The Dragon's Revenge

by Courtney Henke

  His hand moved so fast, she didn't have time to react. It locked on her wrist and his green eyes burned with a fire that seemed to take all the oxygen out of the air. "You shouldn't have touched me," he murmured, his voice raw with hunger.

  Then his mouth covered hers.

  Five

  Charly gasped, and the heat in his eyes sparked an inferno deep in her body. When his mouth took hers, the world spun madly, and a fire raged inside her, searing her senses. The scent of the ocean mingled with his sharp fragrance, dizzying her with its potency. He pressed her against him, and she felt a rightness she had never before experienced.

  It was a gentle kiss, but with a groan he deepened it, demanding something from her very soul. But he wanted more than she could give, and she whimpered in protest.

  He broke the kiss then, his gaze searching her face. "Are you afraid of me?" he whispered.

  Dazed by his sudden change, frustrated by her own conflicting emotions, she answered more harshly than she'd intended. "Of course not! That's the stupidest question I've ever heard."

  His green eyes softened, and he caressed the angle of her jaw with his fingertip, traced the curve of her kiss-swollen lip. "I'm glad," he said simply.

  Her gut twisted with need, but she resisted her body's yearning. Desire she could handle, but not the demands, not this tenderness. Maternal love for her students was one thing. This soft emotion she could do without. She pulled away.

  "You are afraid of me."

  She shook her head, dropping her gaze. "J.D., you said you wanted to be treated like everyone else, like one of the guys. I don't jump into bed with just anybody."

  "I never thought you did."

  "We're completely different people."

  "I know that too." He placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. "But maybe differences are what lend spice to life."

  Her heart flip-flopped. His gaze was so intense, she felt it as though it physically caressed her. "And maybe you don't know how deep the differences run," she whispered.

  "Maybe I don't care," he murmured. His lips covered hers again, and his tongue darted out to taste her mouth. His teeth nibbled, gently, teasingly, and she almost gave herself up to the sensation that crashed through her body. Almost.

  Sensing her resistance, he drew back. "I'm not going to pretend I don't want you, Charly. I can't do that, not anymore."

  She hesitated, but she couldn't give in to his power over her, no matter how much she wanted to. She grasped at anything that would push him away. "I won't be some other-side-of-the-tracks fling."

  "Do you honestly think this"—he caressed her neck—"is the product of collective guilt?" He shook his head and pulled her into his arms. "I don't believe this," he murmured. "You are the one trying to talk me out of it."

  She stiffened. Lord, it felt so good to be held by him. So good, but so frightening. "I'm a novelty for you, J.D. I don't think you really know what you want."

  He drew back and frowned. "You don't have a very high opinion of my character, do you?"

  Charly's mouth was set in a firm line. "You haven't given me enough time to formulate one."

  His gaze locked with hers for long moments, then he withdrew his hand, raising one brow high. Touché," he said with a ghost of a smile. "I think I have to work on my patience, as well as my humility."

  "You'll get enough of that tonight." Her lips curved. "I made a phone call while you were flying the kite, to cancel some plans. We're going to dinner. At a pub."

  The setting sun made a spectacular display of color as they dismantled the kite and walked back to her house, but the immediate plunge in temperature sent J.D. scrambling through her closet for a jacket for Charly. A flash of denim caught his eye, and he pulled it out, holding it in front of him for her to slip on. She smiled crookedly at his gentlemanly gesture, but slid her arms into the sleeves without a word. It occurred to J.D. that she had probably never experienced that sort of thing, and he felt a surge of tenderness for her. Pampering this unusual woman had definite appeal.

  Then he noticed the back of the jacket. "Don't you think you take this a little far?" He ran his hand lightly over the intricate embroidery, admiring the feel as well as the sight of the green-and-gold, bejeweled dragon across her back. "Did you do the needlework yourself?"

  She shook her head as she pulled her hair out of the collar. "My mom did it." She wrinkled her nose. "Sewing rates right up there with housework and eating bark in my book."

  He pulled a few stray strands from beneath the denim, brushing her neck as he did. She slanted a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder, and with an unrepentant grin he held his hands high. "Tell me about the place you're taking me to," he said, holding the door open for her. She hesitated, and her subtle uncertainty plucked at his heart. "Indulge me," he whispered.

  "I'm not one of your society debs, you know."

  "You're a lady, Charly. Allow me to treat you like one.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, shrugged, and preceded him. "It's an Irish pub," she said as they walked into the dusk. "Not far from here."

  "I wouldn't expect anything as mundane as an English pub from you."

  She chuckled, and they strolled in silence until they reached a low building made from natural rock. "The man who built this," she said as they approached a wooden door, "apparently had one just like it in Ireland. He was too poor to have his brought over stone by stone as he wanted, so he made do with local material."

  J.D. smiled, immediately charmed, as he opened the door for her. The lighting was what he would term intimate in half the room, brighter near one end of the bar where a group of people were watching a small television. The air held a pleasant mix of popcorn, ale, and an earthy smell he swore was peat.

  Charly greeted several patrons, and though there were more than a few curious glances thrown at him, once she had made a general introduction no one bothered them at their little table.

  They ordered burgers and beer, but before their food arrived, Charly's gaze swerved to a massive shadow filling the doorway. "David!" she exclaimed in surprise, then turned to J.D. with an apologetic expression. "I called to cancel, but I guess he decided to come anyway."

  "It's all right. Don't worry about it."

  David waved, then moved to join them. J.D. felt something stir inside him when Charly welcomed David with a hug, but she treated him like a brother not a lover.

  "You don't look any worse for wear after your ordeal, Mr. Smith."

  "How can being locked in a room with Charly be an ordeal, Mr. Bakker?"

  David looked startled, Charly glared at him, and J.D. regretted his impulsive words immediately. "I only meant that she's such a snappy conversationalist," he said.

  Her eyes narrowed on him. "Uh-huh."

  "Uh, Mr. Smith. If you have a minute, I'd like to tell you what I'm trying to do to amend the proposal..."

  Charly sank her chin to her hand, listening to David's single-minded speech about his program. J.D. glanced at her once, his eyes filled with silent accusation, and she stiffened. He thought she'd set him up!

  She turned away, trying not to feel hurt. This was David's idea, not hers. How dare he think she would push him after she'd promised her help!

  J.D. didn't look her way again, but to her surprise, he didn't cut David off either. He sat, politely listening, as David droned on about the same things they'd probably both heard several times already. As much as she admired David and his cause, she wanted to convince J.D. herself.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't want David there any more than J.D. did. She wanted to uphold her end of the bargain and see what he came up with to help the school. At least, that's what she told herself.

  "David," she said, cutting him off midsentence. "Don't you have something to do at home?"

  His mouth parted in a smile. "No."

  Persistence was something he'd taught her, and she knew he was an expert at it. When he showed no signs of leaving, she nodded. "Okay
, David. Have it your way." She plopped her elbow onto the table and wriggled her fingers invitingly. "I’ll arm-wrestle you for it."

  J.D. hid his astonishment. What in the hell did she think she was doing?

  But David didn't flinch. Eyes narrowed, he sat straight in his chair. "What are the stakes?"

  "If I win, you go home and leave us alone."

  David frowned skeptically. "And if I win?"

  "Then you can join us."

  Charly never lost her confidence, but J.D. threw her a long-suffering look. Even she was overestimating her abilities this time. Who did she think she was, Arnold Schwarzenegger? "Charly, I’ll—"

  She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand.

  "You won't kick me under the table?" David was wary, and J.D. suddenly realized he would be too.

  "Of course not." Charly was offended.

  "Or throw soda In my face?"

  "Heavens, no."

  "Well, you've done all those things before!"

  "I won't touch you, I promise. Except for your hand."

  Several people had gathered around as they talked, and J.D. heard whispered betting in their ranks. Glancing around, he realized that the patrons who had greeted Charly on her arrival were betting on her with obvious newcomers, who had chosen David. A wicked chuckle rose in his throat, because he realized that he would bet on her any day.

  They locked hands. "Ready?" asked Charly. David adjusted their right-handed clasp and nodded grimly. "One, two, three, go!"

  They both strained as their steepled arms trembled. David grimaced, and their hands began to descend onto Charly's side of the table. Then David's eyes lit with hope.

  Charly lunged toward his fingers, mouth open and teeth bared. David gasped and flinched. Charly slammed his arm backward. Her friends cheered and laughed.

  "Charly, you said—"

  "I said I wouldn't touch you, David, and I didn't."

  "You were going to bite me!"

  "I never had any intention of that! I promised, didn't I? And I never break my promises."

  He knew when he was defeated. "I just need to listen more carefully," he said.

  "You say that every time. Drive carefully." She saw David hesitate, and she smiled. "Trust me," she told him firmly. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt the school."

  David's expression softened. "I hope you know what you're doing."

  Charly nodded, but she felt light-headed. She had just protected J.D. from David! Why?

  Her thoughts awhirl, she tried to tell herself that it all came down to tactics, that J.D. could help the kids at Rucker more than David could right now. But she wasn't sure she was right.

  When David had left, and the crowd had dispersed, J.D. eyed her in surprise. "You cheated," he whispered.

  "I don't cheat!" She shifted uncomfortably. "I equalize. Look, J.D., I'm no fool, in spite of what you think. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not as strong as some of these bulls. I learned a long time ago that sometimes it's better to outsmart them."

  J.D. shook his head, totally confused. Just when he thought he'd had her figured out, she went all kooky on him. Nothing about her made any sense— not her background or her thinking or her rationale. "How did you end up at Rucker anyway? If your mother owned that house ..."

  She stared at him for a moment. "Do you play darts?" She began to rise. "They have—"

  He caught her wrist. "I have to know."

  Her mouth quirked, but she reseated herself. "You'd better be careful when you speak in that tone of voice, J.D. Someone with less patience than myself might be tempted to bust you one in the chops."

  He refused to be insulted. "You want to convince me of our differences? Here's your opportunity."

  Charly couldn't resist the challenge any more than he could. He knew that now. She smiled grimly and leaned forward over the table. "Okay, J.D. Here It Is. My father was a gambler. Not the poker-playing kind, but the kind who dabbled in real estate and stocks. I think you know the type. My mother was his secretary. They married after a whirlwind romance, and Mom, being the fertile soul she was, had two kids. Dad couldn't handle the responsibility, and one day after he'd suffered huge business losses, he went for the proverbial pack of cigarettes and never came back.”

  J.D. carefully kept all emotion from his face. "What about Rucker?"

  She leaned back, shrugging, obviously disconcerted by his lack of reaction. "We moved there when I was eight. It was a nice neighborhood then. You almost expected to see the Beaver playing with his friends on the sidewalk."

  "What happened to it?"

  "I don't really know. But by the time I went to Rucker, the wars had begun."

  "And the house in Monterey?"

  "It was a gift from my father during better times. My mother could never bring herself to sell it, but she couldn't live there anymore after—"

  "You must have hated him," he said softly.

  Her incredible eyes clouded over. "I did, once. But David was more of a father to me than my own. He helped me through my rage. And Mom loved Dad very much, in spite of it all. She was a true Wendy, and he was Peter Pan. He simply didn't want to grow up. You can't hate someone if you understand him."

  "Maybe not," he murmured, thinking about his own family.

  "Now," she said briskly. "With all that out of the way, do you think we can still be friends?"

  He stared at her outstretched hand. There were a lot of gaps in her story, but he had two weeks to fill them in. He clasped her hand firmly and shook it. "Friends."

  "Good. Now, about Rucker ..."

  While she launched into the stories of the team, J.D. listened absently. She was so hard on the outside, so brash, and yet there was an innocent quality about her that awakened all of his protective instincts.

  But was it real or assumed? He didn't know anymore.

  That night after they'd parted platonically, J.D. dreamed of a childhood tale, a story of a dragon who was only a dragon on the outside and a child inside.

  The next day, after spending the morning working on his portable computer, taking care of bank business from afar, he went to football practice with Charly. He stood aside where the team couldn't see him. He was simply an observer. His revelations of the day before disturbed him, but his desire for Charly had begun to take on strong overtones, and he didn't know why.

  After hours on the hot playing field, tempers ran high. But Charly handled them with strength and, usually, laughter. All went well until Hogan, who, she explained, didn't enjoy his new position, decided to provoke another confrontation. J.D. tensed as she bellowed into Hogan's face.

  "No, Hogan, lower! Canines and felines go for the throat! You want to stop your opponent, not kill him!"

  Hogan glared at her as he snapped his shoulder pads around, and Charly glared back. Why, she wondered, was there always one in every bunch? Hogan had great potential, but if he didn't start listening to her, he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of making the final cut.

  He muttered under his breath and positioned himself again while the others in the blocking drill shifted uncomfortably.

  J.D. stood in the shadows of the building, his body as tight as a bowstring. Only her comments about his ivory tower kept him in place. Every time one of the players got anywhere near Charly, he expected the worst. But she handled herself magnificently.

  He frowned. He had come to do battle, and assault meant studying his opponent, finding strengths and weaknesses. But that was for purposes of defeat. He wasn't sure he wanted to defeat Charly after all. What was wrong with him? Attraction shouldn't become distraction!

  His attention snapped back as she blew the whistle again, with more force than last time, and at Hogan again. His heart seemed to leap into his throat as she began to move, and he poised himself to jump if she needed his help.

  "No!" With a snarl of frustration Charly stomped over and glared up at Hogan, setting her nose millimeters from his. "Listen to me, you mule! Low!" She punched him lightly, h
er fist hitting a gut like concrete. "Low!"

  Hogan flushed, and though she wondered if she'd pushed it too far this time, she refused to give ground. After a moment of fighting with himself, he growled, "I’ll do it how I want to."

  "And you won't stop a flea." Though she knew she could threaten him with the cut, she didn't. Instead, she rocked back on her heels and smiled, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "You could always try," she mused.

  "Uh-oh," someone muttered from the waiting line.

  "I want you to do it again." She backed a few feet away, never taking her eyes from him as his expression filled with suspicion. "Only this time," she said, "I want you to go for me instead of the dummy."

  "Huh?"

  "You heard me, Hogan." She crouched in a defensive position. "You think your way is better? Prove it." She bared her teeth. "Hold me."

  "You're not padded."

  "So?" Charly prayed that her dry mouth and pounding heart were apparent to no one but herself. "C-mon, Hogan. This is a chance of a lifetime. A legal hit."

  J.D. began to move forward, panic filling him as he watched her inviting trouble. Hogan looked across the field as if checking to see if anyone was within rescuing distance. J.D. took another step. Was she crazy?

  Then he saw the cocky grin Hogan shot his mates, his look of triumph, and the expressions on the faces in the group—especially on the one Charly had called Esteban. The teenager was rocking back on his heels, aiming a confident smile at Charly, awaiting Hogan's downfall!

  Remembering the last time he'd interfered, J.D. faltered. If this was some ploy of hers, she would hardly appreciate his riding to her rescue, undermining her authority again. But the alternative was to watch her get smashed.

  It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he waited, his mouth tight. If that kid hurt Charly, he'd tear him limb from limb.