Dragon VIP_Malachite

by Starla Night

  They all stared at it. The silk pajamas card was initialed a swirling pen that could start with a C. The Carnelian name also started with a C, so that might mean nothing.

  “Cheryl works for us.” Jasper pointed out the obvious. “Not the Carnelians.”

  “Well, yeah. I’m saying if it’s not her, she’s definitely capable of imitating it,” Darcy agreed.

  “Then,” Alex continued, “I propose we ask Cheryl to come into the office to—”

  “No,” Mal snarled.

  Alex blinked at him. “But… she could draw us three images, one of each outfit. If they become collectible like these other cards, we might garner three times the sales from our one launch.”

  Three times the sales from a single launch would triple their first-week profits. How could they fail to overtake the Carnelians? And vastly surpass them?

  But if Cheryl returned to the office, where Mal could see, smell, and almost taste her on the air, he would break. The only question was how much.

  He might spring into full dragon, finally unleashing the wings she had asked to see. And if he lost control to that extent, he would surely take her in his arms, fly her back to their lair, and waste uncountable hours drowning in her delicious pleasure. He might as well give in to his siblings and release control of the launch. It would be all over for him.

  “No,” he repeated. “She must complete her final portfolio or she may not graduate.”

  Darcy stared. “That’s unfortunate. Can she get an extension?”

  He didn’t know.

  “Perhaps she’s already created acceptable artwork,” Jasper said thoughtfully. “She draws dragons while she’s here, including ones wearing items we have tested and sold. I will review my memory of her art.”

  Jealousy gripped Mal in a heart-pulsing squeeze. “She showed you?”

  “I assisted with picking out her final portfolio pieces the last day she was here.”

  Cheryl had shown Jasper what she refused to share with Mal! Scales prickled under his skin, pushing to shift. He needed to go to her now and re-establish that he was the most important dragon male in her life. Now. Now, now!

  He growled to his feet. His belly ached, but he gripped onto his will and remained upright. “I will judge her art. Where is she?”

  The rest stared at him blankly.

  “Now!” he demanded.

  “Don’t you know?” Pyro asked, voicing the surprise of the rest of them.

  Damn them. Just because he was her future husband… no, anger would wait. He pinioned his gaze on the Operations Manager. “Did you fly her from her lair this morning, Jasper?”

  “No.”

  Mal got some roar back. “You left her there? All day?” Her crying was a sight he would never tolerate again. She would be unforgivably angry.

  “No.” Jasper looked taken aback. “I have never taken her there. That’s your lair.”

  Normally, it would be unfathomable to encroach on another dragon’s cave in their absence, especially with their mate. But their family wasn’t normal. What other siblings banded together to start a company? Mal had been sure Jasper would overcome his reluctance to assist Cheryl. “Didn’t she ask you?”

  “No. Never.”

  “I took her,” Amber said.

  Everyone turned to the female dragon. All new shock washed over the group.

  First, it was odd that Cheryl would approach another female. Second, it was odd that Amber would help. Females were fiercely territorial. And third, neither Amber nor Cheryl had ever told him! How could this have happened without his knowledge?

  “I returned her to the city this morning.” Amber let the other unspoken questions lie unanswered. She didn’t explain her strange friendship with Mal’s future wife.

  Mal struggled with this new information. “Then where is she?”

  Amber did not know.

  “At this time of day?” Jasper reviewed her schedule from his memory. “There is a break from her schooling, so she could be either at her school studio or at her mother’s home.”

  His bruised abdomen spasmed. He sat abruptly and held his belly. If Pyro hadn’t punched him so hard, he would already be gone. “Pyro…”

  His brother looked unapologetic as he rose. “I’ll get her.”

  “No! No, you cannot bring her here.” He held his aching belly. “I don’t want her anywhere near me. Her nearness is intolerable.”

  “Intolerable?” Darcy shook his head. “Don’t let Cheryl hear that or she’ll really get mad.”

  “I can’t handle her closeness. She’s too distracting.”

  “Seriously.” The human male regarded Mal with concern he tried to soften with a breathy laugh. “She won’t like you if you keep putting her down.”

  “She will like me. I can speak as I wish,” he stated. “She loves me.”

  Darcy snorted. “Uh huh. Did she tell you so?”

  “Yes.”

  His face blanked in shock.

  Pyro also raised his brows. “Love is rare for humans.”

  “Not true,” Mal said. “They love all sorts of objects.”

  “But not people. I have spent time with many females and none have spoken those words to me.” He looked away.

  Pyro’s dangerous magnetism attracted women of all species. As far as Mal knew, Pyro was the only sibling regularly targeted by female dragons for their mating lust. Because of his low class, none would claim him as their husband. They used him and moved on. And now, he repeated the pattern with human females. Many human females wished to “try out” dragons, and he’d said there were no real differences between the species. Females were females.

  Mal found that to be completely untrue, at least with Cheryl.

  Cheryl was soft and sweet, quiet and focused. She made him feel safe and secure, and at the same time, on edge and hungry. A single conversation could plunge him into the darkest despair or lift him into the sun. He fought his craving to be near her all the time.

  And now Pyro told him that Cheryl’s statement of love was rare.

  Warmth flowed into him. The craving to see her grew stronger, irritating him like the itch of his wings. Longing to stretch out. Needing to fly to her now and demand her comfort.

  “I will gather her art.” He refocused on the important point. “I will judge it and return with the best pieces to transform into free gift cards. She will not come here.”

  “We should all judge,” Jasper argued, and the others agreed.

  “Absolutely no,” he snarled. “I already forbid her from coming to this office until after the launch.”

  “And she accepted? Before or after she said she loved you?” Darcy asked, raising a skeptical brow and smiling with his secret humor.

  “Before,” he said. “I forbid her from being near me, and she said, ‘I love you.’”

  Darcy stopped smiling. “And then what did you say?”

  “I told her to get out.”

  Darcy’s chin dropped. “She said ‘I love you,’ and you told her to get out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my god.” Darcy covered his eyes and laughed. The sound tinged with disbelief and pitched high with hysteria. “You did not say that.”

  “I did.” Although it hadn’t made her happy, she’d obeyed. “I had no time for discussing her likes and dislikes, and I told her so.”

  “And now she’s not at your house and you have no idea where she is?” He let his hands drop on the seat rests. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

  “How so?”

  “You don’t get it?” He leaned forward in his seat. “She told you that you were the one.”

  No. That was not what she said.

  Darcy saw his skepticism and pushed. “Yes, Mal. When a woman says, ‘I love you,’ she is saying you are her one.”

  “But I did not notice anything in her eyes.” He frowned at Alex, who had done the initial research.

  The two-tone dragon shrugged. This was all new data for him too.

>   Mal focused on Darcy, who seemed to know so much about human relationships. “We are to look into each other’s eyes and know. I did not even look up from my desk.”

  Darcy blanked again, in even greater shock. “She said she loved you and you didn’t even look up from your desk?”

  “You missed it,” Alex said, as though now he understood. “The important sign was likely in her eyes when you were looking away.”

  His blood jumped. This could not be true.

  Again, the dangerous thought—he could be good enough for her right now, as he was—floated to the surface.

  He crushed it down.

  “I saw nothing,” he insisted. “There was no mesmerizing force. No ‘knowing’ of any sort.”

  “Because you didn’t have the balls to make eye contact,” Darcy said.

  “Mal,” Pyro growled. “That’s disrespectful. Even for you.”

  Hell fire. “I was busy.”

  “Too busy to acknowledge the soul-baring, heart-binding commitment of your future wife?”

  The judgment of his younger brother stung. “I didn’t understand.”

  “You don’t let something this big pass you by.” Pyro studied Mal as though he were unrecognizable. With his lack of sleep, perhaps he was. “Was it on purpose? You don’t like her?”

  “No!”

  “You figured out the truth? She doesn’t like you.”

  He growled. “What do you know?”

  Pyro shook his head. “Women don’t want us. They want our money.”

  “She wants me.”

  “Your dick, maybe.” He sniffed and thumbed his nose. “No woman wants one of us.”

  “Cheryl is different.”

  Pyro narrowed his eyes as though he were unsure.

  Mal rose. “I will correct the error.”

  And then he paused. They were in the middle of a meeting. Things were still unresolved. He needed to check every detail. His butt swayed toward the chair again.

  Pyro held his gaze. New resolve lit his eyes. “I’ll run the meeting. You find Cheryl. You like her so much, you treat her with respect.”

  He growled. “I am respectful.”

  “Just because she won’t bite off a piece doesn’t mean you can ignore her needs.”

  Again, the judgment stung. Especially since Pyro’s reprimand aligned with his own earlier mistakes.

  Why had he refused to make eye contact? Why had he convinced himself that her statement of loving him was the same as her statement of loving iced white mochas or her new art tablet or a beautiful sunrise over Mt Hood?

  Was he afraid?

  He’d faced down armor-shredding enemy fire in the Colony Wars and he couldn’t face Cheryl’s feelings head on. She’d bared herself to him in the human way and he’d covered himself, denying their connection. She loved him and he was a coward. There was no acceptable excuse. He’d flinched.

  “I will beg forgiveness,” he ground out, heading to the glass shaft.

  “Make it good.”

  “Of course.”

  But worse was Darcy’s damned shock. He laughed so hard he gasped. “Oh yeah. If she loved you before, she probably hates you now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mal, I hate you!” Cheryl shook her fist.

  The stained popcorn ceiling of her mom’s house did not acknowledge her anger. And the bedraggled bedroom, which was still messy from her quick pack job the other night, still did not divulge a new pair of jeans and a clean, dry hoodie.

  She’d packed a couple sets to take to Mal’s stupid house, and she’d left one set in the product warehouse when she’d changed into the vintage clothes for Amber. Her final pair had gone into the washer yesterday. She’d forgotten to switch to the dryer. It was still in the washer, only now dripping wet.

  The last college class of her entire life was in less than an hour and she had nothing to wear.

  Well, nothing but the extra vintage outfits Amber had stuffed into her messenger bag. The original plan had been for Cheryl to model all three outfits. Amber expected it to be a huge fight. She hadn’t expected Mal to capitulate and tell her to do whatever she wanted after seeing the first one.

  Which… the memory of how his gaze had glued to her body and how his hands had molded her curves made Cheryl heat again.

  No. To quote from Mal himself, time was passing. She’d stayed up way too late not finishing the portfolio pieces for the self-assessment today. Mal had screwed her over by begging her to return to his place only to turn right around and tell her she’d be sleeping there alone. And she’d done it. Hoping against hope he’d break his own rule and show up.

  He hadn’t.

  The jerk.

  Her current clothes shortage was all his fault.

  “I hate you!” she shouted at the ceiling again.

  Although it was vaguely satisfying, it didn’t help. She hissed out a long breath and unfolded her two remaining options, spreading them out on the bed.

  Option one: A super short sailor suit with a low-cut neck, tall white boots, and a skirt meant to flip up and reveal lacy blue bloomers. It left nothing to the imagination.

  Option two: A vivid scarlet fifties housewife dress with an insert of black and white polka dot cloth. It stuck out like a glowing red light drawing everyone’s eye.

  Deliberately call attention to herself or bare everything and hope nobody noticed?

  Hope springs eternal. She shimmied into the sailor suit, cinching it at the waist, straightening the buttons. There was even a navy hat. Hell no. She looked at herself in the mirror.

  Wow. The woman who looked back at her was a foreigner. Yes, it was her, but she looked kind of… well, kind of good.

  No wonder Mal’s eyes had glowed green with lust and he had come to her. She stroked her trim belly. She had miles of legs in these boosted boots, generous cleavage, and endless curves all clothed in innocent white and striking navy blue.

  How would he like this outfit? Now she’d been with Mal twice, a little light blinked in the back of her mind thinking about him all the time. Giving up her virginity had shown her the passion her body was capable of, and she suddenly felt powerful in this outfit. He would like it. She stroked the piping. He would want to rip it off with his teeth.

  The front door slammed. Her mother was home from work.

  Cheryl electrified. Would her mom ask where she’d been for the past few days? What would Cheryl say?

  She went out to the living room, her mind churning. “Mom. Welcome home.”

  Her mother tossed her purse in the large wicker basket and eased out of her hospital crocs. She dropped her keys on the messy, mail-strewn coffee table with a chink and smiled tiredly at Cheryl. “Thanks. Heading to school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Her mom yawned and passed her. “Have a good day.”

  She disappeared down the hall. The bathroom tap turned on and tooth brushing noises emerged.

  What—seriously? That was it?

  Everything was normal?

  Cheryl tugged at the sailor suit. Her mom hadn’t even noticed Cheryl was wearing heels.

  The bathroom door opened and closed. Her mom’s voice rose dangerously. “Cheryl!”

  Uh oh. She’d relaxed too soon. Cheryl tiptoed down the hall. “What?”

  Her mom stood in the bedroom, accusatory, and pointed at the rummaged-through boxes. “You’re overflowing your half again.”

  “It’s because of the final art show.” She dropped to her knees and repacked. Things didn’t fit nicely, and she didn’t have time. She crushed and shoved.

  “Well, keep it neat, okay? You left your clothes in the wash last night.”

  “Sorry.”

  Her mom shimmied out of her beige blouse and work pants and crawled under the covers with a groan.

  Cheryl stood. “Um, about the final art show…”

  Her mom cracked a peeper. “Huh?”

  “Can you come? It’s on Wednesday.”

  “Let’s d
iscuss it later.” She rolled over on her side facing the wall.

  Cheryl shifted her weight to the opposite foot. The last time they’d delayed discussion of an event, she hadn’t seen her mom until three days after it was over and her mom hadn’t even remembered the initial discussion. “Later when?”

  “Just later, okay? I’ll have to check my schedule.”

  “You’re not usually working on—”

  “Okay!” Her mother stuffed her pillow over her head. “We’ll talk.”

  Cheryl shifted again.

  “And take care of your side.”

  Cheryl picked up the box that wouldn’t sit on the others and carried it out to the living room.

  A large part of her wanted to storm back into the room and shake her mother awake. Didn’t she know Cheryl had moved out? And was engaged? In a few days, she would hopefully be graduated. Then would her mom make time to talk?

  But her mother had been on her feet for over twelve hours now. She was saving lives while Cheryl drew a plastic stylus across an electric tablet. What had Cheryl done for their family or all humanity lately?

  She struggled into a long, puffed winter trench coat inappropriate for the bright, warm June day, and headed to school.

  A confident woman would have left the trench coat behind. She would not hunch in her MAX seat sweating and hoping no one reported her for suspicious behavior. She’d lift a big middle finger to whoever gave her a rough time and ignore all the stares.

  Too bad that woman wasn’t her.

  At university, Cheryl, along with the rest of her class, cleaned out the art closets, organized their digital and print media, and printed their final pieces for the Student-Employer Art Show happening on Wednesday.

  After everyone had finished, her professor gathered them in the center of the classroom.

  “Get out the Employer Target worksheet you filled out on your first day. Look at the employers you wanted to work for.”

  She stared down at the names she’d written. Was it only a few months ago? It felt like a lifetime.

  She’d written the avant garde advertising companies sometimes used by Nike, Starbucks, and Microsoft. All large companies with a lot of money who might hire her and pay benefits.