Dragon VIP: Pyrochlore (7 Virgin Brides for 7 Weredragon Billionaires Book 3)

by Starla Night

  “Seriously?” he asked aloud in disbelief.

  “Yes!”

  Delaying his gratification because of her modesty was unusual. But fine. This game was also fun.

  He covered his eyes with one hand. “Okay. I’ll imagine.”

  “Don’t! No peeking and no imagining. Walk away. Go.”

  He strolled between racks, respecting her wish. Her request tickled him. Dragons shifted naked. Any clothes were ripped to shreds. And, until his family and the Carnelians exported human clothes to the rest of the shifter universe, most ignored their human commonalities and lived in their animal forms.

  Earth females had dragonesque attitudes to nudity. Or so he thought. Perhaps he should have spent more time with this shy type.

  Her modesty intrigued him. Anticipation added a stimulating heat to what would be Amy’s eventual claiming. Denying himself made his imagination more fertile.

  She pushed through the racks. “Okay. I’m decent.”

  She was much more than decent.

  Her sensual form poured into the ruffly lace and sensual silk. Black ribbon and bone corset cupped her breasts. The raspberry color complimented her full lips, nipped her waist, and flared over womanly hips.

  But most important was her confident smile. She was proud, feminine, and decadent.

  Then, her confidence slunk away and Amy linked her fingers in front of her. “No good?”

  “Very good.” He hooked a finger under hers and drew her forward, twirling her. A few places needed tucks and the shoulders were tight — simple tailoring — but overall it fit. “Very, very good.”

  She finished her twirl and halted with a shimmering smile. But not the confidence of before.

  He needed that confidence again. She felt more real. Solid.

  Well worth ravishing.

  He released her and pulled out his cell phone. “Pose. I’ll take a few pictures.”

  She obeyed his directions, quickly and obediently, but he never managed to recapture her original confidence. She was confused more than once. Like, when he told her to pose “sexy,” her toes pointed together and teeth bit one finger. “I, um, don’t know what that would be, exactly.”

  Her unconscious trusting innocence socked him right in the gut.

  He wanted to carry her to the soft batting, strip off the dress, and teach her exactly what he meant.

  He put away his phone. “I’ll show you.”

  “Thanks.” She hesitated. “It’s a little late to say this, but I want to apologize.”

  He’d been about to cup her cheeks and draw her into a sudden, passionate kiss. He changed trajectory, resting his hands on her tender shoulders instead. “Apologize?”

  “About before.” She smiled shyly and looked at her feet. “I’m sorry I pretended I wasn’t watching you. I panicked when you came over. I didn’t think you would notice me. I’m not your usual type.”

  This wasn’t what he’d expected.

  “What’s my usual type?” he asked, automatically sliding his voice into his usual dark flirtation.

  She glanced up at him, a knowing smile silently telling him they both knew. “Different.”

  So, she wanted to be honest? He pushed her. “When you said you were ‘leaving early,’ that hurt.”

  Her smile wiped away. “Sorry. You are eye-catching and I was supposed to study, but the truth is, I should’ve left long before I bothered you.”

  Yeah. Right. She just suddenly had this urge to confess. “Why tell me now?”

  “Because I’m having a good time.”

  Breaking into his rival’s warehouse and wrecking their product launch had been a good time?

  Her confession made him deeply uncomfortable.

  To mask it, he allowed the cynical gleam to color his careless smile. “Glad to hear it.”

  “This is so out of character for me.” She rubbed the satin on her thighs reverently. “I never go out on a school night. It feels like a fairy tale or a dream. I’ve never enjoyed so much dress up.”

  “You should model. You’re a natural.”

  She laughed a real laugh. “And you’re a charmer.”

  Charmer? Him?

  He’d been called a lot of things recently — mostly a bastard, reckless, and no-good. Charming definitely wasn’t among them.

  Like her sudden honesty, her heartfelt laugh touched a vulnerability deep inside. Fierce protective instincts suddenly roared to the surface.

  He wanted to dress her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to carry her away to his lair and rip apart anyone who threatened her.

  This was the danger he’d sensed from her in the bar all week. That she could squirm under his defenses and trigger emotions he thought were dead.

  No, he didn’t think they were dead. They were dead. He had killed them himself.

  And she resurrected them.

  That wasn’t allowed. She wasn’t a human he could love. He didn’t believe in love. Only pleasure — and taking it while it was still possible.

  “Charmer, huh?” He tugged her into his arms.

  She stumbled and steadied herself on his biceps. He liked her off-balance. Dependent on him. She felt like a silk-and-lace dream and she smelled like clean linen, vanilla, and jasmine.

  Crushing his protective feelings, he strove for his usual careless tone. “Would a charmer do this?”

  Her smile wavered. Her gaze focused on his lips and then moved to his eyes. She was innocence personified. Her tone rose hopefully. “This?”

  Pyro liked giving people what they wanted.

  He lowered his head and captured her lips in his kiss.

  Chapter Four

  Pyro was kissing her.

  Her. Ordinary, unexciting Amy.

  A smokin’ hot dragon shifter dressed her up like a queen, drew her to his hard, masculine body, and carried her senses away with a sizzling passionate kiss.

  His lips nibbled hers and his tongue brushed her seam.

  Her body turned to his seductive heat with uncontrollable hunger. Sensation after sensation washed over her. She soaked Pyro up, hungering for more. The very air crackled around him with dangerous heat. Radioactive electricity.

  She wanted everything he gave. He was her addiction. Distilled liquor, sweet male. She needed him. All of him.

  He stilled and drew back.

  She let out her held breath with a heartfelt sigh.

  Nothing would ever top this night. Getting caught, going on a date, the wild ride across the city, and sneaking into his company to this kiss was completely out of character for her. She’d finally lived a little. It felt amazing. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

  Why had she waited so long?

  Someone shouted.

  Pyro jumped back.

  Across the warehouse floor, two men in suits raced toward them. Oh, how odd. They looked angry.

  Pyro grabbed her hand. A dangerous grin curved his lips. “Time to go.”

  One of them shouted. “Stop!”

  She ran after him through the racks of outfits. Her ankles wobbled in the unfamiliar boots. “Don’t they recognize you?”

  “Pyrochlore, stop!” one of the men shouted.

  They definitely recognized him.

  Pyro pulled her forward, dove behind one rack, and threw another into the men’s path. The men both leaped over it, flying effortlessly. Pyro grabbed her hand and ran.

  One of them raised a … wait. Was that a gun?

  “Isn’t this your company?” she gasped.

  His grin sharpened. “Not exactly.”

  “What?!”

  Pyro grabbed her and dove low, screaming for the side of the building. The backs of her heels dragged on the floor. He cupped an arm under her legs, lifting her to safety.

  Her heart leaped to her throat.

  They were angry. This wasn’t Pyro’s building. He’d tricked her. This was their building. She was wearing their clothes! No wonder they were upset.

  And instead of facin
g them responsibly, Pyro was running.

  Well, flying.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as racks collapsed and exploded fabric around her. The sheer mess was incredible. And she was partially the cause of it.

  He barreled toward a window.

  An angry high schooler had once put his fist through a classroom window. The glass had shattered — and cut his forearm in long, jagged streaks that had required stitches.

  She shrieked. “Stop!”

  “We can make it.”

  “The window’s closed. Someone could get hurt!”

  He slowed.

  Thank goodness.

  With a twitch of irritation, he dumped her on the floor and threw the window open. Then he wheeled to face their attackers. From the corner of his mouth, he snarled, “Jump.”

  “What?”

  “Jump!”

  “But—”

  “I’ll bail out and catch you. Go! Now.”

  She stared down at the hard concrete. Five floors. Every survival instinct screamed.

  “I can’t,” she sobbed.

  “Trust me,” said the male who’d led her into this trap.

  That snapped her out of survival mode and forced her to think.

  She pushed away from the window and turned. The two males flew at them with furious growls. Pyro rotated a shoulder and lowered his center of gravity, baring his teeth in anticipation of a fight.

  She felt sick.

  Her back thumped against the solid wall and she held up her hands in surrender. “We give up!”

  The male in the lead checked. The second male thumped into him, funny-looking gun still drawn.

  The lead male spoke softly. “Put away your weapon.”

  The second male obeyed.

  Pyro snapped his teeth. “Aw, come on. I can take you.”

  “There’s a human present.”

  “Nobody I care about.”

  Shock slapped her. She was nobody he cared about?

  Outside the window, shouts said the whole building was coming alive.

  The first male wore sunglasses and a dead expression. The Terminator about to annihilate them both. “Pyrochlore. You will answer to Sard.”

  “Make me.”

  The second male shuddered. Dark blue scales erupted over his head like he’d been showered with a bucket.

  Pyro erupted in the same way.

  His jeans split and his jacket shredded as his torso broadened and spiked with fiery red scales. His arms and legs elongated, and the joints folded backward. A tail burst from his buttocks and his face morphed into the peaked ridges of a dragon.

  He filled the small space. A dark growl resonated in his scaly chest. His eyes gleamed red and his long fangs snapped in challenge.

  The dark blue dragon bugled.

  Between the two dragons, the expressionless male held up his hand in a warning. “Remember the treaty. We must not harm a human even by accident.”

  The two dragons snapped at each other.

  The leader held a finger to his black earpiece. “Pyrochlore. You are surrounded. Your only choice is to answer Sard’s summons. There is nowhere for you to go.”

  Pyro turned and smashed through the wall of the building.

  Tiny glass shards slivered past her bare arms like deadly confetti. The floor shuddered. Drywall gaped where there had once been a window. Cold night air gushed in.

  The other dragon pushed toward the gaping wall and gnashed his teeth.

  “Leave him. Return to your human form.”

  The dragon shivered. Blue scales sucked up into his skin, morphing him back to a naked human form. “How dare he insult Sard? Syenite. We can’t let him get away.”

  “He will face Sard soon enough.” The leader known as Syenite turned his opaque sunglasses on her. “Come.”

  She took an unsteady step. Her hands shook. So did her knees.

  Through the gaping hole in the building, a flock of dragons chased the fiery red leader. Wheeling and darting, Pyro evaded his pursuers. He flew off.

  It looked like he would get away.

  Leaving her behind.

  Nobody I care about. That’s what Pyro had said when the others mentioned her. She was a human he’d teased, smiled at, kissed. But it had been a lie. A joke. He’d tricked her into coming here.

  She was nobody he cared about.

  Syenite’s icy voice penetrated her dark thoughts. “Sard will speak with you now.”

  Amy turned.

  He gestured for her to precede him like a cop summoning her to face the judge.

  She knew that name. Knew it from her magazine. Of the dragon families on Earth, only two companies exported clothing. One was the Onyx family. The other was a company led by Sard Carnelian.

  Oh. God.

  She was going to be sick.

  They traversed the wrecked floor. The other employees — dragons wearing men’s business suits — cleaned up her mess. Syenite led her to an elevator.

  “What is your name?” Syenite’s impersonal voice demanded an immediate answer. Staring into his sunglasses revealed only her terrified face.

  “Amy. Amy Adamson.” She twisted her fingers together. Cold air crossed the plunging — stolen — Victorian neckline and made her shiver. “Am I in trouble?”

  He didn’t answer.

  The elevator opened on another floor. Beige and gray like the ones below, it was well-lit and filled with impassive dragons. So many suits and no smiles reminded her of a police station. Or a secret service.

  Syenite stopped her outside a giant, thick office door. He entered first. “Sard?”

  Despite the cold, her hands sweated. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach crossed hunger and fever. She needed to use the bathroom. Possibly to throw up.

  The other guards stared at her without speaking. She swallowed. The noise was loud in the silent hall.

  The last time she’d been in trouble, real trouble, had been junior high. She’d scratched a girl who’d stolen her pink panda eraser and called her a fat-bottomed redhead with no soul. And even though she’d gotten off with a warning — and a phone call to her parents — sitting outside the office, waiting her turn, had been so terrifying she’d sworn to never, ever put herself in this position again.

  And then there had been the principal’s words. You’re a bright girl. But if you don’t make smart choices, you’re going to ruin your life. It could happen in a single instant.

  Her hands trembled.

  She clenched the Victorian dress.

  The doors opened again. Syenite stepped outside and faced her. “Sard will see you, Amy Adamson.”

  Oh, god.

  She crept into the office. It was just like facing the principal. She stood stiffly in front of the desk. Please don’t call my parents.

  But the towering CEO on the other side of a mammoth desk didn’t look like the kind to call anyone’s parents. With his barrel chest encased in a button-up red dress shirt and matching demonic red eyes, he looked more like the kind to drop a concrete-weighted body off a pier. Silver piercings lined his brows and metal gleamed in his bared teeth. He did not invite her to sit and so she remained standing.

  “You broke into my building and vandalized our next product launch.” Sard Carnelian’s dominating voice boomed with menace. “Explain.”

  “I didn’t realize it was yours. I’m so sorry. I never would have ever…” Her chin folded and her voice abruptly cut out. Tears burned the back of her eyes.

  Would crying make him angrier or soften his fury?

  He didn’t look softened. “What is the meaning of tonight’s invasion?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never vandalized in my whole life. I swear.” She sniffed hard and forced her trembling voice to continue. “Pyro told me it was his building. He said I should try on whatever I wanted.” She squeezed her fingers together. “Please don’t call the police.”

  His gaze narrowed. “We’ll see.”

  Oh, god.

  “Now, yo
u tell me the truth. Isn’t this Pyro’s answer to my proposal?”

  Proposal?

  Sard stared at her hard.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know about a proposal.”

  “Perhaps you will know when you talk to the police.” He picked up a phone.

  Worry stabbed her. “No! I’m telling you everything. I don’t know anything about any proposal.”

  “Then what is the meaning of his invasion tonight?”

  “A prank?”

  Sard’s jaw clenched. “Is this some human joke?”

  “I don’t know! It just seemed like…”

  It seemed like the kind of cruel prank an uncaring boy would pull. Talk a chubby good girl into breaking into his rival’s building, play dress up, and abandon her there to deal with the fallout.

  The cruelty cut deep. Another wave of tears swept over her.

  Sard remained silent.

  She sucked in a deep breath and got a hold of herself. “I don’t know Pyro. We spoke for the first time tonight. He picked me up. This was supposed to be a date.”

  His chin dropped. “Date?”

  The shock in his voice striped her with fresh shame.

  Of course any outside observer would realize Pyro had never been interested in her. He’d pranked her just like he’d pranked these other dragons. The knowing look in the bartender’s eyes? Probably pity because she could see what Amy had missed — that he was leading her on a torment.

  During the hours she’d stalked, observed, and dreamed about him, she’d never seen this cruel streak. He projected sinful, wicked smiles and sweet, casual flirtations. Tonight, she’d thought it was her turn.

  Sard was still gaping. “You’re not his employee? Associate?”

  “I met him in a bar.”

  Sard let out a huge sigh, rubbed his bald head, and leaned back in his giant office chair. His chunky silver eyebrow piercings gleamed in the light. “Have a seat.”

  “The bustle of your dress—”

  “Sit.”

  She folded herself neatly into one of the small, hard chairs and clasped her hands in her lap.

  “You met Pyro tonight,” he muttered, dropped his hand, and leaned forward again. “You don’t know who I am?”

  “You’re Sard Carnelian, dragon shifter aristocrat and owner of Carnelian Clothiers.”