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

by Starla Night

He ducked his head and concentrated on his meal like it mesmerized him. “Hard to say.”

  Oh.

  Her good feelings dropped. She’d misread everything. He was not having as good a time as she was.

  Of course, because he was used to doing fun things and only she experienced them with amazement—

  He picked up his champagne flute. “I might be on a ship back to Draconis.” He took a big drink, his gaze skating to her, away, and then drifting back again as though he couldn’t stop himself from gauging her reaction.

  Realization broke upon her like a dousing of sparkling water.

  This weekend wasn’t about pushing her horizons, trying out the things she’d always wanted, and living a little. It was also about getting to know Pyro and deciding whether to save his life.

  He had proposed. Seriously. And she was beginning to get the sense that he’d chosen her not because she was most convenient but because she was genuinely important.

  If Amy didn’t marry him soon, he would leave Earth and travel to Draconis to marry the Empress.

  Forever.

  Marriage was a commitment. One that Amy hesitated to make because if she spoke those vows, she’d take them seriously. When he’d first proposed, she hadn’t been so certain he’d do the same.

  But after these few days, she saw Pyro in a new light. There was more to him than the sinful, sexy, gorgeous dragon in a leather jacket. There was also a kind, cautious, vulnerable male hidden under his carefully cultivated veneer of dangerous, wicked charm.

  It was complicated to put her thoughts into words, so she stuck with a non-committal, “Oh.”

  His lips formed a tight arc — an impression of a smile — and he drained his drink so he could refill his glass.

  They finished dinner and dessert and strolled down the Strip. A stunning wedding party posed for photos in front of iconic gold and marble Roman-inspired Caesar’s Palace.

  Pyro said nothing; but he squeezed her hand.

  Her heart thumped.

  How had she forgotten his proposal? She gazed at the brilliant smiling bride and beaming groom. Their happiness could be hers if she took a risk.

  If she lived…

  “So, what now?” Pyro asked, deliberately changing the subject. “A show? Another chocolate cocktail? Did you want to gamble?”

  No. None of those appealed. Not when she was seriously considering his proposal.

  Like the flashy dress and uncharacteristic makeup from the other night, going on wild and crazy adventures wasn’t really Amy. She enjoyed the heck out of them because they were so different from her ordinary, steady, unexciting life.

  How would Pyro handle her ordinary life?

  She turned to him suddenly. “Would you mind very much just going back to your place? I’m a little tired and I think it might be fun to have a night in.”

  The light in his eyes gleamed. “I don’t mind at all.”

  “It’s going to be boring.”

  He laughed softly, in her ear, as they lifted off. “I never stay in.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I mean everything with you is a new experience. Even the familiar seems new.”

  Well … that was so nice of him to say. “Charmer.”

  He laughed. The natural rough edge scraped against her ear with a pleasant tingling, like stubble on her cheek. “Only you would say that.”

  They flew to his home. Getting out board games, she spread Clue across one of his barely used tables. And then, after deducing it was Professor Plum in the Kitchen with the Lead Pipe, she made him play a stack of other favorites.

  “My parents never went out,” she told him as she shuffled a card deck for a round of Hearts. “They said it was too expensive but I think they felt ashamed of being photographed. They’re not ugly or that out of shape, but they always avoided any place in public where they might end up on video. Like a Fourth of July celebration or the opening night of a highly anticipated movie. Mostly we just stayed in. We played a lot of games.”

  “Alright.” Pyro snagged the deck from her with a devilish smile. “We’ve been playing your games. Now let’s play one of mine.”

  Her skin jumped. Half a full-caffeine cherry soda sizzled in her glass and the clock showed it was nearly ten o’clock.

  “I don’t gamble,” she warned.

  “Now’s the time to start.” He dealt five cards and set aside the deck. “You get one chance to trade. The loser has to take off their shirt.”

  “Strip poker!” She slid her fingertips across the forbidden cards. “I’ve never played.”

  He grinned wickedly. “Lucky me.”

  Oh. Yes. So deliciously sexy.

  The physical had taken a new hold on her this weekend. She felt constant desire. The barest touch, the slightest whiff or glance, and she’d be slicked in her core, ready to experience the fantasies she’d only read about.

  He was ready. Experienced. Open.

  And yet he seemed to have this new well of infinite patience. That, in itself, was seductive. Where he slowed, she suddenly wanted to push faster. And when he eased to a stop, she only wanted to thrust more boundaries aside, feel and savor and love him.

  The question was always in his eyes. Did she want more?

  More sex. More marriage. More Pyro.

  Strip poker led to one place. Nakedness. Was she ready for that?

  Did she want to move forward?

  She fidgeted. “Can I get a practice round?”

  “You don’t need it.”

  The smart thing would be to say no. It was late. She barely understood the rules and gambling was wrong. Dangerous. One bad choice away from ruining her life.

  So of course she’d always wanted to do it.

  And now here was her chance. Strip poker. It only cost her modesty.

  Tempted by a seductive dragon.

  Pyro tapped the deck against the table, watching her from the corners of his red-threaded eyes. Not pushing her, but waiting. Challenge crackled in the air. Tension unspoken.

  Live a little.

  She picked up the cards.

  His grin widened — white teeth flashed, gorgeous — and he took his hand. Examining them expertly, he narrowed his gaze. “How many cards do you want?”

  She spread her cards. Higher numbers were better…. She slid him two, and he took them and dealt her two new cards.

  Exchanging his own, he revealed his cards. “Pair of Jacks. What have you got?”

  “I only have a pair of twos. And a pair of threes.”

  His cocky grin slipped. “Two pairs?”

  She showed him.

  “Congrats. You’re a natural.” He stood and lifted off his shirt, exposing his glorious chest.

  The male was ripped. All hard mountains and slender valleys. Her mouth went dry. Her fingers already knew how he felt and wanted the seductive slide of his skin again.

  Her core throbbed.

  He collected the cards. “Another hand?”

  She shouldn’t. “Deal me in.”

  This time, he laid out two pairs. “Nines and Kings.”

  “I have a pair of queens.”

  He evaluated her, deciding which article of clothing she should take off.

  “And another queen.” She laid out the third card.

  He blinked. “Three of a kind?”

  “Does that beat two pairs?”

  His lids lowered. He was up to no good. “Well…”

  “Mr. Onyx, don’t you dare lie to a teacher.”

  His grin widened. “Three of a kind wins.”

  And his hands lowered to his belt buckle and undid the clasp, teasing her with an addictive view of his chiseled abs.

  Her beginner’s luck held. She reached her camisole and panties, he sat in the chair completely nude, all of him on display. His thick cock was rock hard for her and he had no problem leaning back like an art sculpture of ideal masculinity and letting her enjoy the view.

  “I won,” she said.

  “Congrat
ulations.”

  And then she felt the tension. “Um, now what?”

  His lips quirked into a lopsided smile that made her melt. “Come here.”

  The tension crackled. Was this when they both acted on the building, steamy pressure? Or did she let it dissipate? He said he would go at her pace…

  She stood and approached.

  He tugged her onto his lap.

  Her thighs straddled his so she was facing him. His body felt nuclear hot beneath her skin. His wide hand palmed the small of her back.

  Oh. Wow.

  So much sensation. She struggled to catalog it. Yes, this was Amy, and yes, she sat face-to-face in a naked male’s lap. His cock bulged between her legs.

  And she liked it.

  “My plan backfired. You’re wearing too much clothing.” He slid his finger along the thin strap of her camisole.

  She sucked in a breath. Her nipples pearled beneath the sheer fabric, lifting to two points.

  “…but I like this, too.” His gaze consumed her with new hunger.

  She struggled for balance. For reason. This was crazy. She was so crazy.

  High with her win, high with sugary soda, high with wanting him, she teetered on the edge of what any sane person would call a very questionable decision.

  And so she tried to distract herself and put distance between them. “Is this life ‘in the fast lane’?”

  He laughed like she’d made a good joke, then finally subsided and stroked her cheek with a long, meandering finger. “If I’ve been missing this, maybe I’ve been living in the fast lane too long.”

  She rested her hands on his broad shoulders. The bones of his collar were wide and flat. Strong.

  And he was naked beneath her…

  His gaze skittered up to hers. “Want to take a shower?”

  Do you want me?

  He’d asked her that once. At the time, he’d clearly meant for sex. But this whole weekend was about wanting him for marriage. For sex, marriage, and more.

  Faced with this tantalizing desire, an unusual traditionalist thread wrapped around her spine, giving her strength she didn’t know she possessed.

  Yes, she wanted sex. Yes, she wanted him.

  It’s okay to make a commitment. She’d said that to him. But she should have said it to herself.

  Amy wasn’t like his other girls. She wasn’t flirty. She didn’t just sleep with a guy no matter how he made her mouth water.

  He’d said he couldn’t tell the difference between her impulsive, gorgeous, fashion-model self and the dumpy, ultra-responsible teacher in flannel pajamas.

  What if they were the same? What if the real her was both responsible and impulsive?

  And what if this was her only chance to truly live? Her chance slipped away with the weekend. Monday she’d return to school. An ordinary week. She’d teach classes, attend her art certification course, eat homemade brownies and watch trashy television with Melody, and just exist.

  Or she could make a change right now. Commit. Not only to Pyro. To the confident, fun-loving, impulsive woman who wanted to live.

  To herself.

  She sucked in a breath. Another.

  He grinned at her, his fiery gaze crackling with delicious temptation.

  Her heart thudded in her chest.

  Live.

  She blurted the question. “Want to get married?”

  He jerked his wandering gaze from her chest to her face. Surprise fought with concern. “Right now?”

  “Well, maybe after you put on pants.”

  He smiled; her joke had caught him unawares. He stroked her cheek. “You haven’t slept with me.”

  “We slept in the same bed yesterday.”

  “But you haven’t tried me.”

  She tilted her head.

  He gestured at his thick, powerful cock. “Sex.”

  Oh. Ohhhh.

  Heat waved over her. Her nerve ends tingled with excitement. “You promised it will be good.”

  Again he seemed surprised. “But you haven’t tried.”

  “I believe you.”

  He stood abruptly, helping her to her feet, without answering her question.

  She backed away and shimmied into her skirt. “It’s okay if you changed your mind. If you don’t want to marry. I mean, if you’re not still interested.”

  “Where’s your purse?”

  She went to get it.

  He pulled on his jeans, zipping them over his half-aroused cock, and put on his same T-shirt and toed on his loafers. He reached for her. “Let’s go.”

  “Then — huh?”

  Lofting her in his arms, he flew out of the disk and crossed the sky. Just before midnight, they landed in front of the Las Vegas Marriage Bureau.

  She hugged her purse to her chest. “You should have at least let me put on a shirt!”

  His grin as the metal detectors played over them was pure mischief. “Can’t have you changing your mind.”

  Even though the drafts blew up her camisole in a very exposed way, it was exhilarating. She risked her entire future with no forethought.

  You make one bad decision and it ruins your whole life.

  Going to a courthouse in the middle of the night half-dressed to marry a guy she’d known for three days was most definitely a bad decision.

  She’d never felt so alive.

  They filled out an application, showed ID — hers was a normal driver’s license while his was a metallic passport shimmering with holographic symbols — and amazingly the clerk accepted it. Right as the doors were closing, they had their legal certificate.

  “Did you want me to send someone for your family?” he asked.

  Oh no. She went cold. “My parents wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes.” They’d talk her out of it. And she would let them. “I’ll tell later.”

  Next step was to arrange an actual ceremony. How did anyone ever get married in Vegas by accident? Pyro flew to three crowded 24-hour chapels before one had an opening.

  “How do you just know where these are?” Amy demanded, rubbing her chilled arms as she waited for a female Elvis impersonator to unlock the dress rentals room of The Littlest Graceland Chapel of the King. “Does this place have an adjoining bar?”

  He laughed. “No, my brother is texting aerial photos.”

  After midnight? “That’s nice of him.”

  “It’s something.” He concealed his true feelings behind a mysterious smile.

  She expected to be overwhelmed by dresses, but Pyro guided her. “No, no, no. This rack is all wrong. That one too. See? The white is too blue, the hips are too narrow, and the torso is too long.”

  When they finally found a perfect fit, he regarded smudges and wrinkled lace critically. “We can buy a custom dress. Don’t change your mind because of an imperfect ceremony. I’ll make your fantasies come true.”

  But marrying him was already her wildest fantasy. Honestly, she didn’t know what fantasies she’d have to come up with next.

  She strove to reassure him. “Dragon marriage is valid after a year, right?”

  “On your dragonlet’s first birthday.” His jaw flexed, the only sign of his emotion. “Or not at all.”

  Oh, yes. His grandmother had refused to recognize him and his siblings. That rejection must have been so harsh, her heart had melted when she’d read it.

  “Well, what I mean is, let’s just do the human wedding right now. Vegas style. Rental dress, flowers, rings. And, say, in one year, we’ll have a real wedding. Invite our families. Do it right.”

  “Right?” His arm around her waist snugged her to his suited side. “Or like on reality TV?”

  “Right. And also fantasy.”

  He gave up grumbling about the dress, easily found himself a suit, and they performed the ceremony. An entire band of Elvis impersonators married them, from the officiant to the chorus of ushers. Amy swore to love, honor, and cherish Pyro ‘til death do us part.

 
; And he swore it right back — “and also to make your fantasies come true.”

  She lifted her brows. That wasn’t in the official vows.

  He devastated her with a lopsided smile.

  Live a little.

  “You may now, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, kiss the bride,” the officiant said.

  Pyro’s eyes gleamed with threads of radioactive red. He swung Amy into his arms. His lips touched hers with familiar combustion. Her wiry nerves collapsed under his delicious, sure touch.

  But his earlier questions returned a thousandfold.

  Living on the edge was bound to lead to regrets.

  Would this become her biggest regret?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amy’s lips tasted like pineapple gloss and nervous excitement. And she broke it off early before Pyro had even begun to get a fraction of the reassurance he suddenly craved.

  Taking his hand in her gloved fingers, she squeezed. Her eyes glistened a little too bright. “Let’s go home.”

  Familiar lines rolled off his tongue. “Yours or mine?”

  “Yours!” She wiggled in her curve-hugging dress. “I live with a roommate, you know. It would kind of get in the way of the whole ‘wedding night’ tradition.”

  He allowed her to lead him back to the rentals where she returned her dress and changed back into street clothes — well, her skirt and that delicious, sheer camisole — and then she curled her arms around his neck and buried her face in his suit-clad shoulder.

  “Alright. I’m ready.”

  The tremble in her voice said she was anything but ready. And that only ratcheted up his own tension.

  Tonight suddenly felt like the most important night of his whole existence. Funny that it should feel that way after he’d married.

  Again.

  He pressed her to his chest and lifted them gently into the night.

  She’d married him before a demonstration of his bedroom prowess. Such a thing was unheard of among dragons. Obviously there must be lots of sex to produce dragonlets, which was the only way to validate a marriage.

  Humans were so odd. Marrying him without having sex suggested she liked something else about him. His personality. Or his real self.

  Impossible.

  What was there to like? He was an unreliable, hotheaded bastard driving a successful company to destruction — or into a devil’s bargain with the aristocrats he and his siblings hated.