasped and clenched. Release broke over her, squeezing his cock in her inner fist.

He lost it. Watching her come pushed him over and he shot his own release deep into her hot center.

They would have dragonlets together. He would be a loving, caring, responsible father.

She collapsed.

He cuddled her body, grateful for the continued lack of nerves in his chest beneath the bandage. Otherwise, holding her where he needed her would cause pain in the tender regrowing region.

Amy suddenly gasped and bolted upright again. “Your injury!”

“It’s fine.” He loved this view of her. Disheveled, her lingerie barely cupping her breasts, and silk pooling around their connection. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“For now.” She rolled off him carefully.

After cleaning up, she came back and lay beside him, her head on his bicep. She traced the edges of the bandage. “Is it going to scar?”

“Pretty badly,” he said, although it could have been much worse. “I survived the Colony Wars without a scratch only to get a wicked scar from supposedly ‘safe’ civilian life.”

She flubbed her lips dismissively. “Nothing you do will ever be risk-free safe.”

“And you signed up for that life.”

She rose up on one elbow and tossed her gorgeous red hair over her shoulder. “I wanted to feel the wind in my hair.”

He ruffled her hair. “That you did.”

“I feel like I’m finally starting to live.” She frowned and traced the bandage again. “We still have a lot to learn about each other. With empathy, patience—”

“And really hot sex,” he inserted, guessing where she was going.

“—I think we’ll be able to get over any obstacles and reach our own happy ending.”

His throat closed. “I’ll try to deserve it.”

“You don’t need to try. You do deserve it. You always have.” She lowered to his level again and rested one arm across his unblemished abdomen. “Life dealt you bad hands. You had to overcome prejudice because of things you couldn’t control and you made some ‘learning’ choices on the way. But you kept trying and now you’re luck’s going to change. I can tell from here. You’re definitely a winner.”

He swallowed, searching for his carefree grin. “You can tell, huh?”

“I’ve still got to learn how to be sexy.”

He laughed. “You learned it. Trust me.”

She smiled softly. “Okay.”

The rough emotion overwhelmed him. She trusted him. She had faith in him. Even after the mistakes he’d made and ways he’d gone wrong.

“Pyro?” she asked worriedly, as if his silence might be related to his chest injury.

He cleared his throat. “Nah. Still thinking about how to deserve it.”

“You already do.” She nuzzled him. “I’m a teacher so I’ll help you learn.”

She’d already taught him so much about what it meant to live up to his ideals and be the dragon he’d always wanted to be. He’d thought he’d be giving the lessons in the bedroom, but she’d shown him the true depths of passion and love.

Whatever he could do to deserve that, he’d start right now.

He nuzzled her back. “Let’s study together.”