Dragon VIP: Pyrochlore (7 Virgin Brides for 7 Weredragon Billionaires Book 3)

by Starla Night

  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.

  Chapter Two

  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 ou
t 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.