by Ashlyn Chase
Copyright © 2013 by Ashlyn Chase
Cover and internal design © 2013 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Brittany Vibbert/Sourcebooks
Cover illustration by Chad Michael Ward
Cover image by Jon Zychowski
Cover model: Derek Zugic/G&J Models
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Flirting Under a Full Moon
About the Author
Back Cover
To my niece Nancy. She may (hopefully) never read this book, because her auntie writing about love and sex might give her the “ickies.”
But she helped brainstorm this series when she was a mere twelve years old and deserves more than a hug and a pizza.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she becomes a writer when she grows up. The kid’s got talent and imagination.
Chapter 1
“I’m never attending a destination wedding again.”
Bliss Russo dragged her garment bag and carry-on up the ramp to her Boston apartment building. Her purse had fallen off her shoulder ten minutes ago and dangled from her wrist. She needed the other hand to hold her cell phone to her ear so she could bitch to her friend Claudia.
“Oh, poor you. Someone made you go to Hawaii.” Claudia chuckled. “The bastards.”
“Seriously… do you know how long the flight is? Or I should say flights. First there’s the leg from Boston to L.A., then L.A. to Honolulu, and finally Honolulu to Maui. Two days later, I go from Maui to Honolulu. Then Honolulu to L.A. Then L.A. to Boston. Plus I had to follow Hawaiian wedding tradition—at least what the bride’s parents assured us was the tradition—and party all night. I haven’t slept for days.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not. Unless you count the five-minute nap I took at LAX. I was so exhausted, I woke up on the chair next to me when the guy I had apparently fallen asleep on got up and left.”
“Sorry. Okay, you’re right. It was a lousy, miserable thing to make you do. So where are you now?”
“Almost home. In fact, I’ll probably lose you in the elevator. Give me a few days to sleep and I’ll call you back.”
“Call by Thursday if you can, and let me know if you want to go out Saturday night.”
Bliss jostled the door open, and one of the residents held it while she maneuvered her luggage through. “I shouldn’t. I worked a little harder and got a few days ahead so I could go to this damn wedding in the first place, but I really can’t afford to take any more time off. The competition will crush me.”
“That’s what you get for landing in the finals of your dream reality show. What is it? America’s Next Great Greeting Card Designer?”
“It’s not called America’s Next… oh, forget it. I’m at the elevator now and I’m too tired to care. I’ll call you.”
“Okay, sugar. Sweet dreams.”
“Thanks.” Bliss hung up and dropped her phone into the bowels of her purse. She yanked and stuffed her luggage into the tiny elevator, which she rode to the second floor. Eventually, she dragged everything to her door, rattled the key in her lock, and brought it all into her bedroom. Passing out on top of her bed fully dressed seemed like the only good idea she was capable of having, so she donned a sleep mask, did a face-plant, and stayed that way.
***
Hours later—or maybe days—Bliss awoke to a deafening blare. Still disoriented, she had no idea what the hell the noise was or, for that matter, if it was night or day. She tore off the sleep mask and still couldn’t tell what was going on. But what was that smell?
Oh. My. God. Smoke! That ear-piercing screech is the friggin’ fire alarm.
Bliss tried to remember what to do. Oh yeah, crouch down low and get the fuck out of Dodge. Thank the good Lord she lived on the second floor, because she couldn’t use the stupid elevator.
Bliss remembered just in time to put her hand to the door before opening it. It didn’t feel as though there were an inferno on the other side. Staying low, she opened the door. The smoke was so thick she could barely see. She held her breath and charged toward the end of the hall.
Suddenly, her head hit something firm and she fell backward. “Oomph.” The sharp intake of breath resulted in a coughing fit.
Looking up to see what she had hit, she realized she had just head-butted a firefighter’s ass.
He swiveled and mumbled through his mask. “Really? I’m here to save you, and you spank me?”
Despite her earlier panic, Bliss felt a whole lot safer and started to giggle. Oh no. My computer! “Wait, I have to go back…”
“No. You need to get out of here, now.” The firefighter lifted her like she weighed nothing—an amazing feat in itself—then carried her the wrong way down the rest of the hallway, through the fire door, and down the stairs.
“Wait!” She grasped him around the neck and tried to see his face through watering eyes.
His mask, helmet, and shield covered almost his whole head, but she caught a glimpse of gold eyes and a shock of hair, wheat-colored with yellow streaks, angled across his forehead. She thought it odd that the city would let firefighters dye their hair like rock musicians.
As soon as they’d made it to the street, she could see better and noticed his eyes were actually green and almond shaped. She must have imagined the gold color. He set her down near the waiting ambulance and pulled off his mask.
What a hottie! But I don’t have time for that now. She staggered slightly as she tried to head back toward the door.
He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Hey,” he shouted to one of the paramedics. “Give her some oxygen.”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t need any medical attention.” Thanks to the gorgeous hunk with the weird hair.
“Please… let them check you out.”
“I’d rather let you check me out.” She covered her mouth and grinned. “Sorry. It must be the smoke inhalation.
He laughed. “Seriously? First you grab my ass, and now you’re hitting on me?”
/> “I didn’t ‘grab your ass.’ For your information, I ran face-first into your… behind.”
“Oh. Well, pardon me for being in the way.”
His smile almost stopped her heart—or was it the lack of oxygen? Regardless, she had to rip herself away from him and get her computer out of the building before it melted. No matter how hard she pulled, he didn’t budge.
“You need to go back in there for my computer. Apartment twenty-five, halfway down the hall.”
He took off his gloves. “Look, I’m sorry, miss, but if I went back in there now, my chief would have my hide.”
“But my whole life is on that computer. I’m in the finale of a huge TV competition.”
He didn’t seem impressed, so she tried again.
“It’s my greeting card business and all my newest designs are there. This show would pay for a whole ad campaign and give me fifty grand if I win.” Realizing she sounded like a babbling idiot, she pressed on. “I’ve worked so hard to make it this far. If I lose my work, I’ll never catch up. I’ll wind up presenting a half-assed portfolio, and not only can I forget about winning, but it could ruin me!”
***
Drake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His weakness might be beautiful brunettes, but did she honestly expect him to risk his life for an object that could be replaced? Could she not see smoke pouring out of the building? Sure, he could probably manage it, being fireproof and all, but after the chewing out he got the last time…
“Don’t you keep a backup file online?”
“No. I don’t trust the Internet,” she said with the saddest expression in her beautiful brown eyes. “There are too many hackers out there, and this greeting card competition is outrageously competitive. Pleeeease!”
All this hoopla for a piece of paper that reads, “Roses are red. Violets are blue?” The brunette didn’t appear to be insane, no matter how stupid this reality show sounded. There were crazier things on TV.
His chief had already warned Drake about risking his neck and told him to knock off taking stupid chances. He’d lucked out the last time. The mayor, a big dog lover, heard that Drake had gone back into a two-alarm blaze to rescue a greyhound. Then Mr. Mayor made the chief disregard any thought of suspending Drake by giving him a medal. But that sort of luck wouldn’t hold, especially if this insubordination was about an inanimate object.
Drake reached out and physically turned the woman around so she could see the inferno behind her. The feel of her soft, warm skin sent an unexpected jolt of awareness through him.
Her hands flew to cover her mouth, and the same sad, desperate sound all fire victims made as they witnessed the destruction and loss of something precious eked out. The tears forming in her eyes did him in.
If he weren’t fireproof, running back into that building would toast him like a marshmallow, but being a dragon, he knew he could do it.
“Ah, hell.” Before anyone could stop him, he dashed in the side entrance. He could always say he thought he heard a call for help.
“Stop. Oh, crap,” was what he really heard. Apparently the brunette had changed her mind, but he was committed now.
Second floor, halfway down the hall, he repeated to himself until he found it. She had left her door open. Fortunate for him, not so much for her apartment. Smoke and flames were everywhere. He felt the familiar tingle just under his skin that signaled an impending shift. Fan-fucking-tastic. Skin became scales. Fingers became claws. His neck elongated, and out popped his tail, creating an unsightly bulge in the back of his loose coveralls. His wings were cramped and folded up under his jacket, but it couldn’t be helped.
His sight was greatly improved in his alternate form, and he spotted the Mac on her glass tabletop. The flames hadn’t reached it yet, so he did his best to grab it with his eagle-like talons and carry it against his chest.
Lumbering down the hall, he wondered where, and if, he’d be able to shift back before anyone saw him. Maybe it’s cooler in the basement—but what if I get trapped down there?
Instead of heading down another level, he opened the emergency door just enough to toss the laptop onto the grass outside. The outside air was so much cooler that he thought he might be able to shift back right there.
Concentrating on his human form, he inhaled the fresh air and sensed his head and body shrinking and compacting. He glanced down and saw his human hands again. His back felt enormously better without squished wings digging into it.
Ah… I made it undetected.
Or had he? The brunette was standing a few feet away, wide-eyed and open mouthed—hugging her computer.
***
“What the…”
The handsome firefighter, who had appeared like some kind of dinosaur in the smoke only a moment earlier, stepped out of the building and stretched as if trying to work a kink out of his spine. He whipped off his mask and stared at her.
Bliss scrubbed her eye socket with the heel of her hand. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me. There was no other possible explanation. Between her jet-lagged brain and smoke-filled vision, her mind’s eye had concocted a reptilian form that was really her hero firefighter.
Oh, fuck it. “Thank you!” He deserves a reward. She rushed up to him and cupped the back of his head, dragging him down until she mashed her lips to his in the mother of all adoring kisses. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her against him, returning her kiss. She fit his body as if they’d been made for each other. The fire he’d just rescued her from had nothing on the heat in his kiss.
Unfortunately for both of them, the chief came striding around the corner along with the paramedics. The paramedics led her away while her hottie fireman received the dressing-down of a lifetime, complete with explicit and crude language.
“Please don’t be mad at him,” Bliss called over her shoulder. “It’s my fault. I asked him to go back in.” But it was too late. A paramedic slapped an oxygen mask over her face as she heard the chief sputter the words “suspended” and “get the hell out of my sight” to her hot hero. She tried to wrestle off the damn mask, but by the time she did, he was gone.
***
Upon their return to the fire station, the guys whistled at a curvaceous blond waiting for them with a camera. Drake vaguely remembered the chief saying something about their posing for a calendar.
“Terrific,” he muttered.
The chief spotted her and groaned. Then he pointed at Drake. “He goes first.”
As they hung up their jackets, the chief strode to his office.
“Drake, buddy,” Benjamin said, “I’d hang around and watch, but I gotta shower.” He slapped Drake on the back and jogged up the stairs with the rest of them.
Drake glanced down at his filthy hands as the blond sashayed over to him.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said.
“Look, I hate to make you wait, but I should shower before you take any pictures. We just…”
She finger-walked her way up his chest. “Oh, I know. You were out fighting fires and saving people. I think that’s sexy as hell. Don’t change a thing. Except, take your shirt off.”
Drake stifled a groan. He was tired and about to be suspended. This was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
Figuring he was in enough trouble for defying the chief’s orders, he whipped off his white undershirt, faced the blond female photographer as if she were a firing squad, and asked, “How do you want me?”
She chuckled and raised one eyebrow.
“Uh… What should I be doing?” he asked.
From the look in her eyes and the way she licked her lips, the answer was X-rated. Maybe they shouldn’t have sent a woman to shoot the annual firefighters’ calendar. At this rate it would be December before she finished taking the pictures.
“I don’t want to be rude, but I really don’t feel
like doing this right now.” When she didn’t respond, he waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Hello,” he said to break through the woman’s vacant stare.
“Your hair… I’ve never seen yellow streaks like that. They’re like primary colors.”
“Yeah, it’s unusual, and before you ask, it’s natural. My whole family has them.” It would be so much easier if I could just come out and say it’s how dragons know each other by clan. But, of course, he could not. Dragons were governed by the same rule every paranormal faction had to live by—namely not to reveal their existence to humans. To do so would cause widespread panic, witch hunts, and they’d probably wind up as government lab rats.
“Oh, um…” At last she seemed to remember her professionalism. “Pick up that hose and stand a quarter-turn to the right.”
Drake did as he was asked and she clicked her shutter release.
“Um, you might want to hold it higher.”
Drake realized he was holding the nozzle right in front of his junk as if it were a limp phallus. He dropped it and grabbed an ax instead, resting it on his shoulder.
“Oh, yeah. That pose really shows off your muscles.” She moved and clicked. Moved and clicked some more.
“Act like you’re having fun. Smile,” she said.
Drake rolled his eyes. “Fighting fires isn’t exactly a laugh a second.”
“Maybe if you think about something pleasant, it’ll produce the look I’m going for.”
Let’s see… something pleasant. Unfortunately, he couldn’t come up with much of anything at the moment. He had just lost the last friendly dragon he knew—his mother—a few weeks ago and still didn’t feel like his old jovial self. Plus he was in trouble with the chief. He’d never work his way up the ladder at this rate, and the job was his life. Maybe his buddies were right. He needed a hobby.
“You’re still looking awfully serious. Here, let me try something.”
“Christ,” he muttered.
She set down the camera and strolled up to him. Unbuttoning her blouse enough to expose lush cleavage, she said in a low, sultry voice, “Think of the fun we can have after I finish the shoot.”