The Dragon's Revenge

by Courtney Henke

  It was perfect, all right. Too perfect. The walls closed around him with a clang, suffocating him.

  He stiffened, fighting his doubt. But Charly, sensing his withdrawal, pulled away. Her misty blue eyes stabbed his soul. She wasn't lying, he told himself. Her vulnerability was real because she had never shown it to anyone but him.

  Or so she'd said.

  No! She was open and honest and wouldn't pull those kind of manipulative tricks on him. Would she?

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "What did I say?"

  "I changed my mind," he said hollowly, struggling to find the reality.

  "I know. You said that."

  "No, you said that." A cold chill racked him. "You also said you wouldn't give up."

  She frowned, puzzling out his meaning. Then her blue eyes flashed with fury, and she stepped back. "You think that I planned this?"

  "I—" He knew deep down that Charly was nothing like his mother. Doubt persisted, but he forced it away. He wouldn't let her use this as another excuse to keep them apart. "No," he said gently. "I don't think that at all. I love you." He reached for her.

  She flinched. "You and your suspicious little mind! I don't believe this!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Lord, and I'd actually forgotten that whole thing." Her mouth tightened. "I changed my mind about fencing, and I didn't accuse you!"

  "Charly, you don't understand."

  "Then make me understand." She tossed her head, her eyes filling again. "Make me understand how you can say you love me, how you can say that means sharing and trust, and then at the first doubt, at the first bump in the road, you forget every single word you said."

  His heart twisted. "Charly, I'm sorry I doubted you. I'm human!" He waved toward the beach. "I have been at the receiving end of so many plots and ploys that I had a single instant—one instant!—of suspicion. But that's all! I thought ..." He groped for words. "I thought it was a trap." It sounded lame now, and he felt like a fool. But he couldn't erase it completely. Too many years of tricks lay behind him.

  Her eyes narrowed. "When I set a trap, Mr. Smith, you'll know it. I don't plot and I don't sneak!"

  "I know that."

  She looked away. "I don't think you really do," she said softly, and walked off.

  "Charly, I . . ."

  "What?"

  "I love you."

  She glanced over her shoulder. "I love you too. But that's not enough, is it?" Her spine straightened. "See you next week, J.D."

  He had to think, to sort through his confusing emotions. "See you," he whispered, then left.

  Thirteen

  J.D. checked his watch. Ten minutes until the board meeting. He finger combed his hair and tightened the knot in his tie, sliding it back up into its original position. For days he had moved like a zombie, his mind wrestling with his doubts. He didn't want them, but they were there, and he couldn't seem to banish his demons any better than Charly had been able to banish hers.

  His mouth curved in a small smile. They were quite a pair. A dragon with fears of loneliness, and a onetime knight with a suspicious mind. How could they ever get together if their pasts kept intruding?

  He sighed. Reluctantly, he stood and walked to the door. Another problem, another charity to investigate, another annual report to sift through for the bank. Life went on, but it had lost its zing. He'd never realized before just how boring his life was.

  Talk in the boardroom was muted, any sound swallowed by the plush carpet and high ceiling. He walked past all of the white-haired members on the way to the front of the long oak table, a part of him noticing more whispers than usual, but his mind was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the extra attendee. He dropped his file on the table, sat with a scrunchy squeak of leather, and slipped on his glasses, his gaze on the file in front of him.

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen." The whispers ceased immediately. "You all have last quarter's financial statement." The quality of the silence bothered him, and he raised his head and looked down the length of the table. "Mother!" he exclaimed. His face hardened immediately, his emotions hidden.

  "Good afternoon, dear. About this statement—"

  "I thought you'd sworn off these meetings."

  "I had a premonition, dear. That you may need me.”

  He eyed her suspiciously, but she owned the place, after all, and he could hardly throw her out because of a personal problem. Turning back to the business at hand, he noticed several of the rather conservative board members darting uneasy glances at his mother, then around the room as if expecting something to pop out of the wainscoting. He didn't blame them. She had pulled a couple of rather embarrassing practical jokes during his father's reign. However, she seemed to be on her best behavior and asked several astute questions to clarify murky points.

  He relaxed, as much as was possible around Amanda, and concentrated on the reports. Unfortunately, his sharp and very active mind still worked on the problem of Charly even as he proceeded with the meeting. He missed her, but couldn't get rid of his doubts. And she was right. Until he could banish those, they had no chance.

  Only his mother noticed any problem with his concentration, and she smiled secretly when the someone entered the room.

  "Mr. Smith?" a messenger inquired politely.

  J.D. frowned at the Interruption, although special messengers weren't that unusual, even at board meetings. But this one was dressed in a trench coat and he heard a faint tinkling when she walked. It must have fogged up again outside, he thought as he identified himself. And she probably wore lots of jewelry. She did have some rather strange earrings.

  "I have a special delivery, Mr. Smith," she said with a smile, and pressed the play button on the small cassette player she set before him. Wondering who could possibly have sent a recording, he almost didn't see her trench coat drop to the floor. His mind registered that she was covered in colorful silk and gold coins just as the sitar music began on the tape. Finger cymbals chimed as she swirled to start her dance, the scarves floating around her in a blinding rainbow, the dim light winking off the ruby in her navel.

  "Mother!" His voice shook as he fought to control his rage.

  "She's not mine. I swear!" Amanda choked on her laughter as the belly dancer draped a veil over an apoplectic board member.

  Amanda was a lot of things, but she rarely swore, and he believed her. “Then who—" He watched as yet another veil came off. "Why did you come in today. Mother? And don't give me that song and dance about premonitions." Another veil came off. He wondered how anybody could make her navel jump that way without moving her hips.

  Amanda applauded a particularly intricate move, and another veil fell off. "She's very good," she commented without answering.

  J.D.'s eyes narrowed as the "messenger" undulated over to him. Only one other person would have done this.

  A key hung from the woman's golden brassiere. Since her anatomy continued to ripple before him, he calmly reached up and tugged. It had been held in place by a tag tucked into her costume, and it came free easily. Unfortunately, her back was turned to most of the audience and he heard several gasps as he seemingly jerked at her bra. When she turned back, one gentleman nearly fainted. He got the next veil.

  J.D. frowned over the key. which had a hotel's name and room number clearly stamped on it. He studied the tag. It contained only one word. "Call!"

  Amusement, exasperation, exhilaration, and anger all warred inside him. A call, as she well knew, was the way fencers checked their balance. He was going to strangle her with his bare hands.

  "Mother, take over!"

  "Yes, dear," she said calmly. 'Take as long as you need.”

  "Bet on it." He stripped off his glasses and dropped them in her lap. a devilish gleam in his eyes. "I’ll get you for this. Mother. I don't know how, yet, but I will."

  "Make me a grandmother," she said placidly. "That's punishment enough."

  He strode from the room, pausing in the doorway long enough to see another veil come off. Th
ere were only two left. This would be one board meeting not soon forgotten.

  "Wait’ll I get my hands on you!" he muttered to an absent Charly, and the thought gave him excruciating pleasure.

  Charly checked her travel clock for the thousandth time and threw a harried glance at the sinking sun outside the window. Where could he be? The girl should have delivered the key by now! She checked the clock again and growled.

  Her trailing sleeve caught on the cable box on top of the TV, and she tugged at the diaphanous material impatiently. A glance in the mirror showed her brown curls were going limp. She picked up the champagne and let it slop back into its bucket of what used to be ice. Even the strawberries were warm. Her perfect seduction scene, complete with black negligee, was ruined. Had she miscalculated the time? Or something else?

  Her laughter was halfhearted, and there was a bit of a hiccup at the end as she fought her tears. It would be nice to assume the messenger had gone astray, but the plain fact was that J.D. was obviously too angry. She grabbed her hairbrush and dragged it roughly through the fading curls, cursing her own stupidity. This was a rotten idea! Prodding him was hardly the way to quell his suspicions.

  Her eye caught the bottle of champagne. "What the heck," she muttered, and wrestled with the cork. It shot across the room, denting a lampshade. She raised the bottle in a silent toast, then took a long pull and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The warm champagne bubbled out, dripping to the carpet. She set the bottle down, calmly stripped off the sheer robe, and dropped it onto the puddle, then stepped on it. The next time she left her mouth over the lip of the bottle to catch the bubbles.

  A knock sounded at the door. Her heartbeat went into overdrive, and she leapt for the knob, swallowing her mouthful so quickly, she choked. Then she realized what she wore, and fearing it was room service, she snatched the sheet from the bed and spun into it. Clearing her throat, she flung open the door. The blushing teen on the other side stood perfectly still, holding out a small, wrapped package.

  'Thank you," she said, taking the package, He dropped his hand in relief.

  "You're welcome." He tipped his cap and walked off.

  She chuckled. He'd tipped his hat. How cute.

  Puzzled, she balanced the package in her hand as she closed the door. It was small but heavy for its size. The card taped to the top said simply revenge? Intrigued, she tore the paper off and gaped at the figurine she'd uncovered.

  It was pewter, the size of her fist—a lounging dragon with a bulging belly, tail in the air. It lay on top of a bannered helm, which read dragonslayer. A knight's gauntlet hung on the upright tail, and it was picking its teeth with a sword, obviously sated from its repast.

  "Oh my Lord!" she said, two enormous tears dripping down her face. So this was why J.D. was late! The worm had turned. Damn his pointy little ears!

  A loud, confident knock startled her. She set the figurine down and opened the door.

  Her eyes widened. A huge bouquet of snapdragons and roses seemed suspended atop a pair of long legs before her. A ribbon stretched across the blossoms. you were right. It read. i knew it.

  "I love the Greek look, Athena." came a familiar, husky voice. "Or is it Egyptian?"

  "You're a rat, J.D.," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

  "I know, but I'm a cute rat." He peered around the flowers. "May I come in or should I make a horrible scene in the hall?"

  "Heaven forbid that we make a scene." She chuckled weakly and waved him in. She watched as he laid the flowers on the dresser, and her heart skipped a beat as she noticed his trembling hands.

  "You sure know how to telegraph a punch," he said.

  "That's the only way I know."

  "I know that now. And I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

  "Me too."

  "I'm pond scum," he said.

  "Worse." Her lip quivered. "You're navel lint."

  "Field droppings."

  "The stuff that gets on your toes when—"

  His shoulders shook. "Are we going to stand around all day degrading my character, or are we going to get married?"

  The world stopped. "On two conditions," she whispered hoarsely.

  He froze. "Which are?"

  "Don't ever jump to conclusions."

  "As long as you do the same."

  "Agreed."

  "And the second?"

  She smiled. "Teach me to use a saber?"

  "Agreed."

  "In that case"—Charly toddled to him and lifted her hands to his chest—"you just try to keep me from that altar!" Her hands inched up farther, but he needed no inducement and lowered his mouth to hers, joyfully sealing the vow. Passion flared like wildfire in their veins, but he broke the kiss.

  "Did you miss me as much as I missed you?"

  She nodded. "And I didn't fall apart either."

  "No. You never will."

  "I know that now too. I can handle anything that comes my way. Most of the time." Despite her vow not to cry, her eyes filled with tears. "I’ll be depending on an occasional shoulder to lean on. Or a workout."

  "You'll always have it, love. Always." He pulled back and frowned at her attire. "I have to see what's under this." He tugged and unwound her. "I feel as though it's Christmas — oh!" His eyes darkened when he saw the sheer black teddy she wore. "Holy—"

  "It has little pink ribbons up the sides," she pointed out, forcing herself to respond playfully. It wasn't easy when her entire body was tingling in anticipation.

  "I see that," he muttered. "They're beautiful."

  "Thank you." Her hands moved to his jacket, stripping it away, then began on his vest and shirt. "They untie, you know."

  "No, I didn't," he said with a moan, burying his face in her hair. "But I'm dying to find out..."

  She spun out of reach, her laughter bubbling past her lips faster than the warm champagne. "Only if you catch me!"

  "Charly!" he cried. "What are you up to?"

  "The final lesson?" she asked impishly, her breathing growing ragged as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and stripped it off.

  He held her gaze as he slipped off his shoes.

  She gulped, her body responding with fiery intensity.

  He paced slowly forward, his hand on his belt as he unbuckled it. Then he lunged, but only caught the trailing edge of one of the ribbons as she skipped back, laughing again. Oh, Lord, how he'd missed that twinkle! He caught another ribbon before she made it to the other side of the room. Her left side was now exposed past her waist. This was the Charly of his dreams, the playful seductress.

  "Maybe you're too encumbered," she said, snickering.

  "Maybe," he commented thoughtfully, and peeled off his slacks and socks. "I feel like an idiot," he muttered, but laughed softly.

  "You look wonderful," she said, her eyes searing his body with blue fire. "You are everything I've ever wanted."

  "And you are everything I never expected." He groaned, his heartbeat erratic.

  This time he managed both ribbons on the right before she got away. He chased her around the room, and he expected their foolish game to cool his passion. But amazingly, it fed the fire inside him. She was a tantalizing imp, an enchanting Amazon, all rolled into one. Then he cornered her, and his hand reached out to the last ribbon, the one that held the material over her breasts. "You let me catch you," he whispered accusingly.

  "Revenge is sweet," she murmured as the pink satin ribbon slipped into his hand and the black lace fell away.

  In the wee hours of the morning, between the words of love and commitment, Charly asked suddenly, "Why did we have to begin with foils anyway? They bend. Why couldn't we start with sabers, or even epees?"

  J.D. chuckled softly. "Each is slightly different in their styles. Besides, you can only fence in competition with foils."

  "You use sabers. You told me so."

  He hesitated. "I can compete in all three. Uh, the choice is limited for . . . for women."

  Taut silence reign
ed for two full minutes.

  * * *

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  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen