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

by Starla Night

  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.

  Chapter Three

  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 started feeling 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, bo
ld 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.”