Dragon's Curvy Concierge

by Mychal Daniels

  It was a certainty that this would be his one chance to capture her interest. No pressure—only the fact that he had to subdue his primal and biological desire to claim what was his. As thoughts of how he’d approach her swirled in his mind, Mac made the trek back to the front of the house. Turning the corner to walk into the open receiving area of the front door, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

  Standing there with all the confident beauty that was Bronwyn Scott, she stood before him dressed in a business suit that accentuated every curve, revealed shapely legs and ultimately rendered him speechless.

  Again, it was his Dragon that saved the day. When he made it to within a few feet of her, a delicate scent of clean mixed with delicate flowers and lemon captured his senses. She smelled divine. Resisting the urge to take her up into his arms and ravage those full, pouty lips of hers, he instead extended a hand as he said, “Hello, I’m MacMillan Kelnar. Please, call me Mac.”

  6

  Bronwyn

  Good God—damn it!

  Had she bowed a little when he said hello? Please, Lord, no. She had to think fast. Something to take her mind away from an incarnation of the grand deity of hotness fast approaching. Take every feature, gesture, and personality trait she’d ever mooned over put them together in a harmonic symphony, and they still couldn’t compete with this man. He was everything she desired and far beyond. If she didn’t know any better Bronwyn might look around for cameras to see if she was on some sadistic show to record how fast she could descend into a painful case of social awkwardness.

  In person, the voice was a force of nature overtaking her in his onslaught of carriage and allure. Said allure coaxed a soft moan of delight as he neared. It would be too easy to say something inappropriate or openly ogle the man. Bronwyn had little trust in her strength not to do that.

  With a few long strides, a by-product of what Bronwyn was sure was at least six and a half feet of perfection, the deity incarnate stood close. Then he did something so curious it through her completely out of orbit for how she’d rehearsed their meeting going. Less than two feet away, the wall that was his muscular torso rested, hovering. The General that lived deep within commanded her to look up and face her challenger. Of what they squared off on, she hadn’t a clue.

  To her discombobulation and chagrin, Bronwyn was met with warmth and intense interest—in her. Her quick scan she used during first meetings like this returned puzzling data. Due to the nature of her business, Bronwyn had to sort out the bad eggs from the get-go. Again, born out of reading thousands of people during her wartime at the airport, she’d developed a way to read emotions and intentions with uncanny accuracy.

  Instead of arrogance, self-importance, and a huge case of affluenza she’d expected to encounter, he projected an enticing canopy of sincerity, gratefulness, and admiration. Maybe due to his age. She could only guess he was older than her normal clients based on his accomplishments, not looks. With age and experience she had to guess Mr. MacMillan Kelnar had learned to tone it down on the rich entitlement vibes. Surely one didn’t look like he did and not have a wee bit of jerkiness. A mental note to be on the lookout for when it showed its ugly head was made and filed in her mental dossier on this one.

  Instead of lingering on his non-jerky behavior, she decided to allow herself to enjoy the refreshing change for a moment, only to sense him moving in closer. A slight lift of her hand and she’d be touching him. Pleasure at the thought of connecting with him through touch forced her eyes closed for a second to process and enjoy the perilous thought. A cold internal slap back into reason had her refocusing and controlling her breathing. There would be no touching this man.

  He might be something else, but her client he wasn’t. That she knew deep down in the recesses of her subconscious, even if her mind tried to make excuses to explore what the experience would be like if only for a little while. Who was she kidding? Bronwyn had a sixth sense about who was and wasn’t her client. MacMillan Kelnar was as much her client as a lion was a house cat. True power did a poor job of masking itself. This man was powerful beyond anyone she’d ever encountered. His sincere warmth and interest made it that much more sexy and attractive. Somewhere along the way and path of his life, this man had known sacrifice, suffering, and patience. These traits were what had her on the verge of offering herself up to him.

  Flutters born out of overwhelming testosterone, maturity, manliness, strength, and command of his surroundings overtook her. Bronwyn held it together by sheer force of will. Unlike her, no discernible flirtation or sexual interest was coming from him. Nope, it appeared she was alone as usual in her objectification of him based on his appearance and demeanor. Determined to get back into her professional stride, Bronwyn searched her mental databank of tools she could use to move forward with this meet and greet.

  To her great relief, Bronwyn propped up her dignity by showcasing a plastered on smile. Thankful she’d perfected it, Bronwyn used the smile like a shield against the darkness. She’d accessed yet another useful skill that had been forged in the fire of pressure from her time working the customer service desk to rival them all—in person customer service for the largest airline at the busiest airport in the world. That would be in Atlanta if anyone had doubt. Handling hundreds of angry, confused, tired, anxious, and sometimes homicidal travelers daily had produced an instinctual and highly evolved ability to adapt and counter approach to turn a situation around. This stupid smile was the first line of defense. If needed, she’d escalate to the advanced tactics without mercy.

  She couldn’t prove it, but Bronwyn could swear his presence was palpable, like he was more of everything. The alluring scent that filled the space tickled her need to lean into it. With a deep inhale, she knew it was him, not a cologne, but him. Ah, hell, she really was screwed. That’s when she knew her day, plans, and aspirations for controlling their meeting was shot to hell.

  With grace and a whole lot of hope, her prayer was that the man wouldn’t mistake her for a loon. Visions of her well-laid plans to “handle” him disintegrated into the far recesses of her logical mind. She’d be good to remember her name with this specimen of a man.

  Mr. MacMillan Kelnar was beyond handsome to the point of stare-at-him-all-day gorgeous. Here she was, the goof gawking at him like an under classed ninny. How had someone this fine managed to escape photos, the Internet, and social media? This giant of a man was the personification of sculpted masculine beauty, power, confidence, and intelligence. How was she going to make it through this meeting and tell him no—to anything?

  Back, was that smooth baritone that had hijacked her good senses last night. Too bad for her his voice paled in comparison to the full-on reality experience of him. Maybe it was the soft daytime ambient lighting of the foyer or the amazing architecture of his comfortable and relaxed surroundings, but if Bronwyn didn’t know any better, she’d swear he’d invited her into his ultimate man cave, complete with the private horde of man goodies usually reserved for his eyes only. That’s how he made her feel with this handshake and greeting that was more an experience than a gesture. Should she run? Sometimes a wolf was the perfect sheep—at first.

  Nearby, his voice was strengthened by his demeanor, grace, and surprising warmth. MacMillan Kelnar was what her best Disney Prince, hot guy, and man of her dreams scenario wished they could accomplish. There was no doubt in her mind that save him spitting in her face or some other atrocious behavior, she’d agree to just about anything.

  Scott who?

  This man made every other man she’d ever encountered look like a spec drawing. This was a man. From his spicy, sandalwood, heady scent to his perfect but large hand that completely enveloped hers, to his smile that bordered on wicked promises, Bronwyn was hooked. Hell, he could ask her to have his baby and she’d say yes, preparing to spread eagle for the pleasure of doing his bidding.

  That word—bidding—was the pattern interrupt she needed. Her need to please was getting the better of her. It was a great dr
iving force to make her good at her job, but when it commingled with desire and attraction, that’s when problems erupted. Nah, she had to put her attraction to him on lockdown—stat.

  Trying her best to rebound, Bronwyn returned the pleasantry adding, “Hello, please call me Bronwyn.”

  Her telltale sign that she was attracted to him rose its shy head. When she was around guys so gorgeous she forgot to breathe, Bronwyn got shy and embarrassed easily. There was no mistaking the warm tingles that suffused her face and neck. Thank goodness she was dark enough to hide the redness of her reaction to him or she’d never get passed this rush of excitement that rendered her a demurring idiot. This man, and yes he was definitely a man, was so out of her league they may as well be in different galaxies. Still her embarrassment under the heat of his gaze persisted.

  Get it together, but I be damned, didn’t think he’d be this hot.

  Her thoughts excoriated her into regaining some professional composure. Done with scolding herself over the giddy shock of how breathtakingly hot Mr. Kelnar was, she took a moment to regroup and reset her thinking. Launching into her power positioning, Bronwyn straightened and lifted her spine, expanded her chest and smiled. His reply to this was to unleash the most magnificent set of straight, dazzling white teeth this side of a dental whitening billboard.

  Ah, damn, she was toast. Might as well lay down and let him pat her soft belly for all the resistance she wasn’t going to put up. Her life kept getting more complicated. She hadn’t been able to deny Scott anything, how in the hell was she going to do so with the man that made him look like a distant runner-up for her attraction?

  Stick to the plan, stick to the plan, stick to the plan.

  The mantra ran through her mind in a feeble attempt to counteract the power of his presence. Catching herself nodding to it, she withdrew her hand from the warm strength of his and concentrated on the space just past him. It was a trick she’d learned on YouTube for negotiating. The effect helped her appear to be looking the intended in the eye but gave her the added buffer to be able to focus on her thoughts as well. Bronwyn had to admit that it wasn’t as potent as usual with him.

  “How about I show you around while we discuss my reason for bringing you here today?”

  A curt nod was all she could muster as Mr. Kelnar cupped her elbow and ushered her into the living space.

  “Hold on, let me take off my shoes before we proceed. I don’t want to track the outdoors into your lovely home.”

  He stopped and turned back to inch in closer. With eyes the color of an electrifying stormy sky, he kidnapped her focus and held it as he said, “There’s nothing here or anywhere else where you’d have to worry about treading or going. If I didn’t want you to walk on the floor, I wouldn’t have chosen it as flooring. Be yourself.” Then with a warmth that reached his eyes and made her breath catch, he added in a heady whisper, “Keep your shoes on, dear Bronwyn, there’s no need for that formality. My home is open to you. Please, accept my invitation to move about it freely.”

  Well then, talk about intense and sexy—this guy! She wanted to cry Uncle before their meeting began. He was too much, out of her league, and quite frankly, on the verge of short-circuiting her ability to function. Bronwyn still buzzed from his closeness. Sticking her finger in an electrical outlet would be akin to what she experienced. Electricity, excitement, fear, anticipation and a host of other emotions sizzled and zinged through her being.

  “Okay, I’ll leave them on.” Her words sounded emaciated in the large area where they stood. She’d have to speak up, project, and use more power words to hold her own during their meeting.

  Still cupping her elbow, he led them into the larger living area beyond the foyer. It might as well be out of an Architectural Digest magazine. The length of the back of the room was filled with floor-to-ceiling windows. The scenery was a manicured backyard, entertainment area with a fire pit that ended at the edge of woods indigenous to Georgia, and a flower garden maze straight out of an English garden.

  “Ooh, that garden!” The words were up and out before she could catch herself.

  “You like it?” His question hung in the air, demanding she answer before it dissolved into the past.

  “Um, yeah! I love gardens. That one looks like it came from a magazine or something.”

  Subtle, masculine heat wrapped itself around her as he came to stand a few inches behind her. He was more than a full head taller than her, with her sensible but high four inch heels on. She felt more than heard his next words.

  “After our discussion, I’ll give you a special tour of the garden.”

  God save the Queen and keep her from falling, this guy was wrapping her around his finger with every movement and saying. The best thing for Bronwyn to do would be to get out of here before she offered herself up on an altar for his pleasure. She might be under his spell, but the last dregs of logic were strong enough to tell her to run.

  “About our meeting…” Looking around the welcoming living area, she pulled away from him so he couldn’t reach out and touch her again. With a quick motion to the sofa and chair closest to them, she asked, “Shall we get to it? I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”

  A grin so smooth and sexy it could command obedience from a nun played a seductive dance with the corners of his mouth. Boy, he had a great mouth. Clean shaven as he was, Bronwyn could see hints of a full beard if he relented in shaving for even a day. She liked being able to see every feature of his face in the perfect exhibition. From the strong set of his masculine features to the large, expressive gray-blue eyes that reminded her of slate, gunmetal or an expensive gray-blue paint job on a luxury vehicle, his eyes missed nothing. Making more mental notes, she took extra precaution to pay attention not only to him but her actions and words as well. Mr. Kelnar had layers deeper than anyone she’d ever encountered before. Her gut said she was here on pretense. He wanted something from her completely different from what he was about to propose.

  With that bit of certainty nestled comfortably in her mind, Bronwyn took the lead to ask questions. Seated in the chair with him sprawled out in an open posture on the corresponding expensive yet comfortable-looking sofa, she began.

  “So, Mr. Kelnar,” there was no way she was calling him by his first name or Mac to give him hope of her accepting whatever it was he wanted from her, “What brings me here on this urgent matter of yours?” Yes, she was back in charge. That should usher this along and get her closer to the no she’d rehearsed over and over.

  He sat up, seized her gaze with those damn hypnotic orbs that passed for eyes and said, slow and low, “Why you, of course.” As if she hadn’t heard him, he repeated it, emphasizing each word. “I brought you here post haste because I’m in need of you.”

  7

  Mac

  When her jaw tightened, he knew she’d come here to tell him no to anything he asked of her. Mac might be smitten and completely enamored with her, but that didn’t mean he was going to forget how to negotiate or get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

  His Dragon wouldn’t be denied. From their brief interaction, he’d decided to take the straightforward approach and tell her the truth. Bronwyn dealt with a lot of men, men who lied and connived to get what they wanted from her. It was evident in how she carried herself and restricted the words she used to their most basic form. This was done most likely as not to encourage him to misinterpret her interest in him or his offer.

  He liked this about her. She was about business. Good thing he’d made it his business to mate with her. He didn’t miss the slight stammer as she spoke again.

  “Excuse me? What do you mean you want me? I’m not sure you fully understand what my services entail.”

  “Frankly, I don’t care. I want you, here with me, full-time. You can do whatever you like while you’re here as long as it doesn’t take you away from being with me in a full-time capacity.”

  “Huh?” Incredulity rode her face like a sassy gar
ment offering him peeks into her mental processes. Each moment he spent with her solidified his intent to do whatever it took to make her his mate. “Mr. Kelnar, I—”

  “Mac, please?” In spite of trying not to charm her, his voice had softened to a level, so intimate the walls of his home had never had this tone reverberate through them.

  “No, I think it’s better if I stuck with the formal version of your name.”

  “As you wish.” Her face relaxed a bit. Not one to give up any ground, even with his mate, he poked the issue. “Know this… every time you call me Mr. Kelnar with that delightfully rich, sultry voice of yours I imagine us in far less formal circumstances and positions.” Deciding to push her boundaries and see if she was as compatible to him as he believed, he added, “Would you like that? Ms. Scott?”

  “Mr. Kelnar, I, uh, Mac, please? I can’t concentrate with you behaving like this.” She stood, gathering her portfolio and purse to leave. He didn’t move. “I don’t know what you heard about me, but I’m not in that sort of business. I’m a concierge, not a concubine!”

  To her retreating back, he lobbed, “And, I want neither of those. I want you.” Then he waited for her to react. When she kept walking he spoke up, “Is that all it takes to get you flustered? I thought you had more stamina and backbone than that.”

  Stopped in her tracks and shoulders visibly quaking from what he could only imagine was an exercise to control her anger, his soon-to-be mate turned back to face him.

  “I don’t know what your game is here, but I’m not a monkey to jump through hoops or a dancing pony for your enjoyment. I’m a business woman who prides herself on providing excellent services to my clients.”

  He couldn’t help but watch how the rise and fall of her ample breasts caused them to jiggle ever so. The perfect dark brown mounds hinted and insinuated their beauty through the crevice between the buttons of her shirt. Willing himself to look back at her face took more effort than he’d used in a while. His mind caught up on the words spewing forth from her. Bronwyn was in full-on rage mode. Yes, only his mate would be able to match his intensity like this. If she kept on, he might take her right here.