The Dragon's Revenge

by Courtney Henke

  "It does?"

  He had her, he thought with a chuckle. "The ambiance is perfect, that subtle something In the air." He sniffed. "Sewage treatment plant." His eyes narrowed on her. "Perfect for a load of garbage."

  She halted and dropped his arm. "You're a stinker, Mr. Smith," she murmured.

  "I won't make the obvious comment."

  "Good. I'd hate to think I disturbed your objectivity."

  "I thought you were straightforward." he said, stifling his disappointment.

  "And I thought you weren't a stereotype. 'Simple things,’ for heaven's sake!"

  He turned toward her. feeling like an absolute heel. "Did I really sound that pompous?"

  "You sure did."

  "I’ll bet you have a voodoo doll at home in the shape of a sacred cow."

  A giggle burst forth, but she subdued it. "It's a stuffed shirt," she confided solemnly.

  "I see." Something inside of him bubbled to life with her laughter. Confused, because this wasn't how he felt after one of Amanda's stunts, J.D. forced himself back to the subject at hand. "Who really lives here?"

  "No one, not anymore. For the last couple of years David and some of the others have slowly but surely been finding more suitable housing for these people. The last family moved out two weeks ago, and we're razing it next month."

  "I'm glad. I couldn't sleep tonight if I thought anyone was still living in these places." Before she could comment on his impulsive statement, he went on, "Did you say 'we'?"

  She nodded. "I work with a construction crew during the summer sometimes. Where do you think my team gets its muscles?"

  "You?"

  "I don't sit around on my backside, J.D. I get involved. The only paperwork I have is destruction permits."

  He sighed. "Are we even again?"

  "Sure. For now."

  Funny, he thought, but he liked the promise in her words. He'd never met a woman who challenged him so much. "Then can we start over?"

  She searched his eyes. "You're really intent on this, aren't you?" When he nodded, she pursed her lips. "Why?"

  He hesitated, then surprised himself with the truth. "I'm not sure anymore."

  Charly caught her breath. His earlier comment and his honesty pleased her, but something in his green eyes tugged at her emotions. She saw a promise in the depths of his eyes, a promise of things to come.

  Then he leaned his head down and brushed her mouth with his. Electricity shot through her; pure, unadulterated energy coursed between them. His firm lips caressed hers, evoking a sweet response that was echoed in his gaze. She felt warm, protected, and secure all at once. For a moment she gave herself up to the sensation. But only for a moment.

  With a frown she pulled away and stepped back. She was confused. Sex had never scared her before, but this didn't feel like simple desire. She didn't like it. He was too appealing.

  When she retreated, he sighed. "Look, Charly. I'm thirty-one years old and in fairly good health. There is no history of insanity in my family, so I'm relatively certain I'm not as crazy as you seem to think."

  "I don't think you're crazy." She tilted up her chin. "I just don't like the idea that you're slumming."

  "Is that what this is all about?" He laughed humorlessly, amazed at his own density. "I'm not slumming, Charly. I've been investigating these kinds of things for more years than I care to count, and your challenge just showed me that I've never taken the time to really get to know my subject." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Lord, that sounded pompous too."

  "Yes, it did. But it was honest."' She smiled. "All right, J.D. It was my challenge. I think we can manage something."

  He smiled back. "Good."

  "C'mon. I’ll take you to my real house."

  "Which is where?'

  "Monterey. Mom left it to my brother and I when she died."

  "Isn't that far from school?"

  "I don't mind the drive. It's only an hour or so." She hesitated. "There's a hotel down the beach from me. You can stay there."

  "I never had any intention of doing otherwise," he said softly.

  Charly turned away, feeling foolish. "Sorry, J.D. I guess I'm a bit paranoid, that's all."

  "Don't be. Not around me."

  But she was, she thought as she started back to her car, and more confused than ever.

  "Charly? What's a draw play?"

  "Football, J.D.," she called as she crossed the dirt lawn. "The quarterback pretends to pass while he really hands off."

  "Tricks."

  "Misdirection."

  "Wait, one last question."

  She halted and glanced over her shoulder. He was frowning in real puzzlement. "What?"

  "What's your last name?"

  "I told you, It's this long and—"

  "Mostly consonants. I know." Surprisingly, he grinned. "It's not Machiavelli, by any chance?"

  Her mouth quirked upward, she turned, and crossed her arms over her chest. "No. It's Czerniowski."

  He blinked. "Spell that."

  She did, then pronounced it again slowly. "Cher-nyow-ski."

  "Charly Czerniowski." He shook his head. "Good heavens."

  "It's a real mouthful, huh?"

  "You do this on purpose, don't you? Drop little bombs calculated for maximum shock value."

  "It's a habit." She waved, indicating their cars, hiding her astonishment. J.D. had hit too close to the mark. What had she gotten herself into? "Let's go."

  J.D. frowned all the way to Monterey, unable to shake his feeling that she'd reversed their positions. What had begun as a simple assault was quickly turning into something else. He was now the defender. The vulnerability he had glimpsed beneath her tough exterior wasn't as feigned as he wanted to believe. The woman was a complete mystery to him. Was that her appeal?

  He shook his head. It was more than her mysteriousness. and that's what worried him. She ignited a fire in him, both in his loins and in his soul. She aroused his body and his emotions with equal ease. And he wasn't so certain that it was a bad idea anymore.

  They pulled into a nice, middle-class neighborhood, and Charly maneuvered her car into a driveway leading to a little house right on the beach. He slid his Mercedes in behind her car and shut off the engine. The sudden silence was broken by the distant wash of waves, the shriek of seagulls, and the slam of Charly's car door.

  "This is it." she called to him.

  He exited his car. "It's not what I expected," he told her, and she grinned.

  "You mean it's hardly a slum?"

  "No, of course not!" He glanced over the neatly landscaped path, the two-story cottage painted a neat shade of tan. "It's just so . . . serene. I guess I expected an apartment or a condo or something a little less homey."

  She shrugged. "I like it."

  "So do I." he murmured, and followed her to the front door. A welcome mat sat on the concrete porch, which was bordered by tiny marigolds and some bushy shrubs. He could almost imagine a white picket fence and climbing roses.

  She inserted the key, then stopped and turned. "It's kind of a mess," she warned him. "I'm not here very often, and I don't like housework."

  "Neither do I," he said dryly.

  She looked as If she was going to say something more, then she shrugged and opened the door. He followed her into the house and gasped when he saw the living room.

  Dragons! Hundreds of dragons! Glass dragons, jade dragons, rearing dragons, roaring dragons, sea dragons, winged dragons. There was a little dragon string-puppet suspended in a glass case, a walnut room divider crowded with lead and pewter dragons. A cute green stuffed dragon solemnly regarded him from an armchair. A great bronze Chinese dragon undulated the entire length of one wall.

  He had only a vague impression of there being earth-toned furniture in the room as he turned surprised eyes to Charly's grinning face. "It started as a joke," she told him. "I was born in the year of the dragon, and my brother thought it was hilarious. Then the team picked it up." She covered her m
outh, amusement springing to her eyes. "I just realized! You were born in the year of the boar."

  She pronounced It closer to "boor," and J.D. wondered If she'd done it purposely, but he had no time to ask. Without another word she walked to the nearby closet, opened It, and kicked her shoes inside. Out rolled a soccer ball, another shoe, a dumbbell, and a coat. She stared at the mess for a moment, then restuffed the closet and slammed the door. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked him calmly. "I always have a pot on."

  "Sure."

  While she went to get it, he studied the book spines. Medieval history, sword-and-sorcery fiction, a huge book on . . . unicorns? Must have been from somebody who didn't know her.

  She returned quickly, handed him a cup sporting a toothy critter and the saying stop dragon your butt, it’s Friday! and warmed her hands around her own, a cream-colored mug etched with a Buddha-like dragon. "Are you hungry?"

  He shook his head and gulped the liquid. His eyes grew large.

  "Hot?" she asked with a twinkle. "You have to sip coffee. Like this." She took a noisy sip.

  "Thank you, Ms. Vanderbilt. But I prefer my creosote silent."

  She laughed aloud. "I like it strong."

  "Battery acid is smoother."

  Her gaze dropped. "Look, J.D., I have to change out of my sweaty clothes and take a shower. Why don't you run over to the hotel and dump your stuff, then come back for your first lesson?"

  "I’ll stick around."

  She peeped up at him. "Just be careful. My friends bite."

  "So do I."

  "You'll need to around here," she muttered, then left.

  When she had gone, he poured his coffee down the sink and returned to the living room. There had been nothing of a come-on in her statement, nor any indication that she'd heard his own double entendre. It told him she felt comfortable around men, and he found himself fervently hoping it was because of her brother. But when he heard the shower begin, his body tightened with almost painful intensity.

  He wanted her. He realized taking up Charly's challenge was no longer going to be as easy as he thought it would be. The very differences he'd hoped to use to expose their incompatibility now seemed to enhance, to challenge, to liven up his life in a way he'd never considered.

  He was in trouble. And he didn't know how to counter.

  He lay on the sofa, staring at the mercifully dragon-free ceiling, and forced his mind away from the erotic image of Charly soaping her naked body. She was turning him into a sex maniac! Baseball. Think baseball. Or the stock market. That was it! T-bills, compounded interest, the yen . . .

  The emotional roller-coaster ride he'd been on over the past few days caught up with him.

  When Charly came down twenty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a Hawaiian print shirt, the house was silent. Frowning, she wondered if he'd gone after all and was surprised by the stab of disappointment she felt. He might be dictatorial, but his request to see her side of life, no matter what had prompted it, had proved he was fair. She admired that in a person.

  She entered the living room and heard the soft sounds of even breathing. Her eyes widened in astonishment, then she laughed. Sprawled on her sofa was the stuffy fencer, sound asleep.

  A great feeling of tenderness washed over her. There was something about a sleeping man that always tugged at her maternal instincts. Maybe it was the tiny smile on his face, or maybe the way his lashes—longer than hers—swept his cheeks, or the guilelessness in repose, but she couldn't resist the impulse to brush an errant lock of hair from his forehead. He never stirred. She smiled, confident that he wouldn't see her sloppy sentimentality, and tucked another strand behind his ear.

  She blinked, then choked on a spurt of laughter at the sight she'd revealed. His longish hair concealed a flaw in the otherwise perfect Mr. Smith, she thought, restraining her hearty amusement with an effort.

  Then she backed away, content with just knowing.

  J.D. opened his eyes slowly, finally focusing on a huge, golden, vicious animal's head, rampaging across the wall. He flinched, felt himself fall backward, then landed with a thump on the floor.

  "Li-Tsang is rather formidable," a low voice commiserated.

  For a moment he couldn't remember why he was there, or why the voice was laughing instead of crooning words of love in his ears, as it had in his dream. Then he remembered. "And ugly too," he said, turning to Charly, who was curled up in a nearby armchair.

  "No," she said, "just different. Different can be beautiful, and dragons show up in many cultures."

  He heaved himself to his feet. "Do you name all of them?"

  "Just the memorable ones."

  A spark of pure amusement flashed in her blue eyes as she uncrossed her legs and stared up at him. "You're cute in your sleep. Like a little boy."

  He took her hand and drew her to her feet, pressing her close. "I'm not a little boy," he murmured. "I think we both know that."

  She drew In a sharp breath, her eyes darkening. He could feel her heart thumping against his chest and knew a moment of triumph. He leaned his head down, just the smallest bit. but she eluded him. Backing away with a little shake of her head, she smiled. "I think I’ve had enough of male egos for one day, thank you very much."

  He frowned. Did she think she was some sort of conquest for him? Is that why she avoided the sexual energy that flowed between them? He had to know, to understand her. "Charly, I—"

  "Are you ready to have fun or not?" she queried, her hands on her hips.

  He restrained the impulse to tell her just what fun he'd like to have and instead said, "Lead the way, teach."

  She crossed to her Fibber McGee closet, bracing herself beforehand for the tumble, then rummaged in it and drew out some plastic tubing and a roll of brightly colored fabric. "C'mon." She beckoned with her hand. "To the beach!"

  He followed, mystified, as she walked north along the dunes, fascinated as her long hair snaked into her face. He wanted to bury his hands in that hair, tug her forward, drown in the taste of her mouth against his . . .

  He cleared his throat. Lord, he hoped she didn't touch him again. "Where are we going?" he asked, working to keep up with her quick pace. She was in excellent physical condition.

  "We need to get away from that line of houses."

  They arrived at a satisfactory place, and Charly dropped to the sand, quickly connecting the tubing into a strange geometric shape. Then she carefully unrolled the printed cloth and deftly tied it to the tubing. A kite! he realized. With a picture of a rampant fire-breathing dragon!

  "That's not a diamond shape," he commented.

  "Of course not. Didn't you know dragons could fly too?" She grinned and held up a finger. "There's not much wind today, but I think you can do it."

  She stood, brushed off her knees, and handed him the stick covered with rolled string.

  He stared at it blankly. "You want me to fly a kite."

  "I know," she said with a commiserating nod of her head. "I'm asking a lot, but..." She shrugged.

  "Fly a kite, huh?' He glanced around.

  "Don't tell me you've never done this."

  "Of course I have! But not since I was about six."

  "Tell you what. I’ll keep a lookout for anyone in a three-piece suit. And if someone comes, you can wrap the string around my throat and pretend you're rescuing me from a dragon."

  "You're laughing at me."

  "Yes."

  He tried not to smile, but It didn't work. "Okay, crazy lady, show me how it works."

  It took them nearly an hour to achieve sustained flight, and J.D. felt the most amazing sense of accomplishment when the bright object finally fluttered overhead. "Good grief," he said. "This is fun!"

  Charly reached up, touching his forehead with her palm and checking his pulse with a sober expression. "I don't think it's fatal."

  He chuckled, then laughed aloud.

  "Now let's see how long you can sustain it," she called from several feet away.


  "Where are you going?"

  "I’ll be right back!"

  "What if it falls! What if I break it?"

  "Then you buy me a more expensive one!" came the faint reply.

  Frustrated by her neat maneuver, J.D. jerked the string and the kite dipped. Unwilling to admit defeat, he fought it back into the air current again, and he realized he really did enjoy this new challenge. Charly and this kite had an awful lot in common, he thought. He had his hands full with both of them.

  She was unlike anyone he'd ever known—fresh, open, honest. Charly played her tricks, but he had deserved it after his comments, and she had warned him. It was his own fault that he hadn't seen it coming.

  The kite's movement and bright spectacle soothed him for the next few minutes, but the fun soon began to pall. Where was she? Had she simply abandoned him? What did he really want from her?

  Mesmerized by the bob and sway of the kite, lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear her return. Gasping, he spun around to find her blue eyes dancing. "You pinched me!"

  "I know," she drawled, totally unrepentant. "I'm afraid I have a thing for shapely male behinds. Comes from playing football, I think."

  "I never played football," he mused, a wicked glint in his green eyes.

  "Oh?" she asked innocently. "You like shapely male behinds too?"

  "No. you—" The string tugged his hand and his attention snapped back to the wildly dipping kite.

  "We're losing him. doctor," Charly said in a theatrical voice.

  "Pressure's down," he agreed in the same tone. "The heartbeat is erratic."

  "Save him. Bones!"

  "I'm a doctor, not an aeronautical engineer!"

  Charly shrieked in delight. "You're a Trekkie! I knew it! With those ears—" She cut herself off with a choke of amusement just as the kite flipped upside down and plummeted to earth.

  J.D. felt the blood creep into his face. "How did you know?"

  "I'm sorry, J.D." Her voice was anything but. "I peeked while you were asleep. They're great ears."

  "They're pointed," he said in disgust.

  Charly felt her heart turn over, and she couldn't laugh at him anymore. Deliberately, she moved in front of him, holding his defiant gaze. She reached up with her hand. He flinched back, but she ignored the movement and fluffed his hair away. "They're not really pointed," she whispered, her smile tender. "There's just kind of a curve with a hiccup in it."