by Jane Jamison
Roman’s silvery gaze had taunted him, daring Dalton to throw his ass out.
They’d watched each other during the show, silently sparring with hard glances and sneers. Once the client had returned to his hotel for the night, Roman had strode across the floor and offered to buy Dalton a drink.
He should’ve tossed him out, but there was just something about the young man that reminded him of himself at an earlier age. Instead, after making sure no other dragon was around, he’d taken Roman up on his offer.
The rest of the night was a blur of alcohol. Dalton should’ve been embarrassed by his behavior, should’ve realized a friendship between them could never exist, but he’d ignored every warning. He didn’t have friends. Had, in fact, never wanted any. Until then.
His instincts had never failed him before, and they didn’t then. He’d sensed Roman was one of the rare men he could call a friend, and he’d been right—even if Roman was irritating as hell at times.
“Dalton, change. Now.” Roman crossed his arms. “You’re wasting time.”
Dalton’s gaze swept over Roman, challenging him to push him again. Roman was right. Being seen together would cause problems. The need to speak sent him into the transformation. By the time he was back in his human body, the remnants of the shift shuddering through him, he was already stepping toward the young man, ready to take him to the ground with one quick punch.
“Stop giving me orders.”
Roman opened his arms, a smug smile on his lips. “Come here, sexy.”
Dalton slammed to a stop. “Will you stop that shit? Or are you trying to out yourself? If so, just tell everyone and get it over with, boy.” Calling Roman boy was his way of getting in a dig.
“What’s the matter, D-man? Aren’t you secure in your masculinity?”
Dalton pulled his frame straighter. “Let’s just get on with this.” He pointed a warning finger at Roman. “Damn it. You know what I mean.”
Roman’s laugh carried on the wind. “Okay, okay. Don’t get your wings in a bunch.”
“Why’d you want to meet up?”
“I wanted to see if you’d heard anything. It’s not like my clan is telling your clan anything. The whole thing is a fucking mess.”
The disappointment in Roman’s tone matched the knot in Dalton’s stomach that had come as soon as he’d heard about the theft. He hated to admit it, but cooperation between the dragons was necessary. At least, as far as he was concerned. Others, however, sought to keep the clans separate.
“You have a knack for stating the obvious.”
A very valuable, very rare golden bracelet called the Bracelet of Atlantis had gone missing from the vault of the Council of Dragons. As a sacred relic from the ancient times when humans knew dragons existed and sought to wipe them out, the bracelet had become a symbol of the heritage and history of all dragon clans. A prophecy surrounded the bracelet, making it even more intriguing. According to the legend, when the right woman claimed the bracelet, she would become the Dragoness for all the clans.
Dalton’s clan had been entrusted to keep the bracelet safe, guarding over it in a cave far below ground. Two weeks ago, the bracelet had disappeared. Accusations between the various dragon clans had gone wild, pitting one clan against the other.
“What about on your end of things? Have you heard anything?”
Roman’s jaw clenched. “Not a damn thing. If I believed the rumors, I’d say your clan has it.”
“Bullshit.” He should’ve expected as much. After all, the Emeralian dragons had been the ones guarding the bracelet, giving them access to the valuable artifact. If the situation were reversed, he’d probably think the same thing of the Talasiums.
“You know the rumors are a bunch of bullshit lies. More than likely, the Dradians started them.” The Dradian dragons were known for their lack of scruples. Treacherous and deceitful, they wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever would benefit them.
“I’m only telling you what little I know.” Roman rolled his shoulders, his jaw clenching. “If we don’t find it soon, we probably never will.”
“At least we agree on that much. We still don’t know how they breached our security. They had to get past the usual hotel security, then into the tunnels, and finally into the lair.”
Dalton was telling his friend too much, but he’d trusted Roman from the first night. On top of trusting his dragon instincts, he was a good judge of character and hoped he was on track now. “Then there were another four levels of security to get through.”
“I don’t really give a flying fart about the damn bracelet.”
Dalton jerked his gaze up to meet Roman’s. “A flying fart?” He couldn’t help but grin. “Now that’s a new one.”
“The saying’s been around a while. You’re the old dude here, so you should’ve heard it before.”
How could he like someone who was always getting under his skin? He resisted the urge to shift again and give Roman a hot foot. “Anyway, keep your eyes and ears open. We’ll find out who took it sooner or later.”
His gaze shifted toward the dark hole. No one would see them inside. “Maybe we should continue this discussion in the cave.” He cringed as he realized what he’d said, playing perfectly into one of Roman’s taunts.
Fortunately, Roman let it slide without going for a joke. “What more is there to say?”
“Not much. Just keep your eyes open and let me know if you find out anything new.”
“Will do.” Roman scanned the air around them, searching for others who might see them. “Hey, there’s a new club opening up just off the Strip. Want to get a few drinks tonight?” As humans, they could blend in with the crowd and not worry as much about being seen together.
Dalton had gone without a friend for far too many years. Hell, centuries. He had to admit it felt good having one. But they’d pushed their luck already. “No. I need to get going.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” Roman grinned, back to his prankster self. “Was it something I said? Or does the size of my cock intimidate you?”
“You, boy, are a fucking asshole.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Typical Roman humor. Double entendre all the way. Was he that way with only Dalton? Or did he say the same outrageous things to other male dragons? Dalton should pretend to take him up on his so-called sexual offers. No doubt, it would send Roman running.
Dalton shifted, taking the transformation so quickly that he leapt into the air before the shift was completed. For a moment, he floated in the air, free-falling as his body changed. As soon as his wings grew, he pointed his snout upward and soared away. Roman’s laughter followed him.
Chapter Two
“This is going to be so much fun, Peyton.”
“You bet it is.” Peyton Henley grinned at Shirley Wysterman, her best friend since the first day of high school. They scooted out of the elevator of the Vegas Hotel Royale and into the mass of people around the slot machines.
“How about we start off with the quarter slots then move our way up to the dollar ones?” Shirley’s red hair bounced around her shoulders as she danced her way among the machines. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement even behind the large black oval glasses.
“Wow. Dollar ones, huh? You’re really going to take a risk tonight, aren’t you?” Peyton could tease Shirley all she wanted. Her friend always took it the right way since Peyton was just as unadventurous as she was.
Until now. Tonight, I’m going all out.
She took note of the bigger slots where the prize of a red convertible sat on a huge stage surrounded by a circle of the machines. Winning a car would be amazing, but she didn’t want to spend her evening pushing buttons.
“I think we should really do it up right.” She tugged Shirley along with her and headed toward the blackjack tables. “Let’s gamble the way you’re supposed to gamble in Vegas. We’re going to act like we know what we’re doing and sit at the tables.”
Shirley stumbled along with her. �
��You’re right, but I don’t know how to play those games. Maybe we should stick to what we know. Besides, sometimes the waitresses will bring you a free drink if you stay at one machine long enough.”
“They’ll give you a free drink at the tables, too.” Did they? She wasn’t sure. “If they don’t, I’ll buy you one.”
“Seriously, I don’t know if we should. We could lose our money way too fast.”
“Listen, Shirley, you can play the slots all you want, but I came to Vegas to do more than punch a button.”
She stopped and took hold of her friend’s arms. “Remember what we talked about back home? We’re going to stop being afraid to go out and have some real fun. Don’t tell me we came all the way from Dayton to have you chicken out.” She made squawking noises.
“I’m just trying to make my money last. It’s not like we’re rich.”
Peyton hated thinking about their limited funds. They both worked in an insurance company and made modest incomes. If they hadn’t decided to share an apartment, she would’ve ended up living with her parents. At thirty-one, it would’ve been downright embarrassing. As it was, it had taken them a full year to save for their Las Vegas vacation.
“I know, but this is our chance to really let go. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and win a small fortune.”
Peyton slung an arm around her friend’s shoulder and nodded at the tables lined up neatly in rows. Men and women occupied all but one of the tables. At that one remaining table, a handsome man with black hair curling around his oval face checked his cards then tapped the table, letting the dealer know he wanted another card. The dealer flipped over a card, took a second to see what the player had, then swept all the cards and the chips toward him. The man scowled then lifted his gaze and met hers.
The breath rushed out Peyton, leaving her dizzy. He was more than merely handsome. His facial features were the perfect image of the boy-next-door type, yet there was a reckless, devil-may-care air about him. His expression seemed to hold all the answers to the mysteries of life. He was dressed simply in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and faded black jeans, yet he wore them with an uncaring ease only a person who was comfortable in their skin could manage. Although he couldn’t have been much older than her, his confident demeanor spoke of a wiser person, someone who’d lived and loved far more than she’d ever dreamed of doing.
“Holy crap, who is that?” whispered Shirley.
“I don’t know, but I want to find out.”
His attention was still on her, even as the dealer spoke to him. He nodded once in answer to the dealer then lifted the corners of his mouth in the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.
“We’re in luck. There are chairs free at his table.” Back home, she would’ve never been bold enough to make the first move, but growing more determined than ever to get out of her comfort zone, she took hold of Shirley’s hand again and strode toward the table.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea. He’s so…”
Peyton smiled back at the handsome man. “Yes, he is. Which is why we want to sit next to him.”
When he turned his attention to the dealer, robbing her of his smile and his intense gaze, she felt bereft. Lonely. Hurt. As though he’d silently promised her the world and then taken it away.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she took the seat beside him and slipped onto it. Shirley hesitated then hopped onto the stool to Peyton’s right.
Peyton’s body tingled, the thrill of simply sitting next to him racing her heart. She did her best to sit up straight and act as though she knew what she was doing.
“Are you in, miss?” The dealer’s nametag said he was called Walter.
“Um, yes. Of course.”
Walter’s eyebrows lifted in a question. “Do you have any chips, or would you like to charge this to your room?”
Shit. She hadn’t thought to buy chips at one of the many cashiers. Shirley nudged her, probably to remind her of their limited funds. Charging things to their room could get out of hand.
“The ladies can bet on my tab, Walter.”
She met mesmerizing, silver eyes and had to force herself to think. To speak. “We couldn’t let you pay for our bets. I mean we really don’t know what we’re doing. You’d be throwing your money away.”
He smiled again. If there was another man half as handsome, she’d never seen him. In real life or in the movies.
“It’s my pleasure.” He offered his hand. “I’m Roman Sterling.”
She slid her palm against his. Strangely, his hand felt strong, almost callused, and yet soft and comforting. “I’m Peyton Henley, and this is my friend Shirley Wysterman.”
Shirley let out a high-pitched giggle. “We’re from Ohio.”
Shit. Why tell him? We already look like country people compared to the well-dressed sophisticated women around here.
“From Ohio, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from Ohio.” His focus landed on Shirley for a moment then darted back to her. “I’ve been missing out.”
A compliment from a sexy stranger. Good way to start the night.
A polite clearing of a throat turned their attention to Walter. He waited, ready to deal the next hand.
“Don’t worry about the money. Just have fun.” Roman motioned for Walter to deal the hands. “Do you know how to play?”
“Sort of.”
“The idea of the game is simple. You want the total sum of your cards to be as close to twenty-one without going over. Face cards are ten and an ace can be either an eleven or a one, whichever you choose. Easy, right?”
“Right. Twenty-one.” He could’ve read a technical journal about how to assemble a lawn mower and she would’ve loved every minute of it.
“Here’s some bank to get you started.” Roman slid a stack of colored chips to Shirley then another stack in front of Peyton.
“Place your bets, please.” Walter set two cards face down in front of each of them. Taking her cue from Roman, she tossed a red chip toward Walter.
Oh, shit. Did I just bet fifty dollars?
Suddenly nervous, she was about to give Shirley a warning look, but her friend had already copied her bet. Instead, she bit her bottom lip, checked her cards, and added them up.
Nineteen. Close, but is it good enough?
Roman glanced her way. “If you want another card, you touch the table or say ‘hit me.’ If you don’t, then just shake your head or say ‘stay’ or ‘hold.’ Most people hold on eighteen, but I think they lack nerve. You know what they say. No risk, no reward.” His laugh was like molasses running down the bark of a tree. “Still, I’d better warn you. I’ve been on a losing streak since I sat down, so maybe you shouldn’t take my advice.”
She nodded, frowning at her cards. If she got lucky, she’d get a two, but what were the odds? She’d never been good at taking risks. Instead of following his advice to take a chance, she shook her head. “Stay.”
Roman and Shirley took another card each.
Shirley groaned and pushed her cards away. “Twenty-five. I suck at this game.” She glanced longingly at the slot machines before pushing her stack of chips toward Peyton. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to grab a machine. It’s more my style.”
“Wait.” Peyton didn’t have time to snag her friend’s arm before Shirley was already off the chair and scurrying toward the noisy machines.
“It’s okay. She’ll be fine on her own. Besides, I can’t let you leave now.”
“Why?”
“You’re my good luck charm.” Roman pulled the chips Walter had set before him closer. He quickly divided up the stack and gave her half. “This is the start of a winning streak. I can feel it.”
Using his money to gamble with was pressure enough. Now he thought of her as his lucky charm? “Trust me. I’ve never been lucky. You shouldn’t count on me.”
He gave her a curious look. “Of course I should. A man knows when he’s met his Lady Luck. Right, Walter?”
Walter,
however, remained silent, his expression emotionless.
Thanks a lot, Walter.
The next game came and went so fast she barely knew what she’d done. More chips were placed in front of Roman and even a few more in front of her.
“See what I mean? It’s not often that Lady Luck wins, too. Her luck’s usually meant just for the man who falls for her.”
He was flirting with her. Much like betting, it was making her uncomfortable, but in an entirely different way. “I don’t even know what I did. Besides, you don’t know me.”
“But I’d like to.”
She wanted to say something yet couldn’t think of anything.
“Take it easy, baby. I’m harmless. At least, most of the time.” His laughter washed over her like a warm rain on a cold day. Unless Shirley needed her, she could sit next to him all night and into the next morning.
Several hands later, the pile of chips had grown substantially higher. Roman leaned toward her and wrapped his arm around her waist. Not around her shoulders as a friend would do, but around her waist. She hoped he couldn’t feel her tremble.
“You, Peyton Henley, are definitely my lucky charm.”
His gaze settled on her, his eyes glinting with humor and—was she imagining it?—real sexual interest. At any other time, she would’ve been too shy and would’ve ducked her head to stare at her lap, but not this time. She’d promised herself to be bolder and more adventurous than she’d ever been before.
“Thanks. I’m glad I could turn your luck around.”
He leaned even closer, putting his mouth next to her ear. She sizzled, her breath going shallow. Would he kiss her?
“We were meant for each other, Peyton.”
He was flirting again. And yet she couldn’t help but wonder. For good luck? Or more?
She admonished herself for giving into such a romantic notion. Being more outgoing didn’t mean acting like a damn fool. “If you say so.”
Suddenly, the heat in his eyes changed, and his expression grew tense as he looked over her shoulder. She started to turn around, but he stopped her, his palm cupping her cheek. Inhaling one quick breath, she waited, too enthralled by his touch to do anything more.