Firestorm Forever: A Dragonfire Novel

by Deborah Cooke

  “Are you really a tarot card reader?” Sloane saw her eyes widen and knew she wasn’t.

  “What makes you ask?”

  He shrugged, keeping his tone easy. “You just seem pretty direct for someone who casts spells and reads tarot cards.”

  Sam arched a brow. “Instead of floating around in dreamy clothes and being incapable of managing real life?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. You just have a pragmatism about you.” Sloane mused. “More like a scientist than a mystic. And that made me curious about you.”

  He saw alarm flash in Sam’s eyes before she averted her face.

  “Maybe the stereotypes aren’t true,” she said, her voice a bit breathless. “How many tarot card readers and mystics do you know, anyway?” She was hiding something from him, and her evasiveness only made Sloane more determined to unravel the truth.

  They had, after all, shared an incredible physical intimacy. He sensed that she needed to heal, and that this refusal to confide in him—or anyone, likely—was an obstacle to her recovery.

  Healing, after all, was Sloane’s business.

  He chuckled at her question, watching her all the while. He didn’t want to miss a nuance of her reaction. “I’ve met plenty here in California. You’re definitely unique.”

  “Maybe that’s my niche,” she said stiffly.

  “Maybe. I’m skeptical, though, that tarot card readings paid for that house.”

  The property adjacent to Sloane’s had been for sale for a year or so, since the previous owner’s death, because the heirs had wanted a high price for it. They had to split the profit six ways, and Sloane thought that desire had informed their choice of price more than the assets of the property itself. It was a nice house on a large lot, but in need of updates. Real estate wasn’t cheap in the area, by any means, but their price had been too high for most buyers—even Sloane. He’d been surprised to learn that the house finally and suddenly sold, no less that the sellers had gotten their asking price. That deal had changed perceived values throughout the area.

  Sam was visibly discomfited, which told Sloane he was getting close. “Maybe I don’t own it.”

  “But you do.” He kept his voice low and even, speaking slowly but with conviction. “It says Samantha Wilcox on the title and doesn’t list the liability of a mortgage.”

  She glared him. “You checked on me.”

  Sloane tried to reassure her. “I check all of my new neighbors. I’m kind of private that way.” He smiled in an attempt to ease her concerns. “Call it a weakness.”

  Sam dropped her gaze and he guessed she’d lie. “I used my divorce settlement,” she said, her tone hard. “I married well and divorced better. There. Mystery solved.”

  There was bitterness in her voice and Sloane knew better than to press her any more, at least for the moment. He wondered how recently the divorce had happened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

  “Don’t be. It’s better this way.” Sam sat straight now, as invincible as a warrior princess, and Sloane wished he hadn’t said anything. She was so distant than he doubted he’d get close to her again.

  But then Sam surprised him. She took a deep breath and eased closer to him again. She smiled and slid her hand over his skin in a slow caress. Her fingertips felt good, her light caress making him think about how things should go from here. The tension that had arisen between them was dispelled, as easily as that, pleasure pushing complications aside.

  He was ready for another round and she knew it. Sam’s gaze swept over him, and she smiled with satisfaction. “Let’s keep things simple,” she suggested in a low murmur. “This was good—very good—and I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Even after tonight.” She held his gaze with resolve, and Sloane recognized that they were negotiating. “But no questions. No emotions. No confidences.”

  “No commitment for the future?”

  She shook her head.

  “Just sex?” Sloane said, not believing that was even possible.

  “Just sex,” Sam said firmly. “Plain, simple, wonderful sex. It’s good for the immune system, you know.”

  Sloane laughed despite himself. “I thought you’d say it was good for the soul.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Got to keep the element of surprise on my side.” Sloane wondered but she eased her hand down his stomach and over the tops of his thighs, teasing him with her fleeting caress. “If you’re as interested as I am.”

  “Can you doubt it?”

  The stars glinted overhead and the heat of the other firestorm was fading steadily. Sloane felt powerful but in control of his dragon. That would have been worth celebrating, even if he hadn’t been naked beside the pool with a beautiful and mysterious woman.

  “Are you cautious because of your divorce?” he dared to ask, hoping she could admit it.

  “In a way,” she acknowledged with a shrug. “I’m never going to marry again, so there’s no point pretending that possibility is in my future. What’s the point to surviving anything if we don’t learn from our mistakes?”

  “The next time you marry might not be a mistake,” Sloane suggested.

  “There won’t be a next time,” Sam said with resolve. “I’m alone now and staying alone.”

  “You sound very sure.”

  “I’m positive. And I don’t want you to have expectations I can’t fulfill.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Even though she was offering a solution that was perfect for Sloane, who had to be able to commit to his destined mate whenever his firestorm sparked, he understood intuitively that ‘just sex’ wasn’t the right answer for Sam.

  He wanted to be part of the solution for her, not create another issue.

  “Does it matter?” Sam leaned over him, her hair spilling on his chest, and brushed her lips over his. Her eyes were sparkling again as she surveyed him and he was pleased to see her lips start to curve in a smile. “What kind of man are you to turn down sex with no commitment?”

  “One who might surprise you.”

  There was a glint of hope in her eyes, one that she dismissed quickly but Sloane still noted. She wasn’t as invulnerable as she wanted him to believe. “I don’t think so.”

  Sloane slid his hand down her back, his admiration for more than Sam’s slender curves. “Maybe I’ll take that as a challenge.”

  Her brow quirked. “Maybe I’ll check the cards on your prospect of success.”

  Sloane shook his head, pretending to be dismayed. “There you go again, making me curious.” He locked his hands around her waist and pulled her closer.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed a little and she braced her hands on his chest. “Curious about what?”

  “Why a mystic wouldn’t check her tarot cards before seducing her neighbor.”

  “Maybe I was just too hot to take the time.”

  “Maybe.” Sloane grinned up at her. “Maybe you like talking more than you insist you do.”

  Her smile flashed, then she bent to kiss him with a passion that fed his own.

  Could he heal Sam’s scar? Sloane was amazed by how much he wanted to do just that. A divorce could be a deep wound, but most people moved past it. It took time, and maybe someone to listen.

  He could be that person. Even if he couldn’t commit to Sam for the duration, he could help her to move forward with her life. It was an appealing prospect. Sloane rolled onto his side as he kissed Sam, feeling his desire burn brighter. He deepened his kiss when she wrapped her arms around his neck with a contented sigh.

  He wouldn’t trust Sam until he knew all of her truth, but he supposed she didn’t know all of his, either.

  Maybe simple pleasure was just the beginning of what they could offer each other.

  Maybe it would be the way to win her trust.

  When Sloane broke that kiss, they were both breathing hard again. Her eyes were sparkling and Sloane bent to kiss her throat, then between her breasts. Bo
th of her hands trailed over his shoulders, then suddenly she froze.

  He lifted his head to find that she was staring at the tattoo on his upper arm. “A caduceus,” she whispered and he was intrigued that she recognized the symbol. “But with dragons.” She shuddered and pulled away, evading his gaze. “Why?”

  “Because I thought it was cool,” he said lightly, which wasn’t entirely a lie. He watched her, noting how she tried to hide her revulsion.

  “A symbol of the dead? Of the god who was the patron of thieves?” She shook her head. “Why would you think that was cool? And with dragons!” She drew back to look at him. “What kind of life do you live?”

  Sloane was intrigued. Most people assumed the caduceus was the symbol of health care, although that was really the Rod of Asclepius, which featured only one snake. The caduceus did have a darker meaning, one he found appropriate for his inherited role among the Pyr.

  It was also evocative of his father’s warning, murmured so long ago.

  He found himself a little troubled that Sam had spied one of his secrets. “You think dragons are more worrisome than snakes, maybe even more of a problem than thieves and the dead.”

  “Definitely.” Sam was scurrying backward, slipping out of his embrace. She snatched her bikini bottom and pulled it on, her amorous mood clearly dispelled.

  By the dragons in his tattoo.

  Or the suggestion that he had a secret.

  It was intriguing, given that she had plenty of them herself.

  Sloane knew better than to pursue her. He remained where he was and watched her dress. “Why?”

  “Don’t you watch the news?” Sam’s tone was hard, and she turned her back on him as she reached for her bikini top.

  “Which news?” Sloane’s kind had been in the news repeatedly over the past few years, not least because Rafferty’s mate Melissa had aired a television special about the Pyr. There was another journalist named Maeve O’Neill who had also taken an interest in the Pyr, although her reports were far less favorable than Melissa’s. Even Sloane, who wasn’t that interested in public opinion, knew that Maeve had some rabid followers.

  Was Sam one of them?

  “The Seattle virus, of course! Dragons are responsible for that.” Sam gestured wildly to his tattoo, her hands shaking. “To choose to have a tattoo like that on your body is an abomination.” She was furious.

  Clearly, he’d struck a nerve, without meaning to do so.

  “You feel really strongly about this,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “But many people think dragons are just myths.”

  “They’re not myths! They’re destructive killers, bent on exterminating the human race.” Sam dressed with savage gestures, pausing to glare at him. “And making good progress with it, too.” She pointed to his tattoo. “That thing on your arm is not cool.” She turned and marched toward the gate, outrage in her every step. “And if you think it is, then we’re finished forever.”

  Sloane wished he hadn’t upset Sam, but he was intrigued by the vehemence of her reaction. “It’s just a tattoo,” he protested.

  She spun at the gate to glare at him. “It’s a permanent mark on your skin, a design that you chose and that was put there with considerable time, pain and expense. There’s no just about it!”

  “You can’t leave already,” he protested, keeping his tone low and calm.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re angry.” Sloane got to his feet slowly, noting how she surveyed him. Her stance softened slightly, and he knew she was as attracted to him as he was to her. He smiled a little and felt her heart skip. “It would be bad luck.”

  Sam laughed then, though the sound wasn’t light-hearted. “Then I guess we’re in for some bad luck, because I can’t stay.”

  “Not even if I cover it?” Sloane put one hand over the tattoo, perfectly willing to put on a shirt if it appeased her.

  Sam shuddered violently again and shook her head. “Not even if you have it surgically removed. The fact that you have it means we have nothing more to say to each other.”

  “I thought you didn’t want us to talk anyway.”

  Sam glared at him, then pivoted and strode out the gate. “Let’s forget this night ever happened.”

  Dragons were a problem for her.

  Sloane watched her go, trying to be philosophical about it instead of disappointed. Maybe it was better that anything between them ended before it really began, given the truth of his nature. Sam wasn’t going to take well to learning that he was Pyr—though he had no intention of confiding in her quickly, he was inherently honest. It would only have been a matter of time before he trusted a partner with such a secret.

  Especially if he fell in love.

  Could he fall in love with a woman who wasn’t his destined mate? Sloane had never thought it possible, but there was something about Sam that touched him deeply. He leaned on the fence, watching her, more than his curiosity aroused.

  Only when Sam was safely back in her own house, and after she turned out the kitchen lights, did he lock his gate and turn back to the house.

  Maybe it was time he dug a little deeper into Sam’s history.

  Sloane might have done just that if his cell phone hadn’t rung. In five minutes, he was booking a commercial flight to Chicago and throwing every unguent in his arsenal as the Apothecary of the Pyr into his bag.

  Erik was seriously wounded, Boris Vassily was returned from the dead, and there was too much to do to ponder the contradictions of Samantha Wilcox.

  Chapter Four

  Sam was furious. Dragons! How could the one man who made her feel alive again admire dragons? How could the one intimate interval in her recent life have gone so incredibly wrong? She stomped back to her house and slammed the kitchen door behind herself, the lovely luxurious sense of well-being that had come from great sex completely dispelled.

  She propped her hands on her hips and glared around her empty kitchen. The executed divorce agreement, the one that had arrived earlier in the day, taunted her from the end of the counter. Even though she’d known it was coming, even though she’d negotiated and agreed to the terms, seeing it all in black and white had been discouraging. Another failure to add to the growing list. Another reason to be glad her father wasn’t alive to see what a mess she’d made of the promise of her life. Another reminder that she was alone, and maybe she deserved it.

  She’d needed some reassurance, some human contact, some pleasure. She’d thought sex would be a simple solution. She’d thought that following impulse instead of planning every decision years in advance would be a positive change.

  Simple sex, no complications, emotions or promises.

  Ha.

  Sloane Forbes was supposed to be candy.

  He was supposed to feel good.

  He was supposed to be fun.

  He was supposed to ask no questions, make no emotional demands, and have no ability to make Sam remember what she’d come to California to forget. Sloane was supposed to be a gorgeous jock, who made love like a god and convinced her to forget all the stuff that was making her miserable. He was supposed to want nothing from her but sex.

  He wasn’t supposed to have tattoos that hinted at secrets.

  He wasn’t supposed to be curious about her secrets.

  And he wasn’t supposed to be so delicious that she slipped up. He wasn’t supposed to get to her, much less to tempt her to lay open her life like a book just so he’d make love to her again.

  And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to think anything positive about dragons. Dragons. That tattoo made Sam want to break something. It was disgusting that he had such an image on his body. She wasn’t a fan of tattoos in the first place, but one with dragons was even worse. Two dragons! They weren’t creatures that deserved to be venerated in any way.

  But he thought the symbol was cool.

  Sam seethed. He probably was one of those people who thought the caduceus was a symbol of healing, although the idea of dragons
healing anything or anyone was more than ridiculous.

  But wait. Sam took a steadying breath. Sloane was awfully perceptive for a man she’d expected to be all about muscles and good looks. After all, he’d seen right through the excuse that everyone else had accepted at face value about her occupation and her plans for the future. He’d even guessed that she was a scientist.

  He didn’t strike her as being impulsive, much less the kind of person who would go to the expense and pain of getting a large tattoo without being certain of its meaning. He seemed, in fact, to be very deliberate about his choices.

  Thoughtful.

  Not a dumb jock at all.

  Just to be sure she was remembering the details correctly, Sam looked up the symbol. To her relief, she was right. The caduceus, with twin serpents twined around a staff—or dragons, in the case of Sloane’s tattoo—was a symbol of the Greek god Hermes or his Roman counterpart Mercury, and thus the emblem of messengers of the gods.

  She nearly scoffed aloud at the idea of dragons bearing messages from the divine.

  She did nod at the note that the caduceus was confused with the Rod of Asclepius by many people, which was a symbol of healing and featured only one snake wrapped around a staff. Mercury was also the guide of the dead, and the protector of thieves, liars, gamblers and merchants. It could be used as a symbol for the planet Mercury or the element itself.

  Sam frowned at the book, fighting her sense that Sloane’s choice tattoo wasn’t a mistake.

  What exactly did he do, other than grow herbs and give advice to gardeners? This hinted that there could be a dark side to his life.

  Sam bit her lip. That could explain his affection for privacy.

  Never mind his habit of checking out his neighbors and their history, before they moved in. Did he do something illegal?

  No. She didn’t believe it. She had a strong sense that he was honorable and honest. Maybe he liked to appear dangerous. Some men did.

  Sam fought the urge to look out the window. She was more intrigued by her neighbor than she knew was healthy. The fact was that Sloane Forbes wasn’t at all what she’d anticipated. The dragon tattoo was the last surprise, but it hadn’t been the first one. Winston Churchill had said that Russia was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, but he could have been talking about Sloane Forbes.